by Daisy White
“Oh hi, Rubes! That your new chap? Isn’t he one of Kenny’s friends?” Her pretty little freckled face is almost hidden by her mass of curly nut-brown hair. “I love your new hair, by the way!”
“Tidal waaaaaave!” Three teenage boys launch themselves, and a whole lot of water, towards us, and Linda scowls at them.
“Ruby, meet the most badly-behaved brothers anyone ever had. John, Larry and Chris, meet the gorgeous Ruby.”
I spit out more sour lake water, and grin at the noisy threesome. They look like their sister, with loads of freckles, and cheeky round faces.
For a while, I just stand there enjoying the cheering, the crowds and the romantic setting against the backdrop of the rolling green Downs. I catch a glimpse of James in the mass of half-naked bodies, and his muscular, slightly tanned torso doesn’t disappoint, but it comes second to a lot of things. This is what I came for. To belong somewhere and be part of something that isn’t domestic drudgery, or that grey half-life of barely scraping through the days. I feel alive.
I also feel pretty cold. “I’m getting out now,” I tell Linda, and she nods enthusiastically. We crawl onto the warm paving slabs and Johnnie hands us another bottle. “Although it should be brandy after that dip!”
I look up at him lounging on the bank, immaculate as ever, and wipe some mud off my face, “Thanks!” The scene has stopped spinning but I’m still woozy and thick-headed.
Little Ted winks at us both, “Good thing you two wore matching underwear!” I throw a clump of muddy water-weed at him and he laughs and chucks it back among the swimmers. There’s too much screaming from the lake to talk, so I stretch out next to Mary, enjoying the heat of the night. Linda accepts Ted’s jacket, but makes no effort to get dressed. He watches her adoringly, and then gently crowns her wild hair with a daisy chain.
More cars have arrived. Other more elegant couples are sitting on the grass, in the soft glow of the sunset, oblivious to our riotous behaviour. Even the Witch Stone is a thing of beauty now. The evening light turns the grey stone white-gold and throws a long thin shadow towards the woods, like an arrow aiming for the moon.
“Hey, Victoria, you never did our Tarot cards,” Mary says suddenly.
Johnnie groans and Victoria turns reluctantly from Leon to poke about in her bag. Finally she drags the shiny box out and spills a set of colourful cards onto the grass, “Okay, Mary and Ruby pick five cards each—”
“Don’t forget me,” Linda squeaks, finally pulling on a pleated dress and abandoning Ted. She peers over my shoulder, and then shrieks as someone flings their arms around her neck.
“Oh not those weird fortune-telling cards again. You’re as bad as that stupid Carla!”
“Shove off, Larry. Go back in the lake or something or you can walk home.” She’s laughing, but her brother obediently wanders off.
“Okay, just the three of you then. But you must take it seriously or the cards won’t predict anything,” Victoria tells us sternly.
“I’ll shuffle the pack before they pick to make sure nobody cheats.” Leon winks at us.
I’m fighting the floating, slightly sick feeling that goes with too much alcohol and dreamily choose my cards without thinking about them. My best friend picks hers carefully.
To my uneducated eye, they just look like odd playing cards, but Victoria waxes enthusiastically about cups, pentacles and swords. She tells both Mary and me that our futures are going to be challenging but bright. I get a hermit, which also apparently means I have a solitary quest to complete. There is nothing about Mary’s baby. Oh, but I have to make a life choice soon. I can’t help wondering if she’s quite as good at this as she thinks, and Johnnie laughs so much he almost falls into the lake.
“My turn now,” says Linda, displaying her cards on the grass, “Oh I got Death. That’s not good!” But she giggles.
“It doesn’t mean actual death,” Victoria explains, as Mary and I abandon our less interesting choices, and lean in to examine Linda’s card. Whereas we got away with saint this, and the two brothers that, and my bent old hermit man, hers depicts a skeletal Death riding on a white horse, wearing a suit of armour. He holds a banner showing a white rose on a black background.
“It means you are choosing a new path, or you’re about to enter a new phase of your life. Maybe you are going to be an actress after all?”
“Really? How do you figure that out?” Linda asks, taking another cigarette from Ted.
“Well, Death is ruled by Scorpio, the sign of desire, taxes — and yes, death — but as I said, picking the card signifies beginnings, ends, and a possible transformation or transition in your life.” Victoria looks expectantly at Linda, who frowns and pulls at her brown curls.
“It means you need to visit me, darling, and let me do your hair!” Johnnie is laughing again, “If Ruby had done the cards a week ago she would have picked Death too, but now it’s too late because I’ve transformed her look!”
“Or it could just mean you’re going to die if you don’t get your brothers out of that lake and deliver them home to your mum!” James suggests. He’s still damp in his T-shirt and jeans, hair all tousled, and he towers above us.
Victoria throws a handful of grass at him. “Reporters, what do they know?”
As the sun slides away, and the noise lessens, the final shivering figures emerge from the water. The musicians accept everyone’s praise and a few tips, and everyone starts to wander back to the cars. Two colourful groups of girls are strung out along the gravel driveway, ready for a long walk home, and lovers loiter among the trees. The night is cool and smells of grass and roses, and I drink in the beauty of this tangled Sleeping Beauty garden. I think where I was last month. How much can change in a few weeks. One choice can change your life, but I suppose there’s always a price, just like in the fairy tales.
The stories of witchcraft and spells seem far away, but there is definitely an air of sadness about the whole place now, which suits my mood.
Our group splits at the cars, and I take one last glimpse of the now almost deserted gardens. The lake has a menacing black sheen, and the shadows of the ruined house beyond the spiky young trees give a hint of the place’s tragedy. I stand for a second, revelling in the beauty of the night and the gentle drama of the soft moonlight.
“Are you out tomorrow night?” James asks me as he turns towards Kenny’s car.
“I think we’re going to the Roller Rink,” I offer, looking round for Mary, who’s off chatting with Leon and Victoria. “You?”
He grins, “I might see you up there. If that’s okay, of course?”
Somehow our hands link again, and I find myself half-sitting on the bonnet of the car. He leans closer, and presses his lips on mine for a quick kiss, before jumping in beside Kenny. I wave them off, laughing.
All the way back to the salon, Ted teases me about my new boyfriend, and Johnnie is only too happy to join in. I’m quite glad when we pull up on the side of the road, next to the shadowy pots of flowers, and the neatly-stacked furniture padlocked to the railings.
“Thanks for the lift, Johnnie. And for our lovely new home.” Mary is clearly halfway to tears again. I add slurred thanks, and we clatter cheerfully through the first door and up the stairs. Despite my slightly drunken dizzy feeling, I get a catch of fear in my stomach as we reach the second door. Pearl’s broken lock and the stealthy intruder are still fresh in my mind.
But the door is as solid as when we left, and the paintwork gleams in the half-light and blurred shadows. Mary pulls out her key and we stagger inside and begin the usual after-party routine.
Tonight, despite our tiredness, it takes longer than usual to get ready for bed, as we stumble round making the beds — something we really should have done before we went out. Mary is still cooing over the baby crib, and I lay out my uniform for tomorrow while she chatters on about the picnic.
“So what’s really going on with you and James?”
I pause, hairbrush in one hand, “I’m
not sure. I mean, he is gorgeous, obviously, but I don’t need anything extra right now.” I can’t bring myself to ruin the evening by mentioning the watcher, or his little extra ‘gift’ from the break-in at Pearl’s.
Mary sits on the bed next to me. Her pale hair is neatly plaited for the night, and her pink nightdress hides the now slightly rounded belly. “You are allowed to have fun, Rubes. You don’t have to marry anyone! Hell, I certainly wouldn’t advise that, but if you want to have a boyfriend, then do.” She smiles. “Especially when he’s as good-looking as James!”
I’m just drifting off, soothed by the moonlight swirling through the bare windows, and by Mary’s gentle snores in the next bed, when I get a niggling feeling that something is wrong. I rack my alcohol-fuddled brain, but draw a blank. The feeling persists, but eventually I drop off.
By the time the morning light blazes through the room I know exactly what’s wrong. The sick numb feeling hits me like a fist in the stomach. How could I be so stupid? After everything that has happened?
Chapter Eight
“Mary?”
“Mmmm?” She rolls over, pushing her hair out of one eye, peering at me through the sunshine. “What time is it?”
“Just gone five. Mary, I left my white purse at the picnic last night. I need to go and get it!” Panic rises in my throat. I kick the twisted bedsheet, sit up abruptly and hit a wall of nausea so solid I nearly vomit onto the floorboards. I take a huge breath and focus on the windows until the room stops spinning and then turn back to Mary.
“You what? Okay. Don’t worry, I expect one of the others picked it up. Was it on the picnic blanket?”
“Yes, I think so . . . I mean I don’t remember . . . but it has my house key in it!”
“Oh, bloody hell!” Mary snaps into alertness, swinging her legs out of bed. “You think that watcher might have got it. Are you sure you just lost it? He could have been there last night and stolen it.”
She sounds panicked, and I get that hot rush of guilt. “I don’t think he was there. I think I was just stupid and left it on the picnic blanket, when I was talking to James. But I need to find it.”
“I . . . well, okay. I suppose if he had the key he would have followed us back home anyway . . . and . . .” she stutters to a halt. I can tell she still believes the worst.
“Mary! I’ll get dressed and go straight up there. I’m sure the bus stops outside Green Ridges. It’s only a five minute walk from there.” I start hauling my clothes on, ignoring another wave of nausea that makes my head spin again. “I should be back in time for work, but if I’m late can you tell Eve or Catherine what happened? It would be today that Johnnie’s gone up to London, wouldn’t it.”
“Wait, I’ll come with you!” Mary looks round for her own clothes.
“No, you get ready for work. If it’s there I’ll find it and if not — well, we can do what you said and ask around, see if someone picked it up,” I’m driven by a frenzied need for action, and still furious with myself for being so careless. I put us all in danger just by drinking a bit more than usual. I’m a fool.
“Okay, and don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find it.” Mary sounds calm again now, but her eyes are anxious. She roots around in her own purse and hands me some coins, “Here, take enough for the bus fare at least!”
I give her a quick hug and head straight down the stairs in my old checked cotton dress and flat shoes. I hurtle down towards the sea in the early morning silence, leaping round the few workers dotting the streets, and ignoring for once the friendly deckchair man setting out his wares. I have to dodge a red delivery van, but I arrive at the bus stop seconds before the big cream bus pulls up.
It’s only a few stops, but the noise of grinding gears and stench of diesel seem to go on for an age. At last the bus pulls into the side of the road and the driver makes the doors open with a bang. I leap out almost before the gap is wide enough, and start running through the new houses. The road winds steeply upwards, and I’m soon gasping and clutching a painful stitch in my side. My usually comfortable flat shoes weren’t made for running, and have rubbed blisters in both heels by the time I slow to a walk at the entrance to Glebe House.
The panic has lessened, but even when I slow down it’s still hard to breathe. My feet crunch on the stones, crushing the flowering weeds. The early morning air is crisp and sweet, with a promise of warmth to come.
I follow the tyre tracks from last night and when I see the bend in the driveway I start to run. The Witch Stone was where we first laid our picnic stuff, so I decide to start my search there. Plenty of long grass that could hide a little purse, surely.
My first thought is that Linda looks very uncomfortable, sitting propped against the stone like a wild-haired doll. My second is, “How odd. She must have been there all night. Is she asleep or just drunk?”
Her red dress is arranged neatly around her knees, and although her hair is tangled with grass and leaves, it is pulled back off her face. She’s not asleep — she’s looking right at me.
Except of course she isn’t.
Linda is roped securely to the Witch Stone, staring sightlessly down the driveway. At her throat, instead of that pretty white-and-gold necklace, there is a deep dark slash. Her chest and arms are covered in blood. My eyes travel down her body to her scratched legs, and the one shoe dangling from the tip of her toes. The other foot is bare and twisted at a sickening angle.
“Linda?” Despite the fact she is obviously dead, I creep forward, one hand outstretched as though to a potentially vicious wild animal. My whole body is shaking so much I can hardly move, and my jaw is rigid with pain in the attempt to stop my teeth from chattering. Lovely, happy, round-faced Linda is dead. Not just accidentally dead either, but sadistically, carefully killed, like that poor cat on my first night in Brighton. I withdraw my trembling fingers and rub my arms furiously. The long-healed bruises throb and I rub harder, staring at the body, tears coursing down my hot cheeks.
There is nobody else to disturb the early morning magic of the garden, and the woods sway gently in the light breeze. A flock of crows flies up squawking, their ragged feathers harsh against the blue. They jolt me back to reality and I turn to run back down the drive, faster than I’ve ever run before. I stumble and fall hard on the gravel and stones, grazing my knees and palms and sprawling like a little child. I scramble to my feet and stagger to the end of the driveway.
Blood. So much blood everywhere. As I turn down the road the horrors are spinning through my mind, blurring past and present.
* * *
I’m back in Croydon the night we left . . .
“Ruby?”
My mum’s soft, whimpering voice barely reaches me as the door bangs behind my stepdad. I want to shut her out, push away that pathetic person who should be strong enough to protect her kids, strong enough to walk away.
“Ruby, don’t be angry with me. I’m trying my best . . .” She gives a little sob that as usual catches my heart and tears it to tiny shreds.
She is trying, but she just doesn’t have the courage to break away. My mum is worn down by the years of motherhood, of ill-treatment from various men. She’s weaker than I ever imagined. I swing between pity and disdain.
I wriggle upright. There’s sticky blood on my hand. My head still throbs and my stomach aches. I get up and run a bowl of water and get towels. It’s what I always do. The house smells of sweat and beer, but my little siblings are blessedly silent. Quite often George’s shouting wakes them, and after he’s gone I have to deal with the screaming babies first, before I tend to Mum’s and my own wounds.
Mum is still lying on the floor, her eyes dull, face closed, and I slip an arm round her shoulders, urging her to sit up. Her cheek is purple already, and the cut above her left eye should probably have stitches.
“You need to leave him,” I tell her, as I have a thousand million times before.
Her answer surprises me. “I think . . . I think I’ve found a way, Ruby. It will be bette
r for all of us — Aunt Jackie will take the babies, and you and Garnet, you’re big enough to take care of yourselves.”
Her blue eyes, so like my own, search my face. I shift awkwardly, dipping the towel and dabbing her cuts.
“What do you mean? You’re going to run away but leave your kids with that monster?” She can hear the contempt in my voice. I sit back on my haunches, staring right at her, daring her to confirm it.
“No, Ruby, I’m not running away, but I am leaving.” Her voice is still soft but there’s a new note of tired resolution.
“What do you mean?” I check my watch again. The seconds are ticking loudly by. I was supposed to be out of here long ago.
Like a child displaying a prize, my mum slips a hand into her grubby apron pocket, and pulls out the object. She winces, and slides up to sit against the wall. It’s a knife — a small penknife, the kind of thing the kids play with down the market. Mum flicks the handle and the blade opens, sharp and shiny against the dirty lino.
“Mum?” Like an idiot, I still don’t get it.
“I know you don’t understand but I can’t go on like this, and the only way out for me is—”
“But, Mum, you’re pregnant!”
“It will be better in the long run. I can’t look after another child, Ruby.”
My mind is spinning. I look at the bump where the baby is, and imagine it wriggling around, breathing, growing inside Mum’s belly — until she decides to end both their lives before it’s even born.
“You can’t do this,” I tell her. Does she know I’m running away with Mary tonight? But she’s clearly thinking only of her own selfish path to freedom. I make a quick decision and grab her by the shoulders “If George left you, would you have the baby? Would you let Aunt Jackie help out with the other kids, and maybe go back to your job at the laundry?”