The Girl Without a Name by Suzanne Goldring

Author:Suzanne Goldring [Suzanne Goldring]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Thirty-Three

10 March 1946

* * *

Stay Safe

* * *

Once Stevie had left for Palestine, Ruby thought about him all the time. On her morning walk to the station, sitting on the train, scurrying along the road to her job in Bodgers, she thought about the journey he was making. Would he be seasick on the voyage? She felt queasy just going on the swing boats at the fair. And what about the food? He might catch some horrible disease and be disfigured. But she’d still love him even if he was pockmarked or injured. He was her Stevie and she worried all the time about how he’d cope. And nothing, not the silly gossip of the girls in the shop, a stroke with a neighbour’s tabby cat or even treating herself to a bag of violet creams from the sweetshop, could untangle the knot of anxiety that twisted in her stomach all the time and reminded her that he was far away from her, as she waited anxiously for a letter to say he’d arrived safely.

Don’t be silly, he’s grown up, she’d tell herself. Of course he’ll cope. This’ll really make a man of him. But then she’d remember all the times he shook, the times his trembling hands suddenly had an urgent need to find a cigarette. He’d fumble for matches or the Zippo she’d given him last Christmas. She’d been so pleased to find that for him in the market. It wasn’t new and it was engraved with someone else’s initials, but he was thrilled. Said it made the ciggies taste even better. She thought it made him look like a film star when he pulled out the shining lighter, then flicked the lid and spun the flint wheel in one fluid motion. A bit like a cowboy in a Western going for a quick draw in a shootout.

But the smoking didn’t always calm him. Often the shakes only went when she’d sat with him for a while, stroking his hand, just sitting there quietly while he talked on and on about the terrible things he’d seen. She didn’t dare close her eyes while he talked, but stared down at the floor all the while. If she shut her eyes, she’d see it too. See the man thrown against the wall of his home, splattered like squashed strawberry jam. Or the lady crushed beneath her bathtub, or the children buried in the cellar, one of them still holding a charred teddy bear. ‘Such dreadful sights, Ruby,’ he’d say, taking great gulps of smoke and shaking his head. ‘I can’t ever forget. It won’t go away.’

When she thought about where he could be sent to do his National Service, she was glad he wasn’t being posted to Germany, even though it was nearer. How dreadful would that be for someone like him? All those bombed towns and cities. Worse than London. Worse probably than anywhere in England. And with all those starving refugees as well, with their own horror stories, that wouldn’t be a good place for him.

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