rubbed together so hard that there were threadbare patches on his school trousers, but fat enough to hate a waistband and a mirror. Daddy said it was puppy fat and it was cute, but Ruby knew it wasn’t.
Mummy got up and brought the pan over and draped a little more spaghetti into Ruby’s bowl. She didn’t sit down again; she stood, watching the clock.
‘So,’ said Daddy, glancing at the clock. ‘What’s the occasion?’
‘No occasion,’ said Mummy. ‘Just thought I’d wear them tonight to show Mum what her money bought, that’s all.’
Ruby wound the spaghetti around her fork against the bottom of her bowl. ‘They’re too high, Mummy,’ she said. ‘You’ll fall over on the cobbles.’
‘Break an ankle,’ agreed Daddy.
Mummy stared at her feet and bit her thumbnail. The nail was already ragged, and when she went to work every day she put a fresh blue plaster on it.
Daddy pushed his chair back from the table and Ruby sucked up her last mouthful of spaghetti, then rushed upstairs after him, to watch him change.
Ruby loved Daddy every day, but on Cowboy Night she loved him even more, with his black clothes and black hat and the fake brass bullets glinting at his waist.
Cowboys was the best game she played in the woods, even though she didn’t have a hat or boots or a gunbelt. She had sticks that were shaped like guns, stuck into the pockets of her jeans as if they were in holsters.
Daddy adjusted his black Stetson so that it was low over his eyes, then opened the bottom drawer. Ruby craned to see what was coming out of it, because she wasn’t allowed to open the drawer herself. She wasn’t allowed to mess with Daddy’s cowboy things.
It was the Texas string tie, with a blue stone cattle skull and pointed silver tips to the laces. Daddy stood in front of the pitted mirror that hung on the back of the bedroom door, and looped it over his head, then replaced his hat – making sure it was just right in the mirror.
‘Wow!’ said Ruby.
He grinned and tipped his brim in her direction.
‘Why, thank you, Miss Ruby,’ he drawled, making her giggle.
He sat on the bed and pulled on his cowboy boots. Black with fancy white stitching. Mummy had found them in a charity shop, but they fitted like gloves.
‘You need spurs,’ Ruby said.
‘You think so?’
Of course she did; she’d heard
him
say so often enough.
‘Mummy has new shoes,’ she pointed out.
‘Well,’ shrugged Daddy, but didn’t go on.
Her father never said it in so many words, but they both understood that if her mother’s work weren’t so
seasonal
they would all have things that they wanted. In the season she worked almost every night and some days. In the winter she only did weekends, and they ate so much fish that Ruby could smell it on her pillow.
Daddy pulled open the drawer once again and took out the black leather gunbelt. He hitched it loosely, so that the holster hung low on his hip.
‘Can I tie the string?’ said Ruby, kneeling up beside his leg.
The leather thong was difficult to wrestle into a knot and turned into a loose half a bow.
‘Nice tyin’, young ’un.’
Ruby beamed at up him. ‘Sure, JT.’ She tried the accent, but it wound itself around her tongue like a cat and came out in a miaow.
Daddy used to have a gun in his gunbelt. Not a real one, but that didn’t matter – the government had made all the Gunslingers hand in their guns just because one stupid man shot some people miles away. And the man wasn’t even a cowboy, so it was really unfair.
But even without a gun, something about Daddy’s hat and his cowboy voice and his unshaven jaw always excited Ruby in a way she couldn’t put into words. He looked like a film star. Even the pale scars that curved through his eyebrow and across his right cheek looked good on Cowboy Night. In Ruby’s eyes they almost made him better. More
dangerous
.
‘John?’ her mother called up the stairs. ‘It’s quarter past.’
Daddy rolled his eyes at
Mummy got up and brought the pan over and draped a little more spaghetti into Ruby’s bowl. She didn’t sit down again; she stood, watching the clock.
‘So,’ said Daddy, glancing at the clock. ‘What’s the occasion?’
‘No occasion,’ said Mummy. ‘Just thought I’d wear them tonight to show Mum what her money bought, that’s all.’
Ruby wound the spaghetti around her fork against the bottom of her bowl. ‘They’re too high, Mummy,’ she said. ‘You’ll fall over on the cobbles.’
‘Break an ankle,’ agreed Daddy.
Mummy stared at her feet and bit her thumbnail. The nail was already ragged, and when she went to work every day she put a fresh blue plaster on it.
Daddy pushed his chair back from the table and Ruby sucked up her last mouthful of spaghetti, then rushed upstairs after him, to watch him change.
Ruby loved Daddy every day, but on Cowboy Night she loved him even more, with his black clothes and black hat and the fake brass bullets glinting at his waist.
Cowboys was the best game she played in the woods, even though she didn’t have a hat or boots or a gunbelt. She had sticks that were shaped like guns, stuck into the pockets of her jeans as if they were in holsters.
Daddy adjusted his black Stetson so that it was low over his eyes, then opened the bottom drawer. Ruby craned to see what was coming out of it, because she wasn’t allowed to open the drawer herself. She wasn’t allowed to mess with Daddy’s cowboy things.
It was the Texas string tie, with a blue stone cattle skull and pointed silver tips to the laces. Daddy stood in front of the pitted mirror that hung on the back of the bedroom door, and looped it over his head, then replaced his hat – making sure it was just right in the mirror.
‘Wow!’ said Ruby.
He grinned and tipped his brim in her direction.
‘Why, thank you, Miss Ruby,’ he drawled, making her giggle.
He sat on the bed and pulled on his cowboy boots. Black with fancy white stitching. Mummy had found them in a charity shop, but they fitted like gloves.
‘You need spurs,’ Ruby said.
‘You think so?’
Of course she did; she’d heard
him
say so often enough.
‘Mummy has new shoes,’ she pointed out.
‘Well,’ shrugged Daddy, but didn’t go on.
Her father never said it in so many words, but they both understood that if her mother’s work weren’t so
seasonal
they would all have things that they wanted. In the season she worked almost every night and some days. In the winter she only did weekends, and they ate so much fish that Ruby could smell it on her pillow.
Daddy pulled open the drawer once again and took out the black leather gunbelt. He hitched it loosely, so that the holster hung low on his hip.
‘Can I tie the string?’ said Ruby, kneeling up beside his leg.
The leather thong was difficult to wrestle into a knot and turned into a loose half a bow.
‘Nice tyin’, young ’un.’
Ruby beamed at up him. ‘Sure, JT.’ She tried the accent, but it wound itself around her tongue like a cat and came out in a miaow.
Daddy used to have a gun in his gunbelt. Not a real one, but that didn’t matter – the government had made all the Gunslingers hand in their guns just because one stupid man shot some people miles away. And the man wasn’t even a cowboy, so it was really unfair.
But even without a gun, something about Daddy’s hat and his cowboy voice and his unshaven jaw always excited Ruby in a way she couldn’t put into words. He looked like a film star. Even the pale scars that curved through his eyebrow and across his right cheek looked good on Cowboy Night. In Ruby’s eyes they almost made him better. More
dangerous
.
‘John?’ her mother called up the stairs. ‘It’s quarter past.’
Daddy rolled his eyes at
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