She turned and smiled. For a split second, that smile soothed the surge of panic Ruby was experiencing. But soon enough it was back. She felt suddenly embarrassed by her bare breasts and rummaged for the T-shirt she had discarded.
‘There’s no rush. Sorry if the music woke you – it’s next door’s,’ Cindy said quietly, turning her attention back to the mirror. Ruby thought she detected a hint of disappointment in her voice.
‘I appreciate that, but there really is – I’m late for work … again, and my boss is a total wanker.’ Ruby already had her jeans on. She reached for her back pocket. She’d taken to doing it almost instinctively a few times a day. There was something reassuring about knowing that that too-good-to-be-true offer was somehow tangible. The card wasn’t there. More panic.
‘Are you looking for this?’ Cindy held up the now worn off white rectangle. ‘What is this … Toad? And who’s Gareth?’
Ruby snatched it from her fingers, and this time the hurt on Cindy’s face was unmistakable.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean … It’s nothing.’ Ruby scanned the room, looking for her remaining belongings, and to avoid Cindy’s gaze. ‘It’s probably some kind of con. I don’t know … Some strange bloke accosted me in the pub and offered me the chance to win 75k on an artists’ retreat … so like I said – scam.’
Ruby stuffed her rolling tobacco into her other back pocket and then pulled on her technicoloured bomber jacket. Finally she was ready to leave. She braved a look up. Cindy was staring at her, but Ruby couldn’t decipher the expression. It was impassive.
‘Do you think I should tell Jude about this?’ The question took Ruby by surprise.
‘I …’ Ruby stumbled. This was not her area of expertise. ‘I guess if you want to dump him, it might help.’ It was the only reason Ruby could fathom the need for that kind of conversation.
‘I don’t.’ Cindy’s tone had taken on an icy edge. Ruby sensed that this was supposed to be a moment of emotional significance and she was crap at this sort of thing. She was also only getting more late for work.
‘I had a lot of fun last night.’ Ruby reached out to take Cindy’s hands in her own. ‘But if you think about it nothing actually happened … did it?’ Ruby thought back to their kiss. It had been so soft and so sweet, but maybe Cindy had forgotten. She’d been right on the brink of sleep, after all.
Cindy’s eyes flashed. Was it anger? ‘I guess you’re right.’ She had turned back to her reflection but looked at Ruby through the glass as she spoke.
Ruby tried what she thought was a friendly smile and a shrug. ‘But I’ll see you around, right?’
‘Maybe.’
Ruby felt helpless. She gathered that she had handled this terribly, but there was not time to make amends, and to be honest she didn’t even know what that would look like. She made for the bedroom door.
‘You should think about the artists’ retreat, though; maybe you’re due your big break.’ Cindy’s tone was flat, matter-of-fact, and she didn’t look over, concentrating instead on declumping her mascara.
‘Maybe,’ Ruby murmured as she hurried out.
Her boss, Rick, was indeed pissed, so pissed that he told Ruby she shouldn’t bother coming back, and that it was totally unprofessional to ‘turn up to an office in jeans and a T-shirt reeking of booze and ganja’. Rick was in his forties, and primly buttoned into a perfectly pressed salmon-coloured shirt as he delivered his scolding. If it hadn’t been for the fact that she was staring down the face of financial ruin she might have even found the tirade amusing.
Sitting on the 107 back to Brixton, though, Ruby started to feel the full weight of the last twenty-four hours. The intoxication of Cindy’s company, as well as the beer and dope was leaving its mark on her frazzled brain. By some miraculous twist of fate, she’d been given the chance to have Cindy, in exactly what capacity she couldn’t be sure. What she could be sure of, though, was that she had fucked her chances. And for what? A stupid temp job that had just fired her on the spot anyway. Hortense was going to be furious, in that quiet, searing way of hers. Ruby thought she might cry, and in public no less. She needed to get a grip.
Hortense jumped when Ruby laid a hand lightly on her shoulder. It always happened like this, the sound of the sewing machine masking the click of the key in the lock and the approaching footsteps. Her mother’s face betrayed her exhaustion, as well as her horror at Ruby’s appearance. She wrinkled her nose and swung around on her stool.
‘What in the Lord’s name? Ruby Grace Wallace, you are testing my patience now. Why are you not at the office?’ Hortense had stood up and was now backing Ruby into a corner. Almost instinctively Ruby’s eyes darted to her mother’s feet, as though she was expecting her to have already removed a slipper for a beating. She was twenty-five now, though – surely her mother wouldn’t dream of bending her over her knee? And Hortense’s own stature had grown fragile over the past few years. Still, Ruby didn’t doubt that if the situation called for it her mother would find a way.
Ruby dropped her eyes to the floor. For the second time that day she was flooded with guilt, and the anxiety of knowing that whatever she said or did next would probably only cause more hurt. In this instance those words were: ‘Rick fired me.’
‘Your boss Rick?’ It wasn’t so much a question as a stall for Hortense to process what had been said, and all the implications of it. ‘How will we pay the rent? Didn’t the temp agency say one more strike and you’re out? Will you bring shame on thishouse again by going on the dole?’ In such quick succession, Hortense’s line of questioning felt like a battering. Now Ruby’s eyes drifted to the slipper with something akin to longing. How much easier it would be to bear pain, rather than the enduring ache of disappointment.
And then, a strike of inspiration. ‘You can get a lodger, Mum. I’m going on an artists’ retreat for six weeks and I promise that I’ll find a job when I get back.’ The words came tumbling out, bypassing whatever part of her brain was usually in charge. The solution had lodged itself into the back of her mind and waited patiently for its opportunity to present itself. She had better hope it wasn’t really a scam.
Hortense seemed unconvinced. She crossed her arms. ‘An artists’ retreat?’
‘It’s somewhere in the country I think. It’s run by a wealthy woman, and this man who runs a gallery.’
‘A woman and a man? That is all you know? You don’t know their names? Are you sure these people are not going to lure you to be murdered in your bed? Or worse?’ Hortense’s eyebrows were climbing steadily closer to her hairline.
Ruby wondered what was worse than being murdered.
‘The man is called Gareth, and he was wearing a very fine merino wool suit.’ Ruby spoke quietly, afraid that any harshness in her tone might spook her mother. But her carefully selected description seemed to have done the trick.
Hortense nodded but there was still caution in her voice. ‘A man like that sounds like a man with real money, but you have to be careful sometimes with those men …’
