The Orphan Thief. Glynis Peters

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      ‘Ruby, where’s your family?’ Jenny’s mother asked.

      ‘With my gran,’ Ruby replied. ‘Probably heaven.’ She didn’t want to shock the woman but couldn’t think of another way of wording her loss.

      ‘Oh, my girl, come here,’ Jenny’s mother said, and smothered Ruby in a hug. She smelled of smoke and soot, and clung onto her until Ruby gently pushed herself free. It was her mother’s comfort she yearned for, not a woman filled with pity and sadness.

      ‘Do you know where I can find food? Is this a queue for some?’ Ruby asked.

      ‘You need to register your family deaths and get papers for yourself. I assume all is lost?’

      Ruby nodded.

      ‘Food can come later. Stand here – we’ve waited around an hour now, and no one will notice you’ve jumped in halfway,’ Jenny’s mother said.

      ‘It’s been a busy day,’ Ruby said, and inhaled to fight off another wave of nausea.

      Jenny reached out to take her hand, but Ruby gave a brief shake of her head. She could no longer bear the pitying eyes looking back at her. They stirred something inside and Ruby was wary of whatever emotion it was creating the dark thoughts each time she allowed herself to soften to another human’s kindness. Her heart was bruised, battered beyond repair.

      ‘I feel sick and weak. I can’t focus on anything,’ she said, distracting her from the rejected look on Jenny’s face.

      ‘Ah, of course. Silly me,’ Jenny’s mother said. ‘Try over at one of the canteen vans. They’ve got tea and beef dripping batches. Be careful, Ruby, and don’t forget, you need to get registered. Find a new home. You’re too young to be alone.’

      ‘What happens when I’m registered?’ Ruby asked.

      ‘They might find you a new family. Someone will take you in. If not, you will at least be in the care of someone until a permanent home is found for you. You need a roof over your head. It might be away from here too – safe,’ Jenny’s mother said, and gave her another hug.

      Ruby removed herself from the well-meaning arms and gave a brief nod. ‘I’ll sort it as soon as I’ve eaten. Thanks. Bye, take care, Jenny.’

      Jenny gave a half-hearted wave and Ruby left the queue and walked to the area where Jenny’s mother had pointed.

      Tea and a bread roll steeped in meat fat appealed far more than explaining her predicament to a form-filler at the beginning of a very long queue. Besides, she didn’t want a new family, or to leave Coventry. The thought of being sent to an orphanage frightened her, and if she left the area she’d lose the sense of her family still surrounding her. And what if they’d survived and were looking for her? She needed to stay, to keep her eyes open for them. Registering might mean living miles away and the thought made Ruby shudder.

      The best thing she felt she could do was to slip into the background during the confusion of the city, and find a way of surviving without leaving town. Her dream had always been to have an adventure of sorts and, although this was a tragedy forced upon her, Ruby sensed it was time for her to make her own way in the world.

      She kicked a battered box away from her path. Life was going to become difficult for her, and she had already turned her mind to the important issue of obtaining food. She needed money. Maybe she could work off her purchases by washing up. It was worth an ask.

      Entering an area set aside for food distribution, Ruby looked on in dismay. Queue after queue faced her, and all were longer than the previous one she’d stood in. At the pace they were moving, it would be well into the night, even the early hours before she would eat. She shifted from one foot to another, debating what to do. It frustrated her, knowing their shop had housed tins and packets of foodstuffs, along with fresh grown vegetables supplied by growers from nearby towns. Her energy was sapped, but Ruby thought about her gran’s house. Although it was no longer standing, her gran had always kept a good vegetable patch. Maybe there were a few veg or fruit items left amongst the ruins and, though sad at the thought of returning to the bomb site, Ruby knew she stood a chance of finding something to eat without having to beg elsewhere.

      ‘Oi. Where’s your mask, girl?’ a man’s voice bellowed out a few feet away from Ruby. She knew his question was directed at her, as she had no mask to carry. Not wanting to suffer explaining her losses, she turned and saw a man in police uniform. She waved a hand vaguely in the direction ahead of her.

      ‘I’m heading back home for it now,’ she called out.

      ‘Make sure you do. And your ID papers. Keep them to hand too,’ the officer said.

      Ruby rushed away. ID papers, ration book, birth certificate – anything official, her mother kept in a case under the stairs. With the flames flickering within the crater, Ruby doubted the case would have survived and realised she had nothing to show she even existed. Registering would be an impossible task and she was too tired and fearful to face more impossible tasks.

      She entered Kirby Road and made her way to the small row of houses still standing. Each remaining property stood with glassless windows and shredded curtains flapping in the chill wind. The majority of the contents of one house lay strewn along its pathway, and the path she walked crunched beneath her feet. The road had a silent eeriness to it, and there was no one around. Ruby, puzzled by the fact, called out, ‘Hello. Anyone here?’

      Silence. The only noises from the street she stood in echoed across the flattened right-hand side, but human movement and voices no longer existed. Ruby shook off the air of loneliness; she could not afford to dwell on it for fear of breaking down. She gulped as she walked over what had once been a happy house filled with love and baked cakes. Her grandmother cured many a tear with a slice of Victoria sponge and a strong cup of tea. Her beloved gran, lying cold in the temporary morgue. Ruby’s throat tightened against the scream she wanted to release, but she needed to focus on regaining her strength. Her legs and hands trembled with hunger and cold.

      She scouted around her grandmother’s land, but soon came to realise that all was lost. Mangled blackout curtains were a stark reminder of hours spent in the house helping her grandmother with her mother, preparing the windows for war. Only the memory of evenings spent with the two women she loved made Ruby appreciate it had not been wasted time.

      She spotted a few personal items, untouched by the bombs, and for the first time a smile flickered across Ruby’s face. The items were random ones, but they’d belonged to her family. They were the only connection to them she had left: heirlooms. A colander, a blue glass powder pot with no lid, two silver forks, a bowl with pink rose patterns around the edge and a tortoiseshell hair comb. It was one her grandmother used to pin into her thinning grey bun.

      Ruby also found coins amounting to one shilling, which she placed into the blue pot. Twelve pennies would get her milk and possibly an egg or two if available, but it would certainly not help her clothing or accommodation situation. She decided she’d return and search for more once she’d found somewhere to live. The chances were her gran’s electricity meter had burst during the explosion. No one would be collecting their payment for supply. The coins were family money; it wouldn’t be theft.

      Ruby crossed the road and walked up to Fred’s and wondered how he was doing after seeing him so badly shaken. At least he was alive and in the care of someone; the woman she’d seen leading him away yesterday had looked kind and gentle.

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