The Facts of Life and Death

12

ALL WEEK LONG, Ruby watched her father like a dog watches a man with a tin opener. She knew from school that it was always the daddies that left, and her tummy squeezed like a fist every time he reached for his keys.

Sometimes he took his fishing rod, but he didn’t bring home any fish, and when they drove up the hill in the morning, empty cider cans rolled backwards from under the driver’s seat.

At school Ruby huddled on the dry strip under the overhanging roof and watched the other children mob Shawn Loosemore, who had stroked a seal on Westward Ho! beach, and Paul Powers, whose father had bought him a brand-new motocross bike. Ruby knew Paul from the bus. He often smelled mouldy and Ruby noticed that his school shoes were still as scuffed and peeling as ever. His dad must have spent all the money they had on that bike.

If she had exciting things to write about, the other kids would be nice to her the way they were to Paul. Nobody had liked him either before he got his motorbike. Now he had lots of best friends hanging off his shoulders, giving him things and begging for a playdate.

She didn’t have a motocross bike or a pony, only a cross Mummy and a silent Daddy, and who wanted to come all the way to Limeburn to see that?

The wind changed direction and the other children under the overhang shuffled off to find somewhere drier to stand until the bell rang. Ruby was too miserable to notice.

‘Why are you crying?’ demanded Essie Littlejohn.

‘Shut up,’ said Ruby. ‘I’m not.’

But Essie only tilted her head so she could look at Ruby better, and said, ‘Is it because nobody likes you?’

‘Shut up, whore.’

Ruby didn’t know what the word meant.

But it shut Essie up.

After school Ruby cleaned the mud off Daddy’s walking boots, gouging it from the treads with a pointed stick and scraping it off the leather with a teaspoon.

On Tuesday she spent hours sorting his fish hooks into the right little plastic boxes, even though she jabbed her thumb twice – sending tingles right up to her ears, and drawing a deep-red bubble of blood that made her shiver.

On Wednesday it stopped raining long enough for her to clean the car. First she took out all the rubbish and put it in the kitchen bin. There were receipts and sweet wrappers and one of Mummy’s old earrings in the passenger-door pocket, but mostly it was empty Strongbow cans.

She had to make two trips.

Washing the car took buckets and buckets, and twice she slipped on the cobbles while trying to reach the roof and spilled freezing water all over her shoes.

Adam came out of his house and asked what she was doing.

‘Washing the car for my Daddy,’ she said, and then she bit her lip and turned away and went on washing, because she didn’t want Adam to see her crying. But he didn’t say anything else after that – just did the roof for her and helped to squeeze out the sponges.

‘Thanks,’ she sniffed, and squelched home.

Later, Ruby stuck the little hoop earring into her diary with clear tape. Underneath it she wrote carefully, I found this treshure in my Daddy’s car when I cleaned it for him. I also washed the outside and it took three buckets.

On Thursday she recorded True Grit for him off the telly. The old film, not the new one, because Daddy didn’t trust any cowboy with long hair, or who wasn’t John Wayne.

Mummy and Daddy didn’t speak except to say Pass the butter, and when Ruby came home, Daddy was often not there. Sometimes the car was gone, sometimes just he was. Sometimes he went out at night, even when Mummy was working. He told Ruby not to tell Mummy and she didn’t – partly because she was on his side and partly because she was ashamed to admit to anyone that Daddy would go out and leave her alone. What if she burned the house down? Ruby didn’t like the feeling it gave her – that something bad could happen and she was too small and weak to do anything to stop it.

Mummy did a lot of extra shifts, and often had to walk up the hill to catch the bus, but Ruby reckoned it served her right. This was all her fault. Her and her fancy man. What if Mummy wanted a divorce? What if Daddy left? What if they moved? What if she got a new Daddy she didn’t like?

At night she lay awake for hours, straining to decipher the voices from the next room. The soft bitterness that made her understand all the anger and all the fear, and none of the meaning, while the wind squealed and howled through the bathroom window, in a ghostly soundtrack to her misery.

School was seven hours a day when she didn’t know where Daddy was, so Ruby tried her very best not to go.

She had a belly ache; she had a broken foot; she couldn’t see out of one eye.

Mummy had all the answers. She gave Ruby peppermint cordial for her stomach, she rubbed Deep Heat on to her toes and threw a pair of balled-up socks at her.

‘There,’ she said. ‘You couldn’t catch those if you were blind in one eye, because of depth perception.’

But Ruby was dogged. ‘My chest hurts,’ she said. It didn’t right then, but it did quite often, so Ruby didn’t think of this as a lie. More like a postponement of the truth.

Mummy said nothing. She drew back the curtains, although it hardly made the room any lighter, the leaves and branches were that thick around the window. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed and took Ruby’s hand, but Ruby took it back.

‘Are you happy at school, Ruby?’

Ruby said yes, even though saying yes to that question was silly. Who was happy at school? Nobody, apart from Miss Sharpe, as far as she could see. But if she said no, then Mummy would know her chest wasn’t really hurting.

‘Nobody’s bullying you, are they?’

‘No,’ said Ruby, because if she said yes, Mummy might come up to the school and give Essie Littlejohn or the kids on the bus a row, or ask to speak to their parents. And then Ruby would be an even bigger target than she already was.

‘Let’s have a look at your chest then…’

Ruby pulled her Mickey Mouse T-shirt up to her armpits and Mummy peered down.

‘Why are you mean to Daddy?’ said Ruby.

Mummy looked surprised. She didn’t say anything for a little while – just pulled the T-shirt back down and patted Ruby’s tummy.

‘You know, Ruby, sometimes grown-ups have arguments, just like children do. It doesn’t mean they don’t love each other.’

Ruby thought about that for a moment, then said, ‘Daddy says he used to be your hero.’

Mummy nodded. ‘He was,’ she said. ‘He came along just when I needed him most.’

‘Don’t you need him now he hasn’t got a job?’

‘I—’

Mummy started and then stopped.

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ said Mummy. ‘Listen. These are grown-up things, Ruby. I don’t want you worrying about them. Worrying is a mummy’s job!’ She was trying to make a funny joke of it, but Ruby didn’t smile back.

‘Up you get now,’ said Mummy.

‘But my tummy hurts.’

‘A minute ago it was your chest,’ said Mummy, and Ruby realized she’d blown it.

‘You have to go to school, Ruby,’ said Mummy. ‘You don’t want to grow up stupid, do you?’

‘I don’t care,’ said Ruby.

‘Well, I care,’ said Mummy. ‘Up you get.’

Ruby sighed and got up.

Mummy didn’t understand. She could get off the bus.