Teresa Morgan - One Fine Day

This meant he had until the end of January to find the perfect woman.

But he didn’t want perfect. ‘Perfect’ he could pick up in Hollywood tomorrow. He wanted someone who didn’t have to look immaculate every time she stepped out of her front door, didn’t need to worry about image – at least no more than the next woman did. Erica had been perfect, and look what had happened there. Every day she’d worried about her dress size and what she ate, following a special diet. Dinner in a restaurant had been hard work at times. No, he wanted to find someone ordinary, normal, who he could settle down with. Someone he could love, and who would love him back.

Steve wanted all the things his mum and dad had had. He wasn’t looking at this with rose tinted glasses either. He remembered their arguments, the tough times, more than Ruby would, but they’d always come out the other side, still in love. Dad coming home with flowers to apologise, Mum baking Dad’s favourite lemon drizzle cake. He had fond memories of his mother standing at the sink doing the washing up, soap suds to her elbows and Dad surprising her from behind, kissing and hugging her.

He jumped out of bed and slipped on his clothes. The scruffier he looked, the better. He’d grab a shower at Ruby’s. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and combing a hand through his hair, he looked in the mirror and decided he’d do. Luckily, he hadn’t unpacked much, so he was ready by the time Ruby knocked on his door.

Steve checked out quickly and as discreetly as possible, and was soon dragging his case behind him, out into the grey British rain, towards Ruby’s waiting car. Somehow, after Ruby had thrown some carrier bags of shopping (new shoes and clothes) into the back seats, his luggage fitted into the small trunk – thank heavens he’d packed light.

With the two of them in the car, the front screen misted up quickly. Ruby switched on the blowers and eventually they blew out warm air. Thanks to the typical British weather, he hadn’t seen the sun once since landing at Heathrow. He squashed the thought of missing the LA warmth quickly. This is what he wanted; to come home. He’d just forgotten how miserable the weather could be, he thought, tousling his hair to remove the rainwater. Used to the leg space in limousines, Steve sat cramped in Ruby’s little car – he could almost touch his ears with his knees.

Okay, note to self; for her next birthday buy Ruby a bigger car.

“So, where am I going to stay, if I can’t stay in a hotel?” Steve said, as he adjusted the car seat for some leg room. Instead, the chair tilted, throwing him back. Cursing under his breath, while Ruby giggled, he up-righted himself and worked out the seat eventually.

“You can stay with me.”

He looked at her, surprised, his eyebrows raised.

“Don’t look at me like that. I could change my mind,” Ruby said, taking her eyes off the road for a second.

“I thought maybe I could stay at your hotel.”

Ruby shook her head. “No, it’s too small, we’ll need the rooms. I’m taking a big risk as it is, and I don’t want the staff questioning it. I’ve got a spare room, so you can crash there. It’ll be the safest place for you.”

“Can I shower there, too? You didn’t exactly give me time.”

“Sure, we’ll drop your stuff off, have some breakfast then head for the Mall at Cribbs Causeway – it’s got everything under one roof, even hairdressers.”

Steve really didn’t like how she kept mentioning hairdressers.

She grinned, stunning Steve by how much she reminded him of their mother. The last time he’d seen Ruby, she’d had mousy long hair. Now, it was cut short with hints of gold and blonde flattering her face and showing off her delicate ears and slender neck. His sister had turned into a woman, a very pretty one – if he looked at her objectively – and he’d never really seen the transformation. His mother had regularly sent updates, photos, but those had stopped when she’d died, and even they were nothing like seeing the real thing.

With eight years between them, he’d always been Ruby’s really big brother. She’d been only twelve when he’d left home to find fame and stardom. A slight, skinny girl. Now, she had womanly curves, confidence, and a cheeky sense of humour – God, he was going to find it hard to meet her boyfriend and not give him the third degree. She didn’t talk to Steve like she was on eggshells either – in fact she was bossing him about. She acted normal around him exactly how a sister should. His celebrity status meant nothing to her. It felt fantastic. He was breathing again, relaxing. He could fart and it wouldn’t make front page news. 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.