The Mersey Daughter (Empire Street #3)(90)
‘There. You did it.’ Rita had been endlessly encouraging in the few days since Ruby had come home. It was going to be a long process, but she couldn’t let the young woman down, or she would retreat into her shell once more. Rita was determined that would not happen. Ruby had spent so many years cowering and afraid, being told she was good for nothing. She couldn’t let this horrible incident set her back.
‘Now, look what the postman brought,’ Rita said. ‘A letter from the farm – how’s that for a welcome home present? I haven’t even opened it; I knew you’d want to see it too.’
Ruby’s face broke into a smile. ‘Yes please.’
Hastily Rita opened the envelope, carefully saving it to use later – she never threw anything away any more if she could help it. Her heart soared at the thought of news from her precious children, whom she still missed painfully every day. But thank God they hadn’t been here during the latest raid. As ever, she told herself they were in the best place and in the safest hands. She unfolded the sheets of paper and was delighted to see one was from Michael and the other from Megan. Rita could guess that Joan or Seth must be helping her, as she was only seven, but her handwriting was improving each time. Rita’s sense of pride in her children welled up. If she wasn’t careful she could easily shed a tear, but she knew she must keep herself under control or it would upset Ruby. ‘Let’s see what they have to say.’ She scanned the first page. ‘Michael’s been chosen for the football team at school. Fancy that. He always loved kicking a ball around in the street but I couldn’t tell if he was any good or not. Maybe Seth has been teaching him.’
Her heart constricted at the thought that Charlie had never bothered to do anything like that. He’d avoided the children whenever he could and Winnie had simply complained that they were too noisy. What sort of upbringing was that? She fervently hoped that Seth was showing Michael how to be a good man, a good husband, in a way that Charlie never could have done. Of course, if it had been Jack at the head of the household, everything would have been different. What a fine example he would have set, and he’d have been out there playing football at every opportunity. But fate had decided differently – and in any case he would still be away serving his country, of that she had no doubt. How she had longed to see him this week, counting the days until his leave, but she would have to wait.
‘Michael’s been helping with Bessie the goat, who was sick but is better now. Joan has made rosehip syrup and tells them to have some every day – that’s good for their vitamins, Ruby – and he’s got new shoes because the others were too small.’ She stopped again, saddened that she was not there to see how her son was growing. He was a proper boy now, not the little child she sometimes automatically thought of. ‘Here, you can read it for yourself while I look at Megan’s.’ She passed Michael’s letter across to Ruby.
Megan’s letter was much shorter and the writing was larger, with the letters still separate and not joined up. But they were clearly formed and even-sized, which made Rita very proud. To think Megan had once been thought of as slow. She wasn’t at all.
‘I helped with the eggs,’ she read. ‘Now there are not many … oh, no, that’s strange.’ She didn’t want to alarm Ruby, but Megan had described the return of the shadow man. Again she didn’t seem afraid but mentioned it as if he was a fact of life, like the hens stopping laying for the winter. The fences had been broken and the hay bales thrown around so they wouldn’t be any good to use. The milk pail had gone missing. Was it the little girl’s overactive imagination, or was there some peril lurking in the apparently safe lanes and fields of the farm? Rita shuddered at the very idea. No, surely not. Seth and Joan would guard her precious children. They had none of their own and had taken to her two and Tommy as if they were family. To all intents and purposes, that’s exactly what they were. They would not let them come to harm. The fences must have been broken in the wind, and maybe a cow had knocked over the hay bales. Anyone could mislay a pail. It didn’t mean that there was some malevolent force around. Children’s imaginations were bound to run riot as the nights drew in and the shadows grew darker, yet that unease she’d felt before when Megan had written to her about the dead bird still persisted … She might write to the couple just to check, and she wouldn’t let Ruby read this in case it worried her.
‘I expect you’re hungry,’ she said now. ‘Why don’t I make us something to eat – we could have some Spam sandwiches with a bit of Branston pickle.’
Ruby looked up from Michael’s letter. ‘Yes please.’ She paused. ‘How is Megan? Is she all right?’ Her eyes were keen.
Rita cursed herself for forgetting how much Ruby loved her daughter – clearly she had picked up that there was something wrong. ‘She says the hens aren’t laying as much,’ she replied brightly, refusing to let any fear enter her voice. ‘She doesn’t say much else, not nearly as much as Michael. Here, pass me that plate.’
She noticed with relief that her diversionary tactic had worked and Ruby let the subject lie. But Rita couldn’t quell a growing sense of unease, as if someone, somewhere, was a potential threat to her children.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
On Wednesday morning Rita was singing to herself. The day had dawned cold but fine, with a breeze coming in off the Mersey, and she decided to make the most of her morning off by getting stuck into the pile of washing that needed to be done. Now she had lifted the heavy laundry basket full of dripping clothes into the back yard. All she needed to do was put up the washing line and then she could peg them all out. The yard was too small to keep the line up all the time – she’d risk running into it when she put the boxes out. So she took the looped end and strung it diagonally across the cramped space, stood on a few broken bricks to reach the sturdy nail in the wall, and hung it taut.