Free Strike a Match (Book 1): Serious Crimes by Frank Tayell Page A

don’t obey an order from your superior, you’ll be sacked. Or worse. This is the police after all. It’s probably a crime.”
    “Then what do I do?”
    “Be careful. Be cautious,” Maggie said. “And remember you can always quit. Winter is on its way and summer always follows. You can apply for an apprenticeship.”
    “Maybe,” Ruth said, not wanting to have the oft-repeated discussion that inevitably turned into an argument.
    “Anyway,” Maggie said, as if she’d had the same thought. “For now, just do your job and keep your head down. Let’s forget about it. I’ve got something for you. I wanted to give it to you this morning, but there wasn’t time.” She walked over to the battered dresser and took out a small parcel. “Happy birthday, dear.”
    Ruth took the parcel and tugged on the bow holding the red velvet cloth in place. It was the same piece of material that had wrapped all of her presents for as long as she could remember. Inside was a small box, and inside that…
    “A watch? Thank you.”
    “Every police officer needs one,” Maggie said.
    Ruth stood, and hugged her adoptive mother, as much for the words as for the gift. They were the first sign that, though she might not approve of Ruth’s choice of career, nor how she’d attained it, she did accept it.
    “There’s a spring inside that will wind the watch as your wrist moves,” Maggie said. “It’s not as accurate as the other kind, but it’s accurate enough. Now sit down, and I’ll get your dinner. I made you a cake for dessert.”
    “A cake?”
    “Of course, it wouldn’t be much of a birthday without a cake. But light the candle, it’s getting dark.”
    Ruth struck a match and lit the candle on the table, and another by the window. There was no electricity in The Acre, though they now had mains water via a tap in the front garden. When they’d chosen the site for the radio antenna, just a few miles to the southwest, there had been rumours that they would electrify the entire stretch of coast. It hadn’t happened yet. Even if it did, Ruth knew they wouldn’t be able to afford it for their home.
    “Where did you get the ingredients for the cake?” Ruth asked.
    “The eggs are our own,” Maggie said, “but I’ve been saving up the coupons for the sugar and fat.”
    “For how long?”
    “Oh, throughout the year,” Maggie said, taking a large dish out of the oven.
    “But they’re only valid for a month,” Ruth said.
    “I’ve been trading the ones we don’t need. With you getting your lunch at the academy, there’s been a few to spare.”
    “Trading with whom? And for what?” Ruth asked.
    “Ah, and isn’t that the nosiness of a true police officer. Now, eat your dinner before it gets cold.”
    The meal was potatoes and vegetables from their own garden, seasoned with mustard and herbs, and with no trace of meat. Even with the coupons and price controls that was too expensive to be anything but a rare luxury. Ruth didn’t mind. The meal was filling and had the comfort of familiarity that came from being what she’d eaten most evenings for as long as she could remember.
    They were about to cut the cake when there was a knock on the door. It opened as Maggie was still halfway to her feet. Mr Foster, their new landlord, came in.
    “Sorry to trouble you, and at dinnertime, too. I do apologise,” he said, his voice dripping with insincerity. “I saw the candles and thought I’d pop in on my way home.”
    “You can’t barge in here,” Ruth said.
    “Oh, I think I can,” Foster said. “You owe me for the water rates.”
    “It’s not due for another two weeks,” Maggie said.
    “No, in two weeks it’ll be overdue,” Foster said. “And then I’ll have no choice but to evict you. I wouldn’t want that, which is why I thought I’d come and remind you, in case you forgot. There’s a lot of forgetfulness about at the moment. People leaving candles burning when they’ve gone to bed, that sort of thing. A