He realised Ruby was one of the few people in his life he could trust.
She pulled up onto her small driveway and they both got out. He gazed up at the house.
“It’s not much, just a two-bed end terrace, but it does me,” Ruby said, opening the front door.
“Why don’t you stay at Mum’s – your home?” He looked around, frowning. The stairs were immediately in front of them, a small hallway with just enough floor space to dump shoes and her bag. He remembered something mentioned in an email about her moving out of the family home, but at the time he’d been too busy to persuade her not to. He hated the idea of selling it, so he’d employed contractors to oversee the maintenance of the house, through Marie, and the furniture had gone into storage, the house remaining empty.
“Because it was too big for just me to rattle around in, and besides…” Her voice faltered and she ran up the stairs. He followed, lugging his case and holdall.
“Besides, what? I’d pay the bills, Ruby, if it got too much. That’s why I sent you money.”
“It wasn’t that, Steve. There were too many memories of Mum. I found it too upsetting.” She didn’t look him in the eye, but showed him to the room at the front of the house. “This is my spare room, you can sleep here. I cleared it out last night.”
He wouldn’t push her about the house, their family home, for now. Instead he studied his new home, a pale-yellow box room, containing a futon along the side wall – at least it was a double – and on the other, a small desk where Ruby’s computer sat, and a wardrobe. His bathroom back in LA was bigger than this, but he would make do. His heart lightened at the sight of family photographs in different frames hung on the wall in a higgledy-piggledy fashion.
Mum, and occasionally Dad; Ruby, growing up slowly, some with her teenage friends. Steve was in some of them, but he noticed, like his father, he wasn’t in as many as Mum and Ruby. His presence was missing. His father couldn’t be helped, he’d been dead twenty-odd years. As for Steve…
“Right, I’ll let you get settled in. I keep the duvet and pillows in the wardrobe.” Ruby pointed to the pine wardrobe. “I’ll go and put the kettle on.” She thudded back down the stairs, and Steve stowed his case between the wardrobe and desk where it fitted neatly. He opened the wardrobe, and there were pillows and a duvet, and clean sheets on the shelf above the rail. Only a couple of items were hung up – coats mainly. There was enough room for him to hang his clothes. He’d unpack and pull the futon out tonight. He looked out the window, seeing the street below – still raining. It looked a quiet neighbourhood, similar style houses to Ruby’s lining the street. At least Ruby hadn’t moved out of the area, had stayed around Westbury-on-Trim where they’d both grown up.
Checking he had his wallet, phone and his sunglasses inside his leather jacket, he headed back down the stairs to the smell of toast.
“Jam or marmalade?” Ruby called out.
“Marmalade, please.” No pancakes and bacon with maple syrup here.
Ruby’s kitchen was small, so he took a seat at her dining table. The lounge-diner was a good size, for someone living on their own. Behind the three-seater sofa, a wall of books and CDs stood in a large shelving unit. Ruby had always had her nose in a book from an early age, but when he’d left home, she’d just been finding music, much to Mum’s annoyance.
He could fit this whole house in his living room. He hadn’t lived in his apartment quite a year yet, but it was amazing how he’d got used to the space.
He was having a wake-up call to normality.
He remembered how, as his money poured in from the increasing film work, and the fame too, he’d instantly needed a more secure apartment. Being famous had its drawbacks. When your face is plastered over a movie screen, and then glossy magazines, women fall in love with your character, or you. It could get a bit scary in public – as he was starting to find out. He’d thought he was used to female attention – and had a rude awakening. It very soon became apparent he needed a bodyguard, to stop the girls from hurling themselves at him.
Hopefully, now in England, he’d left the crazies behind.
Hopefully.
Ruby plonked a plate of marmalade on toast in front of him, and a cup of black coffee. She came out with the sugar bowl and milk jug. He frowned.
“You don’t have to do anything special for me.”
“Don’t get too excited, it’s instant.” Ruby held her hand up in defence, noticing Steve’s look of distaste. “Hey, you sprung this on me. If you’d called, I’d have got stuff in special, proper coffee, even baked a cake.”
Steve poured some milk into his coffee mug, and took a sip. It was wet and warm at least.
“But I wasn’t sure how you liked it, or what you were used to. You’re not some weird celebrity with silly OCDs now, are you? You don’t have to wash your hands every time you touch something?”
He laughed, putting the mug down. “No, but I always wash my hands after using the bathroom.”
“You never used to! Not as a teenager, anyway.”
“Please don’t tell the press.”
“It’ll cost you.”
Then, there was an awkward silence, as though their joking had run out of fizz. Like they didn’t really know what to say to one another. Strangers.
“God, I’ve missed you,” she said, as if reading Steve’s mind, wanting to remove their silence. Ruby threw her arms around his neck, and he hugged her back, surprised by her sudden outburst.
“I’ve missed you too, Roo.”
She smiled. “Right, enough of the soppiness, we need to get you transformed.” She let go of him. There was a brief change in her expression as she regained composure, and then she finished her own toast.
“Is this really going to work?” He wasn’t liking the word transformed.
“Yes, I’m positive. As long as you stick to the rules, and keep your head down, it should be fine.” Steve frowned as she spoke. “It worked for Clark Kent, it can work for you.”
“This is how I’m going to find my Lois, huh?”
“Absolutely.” Then, she looked him up and down, hand to her chin, contemplatively. “Hmmm…take your watch off.”
“What?”
“It looks expensive. I don’t doubt it is expensive. So take it off. You’re hardly going to blend in wearing a watch that costs more than most people’s wages. This is about changing your image. We’ll buy another one later.”
Steve did as he was told and removed his Jaeger-LeCoultre watch, sighing heavily. Luckily, he’d pulled on some jeans, a T-shirt and his leather jacket, trying to make sure he didn’t stand out.
“And you better lose the designer stubble.”
“Hey, I can’t help the shadow. Something Dad passed on to me.”
“Well,
