Page 1 of What's the time, Mr. Wolfe
Chapter One
Islammed the front door behind me, not in anger but because the stupid landlord still hadn’t repaired the lock. I gave it a good shake to be sure it wouldn’t open again.
My red hoodie was all I had to keep the chill from my bones, and I vowed that, when I could, I’d invest in a decent coat. In the meantime, all money had to go towards keeping me and Grandma fed and housed. For the millionth time, I cursed my father.
I’ll come back for you. Don’t worry, Chica,he’d said in his Spanish accent.
Except he hadn’t. He’d headed to Spain to collect some items we’d left there before we moved back to England, and he’d never returned. He hadn’t called, written, emailed, nothing. For a couple of years, I’dbadgered the police to find him, but he’d simply disappeared, along with the money from the sale of our home. The home my mother left her half of when she’d died.Myhalf of the money!
I believed my father was still alive, probably in Cuba. He wouldn’t go anywhere he couldn’t speak the language and it was cheap enough there for him to live the lifestyle he believed he deserved.
I growled out loud, scaring a couple taking their dog for a last toilet break before bedtime.
When I flicked up the hood to my hoodie and tucked in my dark curly hair, a throwback to my Spanish roots, I upped my pace, knowing I was likely to be late. The screen on my phone had cracked so badly, I couldn’t tell the time. I was stunned it was still useable. Not that I had anyone to call, other than Grandma, of course.
As I pushed through the doors directly into the kitchen, I slipped down my hood and called out, “I’m sorry, I’ll work late.” Only to receive a mouthful of abuse and waving of arms in return.
I headed to my station, the sink, which was piled high, and pulled off my hoodie, replacing it with an apron. I wished I had earphones so I could drown out the restaurant kitchen noise and lose myself in the enchanting sounds of the piano. I used to play, back inthe day when we could afford a piano, but hadn’t played in years.
I set about to wash and restock the kitchen with crockery and pots and pans.
I worked solidly for three hours, continuing after service had finished. Then I darted into the restaurant to clean tables, mop the floor, and finally, the toilets. My hands ached and stung with all the chemicals and products I mixed. Even though I wore gloves for the worst of the jobs, the skin on my hands cracked and my nails bent with weakness. I bit them, not from habit, but simply because I couldn’t find a nail clipper anywhere and it was quicker to bite off the length.
“Ruby, here,” I heard and I turned to see Diego with a carrier bag in his hand. I smiled at him.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I said, although my stomach growled at the scent of hot food.
“Yes, I do. Now take it and get home. Tell Grandma I asked after her.”
Diego my boss, was a friend of my grandma’s, and I guessed that was the only reason I had my job, despite my constant lateness. His father had started the restaurant, and he’d taken over a few years prior. He was a good man, a doting husband and father, and I often envied his children, wishing I had someone like him.
I took the bag from him and headed back into thekitchen. Without hanging around, I swapped my apron for my hoodie and left by the back door.
It was dark and drizzly. A mist hung in the air, the kind that found every tiny hole or parting of thread in the weave of material and seeped its way in. I shivered uncontrollably all the way home. While I stood on the pavement and fished in my jeans pocket for my key, a large black car sped past. Not only was it roaring along a street of residential properties way too fast, but the driver also got close enough to the kerb to cause a puddle to wash over me like a bloody wave. I turned and screamed abuse at the retreating vehicle.
Much to my amusement, the vehicle stopped, its red lights bright in the mist. Much to my dismay, the white reverse lights came on.
I stood my ground, though. The arsehole had soaked me and was going to get a piece of my mind. As the car levelled up alongside and the rear window started to lower, I gave the occupant both barrels.
“Not only are you a bloody arsehole for speeding on this road, but you’ve ruined my dinner and my bloody clothes. This…” I said, grabbing at the red hoody, “This is the only bloody dry thing I had to wear tomorrow!” I was aware of how many times I said, ‘bloody’ and I didn’t think it was near enough.
My abuse came to a halt as the window lowered completely. Sitting in the passenger seat was a man withdark hair and piercing blue eyes. He smiled, his teeth a bright white.
“I’m so sorry. My driver lacked his usual concentration there,” he said, and his voice was like liquid chocolate. His low tone vibrated through my stomach as his words washed over me, soothing and… tasty.
I blinked a few times, then let my usual bolshy and obnoxious self come back. “What are you going to do about this?” I said, dumping the sodden carried bag of food on his bonnet.
“I’ll replace it all.”
“Good, leave it at my front door.”
I turned and walked up the garden path to my door, grumbling as I did.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I said, loudly, as I tried to turn the key, getting it stuck.
“Shall I help?” I heard.
The man had left his car and was standing behind me. He’d approached so silently; I hadn’t heard him. I sucked in a breath.
