Authors: Nicola May
Three months later
– Chapter Four –
‘Wuby, Wuby, Wuby, Wuby!’ Ruby smiled as her good friend Tony Choi approached her in Piaf’s, her favourite Covent Garden café.
‘And how is my little chickadoo today then?’ Tony asked. ‘You are looking a lot like my old Wuby - you have some bones on the meat now.’
‘Oh Tony, you are so funny and can I say looking resplendent in your orange corduroy ensemble.’
‘Only my Chinese best to take my little freckly friend Christmas shopping. There are some lovely stalls in the market - we shall go and spend a few Lady Madivas.’
‘Godivas, Tony. Lady Godiva’s - fivers.’ His cockney rhyming slang attempts never failed to amuse.
‘What you say, Ruby?’
‘Never mind, come on.’
Daphne du Mont, the Edith Piaf lookalike owner of the café blew them both a theatrical kiss as they headed out into the cold air.
***
It had been a long time since Ruby had come into Central London. She had closeted herself away in her Putney flat, just wanting to feel safe with her and George’s belongings around her. But today it felt good. The hubbub of people shopping and just the general buzz that the big city offered made her feel alive again. When it was time to go home, she said goodbye to Tony and made her way to the tube.
There was quite a scrum as she approached the escalator. Before she reached it, all of a sudden she felt her bag being tugged. She swung around, trying to keep hold of it, and unexpectedly, a screech arose from the depths of her red-headed feisty being.
‘GET OFF MY BAG, YOU THIEVING FUCKING LITTLE BASTARDS!’
The two thieving fucking little bastards were so shocked that they dropped her bag. Taking flight with her purse that had fallen out in the kerfuffle, they pushed their way through the crowd. Just as she was about to run after them, she felt a strong hand on her shoulder, stopping her from going any further.
‘No, you don’t. They could have knives or anything - you don’t know these days. Here, let me help you.’
The strong-handed man bent down and picked up the remaining contents of her bag. Ruby was now crying through both anger and shock.
‘They have my purse!’ she cried.
‘It’s OK, cash and cards can be replaced. You can’t.’
‘But you don’t understand,’ Ruby whimpered. ‘My wedding ring is in there.’
‘Calm down, it’s OK.’ Strong Hands had a hypnotic manner about him. ‘Come with me. Let’s get a sweet cup of tea in you and we can sort this out.’ He led her to a coffee shop across the road.
Ruby looked up as a steaming drink was put in front of her.
The man smiled. ‘I’m Michael, by the way.’
‘And I’m really, really sorry.’ Ruby began to blub.
‘That’s a funny name.’
It stopped Ruby in her tracks. She wiped her eyes with her hands, sniffed loudly and managed a weak smile.
Michael handed her a serviette.
‘Ruby, my name’s Ruby Stevens. Thank you, but I really must be going, Michael?’
‘Michael… Bell.’
‘That’s got a certain ring to it,’ Ruby smirked, taking in his rugby-player-type frame, quiffed blond hair, soft hazel eyes and trendy hornrimmed spectacles. She went to get up.
‘Going already? You haven’t even started your cup of tea.’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Try me.’
Ruby sighed and looked him up and down. ‘You’re very tall.’
‘You’re very ginger.’
‘I’ve had a terrible year.’
‘What’s made it so awful? Tell me, Ruby.’
This stopped Ruby in her tracks. This man really did seem to care.
Michael put his hand over the table to reach hers. ‘It’s fine, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I could probably match it.’
‘My husband died. ’
‘Shit, that stinks.’
‘It stinks, it hurts, it’s not fair and I feel like I’ve been drowning for the past fifteen months.’
‘OK, so it makes my fiancée running off a month before our wedding with my best friend seem quite tame now.’
‘Oh no, that’s awful too, I’m sorry.’
‘Well, we have to get that purse of yours back, don’t we - there’s a ring to find. What’s it like?’
‘It’s platinum, about this thick.’ Ruby put her thumb and finger together to show him. ‘And it’s engraved inside with the words
Rubes & George forever
- so I’m sure no one else would want it anyway.’
Michael thought it was probably being melted down as they spoke.
‘Come on, let’s drink up and report it to the police, you never know. And you’d better cancel your cards too, pronto.’
It was raining and dark when they stepped outside.
Six foot four Michael towered over Ruby’s five feet nine. He put his strong hand on her shoulder again. ‘Come on, Ruby; I’ll come with you to the cop shop.’
‘No, no, honestly - I can manage on my own now, thanks Michael,’ Ruby flustered. ‘I just want to go home.’
‘Let me see you home, then. Where do you live?’
‘Putney. But I’ll be fine, honestly. I’m sorry to have troubled you.’
‘Hey, slow down, I’m not an axe murderer, I promise. Take my number, at least, and just send me a quick text message to let me know you’ve got home safely.’ Ruby took his card and put it in her bag. ‘And what about your train ticket, did they take that too?’
‘You’re good, aren’t you?’ Ruby managed a smile. ‘Luckily, for the very reason I might get mugged, I always put my ticket in a pocket.’ She rifled around in her jacket. ‘Here it is.’
‘Good. Well, take care then and don’t forget to let me know when you’re safe.’
‘I will - and thank you so much, Michael. You’ve been really kind.’
– Chapter Five –
Margaret opened the door to a bedraggled Ruby.
‘Oh, me duck, look at the state of you. Get in here by the fire and I’ll soon have you warm and dry.’
Since she had moved from her hometown Reading to Putney, Ruby’s elderly neighbour Margaret had been a rock to her, with and without George.
Over steaming tea served from Margaret’s old metal teapot, Ruby relayed the tale of shopping with Tony and the stealing of her purse. Luckily she had managed to cancel her cards before anyone had used them. However, this was all immaterial. It was the loss of her wedding ring that made her ache inside.
‘There was this man as well, Margaret. He was just so kind - in fact, too kind. He looked after me, after those scumbags robbed me.’
‘You should relish good nature, Ruby, my girl. Not everyone out there is a shark, you know. Tell me about him.’
‘Nothing much to tell, really,’ Ruby said nonchalantly. ‘He had big, strong hands though - strong hands like my George.’ She looked up to stop the tears from coming. ‘He calmed me down, talked sense about not chasing after the thieves and got me tea. That was it.’
‘Well, he sounds lovely to me.’
‘He wanted me to text him when I got home.’
‘Well, have you?’
‘No. I feel weird. Like… like, I’m being unfaithful to George.’
‘That can only be a good thing, Ruby.’
‘Why say that?’ Ruby looked bemused.
‘Because Mr Strong Hands has obviously had more of an effect on you than you think.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Margaret, I don’t want another man.’
‘Your heart always finds room for love, duck. Your Gorgeous George will always be in there, but you mark my words, there will be space for someone else one day.’
‘It’s too soon,’ Ruby said defiantly.
Wise old Margaret got up slowly from her chair, went over and kissed her young neighbour on the forehead.
‘That ol’ devil called love doesn’t have a calendar. Right, I need to fill my hot water bottle.’
***
Ruby walked up the steps to her flat and threw her keys on the coffee table. As she did so, the business card she had been given fell to the floor face down. She left it there, almost scared to pick it up.
She took her coat off and cast it on an armchair. Her covered sewing machine sat there like an ornament. In fact, she hadn’t touched it since the day George had died. She fell back on her comfy beige sofa and rubbed her eyes. It had been quite a day. The business card was burning a hole in the floor; she reached to pick it up.
Michael Bell – Author
Surely an author wouldn’t be an axe murderer? In fact, how romantic.
Ruby had always loved the idea of being able to write; she most certainly had the imagination, but definitely not the patience. She then began wondering exactly what Michael wrote. Dark fantasy or thriller? Or maybe murder mysteries like Agatha Christie. In the morning she would Google him. She was too tired now.
The words of her father suddenly entered her head. Treat others as you would have them treat you.
‘OK, Michael Bell the author,’ she said aloud. ‘I will text you.’
Home safe. Cards cancelled. Thank you for the tea! Ruby Stevens
Within seconds she got a reply.
Why did you hop home? It was lovely to meet you Ruby Stevens and hope I get the pleasure again
Ruby threw her phone onto the sofa as if it was a hot potato. Don’t put a question! I don’t want to answer you, she thought. At the same time feeling a little bit excited.
She turned off her handset, went to walk to her bedroom then stopped in her tracks. She marched over to her sewing machine, ripped the cover off of it and threw it to the floor.
‘And don’t you be smirking, Patrick,’ she addressed her stuffed moggy high up on the shelf in the corner. ‘It’s about time I started getting on with a few things.’
– Chapter Six –
Michael unlocked the door to his flat, hung his coat on the back of the door and put the kettle on. He shivered as he flicked the heating on. He was excited that Ruby had inspired him to get his longed-for first novel down on paper. He wouldn’t tell her yet. I mean, a six foot four, strapping man writing romance! She would laugh.
Poor Ruby. He had felt her pain, having been through the mill himself, but he just couldn’t imagine how she was coping. Incomprehensible - and what a terrible shock. With feelings of sadness running through him, he began to type.
My first novel – by Michael Bell - TITLE - TBD
PROLOGUE:
Was there such a thing as love at first sight? He had never believed it before. But, just being sat in front of such a sweet vulnerable girl had unlocked feelings he never thought he would feel again. He had wanted to sweep her up in his arms there and then and tell her it would all be all right. Plant a kiss on that cute nose of hers and wipe her tears and pain away. It would be tricky for her to let anyone into that broken heart of hers, but he was going to try. And he knew exactly what he had to do first.
– Chapter Seven –
Ruby stopped herself in her tracks when she realised she was singing along to the radio. She couldn’t remember the last time she had sung and almost felt guilty for doing it. This would be her second Christmas without George, the first just passing in a complete and utter blur of tears and anger. Her mum and brother Sam had just held her at different intervals during the day and let her sob.
She changed the thread on her sewing machine and concentrated on the intricate neckline of the dress she was working on. It made her happy to know that her friend Daphne, the owner of Piaf’s Café, would love it - more for the fact she was moving on with her life again than anything else.
After working for another hour, she turned the heating up and started to write a list of all the ex-clients she would re-contact.
Her holiday let money from
Daffodils
allowed her to pay all her bills but it would be good to have some real money coming in again. She hoped her clients would understand why she had been off the radar for so long.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her
Jingle Bells
ringtone. She didn’t recognise the number. Maybe a client had got wind she was back working.
‘Ruby Stevens speaking.’
‘Ruby, hi. It’s Michael. Michael Bell.’
Ruby took a deep breath. As she hadn’t replied to his text she didn’t think she would hear from him again, but had to admit she was actually pleasantly surprised.
‘How are you? Recovered from the shock of the other week, I hope.’
‘Erm, yes, thanks Michael. It’s just another thing to add to life’s rich experiences, I guess.’
‘Well, I… I was wondering if maybe we could meet for another cup of tea? Just have a chat, you know, in better circumstances than last time.’
And without even a second thought Ruby did something she never thought she would do again.
‘Yes, I’d really like that. How about we go to Piaf’s in Covent Garden - it’s on Neal Street. I’m free tomorrow afternoon if you’re around. I’m guessing you writers can pick and choose your working hours?’
‘I’d like you to know we work very hard, us creative types, actually.’
‘So that’s a date then - well, not a date but…’
Michael laughed. ‘I’ll see you there at three - and, Ruby?’
‘Yes?’
‘Keep hold of your bloody handbag this time.’
Ruby held her phone to her chest. She looked across to her wedding photo. George’s cheeky face smiled back at her and tears began to roll down her cheeks. She went over and picked up the silver frame.
‘It’s not that I don’t love you, darling. I have got to try and start to move on, and he seems kind. In fact, I think you’d like him.’
Walking to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine she began to doubt if she was doing the right thing. Was fifteen months too early to start seeing someone else? What would people say about her? She took a big gulp of her Sauvignon. It was only a cup of tea, nothing more, nothing less. No, she would go. Michael seemed like a lovely man. The bereavement counsellor had said she would probably feel like this, but she was to do what felt right and just take little steps.
The Grief Monster had been rearing his head for too long now. She would go along and just have a nice time in another man’s company.
After all, it gave her an excuse to see the Christmas lights, plus give Daphne her Christmas present.