A Respectable Veneer

1

Ruby woke when the rattle of the train changed pitch. Perhaps they’d crossed a bridge. Soon, the clacking rhythm steadied. She closed her eyes again. It was too late; sleep had been dropped somewhere back up the line. Her hip was cramped. The arm she had around her sleeping daughter was numb. Flexing her legs, she was sharply reminded of the blister on her heel. Stupid of her to wear good shoes for the dash to the station. There had been just enough time to step out of her evening gown, have a quick wash and get into day clothes; no time for decisions.

The journey from Auckland seemed interminable. As Edie stirred and opened her eyes, Ruby straightened. Standing up to stretch was out of the question without drawing attention to herself. She leaned back.

From the carriage window the two of them watched the scenery change. Bushland and steep hillsides of blackened stumps were left behind. The train chuffed past slopes bristling with young pine. Paddocks of farm animals and haysheds were scenes straight out of a children’s book; a woman wearing an army greatcoat over her apron trudged behind a line of cows; a boy carried a bucket to a gate; drifts of smoke from a chimney veiled a line of dark trees in the background. Edie waved at an old man who lifted his arm as the train passed his paint-bare house.

Then there were timber mills, work sheds, the odd homestead with an orchard. More swards of green.

‘A palomino!’ cried Edie. ‘Mum, did you see?’

Ruby pressed her shoulders against the back of the seat. Edie had been pointing out horses ever since farmland came into view. It was just as well she’d slept some of the way. Now, Ruby wanted to settle back into the cradling rhythm and the blank calm that soothed her.

‘A mansion!’ Edie’s squeal rent Ruby’s hope of peace. ‘A real mansion! Oh, Mum — you missed it.’

She hadn’t missed the grand old place. It was glimpsed over trees, with verandahs garlanded with some sort of climber, the foliage thinning in the grip of autumn. Half a picture, half-seen, half-imagined. Gone in a flash.

‘You should’ve looked,’ said Edie. ‘It was enormous. It prob’ly had seventy rooms at least!’

‘Shush!’ Ruby glanced at the bemused faces of fellow passengers and yanked Edie’s herringbone coat. ‘Sit down and be quiet!’

Before long, Edie was standing at the window again. She returned the salute of a gaggle of children standing by the tracks. The train rumbled past a cluster of modest houses, timber-framed stock yards and tin sheds. More paddocks; more animals. Ruby closed her eyes.

‘Glaxo?’ said Edie. ‘What’s Glaxo? That building…’

‘That’s where baby milk comes from, I suppose.’ Ruby twisted her neck to see, but it was behind them already.

Edie frowned and leaned back on her seat, pensive for a moment. Then she was back at the window.

A few old houses nestled next to sheds near the railway line. There were gravel driveways; big storage tanks: Atlantic, Caltex. They had reached the town outskirts. Swarms of men on bicycles left work yards, and cars of various vintages streamed onto the road. Men with homes to go to. Most likely they’d go to the pub first, to get a jug of beer in before six o’ clock closing time.

‘Look at that!’ Edie said. ‘Two steamrollers and trucks full of dirt. What are they doing?’

Ruby clenched her teeth.

The train rattled on.

‘Ooh, they’re wrecking that place there–’ Edie had her finger on the glass. ‘What were they doing that for?’

‘For goodness’ sake! Be quiet and get your fingers off the window,’ said Ruby. ‘You’ll get yourself all dirty!’

‘Mum! Shops!’ Edie squealed. ‘Look!’

Ruby grabbed her daughter before she crossed the carriage to get another view through the opposite window. In truth, Ruby was just as interested to see the place, but she couldn’t allow Edie to show her up like that, behaving like an unruly rapscallion.

‘Sit down and behave!’ She pulled Edie’s coat again.

Edie plopped herself back on the seat with a sour frown.

Wide, flat roads on each side of the train line were banked with business premises of every kind. Edwardian buildings sat alongside more modern ones; old wooden shops and others with ornate plaster frontages pressed shoulder to shoulder under verandahs, and hotels as substantial as any to be found in Auckland.

The train slowed and chuffed through the town square with its rotunda, fountain and flower gardens. So it was true: the railway line really did run through the centre of the town. Carriage windows were shut against clouds of soot as the train slowed with a screech and rattle.

Passengers began to shift in their seats as the train neared the station. Men straightened their ties and donned their hats. Young women took out their compacts to see whether their makeup needed repairing, and primped their hair. As the train groaned to a stop, people pulled bags and suitcases down from overhead luggage racks.

‘Are we here?’ asked Edie.

‘This is it,’ said Ruby. ‘Palmerston North.’

‘I’m glad.’ Edie cupped her hand to whisper. ‘I need to wee.’

Ruby groaned. ‘Why didn’t you go when I took you back on the train, before?’ As much as she loved her daughter, there were times… ‘Come on, then!’

She refused to allow herself to limp as she pushed through people on the busy platform to get Edie into the ladies’ restroom. As soon as a door swung open, Ruby bundled herself and Edie into the cubicle.

When they had finished, Ruby thrust Edie ahead of her and elbowed her way through the women and girls clustered in front of the mirrors. At the sinks, she dampened her hanky to give Edie’s face a fierce polish.

‘That’s better,’ Ruby lifted Edie’s chin with her thumb and turned the flawless face this way and that looking for a smut she might have missed. ‘Come along, chicken.’

The station platform was clouded with smut and steam. Someone bumped into Ruby’s shoulder, and instinctively, she snatched Edie’s wrist.

‘Don’t pull, Mum!’ Edie rubbed her eye with a knuckle.

‘Hurry up,’ Ruby said, ‘I want to get past this lot. Keep close!’

She hauled Edie through the jostling scrum that spilled out of the station to the roadside. People were already strung along the kerb, waiting for traffic to pass. A fellow struggling with a large suitcase was narrowly missed by a car as he made his way across.

The afternoon had chilled. The sooner they got to the hotel the better. Peering across the road between the parked and passing vehicles, she spotted the side street she needed.

A youth with a guitar strapped to his back lugged a duffle bag, dodged cars and bicycles to reach a woman who was watching him with her hand over her mouth. A short tide of people followed in his wake, some of them making for one of the hotels on the other side of the road. Young men made a show of sauntering into the traffic that did not stop; others escorted girlfriends, crossing zigzag fashion to avoid getting hit. Older men left gossiping wives to fend for themselves, eager for a quick beer before the pubs closed. Horns tooted. Louts shouted.

Ruby hunched her shoulders inside her coat and tightened her grip on Edie’s hand, ready to make a dash. Edie laughed as a gust of wind lifted someone’s hat, spinning it into the path of an old spoke-wheeled Ford and a klaxon horn sounded; a sleek sedan swerved; a woman on a bicycle wobbled dangerously close to a truck carrying a large pig in a wooden crate.

‘Quick!’ Ruby pulled Edie as they crossed. A slice of air whipped at her coat as a car passed behind them.

‘Did you see that truck with the pig on the back?’ said Edie when they reached the other side.

‘Yes, I did.’

‘The Railway Hotel,’ said Edie. ‘Is that where we’re going?’

‘No. Come on.’

Miles back, just before the last time she’d dozed off, Ruby had asked a fellow passenger if there were any affordable private hotels near the railway station. The woman couldn’t recall the name of the place, and the directions were vague. ‘There are any number of places – but if you want cheap, look for the next street along, past The Masonic and past The Railway Hotel. Down David Street, it is. You’ll see it.’

Now, in the ebbing light, Edie dragged her feet as they passed the warm noise of the corner hotel and down the side street. A white cat shot out from a hedge, making Ruby jump.

‘A white cat could be good luck,’ said Edie.

‘I bloody well hope so!’ As far as Ruby was concerned, luck had always been a pretty slim straw to clutch at. ‘But never bank on luck,’ she added grimly.

The smell of food cooking wafted across the street.

‘I’m bloody starving,’ Edie groaned.

Ruby swatted at her daughter’s shoulder. ‘Stop swearing! I keep telling you – I won’t have you talking like a guttersnipe!’

‘I’m cold and I’m starving,’ Edie whined. ‘It’s been hours and hours since I had that pie.’

‘Oh, do stop grizzling!’ said Ruby, pausing to ease the pain in her foot. ‘You’re not a baby. You know, if you carry on behaving like one at ten years of age, people will say you’re a half-wit! Now, come along, we’re nearly there.’

‘Where?’ said Edie.

Answering was more trouble than it was worth.

‘D’you know you’ve got a ladder?’ Edie said. ‘And there’s blood.’

Ruby stopped and twisted around to peer at her ruined stocking and the state of her heel. ‘Damn. I must look a sight. I suppose my hair’s a mess, too.’ Strands of untamed, tawny hair tickled her face, and she tried to smooth them behind her ear.

‘Look, you could wear this.’ Edie opened her fist, and a furl of green- and rose-coloured material unfolded itself.

‘Where’d you get that?’

‘Out of my pocket. I didn’t pinch it, honestly. I found it on the ground when you went to get the pie. It was just lying there. Someone nearly trod on it.’

‘That was back in Taumarunui.’ Ruby held the scarf up by two corners. ‘It’s silk.’

The wind snatched at it. The square of colour seemed to want to lift and escape from her fingers.

‘I looked around, but there wasn’t anybody looking for it,’ said Edie.

‘You should’ve handed it in.’

‘You said I had to stay by the ticket office and not go anywhere, and not talk to anybody.’ Edie shrugged. ‘And the man was busy. Anyhow, it’s finders keepers.’

Ruby clicked her tongue. Starting a new life meant teaching her daughter the finer points of right and wrong – lessons she’d hardly needed in the warren of Freemans Bay’s back streets. Right now, there were more important priorities. And the scarf was lovely.

‘Go on, put it over your hair,’ said Edie. ‘You’ll look like a film star in a magazine.’

Ruby knotted the scarf under her chin and kissed the top of her daughter’s head. ‘Don’t talk rubbish.’

‘There! Just like in a magazine!’ Edie slipped her fingers into her mother’s gloved hand.

Ruby’s reply was the return of a gentle reassuring squeeze with her thumb on the narrow hand. ‘Come on, chicken,’ she said.

2

The words ‘Arcadia House’ were above the door. Ruby looked down the short street, deciding against taking another step.

‘This has to be it,’ she said.

A recent, plaster-clad frontage had been added to an extension on an older wooden building, in a failed attempt to make it look modern. The place looked more seedy than welcoming. Still, it looked cheap all right.

The wind blew the smell of the train down the street after them and when she pulled the door back she had the sense they were being blown into the place. Inside, the air was dense with the smell of boiled mutton, hot dripping and overcooked cabbage, with a background note of fresh paint and cigarette smoke. Still, at least it was warm.

A man was leaning his elbow on the counter of an empty office, two suitcases at his feet. He tipped his hat when he saw them. Ruby averted her eyes.

‘Someone will be along soon,’ he said. ‘I rang the bell.’

Edie peered down the carpeted passage. A yellow-haired woman with a crooked-toothed smile appeared from one of the rooms and went behind the counter.

‘Welcome back, Mr Woods,’ she cooed, as she flapped open a faded registry book and marked a page. ‘Lovely to see you.’

‘The fuss you make, Mrs Thomson!’ Mr Woods said. ‘I’ve only been up-country for a couple of days.’

‘You know I have to keep track of comings and goings, Mr Woods,’ she said.

Mr Woods removed his hat, deferring to Ruby and Edie. ‘Now, now, Mrs Thomson, attend to these ladies first.’

The woman raised pencilled eyebrows. ‘Well? In town for a little time away, are we?’

Ruby knew this Mrs Thomson was looking for the cases they didn’t have. She knew when she was being looked down upon. Probably judged to be escaping from a dreadful marriage. If only she knew!

‘Something like that,’ Ruby decided to say, pulling off her right glove ready to sign the book. A repertoire of lies sat on her tongue, ready for questions.

Mrs Thomson’s eyes followed Edie who was wandering off down the corridor, nosing in doorways. ‘Your child, is she?’ Mrs Thomson spread her lump-knuckled hand on the page.

‘Yes.’

The smile dropped. ‘I’m sorry, dearie. We don’t have children here. Anyway, if your husband comes after you, we won’t brook any trouble.’

‘He won’t. I mean, he…’ Ruby put her hand to her chest and lowered her head. In the state she was in it was easy to adopt a tone of sadness, giving clout to the unspoken untruth that now stretched between them.

Mrs Thomson pursed her mouth. The red lipstick had bled into the lines around her mouth. ‘I suppose the child goes to school?’

‘Her school’s closed,’ said Ruby. ‘Polio.’

The older woman’s eyes widened. Mr Woods leaned backwards to look down the passage where Edie had disappeared.

‘It’s going around Auckland again,’ Ruby stopped there. A lie is best kept simple.

Mrs Thomson gave Edie a sidelong look. ‘Auckland, eh?’

‘May holidays start next week anyway, so I thought–’ said Ruby, wanting to close off any further need for discussion.

‘Well!’ Mrs Thomson clicked her tongue, sniffed and shook her head. ‘Families used to come in from out of town and stop here. But that was back when it was a private hotel. All that stopped in 1941. Just permanents now. There’s a place up round the corner – might suit you better.’

Ruby couldn’t let herself be scuttled so soon. She stood her ground. Edie reappeared and slipped her arm around her mother’s waist, leaning into the big coat.

‘Excuse me for butting in…’ Mr Woods stepped over his suitcases, throwing one end of his scarf over his shoulder. ‘Mrs Thomson, I know you’re a lady with a heart. What about making an exception this time? It’s getting late, and the kiddie looks hungry. Why not let them have Betty’s room while she’s down in Foxton?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t like to do that!’ Mrs Thomson cast Ruby a sour look.

‘Betty will be down with her grandchildren for a while yet,’ said Mr Woods. ‘Eh, what about it, Mrs Thomson?’

Did he flutter his eyelashes?

‘Or you can give them my room,’ he added. ‘It wouldn’t hurt for me to go to The Masonic or The Commercial for a change.’

‘No, no, no, Mr Woods. Let’s see…’

Mr Woods smacked his thigh with his hat, then pushed it back into shape. ‘You’re a trouper, Mrs Thomson!’

He was smooth, this Mr Woods. Not much older than herself, handsome, with sandy hair Brylcreemed slick, neatly parted on one side. He caught Ruby’s stare and smiled. Her face heated.

‘It’s irregular.’ Mrs Thomson glared, faltering. ‘One night, is it?’

Ruby was emptied out. At that moment anything would do. The series of brief naps on the train hardly counted as rest. Now, she felt ill. She clutched the counter to steady herself.

Mrs Thomson frowned and glanced over at Mr Woods, who smiled encouragingly. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘but only till Friday. Betty’ll be back, then you’ll have to find somewhere else.’ She pushed the book towards Ruby and tapped the page.

Ruby wrote Mrs R. Barton & Daughter, showing off an almost perfect copperplate hand.

‘Well, Mrs Barton,’ Mrs Thomson said. ‘The room’s twelve shillings and sixpence a night. I assume you’ll be wanting meals as well?’

Ruby nodded and opened her purse.

‘That’ll be an extra five shillings, since there’s two of you,’ said Mrs Thomson. ‘It’s two meals: breakfast, and dinner in the evening. Everyone sorts out their own lunch.’

Ruby drew a breath between her teeth. More than three pounds gone. Still, it was what things cost, but it made her queasy to part with any of what little she had. She watched Mrs Thomson eye each note and coin as she placed them on the counter.

‘And sixpence,’ prompted Mrs Thomson, while Ruby was still fishing in her coin purse for two thruppences.

‘The room’s a single, mind. You won’t mind bunking in with your little girl, will you?’

Ruby would bet another half-crown Betty-in-Foxton had already paid for the room. She was too tired and footsore to argue. ‘I’m sorry to have to ask,’ she said, ‘but are there any towels?’

One of Mrs Thomson’s pencilled eyebrows arched. ‘Towels? This isn’t The Grand, you know!’ She slapped a tagged key on the register. ‘Up the stairs, Mrs Barton. Number 9. Bathroom’s at the end of the corridor. There’s a roller towel in there for everybody, and one in the ladies’ W.C. next to that. Dinner’s in half an hour. If you’re not there, you’ll miss out.’

When Ruby turned, Mr Woods had gone.

*****

The door of Number 9 did not open easily. The tiny room smelled damp. At least it was tidy. There was little space for moving around, with a night stand on one side of the single bed, a worn-looking chair in a corner, and a wardrobe with drawers. The wallpaper was rippled and bulged, making the walls seem oddly insubstantial.

‘One bed!’ Edie cried. ‘Where am I going to sleep?’

‘Didn’t you hear what that lady said? We have to bunk in.’

Ruby looked at the sagging mattress. Why hadn’t someone restretched the bed-wires? Perhaps it had reached its limit.

‘We won’t fit!’ said Edie.

‘It’s not so bad. At least we’ll be snug.’ Ruby turned back the faded bedspread, inspecting each of the two blankets and the sheets. She lifted the thin mattress.

‘What are you doing that for?’ said Edie.

‘Making sure there are no bugs or fleas.’

‘Eew! I hate fleas. Remember that time poor Fay had to mop the floor with stinky kerosene? There aren’t any fleas here, are there?’

‘Let’s hope we didn’t bring one with us.’ Ruby winked at Edie and took a last look at the foot of the bed. ‘Don’t seem to be any.’

Although the pillowcase was likely to have been boiled clean, the repellent smell of rancid sweat had impregnated the pillow inside it.

Edie opened a drawer. ‘Look, somebody’s things are in here!’

‘Shut that and mind your own business!’

Ruby hung her coat behind the door and used the palm of her hand to brush grubby flecks off the coarse wool.

It wasn’t her coat. That shade of taupe didn’t suit her, and the collar itched. She’d grabbed it when they left. It was an ugly old thing, heavy but serviceable. The bulky volume of it hid the contours of her body and she felt safe inside it. On the train, it had kept them both warm enough. She regretted having to leave behind her smart blue coat, which fitted at the waist, flared from the hip and swung as she walked. It was almost new, but leaving it behind had been deliberate. Angel had pointed out that as long as her good coat was left there, they might not realise she was gone; it would buy her time to get away. Who’d be wearing it next?

‘Someone’s knocking on our door,’ said Edie.

The gentle rap was repeated. Ruby held her breath, alert. Listening.

Edie made a move towards the door.

‘Stay there!’ Ruby ordered, leaning against the door. ‘Who is it?’

‘Er – Mrs B-Barton? It’s Woods. Mr Woods. I-er…’

Ruby exhaled. The uncertain tone of his voice touched her. She turned the key and pulled the door open just enough to see that he’d politely stepped away from it. He held up a folded, neatly rolled towel.

‘Yes?’ She didn’t want to be polite.

‘I d-don’t mean to intrude – forgive me, but I…’ He stepped forward, holding the towel up. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I heard you ask…’

Getting mixed up with anyone was the last thing she needed. She kept her face tight, despite his earnest, slightly bashful expression, which made the corners of her mouth twitch. Anyone as harmless looking as that was bound to have something to hide.

‘I thought you may…’ He lifted the towel towards her.

‘No. We’ll manage, thank you.’ She moved the door a fraction as if to close it.

Edie wriggled in beside her. ‘Oh, it’s Mr Woods. Hello!’

‘Edie! Get back and mind your own business!’ Ruby hissed.

There was a smudge of dirt on Edie’s neck. It would be good to have a bath. Getting back into their clothes with wet bodies had no appeal.

‘Please take it,’ he urged.

‘Won’t you need it?’ she said, without opening the door further.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said. ‘I have another one. I always have two towels. I’d be happy to lend you that as well, but I-I might…’

His eyes were the colour of cornflowers.

Ruby opened the door just wide enough to take the towel from him. ‘I’m not inviting you in.’

‘Oh God, no– Oh dear. Sorry, I didn’t mean to…’

‘Thank you. I’ll return it as soon as I–’

‘There’s no hurry,’ he said.

‘Thank you, Mr Woods.’ Ruby closed the door before he said anything else. She listened to his footsteps receding and mentally counted to twenty. All she heard was the low burble of people talking on the ground floor. Someone creaked down the stairs. Opening the door, she peered into the corridor, not wanting to encounter anyone, especially Mr Woods.

‘Come on,’ Ruby said. ‘Let’s go to the toilet first, then we’ll see if the bathroom’s free for a quick wash before we go down to dinner.’

*****

In the tarnished bathroom mirror her reflection was blurred, as though part of her had been erased. A cracked sliver of carbolic soap sat on the handbasin. Using a corner of Mr Woods’ towel as a flannel, she scrubbed her face with hot water until her skin was red.

Edie entertained herself turning the cold tap on and off. On. Off.

‘Cut it out,’ Ruby said.

‘But it squeaks. The tap in our old bathroom didn’t squeak. That one just made a groany noise before the water came out, like it didn’t want to.’

‘Edie, listen to me!’ Ruby took her daughter’s face in her hands. ‘It’s important. I do not want you talking to men you don’t know.’

‘What are you saying that for? We don’t know anyone here, at all,’ said Edie. ‘What if I have to do your messages and there’s a man in the shop?’

Ruby scrubbed smut off Edie’s neck with a damp corner of the towel. ‘Don’t argue with me. You know what I mean. And use that soap on your hands for goodness’ sake!’

A tap-tap-tap on the frosted glass panel of the door interrupted them.

‘Someone else wants a wash before tea,’ Ruby said.

As they left the bathroom Ruby hurried Edie past an elderly man with a towel over his shoulder, who bid them an uninterested, ‘Ev’nin’’.

*****

For the past five years they had shared a dilapidated three-storeyed place with other women, who had dubbed the place ‘Rats’ Nest’ for good reason. The old weatherboard house, and the matching one next to it, was not likely to have seen better days in the rotting part of lower Freemans Bay. When the original owners sold up, they’d either cashed in their lot or moved to one of the more salubrious slopes of Auckland.

The one bathroom at Rats’ Nest was shared with six other women and occasional nameless girls who came and went.

At first little Edie had found it hard to get used to being washed in the kitchen, where hands and faces (sometimes underwear) were washed in the same sink as dishes and saucepans. She got used to ignoring women washing their naked ‘top-halfs’ in the kitchen, their brassieres dangling at their waists. The ‘girls’ of the house had vied for private time in the bathroom. Squabbles and occasional fights broke out over who’d taken someone’s stockings that had been left hanging over the bath’s curtain rail; whose unmentionables were left in the handbasin, and who’d left a ring of soap scum around the bath. Together, Ruby and Edie had the bathroom for twenty minutes at half past six each night – before Edie was put into bed. Before Ruby went out to work.

Those days were over, and the future looked foggy.

3

Once back inside Number 9, Ruby whispered in Edie’s ear. ‘Do you know what? I wish one day we could have a house with a bathroom all to ourselves.’

‘Me, too,’ said Edie, nodding gravely.

If it weren’t for Edie, Ruby would’ve flopped down to sleep. She didn’t want to go to the dining room or be bothered seeing anyone or having to make an effort to be polite. It was hard to know what kind of people would be there. There could be a bunch of oddballs from God knows where.

And what about that Mr Woods? What’s his game, lending them a towel? Still, she was glad of it. Would he be there, dining with the hoi polloi, or had he ducked out to some restaurant or the pub?

After a whole day in the carriage, the back of her hair was probably frizzy and matted. There was no time to snag the comb in it, so she ran her fingers through it and pinned it back behind her ears, wishing she had brought one pair of earrings, or at least a string of beads to make her feel done up.

It hit her then: what she was wearing was all she had. The gathered cotton skirt and blouse she had on were nowhere near warm enough, even with the silk slip she’d made underneath. It was early May and already cold in this town. The scratchy coat would have to serve as a dressing gown, too. Ruby sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, her head in her hands.

She felt Edie’s arm on her shoulders.

‘It’s all right, Mum,’ Edie said.

The little voice was hardly heard. Ruby was thinking about the things she’d left behind, wishing she’d brought her Yardley soap. She pictured the room they’d shared with Angel. Behind a curtain of bright fabric sent from Angel’s family in the Cook Islands, the makeshift wardrobe had been filled with frocks. Ruby’s sophisticated evening gowns hung on another rack so they didn’t get crushed. Her dressing gown had been left behind the door; underwear left folded in the chest of drawers she had shared with Edie.

Once the others realised she and Edie had gone, everything she had owned would be haggled over, along with her wristwatch. They’d fight over her rabbit-fur jacket, which had been a gift from a nice man whose name she didn’t remember. Edie’s clothes would fetch good money, too.

Mo Hanrahan would already have her bullies out searching the city for them. Ruby had to count on Angel keeping mum. People always underestimated Angel. In turn, she happily exploited their bigoted ignorance by acting the happy-go-lucky dummy when she needed to –she laughed at them for it. Thinking about Angel, Ruby’s skin remembered the luscious warmth of her.

An unwelcome shiver dispelled her thoughts. Someone stepped on your grave – isn’t that what people said when that happened?

Edie had slung her coat over the chair and sat hunched against the cold in her thin frock and striped cardigan, knitted out of scraps of coloured wool and unpicked second-hand jumpers.

Ruby chewed her lip, glumly, aware of Edie watching her. She turned away, not wanting Edie to see that she had no idea what to do next. Aside from the clothes they wore, all they had was in her purse. Edie’s socks were grubby and they had no spare underwear. Another pair of nylons would be useful, and because she’d stupidly left her comfortable day shoes in the bottom of the wardrobe, she’d now have to ask that Mrs Thomson for a sticking plaster. Damn.

She leaned over and gave Edie’s head a kiss. ‘Buck up, sourpuss. We’ll be all right, won’t we?’ It was said without conviction. ‘We’d better get ready for dinner, I suppose, or we’ll miss out.’

Holding up her compact, Ruby looked into the little mirror. For a fleet moment, the face looking back at her was that of the terrified young woman she’d once been, a girl about to splinter into pieces. She snapped the compact shut. The strain of sleeplessness over the last few days had taken a toll on her nerves. The notion that it showed horrified her. When she flipped the compact open again, she still looked dreadful, but the woman who stared evenly back at her was the woman she’d become. The one who knew how to put a brave face on things.

She raked the powderpuff through the Helena Rubenstein powder and dabbed at the shine on her nose and dusted over her freckles. The lightest of masks. Half presentable, at least. She should have brought her rouge.

Edie was still watching her.

‘Remember when we lived at Auntie Hilda and Barry’s place in Sandringham?’ Ruby addressed Edie’s reflection in the mirror, ‘Before we lived in Freemans Bay?’

‘She was mean.’

‘You probably don’t remember her properly. Hilda’s your only real aunt. She bought you some lovely clothes…’

‘You gave them away.’

‘Only after you grew out of them. Besides, I had to sell them to pay for other things. Stop interrupting – I’m trying to tell you something important.’ Ruby paused to put lipstick on her forefinger and lightly daubed the colour on her lips.

‘Why aren’t you putting that lipstick on properly?’ asked Edie.

‘I don’t want to look tarty.’ Ruby gave the dark rings under her eyes another dab of powder and shut the compact. ‘Just listen – d’you remember all those rules at Auntie Hilda’s place?’

‘She whacked me with a wooden spoon.’

‘You probably deserved it.’

‘Auntie Mo’s place was a lot more fun.’

Ruby turned Edie to face her. ‘Here’s a rule of my own – for a start. I don’t want you to ever mention that woman’s name again!’

Edie’s sucked her bottom lip.

‘And don’t make that ridiculous face. I despair!’ Ruby said. ‘Children aren’t even meant to stay here, so you’d better keep out of everyone’s way. No eavesdropping or snooping around the place. People take exception to a child nosing in where she doesn’t belong.’

‘I’ll be good,’ said Edie.

‘You’d better. If you don’t behave you’ll have us thrown out, that’s what!’

‘Okay.’

‘Try not to say okay,’ said Ruby. ‘And never talk about–’

‘Mum, you’ve already told me all that. I know.’ Edie rolled her eyes. ‘Table manners. No elbows. Pleases and thank-yous. And never, ever talk about other people’s business. And never talk about our business, either. Just like the rules at home.’

‘That place wasn’t home. It was just a place where we used to live. That’s over, and I swear – we’re never going back!’

Ruby saw uncertainty, trust and more uncertainty pass behind her daughter’s eyes. She gave Edie’s cheek a playful tweak. ‘From now on my chicken, if anyone asks where we’re from, just say Auckland. When I was a kid the rule was children were seen and not heard. There’s never been a better time for it.’

*****

Mr Woods leaned against the painted newel post at the foot of the stairs. A stray lock had fallen over his forehead. He really was quite good-looking, now she looked at him again.

‘Mrs Barton,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to catch you.’

‘Were you?’ Ruby did her best to appear diffident by looking in the direction of a faded Constable print on the opposite wall. The gold-painted papier-mâché frame was flaking.

‘Yes. I-I just thought I’d say, dinner here’s a rather humble affair. Usually, someone brings around a trolley and you get whatever they’ve cooked. Sometimes it’s a bit odds and sods…’ He paused at the approach of a battered