Authors: Ellie Dean
She carefully avoided the worst of the debris as others scavenged for firewood or anything else that might come in use. A group of boys were hunting for bits of shrapnel which could be used for barter, or for scrap metal and waste paper which they could sell. A lot of the kids had been evacuated at the beginning of the war, but a good many of them had returned, for another pair of hands meant another wage in these tough times.
Ruby continued down the street and then turned into a much narrower lane, avoiding the alley which was a favourite haunt of the local prostitutes, and the pub customers who used it as a lavatory. Stinking to high heaven, it was littered with rubbish and overflowing dustbins, and she hurried past it, heading for the front door of the Tanner’s Arms. Taking a deep breath to bolster her courage, she pushed the scarred door open and stepped inside to the usual wall of noise.
The Tanner’s Arms had served this community for over a hundred years. Scant light managed to penetrate the small, filthy windows, the gloom deepened by the dark wood panelling, the heavy beams and nicotine-stained ceiling. The old-fashioned gaslights were so dim they hardly cast shadows and the enormous bar which took up an entire wall was a looming presence of heavy oak and fly-spotted mirrors. A few tables and chairs were the only other furniture, but the majority of the regulars preferred to stand at the bar.
Ruby felt her eyes stinging from the cigarette smoke which hung like a thick fog from the ceiling, and the noise of so many raised voices rang in her ears as she slipped behind the bar and stowed her bag and cardigan under a back shelf. Thankfully there was no sign of Ray or his cronies, so she could afford to relax a little.
Fred Bowman’s eyes widened as he caught sight of her. ‘Blimey, gel. Weren’t expecting you in today – but I’m glad to see yer. Me and Glad have been run off our feet.’ The middle-aged landlord’s penetrating gaze rested momentarily on her bruises before he looked her in the eye. ‘You sure you’re up to this, Rube?’
Ruby felt the colour flood her face as she nodded, for she knew his life would be so much easier if she just handed in her notice and found work in one of the factories instead – but of course that wasn’t possible now she was married to Ray, who had his own reasons for keeping her there.
Despite having the build of a heavy-weight boxer, and the ability to handle most trouble that came his way, Fred was a good man, and he and his little wife Gladys had taken her under their wing since she’d started working for them. They’d done their best to dissuade her from marrying Ray, but of course she’d been young and dazzled and had refused to listen. Poor Fred didn’t like having Ray and his thugs as regular customers but couldn’t do much about it. The safety of his wife, family and business was paramount, but precedents had been set as a warning to those who might try to resist this growing menace. They all knew the score, and neither he nor Gladys would say anything to Ruby about how she’d come by the bruises, or why she’d had a week off work.
‘If you can’t cope, then just tell me,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll still pay yer wages for the session.’
She flashed him a grateful smile and did her best to appear ready for a busy night, for Ray would come in sooner or later and she needed to keep him sweet – and the only way to achieve that was to keep her head down, get on with her work and bring in the money.
Ray sauntered in just before closing time, and like every other woman’s in the pub, Ruby’s gaze was immediately drawn to him. There was no doubt about it, Ruby thought, he was the handsomest man in the room, and despite everything, she felt a flutter of something akin to pride.
Tall and broad-shouldered, Raymond Clark wore his tailored suit like a man used to the finer things in life. His white shirt, smart tie and handmade shoes merely added to the illusion, and as he slipped the velvet-collared overcoat from his shoulders and handed it to one of his minions, he acknowledged respectful greetings with the merest inclination of his head. At twenty-three, he exuded a sense of power in the way he carried himself and was fully aware that his presence underlined the fact that he was a name around these parts – a man to be reckoned with. With his strong family ties to some of the most powerful and feared villains in the East End, it paid to keep him onside and informed of everything that was going on in his manor.
His dark eyes were shadowed by the brim of his fedora, and although he was very short-sighted, vanity meant he refused to wear glasses – and yet his gaze found Ruby in an instant and held her as firmly as a moth stuck with a pin. When he looked away Ruby found she’d been holding her breath and hurried to pour him his usual tot of whisky, which she carried to the other end of the bar where he always sat.
Ray eased himself onto the bar stool, surrounded by his heavies and the usual hangers-on who wanted to be seen with him and thereby inflate their own reputations amongst the hard men of the East End. Ruby plastered on a smile as she fluffed her hair over her bruised cheek and brow and set the whisky in front of him.
His myopic brown eyes trawled from her face down her body to her high-heeled shoes. ‘Looking well, gel,’ he drawled. ‘See, I told yer it would do yer good to get out.’ His gaze held her again as he swallowed a mouthful of whisky.
Ruby felt much as a mouse must do when cornered by a cat. She could see command in his gaze – an unspoken pleasure in bending her to his will. ‘D’you want another?’ she managed as he put the empty glass down on the bar.
‘Yeah, why not? I had a good run of the cards tonight, and Stan here owes me.’ He rested a heavy hand on the shoulder of the nervous-looking man who stood next to him. ‘Get yer wallet out, Stan. It’s your round.’
Ruby shot them both a stiff little smile and hurried to refill the glasses. She knew he didn’t like her chattering at him when he was with his mates – but there again, he didn’t like what he called her dumb insolence when she said nothing. She was all too aware of his steady scrutiny and her hand trembled as she battled to think of something to say, but all reasoned thought was scrambled and she ended up spilling some of the whisky on the bar. With a muttered apology she wiped it away and was saved from further confrontation by Gladys shouting from the other end of the bar that she needed a hand.
When Fred clanged the bell for last orders Ruby was almost dead on her feet. The ache inside was a dragging weight, her back was stiff with tension and her head was splitting from all the noise and the cigarette smoke. But there were still customers clamouring to be served before they were chucked out, and even after they’d gone there would be the cleaning up and restocking before she could go home and crawl into bed.
She shot a glance at Ray, who was still sitting at the end of the bar, and although he seemed to be listening to the wild stories from his coterie of admirers, his gaze followed her every move. She bit her lip and went to help Gladys clear the glasses and empty the ashtrays as Fred determinedly manhandled his more reluctant customers out of the door. She could only pray that Ray’s run of luck with the cards had mellowed him, and that the amount of whisky he’d had would send him to sleep quickly rather than stoke his temper.
As she wiped down the bar and the tables and swept the fag ends off the floor, she kept a wary eye on him. There was a fresh whisky bottle doing the rounds of his little group despite the fact it was now way past closing time. She could hear him telling Fred not to worry about his dwindling supply of spirits, and that he could expect a delivery the next day – subject to the usual fee and a heavy skim off the profits. Fred couldn’t refuse, but Ruby knew how much it cost him to have to agree to this black-market trade. Although Fred didn’t bat an eye at the odd fiddle here and there, this sort of carry-on could see him heavily fined or imprisoned, his reputation in tatters, and his pub shut down. Ruby’s face burned with shame at the thought of a decent man being dragged to such depths by someone she’d once thought she loved.
She carried on sweeping the floor, her thoughts skittering over the past year and a bit. She’d been just seventeen when she’d first met Ray, and with his film star looks and rather dangerous connections, she’d been flattered and excited when he’d made it clear he wanted her to be his girl. During the next six months she’d been swept along in the glamour of the basement nightclubs and private drinking bars where they drank champagne and watched exotic floor shows. He gave her jewellery and expensive clothes because he said he liked her to look good when she was on his arm, and enjoyed showing her off.
Her hands gripped the broom as she recalled how eagerly she’d agreed to marry him, and how quickly she’d been faced with the cold, hard truth. It was all a sham. There was no posh flat; the jewellery and furs were on loan and behind that winning smile and handsome façade was a man of quick temper and even swifter fists. With her new clarity of vision she’d seen that the gambling clubs, strip joints and private bars that she’d once thought so glamorous were merely seedy hangouts where tough men negotiated deals, and rivalries between the different factions that ruled the East End were dealt with swiftly and violently.
Ray, she soon realised, knew he was simply a minor cog in the great wheel that his family turned, and because his mother had committed the heinous sin of running away, he would never attain the same status as his much older half-brothers. But he’d clung on, milking his connections, ducking and diving and doing shady deals wherever he could to prove to his family that he deserved a larger share in their enterprises. The family name was his only asset and this earned a certain amount of respect, but he was all too aware that could change in an instant if he displeased his father and uncles – and that knowledge made him very dangerous indeed if he thought his fragile authority was being questioned.
In her naïvety, she’d hoped they could be happy – had prayed that the coming baby would sweeten him. But leopards didn’t change their spots, and his beating had left her empty of the child she’d been carrying and bereft of all hope.
‘Wot you doin’, gel?’ Ray shouted from the bar. ‘Get yer arse in gear. It’s time we was leaving.’
She snapped out of her reverie and hurried to put away the broom and fetch her cardigan and handbag. As she turned back she saw him demand her wages from Fred and fold them into his pocket. She stifled the protest and, with a nod of goodnight to a shamefaced Fred, followed Ray outside.
It was as black as pitch, with scudding clouds racing across a pale moon as the wind picked up. There had been no raids and all was still but for the shriek of a drunken woman coming from the side alley. Ray flung his arm round her shoulder and rather unsteadily propelled her down the road. ‘Mind how you go in them heels,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t want you falling over and hurting yerself, do we?’
She heard the sly snigger and shivered as she pulled the cardigan more firmly across her chest. His words chilled her far more than the cold April night, and she could only hope that he wouldn’t keep up his taunting when they got home.
He didn’t seem to notice her discomfort as he weaved his way along the deserted road. ‘We’ll pop into Flannigan’s for a quick one first,’ he said casually. ‘Micky owes me for that last delivery.’
Ruby’s spirits plummeted further. She was feeling wrung out and on the point of collapse. The last thing she wanted to do was sit in yet another smoky bar and witness Ray’s intimidation of someone who couldn’t fight back. ‘Shall I make me way home on me own then?’ she asked tentatively. ‘You won’t want me hanging about if you’re gunna talk business.’
His arm seemed to grow heavier across her shoulders, the grip on her upper arm tightening. ‘Best you come with me,’ he said. ‘Don’t want you wandering about in the blackout on yer own.’
‘I know me way,’ she replied softly, ‘and it ain’t far now.’
He came to an abrupt halt and glared down at her. ‘I said we was going for a last drink at Flannigan’s,’ he said flatly. ‘You wanna give me an argument about that, Ruby?’
She shook her head. ‘No, of course not,’ she said quickly.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. ‘I’ll make it a quick one,’ he said with a wink, ‘and then we can get home to bed.’
Ruby saw the gleam in his eyes and her stomach clenched. It was far too soon after the miscarriage for intimate relations, but Ray had clearly decided he’d waited long enough, and for the life of her she couldn’t think of any way to change his mind. She blinked up at him, dumb with a fear she dared not show.
His gaze was steady as he moved closer and kissed her.
Ruby had to steel herself from flinching as his hand traced the bruises on her brow and cheekbone. He was toying with her, making it clear who was in charge, and when he purposefully steered her across the street to Flannigan’s Bar she had no choice but to go with him.
Chapter Two
Cliffehaven
THE APRIL SUNSHINE
glittered on the sea as the waves rolled lazily against the shingle and swirled around the concrete shipping traps which formed a forbidding chain beyond the low-tide mark of Cliffehaven bay. Gulls hovered in the light breeze that still held the chill of the dying winter, their mournful cries echoing across the water to the white cliffs that stood sentinel to the east of the town.
Peggy Reilly pulled up her coat collar as she sat on the stone bench, the pram beside her. Despite the beauty of the day and the promise that summer would soon be here, the reminders of war were everywhere. They lay in the coils of barbed wire along the promenade; in the warning signs that the beach was mined; in the gun emplacements that were dotted along the shore and strung along the clifftops; and in the clumps of oil that stained the shingle – a terrible epitaph for the hundreds of lost mariners and airmen whose crafts now lay in that glassy blue tomb.
Peggy shivered as her gaze drifted along the seafront she’d known since childhood. Cliffehaven had become a popular holiday resort once the railway had been established back in Victorian times, with gracious hotels lining the seafront, colourful deckchairs and parasols fluttering in the breeze, and the sound of music and laughter coming from the amusement arcades and the ballroom at the end of the pier. There had been the sweet scents of candyfloss and toffee apples, and the alluring smell of vinegar and frying fish and chips to tempt the hungry holidaymaker.