It didn’t feel right, watching someone else work.
‘You got another one of those?’ Cook asked.
Gracie reached beneath the bar and threw Cook a chamois – older, scrappier than the one she was using.
Cook took the other end of the bar. The soft leather grabbed on the wax, took a lot of work to push it. Gracie made it look easy.
‘Wouldn’t be the first time a young soldier comes home from war and heads straight for his young lady,’ Cook said. He had to choose his words carefully. Usually in this situation he’d been chasing the soldier, and everyone concerned had been very clear on the soldier’s motives. Talking with the young woman’s mother was a different matter, he realised.
‘Maybe they got married,’ he said. ‘You could check the registry office.’
‘Arthur’s a good lad,’ she said. ‘But Ruby wasn’t interested. Not really. He’ll take over his dad’s milk round and that’ll be it. Ruby wanted more than that.’
‘She’ll show up,’ Beaumont said. ‘You know what young people are like. Bet she stopped out with a friend.’
‘You got a phone down your place?’ Gracie asked. ‘We’ll call you, when she turns up.’
‘No,’ Cook said, thinking about returning home without an answer – the job only half done. It didn’t feel right.
‘Here’s our number,’ Gracie said, writing on a slip of paper. ‘Just in case.’
Cook took the paper, put it in his wallet. He could borrow Doc’s phone, call once a day until Ruby was found safe and well. He realised he hadn’t told Frankie the good news yet.
48
The dairy was less than a hundred yards from the pub. An iron gate from the high street, leading into a small courtyard, high brick walls on both sides. Cook smelt the cows, knew he was in the right place. The stalls were at the back of the courtyard, incongruous. Four cows, a stall each, along one side. Milking pails and bottles stacked on the other side, around an enamel sink. A small operation, still using the old ways. It wouldn’t have lasted in Sussex. Dairy farms had been going mechanical for the last decade. Herd sizes had been increasing. Not a bad way to make a living, until the War Ag had stopped most of it in the drive to turn England arable and reduce dependence on grain from the colonies.
A young boy was washing returned bottles, doing a good job of it from what Cook could see.
‘Are you Arthur?’ Cook asked. He knew from experience that families of soldiers got defensive if you asked them where their son was. Better to come at it somewhat obliquely.
‘He’s not here,’ the lad said. ‘Off fighting Jerry.’
‘You his brother?’
‘Who’s asking?’
Cook liked the lad, admired his spirit.
‘I’m from the Ministry for War,’ Cook said. ‘There’s been a mistake with his paperwork. He hasn’t been getting enough pay. If we can sort it out your mum and dad canget what he’s owed, and I won’t have to tell my boss about the mistake.’
‘Dad!’ the boy shouted, without moving from the sink.
The boy’s dad took a minute to appear. Looked like he’d been asleep. Out before dawn with the milk deliveries. One of the things that had held Cook back from the business himself, driving a cart around town before anyone was up. More of a delivery boy than a farmer, he’d told himself, even as those farmers who went into the business made good money, delivery boys or not.
‘This bloke’s looking for Arthur,’ the boy said. ‘Trying it on with a line about extra pay. Thinks I was born yesterday.’
The man looked at Cook for a long second. He nodded to the door he’d come from.
‘You’d better come in,’ he said. ‘I’ll get a brew on.’
Cook sipped the tea. It was strong and sweet. The man had stirred three sugars into each mug without asking, his hand shaking – knocking the teaspoon against the mug. Not many places in the country you’d get enough sugar for that. Didn’t hurt having Tate’s refinery just down the river.
The radio was on. Lord Haw-Haw, broadcasting from occupied Europe with news of how fantastic it was all going to be once the Führer was running the show in England.
‘Who’d you say you are again?’ the man asked. He held his own tea with both hands. He’d only half filled his mug, but even so it spilled over the top as his hands shook.
Cook told him about Frankie being evacuated, which he knew about, nodding along. He knew about Ruby.
