‘WHAT’S your cousin’s name again?’ asked Marjorie Mack. ‘She seems a bit strange. I don’t think she likes parties very much.’

‘Her name’s May,’ Ruby answered, raising her voice against the music playing on the gramophone. ‘She lives on a farm. She’s only in Adelaide because she had to go to the dentist, and she’s going home tomorrow, on the train.’

‘Is she all right in the head? I tried to talk to her, and she just stared at me.’

‘She probably didn’t know what to make of your fancy dress,’ Ruby teased her. ‘Maybe she thought you were a clown. Some people are scared of clowns.’

‘I’m a pierrette,’ Marjorie said, looking hurt. ‘It’s quite different. Clowns are ugly and have red noses. Pierrettes are pretty and wear white. Anyway, I asked her what her fancy dress was. I thought maybe she was Little Orphan Annie.’

‘Oh my hat. She’s not wearing fancy dress! You didn’t really say that to her, did you?’

Marjorie giggled. ‘I did, actually. I thought that ugly dress was her costume. Her hair is sort of ginger and curly, so she does look exactly like Little Orphan Annie. You have to admit it.’

Ruby peered past a happily chattering group of girls to where May was sitting by herself, Baxter lying at her feet. Her cousin’s dress really was quite odd. It was bright red, and it was awfully old-fashioned – it looked like something Mother might have worn, years ago.

She sighed. It was time to start the games, and Mother had told her to make sure that May wasn’t left out. So far the only person who had taken any notice of May was Hilary Mitchell. Ruby had seen her with May earlier, the two of them going through the gramophone records together.

Hilary had been at Ruby’s school for less than a term, so Ruby didn’t know her very well yet, but she liked her. She had always thought that one day she and Hilary might be real friends, best friends. She’d never had a proper best friend.

Ruby felt a little guilty now because Hilary had tried harder to be kind to May than she had herself. She wandered over to where her cousin was sitting.

‘Hello, May. Are you having fun?’

May was playing with Baxter’s ears. She looked up. ‘Not really. I don’t know anyone.’

‘Yes, you do. I introduced you to all the girls. And there’s only eight of us – it’s not a big crowd. You know Hilary, don’t you? She’s dressed as Alice in Wonderland.’ Ruby looked around the room. ‘And over there is Marjorie, who’s a kind of clown; and Sally, who’s a little Dutch girl; and then there’s Brenda Walker, who is . . . I don’t know what Brenda is. She looks like a toad stool, with that weird red hat. No, I remember – she’s a rose. And Thelma, standing by the bookcase, is an elf, and so is her twin sister Violet, who’s talking to Sally . . .’

‘And what are you?’

Ruby raised her eyebrows. ‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m Cinderella.’

‘Oh. Cinderella at the ball?’

Ruby looked down at her costume. It was made of pink silk taffeta, and it had taken Mother a whole day to whip the edging of all the frills. ‘Of course I’m Cinderella at the ball. If I was Cinderella before the ball I’d be wearing dirty old rags, wouldn’t I? Look, I’ve got glass slippers.’ She stuck out a foot to show May a dainty shoe painted with silver paint.

May didn’t look impressed. ‘That’s not a glass slipper. It’s a perfectly good shoe you’ve wrecked by painting it with silver paint.’

‘Well, of course they aren’t real glass, May. It’s only pretend.’ Ruby made a face. May was starting to annoy her. ‘Anyhow, you have to join in now, or Mother will be cross. We’re about to play Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Do you know how to play that?’

‘No.’

‘Oh. Well, it’s easy. You get blindfolded and then you have to stick a tail on that big picture of a donkey over there. Whoever pins it nearest to its bottom wins.’

Dad put another record on the gramophone, and the game began.

May did join in, but Ruby could see that her heart wasn’t in it. All the other girls started squealing with laughter straightaway, but May looked as if she’d just sucked on a lemon. And when her blindfold was taken off, and she found that she’d pinned the tail in almost exactly the right place, she didn’t even look pleased. She just sat down again and watched while the others chattered and pushed each other and giggled hysterically when Brenda stuck the tail on the donkey’s nose and Thelma pinned it on an armchair.

It was the same when they played movie charades. May was hopeless at guessing the clues, because she didn’t know the names of any movies. She hadn’t heard of any film stars – not even Jean Harlow or Clara Bow – and she didn’t seem to care. It made her look such a bad sport. Ruby loved going to the pictures. Two weeks ago Dad had taken her to a special Mickey the Mouse party at West’s Picture Theatre in the city.

‘I’m sorry for your cousin,’ Hilary whispered to Ruby, when the girls were going into the dining room for the birthday feast. ‘She’s nice, isn’t she? But she’s so quiet. She doesn’t know anyone, and she must feel very left out.’

‘She’s just shy,’ Ruby whispered back. That was what her mother had told her, when Ruby had complained how difficult it was to talk to May. And it did make sense. After all, May was a country girl, and city life must seem very strange to her. But was it possible that May was quiet because she felt left out? Ruby wasn’t sure.

The walls of the dining room were decorated with bunches of pink balloons, and the table had been covered with Mother’s best lace tablecloth. The sight of all the birthday food made Ruby’s mouth water – ribbon sandwiches, devilled eggs, brandy-snaps, fairy cakes dusted with icing sugar, and a big jug of lemonade. In the middle of the table was the cake, a cream sponge topped with pink candles.

‘There’s ice-cream to come, too,’ Ruby told everyone as they gathered around the table. ‘It took Mrs T almost the whole morning to make it, so you have to leave some room for it.’

‘I helped to make the fairy cakes,’ May said, suddenly.

‘Oh really, do you cook? Fancy that!’ Marjorie laughed, and then stopped.

May blushed scarlet.

‘Did you, May?’ Dad said in a loud, hearty voice. ‘Well done! We shall have the pleasure of trying them soon. First, though, our birthday girl must open her gifts.’ And Ruby, trying to forget about her embarrassing cousin, sat in the big carver chair to unwrap her presents in front of everyone.

There were all the usual smaller gifts of soap and embroidered handkerchiefs, hair-ribbons, chocolates, a box of Lakeland coloured pencils, and the latest School Friend Annual. Then came the gift Ruby was waiting for, the special big present from Mother and Dad.

It was a large box, wrapped in blue tissue paper. Ruby gave it a little shake. There was something fairly heavy inside. Perhaps it’s a telephone, thought Ruby. I’d like my own telephone. But no, telephones are bigger than this. She shook the parcel again.

‘Do hurry up and open it, Ruby Q!’ Marjorie said.

‘Yes,’ chimed in Brenda. ‘Stop making such a drama of it, Ruby!’

Off came the tissue paper.

All the girls crowded around, even May.

‘Oh my hat,’ Ruby breathed. ‘A camera!’

Everyone sighed and exclaimed. Everyone wanted a peek.

‘I’ve seen those cameras advertised,’ Brenda said, looking envious. ‘They cost fifteen pounds!’

‘It’s the very best you can buy,’ Dad said. ‘Professional photographers use cameras like these. It can shoot at a speed of up to one-thousandth of a second – isn’t that amazing? And here . . .’ He bent down and picked up another box from under the table. ‘I’ve bought you some film for it. A dozen rolls. Don’t use them all at once, will you?’ He kissed Ruby on top of her head. ‘I hope the camera will give you a lot of pleasure, sweetheart.’

Ruby jumped up and threw her arms around him. ‘Thank you, Dad. It will. I know it will.’

By the time all the girls had been picked up by their parents, it was nearly dark outside and Mother had to switch on the electric lights.

While May helped Mother tidy the sitting room, Ruby waltzed off down the hallway, her taffeta Cinderella dress making a deliciously expensive rustling sound with every turn.

‘The food was simply smashing, Mrs T,’ she called out, as she whirled into the kitchen. ‘That piggy Brenda had three brandy-snaps!’

She stopped. Somebody was sitting at the kitchen table, devouring a slice of birthday cake. He was a boy, probably not much older than she was, and he looked half-starved. He was wearing a grey jacket that might once have been part of a school uniform. It was too small for him, and his thin wrists poked out of the frayed cuffs. He was very dirty, too. Ruby could smell him. She wrinkled her nose.

‘Who’s this, Mrs T?’ she asked in a loud whisper.

Mrs Traill finished pouring a mug of tea. ‘His name’s Tommy,’ she said. ‘He came to the door looking for work just now. I said we had no job for him, but at least I could give him a good feed, and he can doss down in the garage tonight if he wants to. I’ve spoken to your mother and father, and it’s all right with them. I don’t like to think of a young lad wandering the streets at night.’

‘Of course not,’ Ruby said. She shivered at the thought. ‘How old are you, Tommy?’

Tommy spoke with his mouth full. ‘Fifteen.’

‘And where do you live? Do you have a home? You must have a home.’

‘Yeah, down the Port. I was apprenticed to a boilermaker there, but he went broke. I thought I’d see if there was any jobs going in the Adelaide Hills.’

‘Well, we can give you plenty of food, can’t we, Mrs T? There’s heaps of party left-overs. Nobody wanted the fish-paste sandwiches, so you can have all of those.’

‘Thank you, miss. This lady’s been kind enough to give me some bread and that. It’ll keep me going for a good while. And I’m that grateful for somewhere to sleep. I’ll be gone first thing in the morning.’

‘He will,’ said Mrs Traill. ‘I’ll see to it.’

‘All right, then.’ Ruby looked down at her silver shoes. Then, feeling a bit out of place, she picked up her rustling silky skirts and left the kitchen. She wished she was wearing something that wasn’t quite so noisy. Maybe she should have dressed as Cinderella-in-rags, after all.