The Locksmith Linda Calvey (phonics readers .txt) 📖

think we ’ave any other way to survive. Without Mum, without Dad, and me havin’ to take care of George . . . there’s just no other way.’

Bobby looked mutinous, then great fat tears came into his eyes.

Ruby turned away from him. She knew their mum mustn’t know. She knew it would destroy her to think her beautiful children had grown into crooks, like everyone else they knew in Canning Town, but she was already realising the opportunities, the ways they could earn enough, or maybe more than they needed, and the idea was intoxicating.

‘Listen, Bobby, I won’t say nuthin’ to Mum, but this is our life now,’ Ruby reiterated, looking down at the little tower of bricks still left on the floor from earlier that day. Bobby and her had played building bricks with their little brother. He’d been squealing with delight as they put one block on top of the other, creating a tower that wobbled and swayed, staying up long enough for George to whack it and bring it all tumbling down. For a couple of hours life had been simple and filled with joy.

Bobby noticed the direction of his sister’s gaze. ‘Just make sure, we ain’t like that tower, with no foundations, pushed down by anyone strong enough,’ Bobby whispered to her, and though it upset her, Ruby managed to keep a smile on her face.

We’ll ’ave foundations, don’t you worry about that, she thought to herself.

Bobby handed Ruby the wad of cash. It felt weighty in her hands, and again she felt a thrill she’d never experienced before.

‘Oh Bobby, just think of the good we can do with this. We can look after little George, we can buy everythin’ Mum needs from now on. We could even get her extra care at the hospice, get a private nurse to go in every day and check she’s OK.’

They both stared again at the money she held.

‘This ’ere is our chance,’ Ruby added, ‘this ’ere is freedom.’

CHAPTER 15

‘What’s this, Mum?’ Ruby took the folded envelope that Cathy offered, hands shaking with the effort. She’d taken it out of the side table next to her hospice bed. The dying woman’s breath was rasping, her pallor grey. She lay back on her pillows, exhausted, her eyes searching Ruby’s face.

‘Open it later . . . when I’m gone . . .’ Cathy said with difficulty as she dissolved into a coughing fit.

‘All right, Mum, just settle back,’ she replied, her heart aching at the sight of her mother.

Ruby had kept a vigil at her mum’s bedside for the last two days, knowing the end was near. Their neighbour Mrs Brown, from two doors down, a stout and motherly woman with five kids of her own, was looking after little George as Ruby ate and slept by her mum’s side.

Ruby inspected the crumpled envelope in her hands. Her mum had written her name, and hers alone, on the front. She could sense Cathy watching her, and she looked over and her mum nodded as if to say, ‘It’s for your eyes only’. Ruby looked back again. It had clearly been written a while ago as it was stained with handling, but it obviously meant a lot to her mum so she placed it into her handbag, the knock-off Gucci that Cathy had bought her at Rathbone Market when she started her first job.

‘How’s yer job goin’, love?’ Cathy asked, as if reading part of Ruby’s mind. Without missing a beat, Ruby looked up to her and smiled. ‘It’s great, Mum, really great. Mrs Brown is lookin’ after George and we’re managin’ fine. There’s nuthin’ for ya to worry about. But you must rest, Mum, you’re tired.’

Ruby was adept at lying to her Mum now. She’d lied about still working. She’d lied about Mrs Brown looking after her brother all the time. She’d lied that there was nothing to worry about. Just little white lies, she thought to herself. Cathy closed her eyes and suddenly her breathing became more laboured.

‘Nurse!’ Ruby rushed to the door, almost bumping into Bobby as he arrived. He looked around in alarm as a nurse sped into the room.

‘Now then, dear, let’s adjust the oxygen levels. That’s better. Is that better, Mrs Murphy?’ the nurse said.

Cathy made a small nod and her breathing began to slow, though it seemed like hard work.

Once the nurse had written on Cathy’s chart and left the room, Ruby and Bobby sat either side of her, each holding one of her hands. Ruby looked down at the gnarled hands of her mother, a working woman who’d slogged all her life, working in the tobacconist, who’d cooked, cleaned and ironed for others. She remembered the cool touch of her mum’s hand as a child on a hot day, checking her forehead for sunburn, smiling down into her eyes. Ruby felt a wail rise up inside her. She wanted to shout, ‘Stop!’ She wanted her mother’s death to stop, her life to return to the happiness she’d felt as a child, secure and safe in her family. Time wouldn’t stop though.

It only took a second for Ruby to realise that the oxygen pump was working but her mum wasn’t breathing. It was a second of complete stillness, before she saw their beloved mother had passed. Ruby picked up her mother’s hand, now floppy and still, and kissed it, feeling the warmth already draining from her body. She placed it down, bent her head onto the bed and wept. She wept for them all, for Bobby, for George who would never know his mum, for her dad who was now reunited with the woman he adored. Lastly, she tried to weep for herself but that was where the crying stopped. Her tears had run dry. She would never shed a tear for herself ever again. It was as if her emotions had frozen, and she’d changed into a woman whose heart ran cold.

There was a blur of activity in the room. Nurses came. They checked their mum over. She