TWO WEEKS LATER, RUBYwas startled awake by a phone call. A quick glance at her clock showed it was past eleven p.m.Shit.Whatever it was couldn’t be good.
Ruby checked her phone and saw Veronica Ali’s name on the display. She answered the call.
“Ruby! Sorry to call you so late! I forgot you’re in London! We’ve had a development. Can you talk?”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“I just had the most interesting phone call. Does the name Neelam Premji mean anything to you?”
“Sounds vaguely familiar. A friend of my father’s?”
“No, of yourmother’s. She said she met you recently—”
“Yes, in Jamatkhana! Sorry, that’s our place of worship. I didn’t remember her, but she knew me.”
“Yes, well she had some interesting things to tell me. Apparently, years ago, she and your mother, along with three other women in the neighborhood, used to meet weekly.”
“I remember. I think they were all running businesses out of their homes. Mom used to go while I was at school.”
“Yes, well the group wasn’t really a ladies’ entrepreneur club. It was a kind of support group. All the women were in bad marriages, and they met every week to figure out how to getaway from their spouses.”
“What? Really?” Ruby had always assumed that her mother was alone. She had Ruby, of course. And she was close to Marley. But her mother hadn’t been particularly close to her own sister, or any other family. Ruby thought her mother hadn’t had anyone to vent to about her marriage. It was such a relief to know that wasn’t true.
“Yes, and apparently it wasn’t only moral support they gave each other—Neelam was particularly gifted at day trading. Another made a killing selling erotic stories on Amazon.”
Ruby would have snorted out tea if she was drinking any. She hoped it wasn’t her mother writing the spicy stories. “Are you serious?”
“Completely. Badass group of women, if you ask me. They determined that the only way for true freedom waseconomicfreedom. All the money they earned was put into a pool and distributed among the five of them. They were raising their escape funds.”
“Holy shit,” Ruby said before her shoulders sunk with disappointment. “But then my mother died before she could escape.”
“Yes. But one of the women helped your mother set up your trust after her cancer diagnosis so you’d get her share if she died before she could use it. They decided on the ten-year wait partially so it would be less likely that your father would find out about it, but they also wanted you to be a little older when you got it. Neelam said your mother told her that she wanted ‘Ruby to know who Ruby was’ before you had the money, so you could spend it wisely.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what the letter that came with the inheritance said.” Ruby teared up. She couldn’t believe that her mother had this whole secret life without her knowing. She was going to find that business card that Neelam had given her and call to thank her. “So, that’s how Mom got the money. She didn’t steal it from my father.”
“Nope. The group continued to deposit your mother’s share in the trust until they’d all divorced. Neelam called the other women before contacting me—all four are willing to sign affidavits they’d gifted Maryam Dhanji the money that made up the bulk of her savings account, along with her sewing money. Your father doesn’t have a chance in hell of winning the lawsuit now. I think our countersuit for legal fees will be successful. Apparently, after creating the trust, your parents fought about something, and your mother told him about it, that the money was already in an ironclad trust for you. She told him that she was gifted the money. He always knew he wasn’t entitled to any of it.”
He knew. Her father knew that the money was never his, and he still wanted to take it from her. Ruby exhaled. She was disgusted. “One question: Why did they all want me to have the money? Why not use it to help the others get away from their husbands sooner?”
“Because they all knew that if your mother didn’t survive, you wouldn’t have a relationship with your father. They recognized the disadvantages that even adult children have without parents. No opportunities for generational wealth or even parental guidance. They didn’t want Maryam’s daughter to be economically disadvantaged. Neelam runs a grassroots charity now that raises money to help racialized and immigrant womenin Toronto escape abuse. They named it after your mother—Help from Maryam. I’ve already offered them pro bono legal help, and I’m planning to write them a check after I get off the phone with you.”
Ruby inhaled sharply, wiping her tears. Why didn’t Ruby know about this? This organization with her mother’s name was helping women escape bad situations. She couldn’t imagine a better legacy. Ruby wished she could have been involved.
Veronica gave Ruby Neelam’s contact information and told her that once she had the signed affidavits, she was going to prepare a settlement offer that if her father paid all of Ruby’s legal fees up to now, they could avoid court. She said she’d have the paperwork ready for Ruby to sign early next week.
It wasn’t until Ruby was off the phone, still weepy after what she’d learned, that she realized she hadn’t asked Veronica how Neelam found out about the lawsuit and got Veronica’s contact number. It could have been Reena—she was the one who referred Veronica to Ruby. But how would Reena have known Neelam?
She honestly didn’t have the time to dwell on it right now. She was meeting Ayesha tomorrow for their trip to the countryside, and her train was at the crack of dawn. After learning more about where her trust money came from, she was more determined than ever to give Mom’s English dream a fighting chance.
Ruby put Veronica’s news out of her mind for now so she could enjoy her weekend. Her eyes were glued out the window for theentire train ride from London to Manchester. The views werephenomenal. The rolling hills, small farms, and tiny old villages—it felt like she was watching a movie. Ruby settled into her seat as a deep comfort blanketed her, just like she hoped it would. It was beautiful, and even though she’d never been here before, the terrain felt so familiar. Like the best warm memory.
It was ten in the morning when Ruby’s train pulled into the Manchester train station. She texted Ayesha, who said to meet her in the passenger pick-up area. Ruby found Ayesha waiting near a car.
“There you are, Rubes. You look fantastic! You’re going to fit right in at the Weeping Sparrow Inn,” Ayesha said.
Ruby had curated a vaguely Regency-core outfit for her first trip to the countryside—wide pale blue jeans with beige sneakers, a light pink sweater with the slightest of puffy sleeves, a wide pink headband, and, uncharacteristically for Ruby, pale pink lipstick.
“Is it really called the Weeping Sparrow Inn?”
