The Locksmith

toll on her beloved brother. She was also discovering that she was a completely different character; strong-willed, able to face reality, someone who was more comfortable in the driving seat than being a mere passenger of life. She knew that she would have to be the one who found a way to get through these days, even though the grief and shock were raw with her still.
‘No, Bobby. It’s time. We ’ave to talk about it. Mum’ll probably ’ave to go into a hospice if the pain gets any worse. We ’ave to think about what we’re goin’ to do when she’s . . . she’s gone . . .’
Ruby put her hand upon her brother’s, making him stop his cleaning. He raised his eyes to hers. They were pools of anguish.
‘Oh, darlin’,’ she said, tears rushing to her eyes now. ‘I’ll make us some tea, that’ll ’elp, I promise.’ She got up quickly and turned her back to make a cup of tea, placing the kettle on the hob and waiting for the first fizz of the water as it started to heat. She didn’t want Bobby to see the agony on her face too. He was suffering enough. She had to be brave for the both of them.
The humiliation of her dad’s pauper’s funeral was still with her and she hated to think her mum might have the nine o’clock trot as well.
Somewhere in Ruby’s heart were the dreams she’d barely acknowledged herself. For a brief moment, she’d really thought that if she worked hard she could change her life, leave the East End and find a new way, surrounded by exciting, sophisticated people. But her visions for the future lay in tatters. Now, she had a dying mother and a new baby to bring up. She’d been thrown into motherhood without even the thrill of meeting someone and falling in love. She was chained to her kitchen sink in Canning Town as surely as if she’d married one of the local wide boys and given up her dreams of a better life that way. Ruby could hardly bear to think about what she’d lost. It hadn’t been her choice, and beneath it all she felt sore, like there was a fresh bruise on her heart. But if Bobby couldn’t face the hard choices, she would.
She waited until the water boiled, making the kettle tremble, and she slowly poured out a drink for them both. She dipped the tea bags into the cups, added the milk, and sugar for Bobby, all the time her mind shooting this way and that. There had to be a way to make this right; to pay for Mum’s funeral and to keep them all safe. Please God there had to be a way. Just then there was a knock at the front door.
‘Expectin’ someone?’ Ruby glanced back at her brother who shook his head in response. ‘See who it is, won’t ya?’
Bobby got up from the table, his movements slow like an old man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Ruby heard muffled voices, then the door to the kitchen opened and in walked Freddie Harris.
‘Evenin’, Ruby Green Eyes,’ he said, all cocky and fidgety as usual.
Ruby sighed. ‘Stop callin’ me that, Freddie. What d’you want this time?’ She felt like disappearing to her room, but something, some instinct, stopped her.
Freddie ignored her question, turning back to Bobby who had reappeared behind him. ‘Sorry to hear your news. Terrible tragedy, terrible,’ he said, almost convincingly.
‘Which news, Freddie? The death of our dad, or our mum bein’ terminally ill?’ Ruby replied waspishly. Even her mouth tasted sour as she spoke to him, such was her revulsion for the visitor. It wasn’t so much that Freddie was harmful; she wasn’t scared of him, or any of the local lads, at all. It was more what he stood for. He thought he was the bee’s knees because he nicked stuff, or acted as a getaway driver for some of the local blaggers. He really thought he was someone, and he irritated Ruby beyond belief. Freddie always had money to throw about in the pubs, yet when it came to paying anyone back he was suddenly skint. There was nothing to like about him, but more pressingly, what was he doing in their kitchen at 8 p.m. on a Tuesday?
‘We don’t ’ave no money. I’m sure you ’eard Dad had a pauper’s funeral,’ Ruby added bleakly.
Freddie had the decency to look embarrassed. ‘I did ’ear somethin’ like that . . . I’m sorry for your troubles,’ he said, finding his trainers fascinating as he looked down and shifted on the spot.
‘We don’t even know how we’re goin’ to pay for an undertaker when Mum passes.’ Ruby felt a sob rise in her throat, but she was damn sure she wouldn’t let Freddie see her moment of weakness. Never Freddie.
‘Well, that’s where I might be able to ’elp ya.’
Ruby turned away from him, hating the sight of him more with every second he stood in their clean but sparse kitchen. She would’ve stayed like that, staring at the wall, but his words settled somewhere inside her whirring brain. She’d asked God how they could pay for what they needed right now. She just couldn’t believe He’d sent Freddie Harris. She almost shrugged, but instead, she turned back to him, her eyes wide to give Freddie the full force of their dazzling emerald beauty.
‘What d’ya mean, Freddie? Why are ya ’ere if ya don’t want money?’ Her voice was oozing liquid honey now, and she saw the effect on Freddie straightaway, while her brother looked at her like she was having a seizure. Freddie gulped. He couldn’t turn his gaze away from her. He seemed to have temporarily lost his tongue, so she took advantage of his indisposition and continued, ‘We appreciate your condolences but is there somethin’ else you wanted?’
Freddie cleared his throat. Meanwhile Bobby was looking back and forth between his strange new sister and the mate he’d known