Chapter Thirty-Eight

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

P erhaps it was the soothing presence of Ruby’s quilt, but against all odds, Jack had fallen asleep in her armchair, only to be startled awake by Tom banging open the door, and the sounds of a cheer from the factory floor washing in after him.

‘First ones are coming off the presses, Jack! We’ve got the truck out front. How many crates of the record do we need to make the first run?’

Jack rubbed his eyes. ‘Four, each with ten dozen copies. Can we make it? Or we leave at quarter to four with whatever we’ve got.’

‘Oh, this is exciting!’ Ruby said, pressing the palms of her hands together. ‘Jack, let’s make ourselves useful. We can put the records into their sleeves as long as we handle them by the edges. It’ll make another nice picture, but if Miss James catches us getting fingerprints on anything, I won’t be answerable for her actions.’

‘Understood,’ Jack said, and saluted.

At a quarter to four exactly a final crate was loaded into the van, and Jack, Wilbur and Pete the photographer clambered in after them. Tom himself was driving, with Ruby beside him, and the factory workers spilled out to watch them go.

Jack waved at them from the open door and was cheered in return, then Tom pulled away, making him fall back heavily into the interior, but it gave the workers a laugh and he hardly felt it.

The ride became smoother as they came onto the better roads leading into the centre of town, and Jack prepared himself for his big arrival. He hoped there was a decent crowd waiting for them. Didn’t need to be a mob, but enough curious visitors to fill a frame would be nice.

The truck came to a halt and Jack flung the door open, then struggled to hide his dismay. There were only a dozen people waiting to get in and the town clock was just striking four. As Jack prepared to offer a brave face to Wilbur, no matter how badly he felt in the moment, the doors sprung open. Grace and Mr Poole emerged and, to his great surprise, his wife looked very happy indeed. She turned to the small queue.

‘Thank you so much for waiting! It’s a bit of a crush in there at the moment, but hopefully we’ll have some more room soon.’

‘Is there still cake?’ the woman at the front of the line asked darkly.

‘Oodles of cake,’ Grace assured her, then turned to her husband. ‘We had to open early, there was such a crowd. Do you have them?’

Jack rallied. ‘We do! Four crates.’

‘Can you and Tom carry one directly onto the floor, open the case there and stack the shelves? That should make a good picture, shouldn’t it?’

‘Aye,’ the photographer said, pushing his soft hat back, then he sauntered across the pavement into the shop.

‘Marcus, if you could see to getting the rest into the storeroom. Ruby, lots of people want you to sign the records. Would you be happy to join Josie and Mabel at the signing table? We’ve put a chair out for you. And Lillian and Nikolai are standing by to sign “The Sunrise Song”.’

‘As long as I can have a milk shake,’ Ruby said, and bustled off towards Mr Poole, beaming.

Tom tossed his key to Marcus. He and Jack slid out the first crate and carried it between them through the open doors.

Jack couldn’t take it in.

He saw Dixon at the back of the room with a group of men who were peering into the recording studio; a line snaking between the shelves, which ended with Josie and Mabel seated at one of the polished café tables signing record sleeves, and now making room for Ruby to sit between them. The booths were crammed with groups of young people, heads together over the portable players; the tea urn hissed. At the cash desk, three girls were making up packets of records in brown paper, gluing Empire Records labels to them and tying them up with a handy carrying loop of string.

Everyone stopped and turned to look at him.

‘“The Sunrise Song”!’ Jack exclaimed. ‘Recorded this morning by Lady Lillian Lassiter and His Excellency, Grand Duke Nikolai Goranovich Kuznetsov, featuring Mabel Mills, and available for your listening pleasure right now!’

They cheered.

Tom and Jack wrestled the crate downstairs and prised off the cover. Customers were grabbing copies out of their hands before they even managed to get them on the shelves.

Some hours later, Tom drove Ruby home while everybody else returned to Lassiter Court. She was tired, she said, after all the excitement.

‘What a day, Ruby! Did you see how often Marcus and his crew had to restock the shelves?’

‘I did, dear. I’m so terribly proud of you.’

Tom felt his chest expand. ‘Thank you.’

She reached over and patted his hand. ‘I’m very sorry about your mother, but I hope you remember you have other family. Agnes is so very fond of you, as are Lillian, Jack and Grace.’

‘I know. I shan’t complain about the luck of my heritage, Ruby. Even if it has its complications.’

Ruby sighed. ‘I had my eye out for Mrs Blow this afternoon. Did she come?’

Tom shook his head.

‘She will. We all find our way to where we belong in the end. You’re very like your grandfather, you know, Tom.’

Tom thought of the huge oil portrait of the richly moustachioed industrialist in the library at Lassiter Court. ‘Am I really?’

‘Yes, he was a good man. Don’t let your mother make you forget that, Tom.’

‘I won’t.’ He swallowed. He could not bear to think of his mother yet. ‘“The Sunrise Song” is really marvellous, you know.’

Ruby sighed. ‘What a lovely day that was, and what a lovely night it is. I can smell spring in the air. Yes, I’m very glad to have found that one. Dear, I’m a little tired. I’ll just close my eyes for a minute.’

The drive from The Empire to Ruby’s boarding house was not long. Tom thought about his plans for the next few days, and the next few weeks. They filled him with a great deal more excitement than his days gambling and drinking with his elder brother had done. Poor Edmund.

Ruby sighed in her sleep, and it felt like an echo of his own thoughts. The aching sweetness of ‘The Sunrise Song’ had got into his bones somehow; he had a fleeting sense he was too young to feel so sadly nostalgic, but under it, in the bones of it, was a certain solid joy. Empire Records. Today he had looked at those discs lined up on the polished shelves and been able to say, ‘I made that.’ The glow of that memory drove his mother’s shade into the darkness, where it belonged.

He brought the car to a gentle halt outside the boarding house.

‘Ruby? You’re home.’

She didn’t respond. He put his hand on her shoulder, and shook it very gently.

‘Ruby? Ruby, wake up.’

Her hand, which had been lying in her lap, fell sideways onto the seat.

Tom twisted round and took her wrist between his fingers.

‘Oh, Ruby! Ruby?’ He heard his own voice rise and crack. ‘No, Ruby! Please?’

He held his cheek to her mouth, but felt no stir of breath; her absence was sudden, absolute and undeniable.

Ruby’s landlady must have heard the engine. She opened the door and Tom saw her standing on the threshold, peering out into the night, a Siamese cat weaving between her ankles. Tom got out of the car and went to her and told her. The landlady rocked back slightly, her hand against the wall, then forward into Tom’s arms, crying on his chest.

After a minute, she and the cat went to the car and Tom opened the passenger door. The landlady sat on the kerb, holding Ruby’s hand, keeping her body company while Tom went on foot to the pub on the corner, where he thought there might be a telephone.