Page 47 of What's the time, Mr. Wolfe
“No, there were others that came before you. You, Ruby, you’re different. I don’t want to help you because I feel I ought to, because that’s what Simon would expect of me. I want to do it for very different reasons.”
“What reasons?”
“Another time. Now I want to know about you.”
“There isn’t much to tell. My mum died, she was a drug addict and alcoholic but I loved her. My dad sold our house and fucked off with the money.”
“See, cut from the same cloth.”
“What about your parents?” I asked.
“I don’t remember them. I was in care for most of my childhood.”
“Have you ever been curious about them?”
He sighed. “Not really. I’ve got this far without them.”
“What about marriage, kids?”
“I thought we were talking about you?”
He had finished eating and laid his cutlery down to top up our wine.
“I think I’d like to get married, but that’s probably more about stability. I’m not sure on kids, though,” I said, honestly. “Maybe we’ve both seen the worst of society. Why on earth would we bring children into that?”
I saw the flinch, the rapid blink, and knew I’d said the wrong thing.
It was fleeting, though. He raised his glass to me and smiled. “To curiosity,” he said.
I wonder if sex was where he felt the most comfortable, where he felt safe, which was why he brought it all back there when things got awkward.
With the table cleared, we opted for coffee instead of dessert.I didn’t think I could fit another thing in my stomach,
“You can dance it off later,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s your birthday, the evening isn’t over yet.”
“I don’t do clubbing, if that’s what you mean. More so in these shoes. If I dance, I’ll kill myself,” I said, laughing.
We asked for the bill and didn’t look at it, he just laid his credit card on top. While I finished my coffee, he paid.
“Come,” he said, holding out his hand. Once again, we were watched as we left the restaurant.
His car was where he’d left it, and without a ticket. “See, gangster. Only the mob would get away with no parking tickets,” I said as he opened the door.
“We don’t use that term in the UK, Ruby,” he replied, then slammed the door before I could respond.
I was still straightening my dress and buckling up when he started the car and pulled out into the traffic. It was heavy, thankfully, so there was no roaring around. He drove for about ten minutes, until we pulled into a familiar alley.
“I thought...” I wasn’t sure what I thought, but I hadn’t expected that.
“Trust me.”
He left the car, opened my door, and we walked in.Instead of climbing the stairs, we headed through another door, one I hadn’t noticed before.
Music blasted, the floor throbbed with the beat, and people danced. It was my worst nightmare. I clung to his side, burying my face in his arm. I didn’t do crowds.
