The Locksmith

know a dozen girls who’d kill for your job.’ He leaned forward to make his point.
Ruby was stung by his coldness. ‘But my brother, who’ll look after him? And my mum’ll need care too—’
‘Sorry dear, it isn’t my problem. Either work the hours you’re given – or go.’
Ruby got up from her chair and thanked him, though she felt nothing but sheer disbelief. She was deflated, and shocked that her employer, who’d seemed to like her so much, had left her – and by extension, her family – in the lurch.
Standing back outside the door, she tried to compose herself. What would they do? She couldn’t work her usual hours and care for George, and they couldn’t do without her wage. There was a tightness to her chest and she felt herself struggling to breathe. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but as her breathing came under control, she realised she’d left the door ajar and she could hear the boss speaking on the telephone.
‘Listen! I’ve told you I’m not prepared to pay that amount of tax. I don’t care what you have to do, I won’t pay it. All right then, fiddle the books, it’s no skin off my nose, but get that bill down. Just change the invoice – say the consignment was teddy bears not Chanel, that’ll slice off a fair whack. I’m telling you to just do your job.’ And with that, the phone was slammed down. Ruby crept away. She could hardly believe what she’d heard. The Murphys might be a straight family, but Ruby knew enough crooked folk to know exactly what was going on. The respectable, honest trade she was so proud of was nothing but a sham.
Ruby’s mind was whirring. She thought about the wife she’d envied, the daughter she’d hoped to emulate. She’d worked hard, done everything right. Just like her father had, just like Cathy had. And what did she have to show for it? They’d let her go without a care of what it meant for her or her family. They pretended to be straight, they dressed up in their fancy clothes, went to fancy restaurants and pretended to run a legitimate business. But they were all a bunch of crooks. The only difference between them and the folk Ruby grew up with was that in the East End people were honest about who they were.
Ruby gathered her knock-off Gucci, wrapped her coat tightly around her shoulders and headed home. She didn’t know what they were going to do, but she and Bobby would figure it out together.
She told Bobby what she’d overheard. But in reality, what she knew didn’t really change anything. She didn’t have any evidence, and what did she have to gain by saying anything? No one would believe a poor East End girl over a successful businessman. And in the end, she’d still be unemployed, struggling to put food on the table.
The house was quiet and the only sound was the low murmur of the radio in the corner. The doctor had been to administer Mum’s medication and give her something to help her sleep, as the pain seemed to be getting stronger every day. Ruby had looked in on her before coming downstairs, opening the door gently, seeing her mother so frail and thin in her bed. It was a relief to see her face relaxed in sleep, but she still got a shock every time she realised Cathy was sleeping in her bed alone now. Too much had changed too quickly.
Little George had gone down for the night. He was such a good baby. He rarely woke up overnight, though he was only a month old, and he took his bottle like a little hungry animal, gulping it down, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Ruby was now his mummy substitute.
‘Bobby?’ Ruby said softly.
‘I don’t want to talk about none of it. I don’t know what to do, Rube. I don’t know how we’re goin’ to put money in the electric meter this week, let alone with you not workin’.’ Bobby didn’t look up. He peered down at one of the master keys he was polishing. Ruby decided to go on. She knew he didn’t want to talk about it, but they needed to confront reality. There was little cash in the family pot and the gas bill was due, let alone the continual supply of nappies and formula milk she now needed for the baby, and the fact that their mother had terminal cancer. They needed to keep talking because their problems weren’t going away by themselves.
‘I don’t mind lookin’ after little George. I understand that’s what I must do for our family, but I just don’t know how we’ll feed our brother, it’s as bad as that. Mum only has weeks or even days left. And there’s the next problem. It’s awful to speak about it, but we’re goin’ to ’ave to work out how the hell we’ll pay for the burial. Please speak to me, Bobby . . .’ she pleaded. Ruby had to make her older brother understand that some things, however terrible, had to be faced sooner rather than later.
‘I don’t want to think of Mum dyin’. Can’t we change the subject? I’ve ’ad a long day.’
Ruby swept her gaze over him, noting the sadness on his face. His features, once full, seemed drawn now. He had visibly lost weight, and worse, he’d lost the spring that had been in his step since childhood. Bobby was the kind of man who got on with life. He wasn’t a complicated person. He loved his home comforts, his Friday night beers with his pals and a full roast dinner on Sundays. He’d always been the cheerful one of the two of them, the simple soul with a deep love for his family and little ambition in life. Ruby saw in that moment just how much the death of their dad, and now this new emotional blow, had taken its