Rosie and Ruby Read online




  Rosie and Ruby

  Patricia Dixon

  Copyright © 2019 Patricia Dixon

  The right of Patricia Dixon to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2018 byBombshell Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  Print ISBN 978-1-912986-22-4

  Created with Vellum

  Also By Patricia Dixon

  Women’s Fiction

  * * *

  They Don’t Know

  * * *

  Anna

  * * *

  Tilly

  * * *

  Grace

  * * *

  Destiny

  Psychological Thrillers

  * * *

  Over My Shoulder

  * * *

  Death’s Dark Veil

  Praise for Patricia Dixon

  This is a very special story of our times, which is at times both uplifting and heart breaking. Patricia’s strength lies in that she never shies away from difficult subjects, is extremely aware of how people feel, think and react in certain situations and is passionate about her characters. There is a poignancy to her storytelling, but also a touch of comedy, especially when the story moves to France. The magical love story she weaves around Daisy and Adam moved me to tears on more than one occasion, so much so, I needed to keep a steady supply of tissues by my side.

  Tina J – Amazon Reviewer

  * * *

  Patricia has a wonderful gift and I for one am so happy that she shares it with us.

  Debi Davies – Amazon Reviewer

  * * *

  There are many kinds of love, and Patrica Dixon draws each one with a sensitive, uplifting, and at times heartbreaking pen. Highly recommended.

  Mandy James - Bestselling Author

  * * *

  I have laughed and I have cried, wow a brilliant book I couldn’t put it down. I have read all her books and I think this is the best yet. Can’t wait for the next one keep them coming please.

  Cheryl Hooper – Amazon Reviewer

  * * *

  Patricia Dixon, what are you trying to do to me? I can barely see through tears and I am an emotional wreck.

  The book will set you on a roller-coaster of emotions. I'm lost for words sorry. MUST READ!!!

  Adele Shea – Goodreads Reviewer

  Contents

  1. Ruby 1998

  2. Rosie 1998

  3. Ruby 2010

  4. Ruby

  5. Ruby 2010

  6. Ruby 2010

  7. Rosie 1998

  8. Rosie

  9. Rosie

  10. Rosie

  11. Rosie

  12. Rosie

  13. Rosie

  14. Rosie

  15. Rosie 2010

  16. Ruby

  17. Ruby

  18. Olivia

  19. Olivia

  20. Ruby

  21. Rosie and Ruby

  22. Olivia

  23. Olivia and Ruby

  24. Ruby, Rosie and Olivia

  25. Ruby Present Day

  26. Rosie

  27. Dylan

  28. Rosie, Ruby and Dylan

  29. La famille

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  A note from the publisher

  Love Women’s , Contemporary Fiction ?

  You Will Also Enjoy

  For my lovely dad.

  Thank you for the memories.

  I miss you every day.

  Ruby 1998

  Ruby lay underneath her cold blankets, mesmerised by the flashing blue lights that illuminated her bedroom walls. Sirens wailed and tyres screeched as the police pursued the thrill-seeking low life who obviously had nothing better to do on a Saturday night, other than pinch a car and race it around the estate. It wasn’t unusual to be kept awake and tomorrow there would probably be a repeat performance, or a different drama, played out in full view of the residents, albeit from behind closed doors and through murky glass. If not a car chase, then it would be Frank across the landing, shouting the odds because he’d been locked out by Carol, his long-suffering wife. Alternatively, there would be the sound of feet, running up and down the stairwell on their way to see Denzil, Openshaw’s very own small-time drug baron who lived in the flat at the end of their row.

  There was always noise of some description: a drunken fight, car alarms, raised voices or taxis honking their horns until the early hours. Ruby thought it amazing that despite being skint and probably on the dole, so many of her neighbours could still afford to take a cab into Manchester every weekend and get wasted but then again, most of them were up to no good or on the fiddle. None of this bothered her unduly, it was just reality and a way of life that she had grown up with, and gradually, over time, she’d become accustomed to it.

  Each day on her way to and from school, she crossed the rundown estate which was once a shining example of the government’s ideal; building pristine, futuristic streets in the sky. These days, it was no better than the post-war slums they had cleared to build the concrete monstrosity she called home. It was actually a glowing testament to social housing gone wrong and inhabited by people who had no interest in being part of normal society, something she realised when a bunch of scumbags burned down their community centre, signalling the end of the old folks meeting hall and her youth club.

  The boarded-up windows covering the smashed glass of derelict family homes, and the rows of abandoned, empty shops told their own tale of hope having left. The only viable businesses remaining were the chippy and the off-licence. The latter had bulletproof glass protecting the staff inside and the mere fact that they passed your purchases through a safety hatch said it all really. Nobody dared to go into the park unless it was to buy weed, otherwise you’d get your head kicked in for straying onto somebody else’s patch. Then there was the local swimming baths – a long distant memory after being knocked down. The expanse of wasteland that remained was subsequently used for illegal fly-tipping and appeared to have been ignored by the council, despite it being a smelly eyesore and yet another blot on the landscape.

  The only families that seemed to move here now were from far-off lands, some of which Ruby hadn’t even heard of, and who spoke languages that both isolated and alienated them from other members of the community. The even sadder truth was that nobody seemed to care. The foreigners had little in common with the original residents and neither had anything remotely uplifting to chat about either, so they all just got on with it and ignored each other, extinguishing any hope of community spirit.

  Ruby was so cold. It was February and along with the incessant rain, the temperatures had dropped to single figures and the flat was freezing at night. The whole place had a tinge of dampness and the speckled patches of green and black mould seemed to be taking over the ceilings and walls, expanding and spreading their spores, along with the unmistakeable stench of poverty. Ruby was paranoid that soon her clothes would start to smell, too. That was the last thing she needed, turning up at school with a pongy uniform, so she did her best to keep herself clean and tidy albeit without the help of her mum. Ruby had become quite independent, more out of necessity than desire, however, she quite enjoyed her trips to the launderette mainly because
it was warm inside and it meant a couple of hours away from home, reading magazines and listening to the idle chatter of the caretaker and her customers.

  Unfortunately, Stella, her mother, was going through another very skint period at the moment which meant they now had to dry their washing on a maiden which took forever, especially in front of the most inefficient electric fire in the world. As for the central heating, it was permanently switched off and the flat was always dark and dingy. During the winter months, Ruby became obsessed with checking the electric meter. Her worst fear was being plunged into darkness, especially when The Perv was knocking about, so she made it her mission in life to squirrel away coins here and there, and keep it fed.

  She had heard that to keep warm you should wear lots of layers, which was easy if you actually possessed multiple items of clothing, but as she didn’t, Ruby had wrapped herself in her dressing gown and kept her socks and fluffy slippers on. Keeping still didn’t seem to help either. She’d even tucked the duvet under her feet to seal in any heat, and her nose was cold and runny. She really wanted to put her head under the covers but that would mean taking her eyes off the bedroom door. Her mum would be back soon with The Perv and from the looks of them when they went out, they were half-cut before they even got to the pub so God only knew what state they’d be in when they got home. So much for being skint.

  Ruby could hear the whirring of the police helicopter as it approached the estate. This was the norm and it would be up there for ages, tracking the stolen car, shining its light on the idiot thief while he made his futile bid for freedom. The chase would be the talk of her school on Monday and the culprit would no doubt turn out to be someone’s brother or cousin who’d end up being the star of the canteen and hero worshipped by all his brain-dead mates. Still, there was a small part of Ruby that wished she was in that car too, but she wouldn’t waste time taunting the police and bouncing up kerbs. Instead she’d head for the nearest motorway and keep on driving until she ran out of petrol, and get as far away from home as possible.

  She was just nodding off when the sound of the front door slamming jolted her into a state of awareness. Ruby listened to her mother’s irritating giggling and the clip-clop of her heels on the lino as she opened and closed cupboard doors, not that there was anything inside them worth eating. They’d probably been to the chip shop, The Perv was very generous when it was in his own best interests and Ruby knew they’d soon be topping themselves up with the cans of lager they’d failed to guzzle earlier. Even though she was hungry too, Ruby would rather starve than go outside her bedroom door. The Perv would just love that, a chance to sneak a peak at her nightie and leer while her mum wasn’t looking. No, she would stay there, nice and still and pretend she was asleep and hopefully, they’d drag each other off to bed and spend the rest of the night comatose.

  An hour passed and Ruby had monitored every single noise they made. She’d heard her mum go into the bathroom, and then, thankfully, the TV was switched off, signalling that they’d finally gone to bed. All was quiet outside her door. This didn’t necessarily mean she was out of the woods just yet. The worst-case scenario was that he’d got her mum so paralytic that she couldn’t come to Ruby’s rescue like last time, a thought which made her heart pound inside her chest and fear ripple through every nerve and sinew in her body. Almost paralysed by her own imagination, Ruby had no alternative than to lie in the dark, stay awake, and wait.

  Two weeks earlier, on one normal Saturday night, almost the same thing had happened. Ruby had eventually managed to doze off despite the racket they were making, but later, she was woken from a fitful sleep by the creak of her door. As the light from the kitchen streamed into her room she could see the silhouette of Barry the Perv standing at the end of her bed, staring silently down at her. In the horrifying seconds before she screamed, she could have sworn he was holding something in his hands and whatever it was, was definitely sticking out of his trousers. It was also quite possible that every occupant in the block heard Ruby’s blood-curdling screams and, thankfully, so did her mum who was woken by the sound of her hysterical child and panicked calls for help from Barry. Ruby could hear him now, acting like he was totally innocent. Though it had to be said, he managed to put on quite a performance that night and had thrown Stella totally off the scent.

  ‘Stella! Stella! Come quick! I think your Ruby’s ill or something. She’s going bleedin’ daft in there. For Christ’s sake, hurry up!’

  When her mother eventually staggered in, stinking of lager and kebabs, as Ruby gulped for air and tried to explain what had happened, Barry intervened and made out like he was the avenging angel.

  ‘I was sitting in there, minding my own business watching Match of the Day when she set off screeching like a banshee. Scared the shit out of me she did so I jumped up, thinking that someone had broken in and I legged it in here. She was raving on about someone being in her room but she must be having a nightmare cos I checked the window and there’s nobody about. I’ll nip outside and look around, just to be on the safe side.’

  Ruby couldn’t believe what she was hearing when Stella fell for his lies.

  ‘No, love, it’s okay. Just stick the kettle on and make her a brew will you? It was just a nasty dream, wasn’t it, Ruby? You’ll be okay once you’ve calmed down. Did you have a cheese sarnie before you went to bed? That’s probably what did it. Now just try and forget about it and think of nice things.’ Stella stroked her daughter’s head and stood up before swaying slightly, then made her way to the door.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute with your brew and I’ll see if I can find a couple of biscuits as well. Won’t be a min, and I’ll leave the door open in case you want me.’ Then she was gone.

  Ruby sat in silence and disbelief as she heard her mum thank Barry for running to their rescue, then tell him how glad she was that they had a big, strong man to look out for them. By the time she came back with the tea and, inevitably, no biscuit, Ruby was pretending to be asleep. She waited for her mother to leave and the door close before bouncing out of bed. She tried to push the wooden chest, but it was too heavy so she removed the drawers and dragged it in front of her door, then put everything back inside before jumping back under her duvet. Ruby didn’t sleep a wink that night. The merest noise or creak made her panic, imagining Barry creeping about outside her door.

  At thirteen she’d never had a boyfriend but her best friend, Crystal, had. Ruby listened on a regular basis to all the gory details of her teenage love life so had a very good idea what Barry was doing with his hand at the end of her bed. He made Ruby’s skin crawl and if she was honest, her mum was getting that way too. ‘Think of something nice,’ she’d said. Ruby would’ve laughed if the statement hadn’t been so pathetic. What the hell was there to think of around here that could vaguely squeeze into the ‘nice’ category? Nice wasn’t part of Ruby’s life or vocabulary. Nice happened to other people with normal mums, not those who lived at the arse end of a rough estate, surrounded by people who didn’t give a shit about anything other than their next benefit payment and watching Jerry Springer on the telly.

  If she wasn’t careful, Ruby thought, she’d end up as a guest on that show. Her mother certainly fitted the bill and had been through so many blokes she’d lost count. They were all a bunch of desperate losers and all cast in the same mould: divorced or kicked out by their previous girlfriends, and usually looking for an easy leg-over and somewhere to kip. Stella gratefully provided both as she seemed incapable of existing without a man for any length of time.

  At first, everyone benefited from the blossoming romance as the newbie fell over himself to get into their good books and make a positive impression, bringing presents for them both and laying on the charm. For a few weeks at least, the heating was turned on, the flat was clean and tidy and Ruby even got some nice treats and home-cooked food while her mother attempted to ensnare whatever low life she’d stumbled upon this time. It never lasted though, and once the shine had rubbed off, nor
mality soon set in. Stella inevitably got bored of domesticity and her man. Once she bled him dry and he realised she was no saint, Ruby’s mother was off to pastures new and the Stag’s Head on the hunt for another victim. This time though, Stella had plumbed new depths because Barry was the worst of a bad bunch.

  Ruby still remembered her mother when she was pretty. She’d always had bleached blonde hair but in those days it didn’t have thick black roots and resemble candy floss. Stella was the mummy in the school yard that stood out, always wearing brightly-coloured dresses and very high heels that matched her outfit. Ruby’s mummy wasn’t like the dowdy ones who came in raincoats and woolly hats in winter. Stella had lots of lovely make-up, black shiny boots, a see-through umbrella and a boyfriend waiting at the gates to zoom them away in his posh car and take them for tea in a restaurant.

  Now, Ruby realised that what her five-year-old eyes looked up to as glamorous, the other mothers looked down on as cheap. As the years rolled by and Stella failed to find a keeper (or spoiled her chances by always looking for someone with a bigger car and a fatter wallet), time and too much vodka took its toll on her looks. In a continuous cycle of self-pity and desperation, she hoped to find salvation in another bottle from the off-licence and solace in the arms of anyone who’d have her.