When You Wish upon a Rat

by Maureen McCarthy

  “I’ll be fine,” Ruth reassured her again.

  “We’ll get back from your house around four,” Cindy said, “have another rest period, and then I’ll pick you up for dinner. You’ll be free at eight. You can come back here and watch telly; then up bright and early tomorrow. Okay? Remember, if you want anything, I’m in 108. Only a few doors down on the right.”

  “Thanks, Cindy.”

  First off, Ruth examined the contents of the little case. Just as Cindy had said, there were all the essentials, like pajamas and a toothbrush and toothpaste, plus a couple of interesting books and magazines. She wandered around the room, touching the polished wood of the desk and the marble bath and the gold taps, and imagined herself as a grown-up woman, like Cindy, expensively dressed and checking into rooms like this all over the world. Would she ever get used to it? Maybe it would seem quite normal after a while.

  She sighed and flopped down on the big bed, then picked up and opened a magazine, wishing that the big room didn’t feel so empty somehow. If only she had insisted that Marcus and Paul come back with her. They would both enjoy it all so much—the huge sparkling bathroom, the view over the city, the enormous television screen. She could almost see them. Paul would be buzzing around pointing out one thing after another. Cool! He’d be pressing buttons and opening cupboards and checking out everything. You seen this? Marcus would lie back on the bed with his hands behind his head and laugh. “It’s a hard life,” he’d mutter, “but someone’s got to live it. Might as well be me!”

  accompanied by Cindy and Melissa the interviewer, Greg the cameraman, and Greg’s assistant, Ian. There was a lot of chatter and joking among them about other people working at the network, none of whom Ruth knew. But every now and again they’d say something to include her, so she never felt completely out of it. She was nervous about having these people in her house but realized that there was nothing she could do except take Cindy at her word. What harm would a quick interview with her parents do? Maybe it would all be in close-ups, and no one need see anything of the house.

  Only a few minutes into their drive they passed St. Paul’s Cathedral and stopped at a red light. Looking out the window, Ruth got a jolt when she noticed a distinctive red door set into the stonework on a small laneway at the back of the cathedral. She stared at it in shock. How would she find her way back there if … she needed to?

  “Can you tell me the name of that little lane we just passed?” she asked the driver.

  “Chapman,” he said.

  “So many laneways in the city,” Cindy murmured. “I haven’t been down most of them myself.”

  Their car pushed on through the traffic. Ruth tried to memorize some landmarks, but after the driver took a few turns, she had to give up. All the buildings started to merge into one another and she had no idea where she was. She tried not to worry. After such a fantastic morning, she couldn’t imagine wanting to go back to her former life anyway. Experience may have taught her that things can change, and often very quickly, but she had a strong feeling that this time Rodney really had done it.

  As they turned the corner and pulled onto Wales Street, it was as though she were seeing the street for the first time, and the effect was devastating. Not a tree in sight and rubbish everywhere and their house: the worst house in the street by far! It looked like it was sinking into the ground. The whole roofline was uneven. Ruth had never noticed that before. Why didn’t her father fix up those veranda posts the way he had said he would? This was going to be so humiliating. What were these people going to think? The whole day had been spent sitting and standing and walking on spotless, gleaming surfaces with perfectly groomed, polite people who had probably never seen a dirty fridge or heard someone fart or burp or yell loudly.

  Everyone in the car went quiet as they pulled up outside Ruth’s place and got out. Even Cindy had nothing to say. With lowered eyes Ruth led the way through the front gate. Suddenly, the battered front door opened and a smiling Mrs. Craze came hurrying out to greet them, making Ruth cringe with shame. Her mother had on the bizarre red caftan that she’d worn to the Christmas concert and she had a bright red fake flower stuck on the side of her head next to her ear.

  “Welcome!” she said too loudly, as though the television crew were her best friends. “We’re all ready for you. I even made scones!”

  “Oh, that’s very nice of you!” said Greg the cameraman as he looked around at the dried-out lawn with skid marks all over it, then at the pile of tires in the corner of the yard and the newspapers all over the porch.

  “Now, we did what we could,” Mrs. Craze said, following his gaze nervously, “but I’m afraid things are still a little rough around here. We’re planning a big renovation next year, aren’t we, Ruthie?”

  Ruth nodded in humiliation.

  “But please come in, everyone.” Mrs. Craze held the kicked-in screen door open and they all trooped through into the house.

  “Why wait for next year?” Ruth heard Ian mutter under his breath to Greg, who chuckled in appreciation.

  “Maybe they’re hoping it will fall down first!”

  Just inside the front door, Greg turned to Mrs. Craze. “Could we have a look around,” he asked, “and check out the best place to do the interview?”

  “Oh yes, of course.” Mrs. Craze waved them on down the hallway. “Make yourselves at home. But I do think the front room would be best.”

  When they were out of earshot, Ruth turned on her mother. “You must have been out of your mind! Why did you say they could do this?”

  “They said it was important,” her mother said quietly, “and that you were willing, so I … I didn’t want to be a fly in the ointment.”

  “What?”

  “We did what we could, Ruthie,” Mrs. Craze added feebly.

  “Well, it wasn’t enough!” Ruth hissed furiously.

  They did the interviewing in the front room, as planned, because it was really the only halfway respectable place.

  “What is it like being the only girl in the family, Ruth?”

  “What would you like to be when you grow up?”

  “What do you think about global warming, Ruth?”

  Ruth answered as best she could, but this time found it no fun at all. Half a day and I’ve become used to the gleaming surfaces too, she thought. Get me out of this dump! Anyway, what could she say about global warming? She was eleven years old! She was too busy thinking about whether someone might by chance have cleaned the toilet or shifted the pile of newspapers from the corner in the kitchen.

  When the interview was over, Ruth looked around the room. Why had she ever thought this room was nice? It wasn’t at all. Mary Ellen’s piano and table were the only two items of furniture that were even vaguely okay. She’d been interviewed sitting on a grubby, worn sofa that looked like it had come straight out of a Goodwill bin. The windows were streaked with dirt and the curtain was torn. The curtain rod was held together with black electrical tape. Memories of Paul doing chin-ups on it crowded into her head like unwanted guests.

  “So, Ruth, you going to show us around?” Greg asked. He had the camera on his shoulder now. “Can we film your room … the desk and bookcase where you study?”

  “No.” Ruth shook her head. “I don’t want to do that.” She didn’t want to admit that there was nothing in her room even resembling a desk or a bookcase. Nor did she have a proper closet. All her clothes were in piles on the floor.

  “Okay,” Cindy said, “we’ll finish up, then.” She smiled at Ruth. “Mind if we just get a few establishing shots outside?”

  “Okay,” Ruth said in a small voice. What was an establishing shot?

  Ruth had to go to the toilet, and when she came back out she saw that the crew was filming the bathroom next door.

  She sidled up to Greg as he was shooting the stained bathtub. He started a little when he saw her.

  “Your mum said it’s okay, honey,” he said in a bright, jovial tone. “Don’t worry, we won’t use
most of it.”

  So why are you filming it? Ruth wanted to say but didn’t dare. She ran back into the kitchen, where her mother was pulling scones from the oven.

  “Mum, why did you say they could film everything?” she whispered angrily.

  “Well, they seemed to think it was important,” Mrs. Craze said, looking a little worried. “I’ll be glad when this is over, Ruthie.”

  “You shouldn’t have said it was okay,” Ruth said. “I definitely don’t want my bedroom filmed!”

  “I think they already have it, love,” her mother said guiltily. “If only we’d gotten you that new bedroom suite. Remember last year we were planning to and—”

  “Too late,” Ruth snapped.

  “I’m sure everything will be okay,” Mrs. Craze said, trying to be more positive.

  “That’s what you always say and it hardly ever is!”

  “Well, sometimes it is,” her mother said, and popped a little bit of scone into her mouth. “I think you’ll find that these are okay.”

  Ruth gave a huge sigh and walked out of the room.

  But by the end of an hour they had filmed her parents sitting on the veranda eating scones, along with Marcus sitting on his bike sucking a Slurpee—he saw the camera crew’s presence as a chance to promote himself as a champion racer. Paul did his interview sitting on his bed while he played the recorder. Cindy and the crew told her it would make for more interesting television to show the whole house and Ruth decided there was nothing she could do. What did she know? They were the professionals. They probably knew what they were doing.

  on her chest. She gasped for breath. What was happening to her? Her heart was racing. Where was she?

  Gradually, she woke up to find … nothing. She was lying on top of the hotel bed, but no one was there. The weight was off her chest, and she could breathe easily again. A bad dream, she told herself, just a bad dream. She looked over to the window and took some deep breaths. Everything was … okay. Wasn’t it?

  The light was failing outside and the room was now full of shadows. How long had she been asleep? She sat up and looked at the clock. It was five thirty now. She still had about fifteen minutes before Cindy was going to pick her up for dinner, and suddenly Ruth didn’t want to stay in the room any longer. Why not get out for a few minutes and do something … normal? Maybe she could go and check out the pool.

  Making sure she had her key, Ruth went to the door and pulled it open. Out in the corridor she looked around for some kind of sign that would point her in the right direction. Apart from the clunk of the cleaner stacking things on a steel trolley down at the other end, all was hushed quietness. Maybe if she walked to the end of the corridor, she’d see a sign that told her where the pool was. Ah! Voices. She would ask someone. Ruth took a few tentative steps toward the noise just as Cindy’s laugh rose above the rest of the chatter.

  “Can’t you see the headline if she wins?” Cindy was giggling wildly. “‘Slum Girl Fights Her Way to the Top’!” There was music and the clinking of glasses in the background.

  “What about that shed full of useless crap!”

  “Talk about eccentrics! That father was a nutcase!”

  “And the mother!”

  “What about the scones?”

  “Like rocks!”

  “Did you get a shot of her pulling them out of the oven?”

  “Yep.”

  This was followed by a roar of laughter.

  “For God’s sake, she looked like a medieval soothsayer in that getup.”

  “So what else did you get?”

  “Everything.”

  “Our audience is going to lap it up!” Cindy said with a laugh. “Mr. and Mrs. Average in Altona will feel like their own lives are normal and successful in comparison.”

  “It will work for the show too,” Ian said more seriously. “When they see the family the kid comes from, they’ll want to see her win.”

  “Did they all sign the form?”

  “You betcha!” Cindy said gaily. “And not a murmur out of any of them.”

  “So we’re safe?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Ruth ran back to her room, her face blazing with humiliation. The “At Home with Ruth Craze” segment would make her family the laughingstock of the country. She shuddered. The flea-ridden dog, her dad’s shed of mad inventions, her fat mum’s terrible dress sense—they’d caught it all on film! She looked around the room wildly. A wobbly feeling in her chest and tummy made her feel like she might be going to faint. But … she was on this roller coaster now and there was only one way to stop it. She’d signed those bits of paper and, more importantly, her parents had signed other bits. The whole thing was going to happen!

  Suddenly, the phone rang. Ruth jumped and stood staring at it. Once, twice, three times… Ruth tentatively picked it up.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Hello.” It was her mother’s voice. “Ruthie?”

  “Mum.” The creeping tightness in her throat made it impossible to say much else.

  All of a sudden, she wished she were home and that none of this had happened. Home. She was actually longing for the familiar smell of it. She would like to be in her own little shoe box of a room watching the night sky outside, hearing those annoying, loud brothers prattling on in the next room.

  “Just ringing to make sure you’re okay.”

  A rush of tears flooded Ruth’s eyes.

  “I’m okay,” she said stiffly, feeling like she was choking. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You don’t sound okay,” her mother said.

  “Mum … I just—” She stopped and tried again. “They’re going to …”

  But just at that moment there was a sharp little knock at the door. Ruth let the phone fall and watched it bounce on the carpet. She could hear her mother’s voice calling through the phone. Ruth! You still there? Ruth’s mouth went dry. It would be Cindy; what would she say? There was another knock, and with a sinking heart Ruth said good-bye to her mother and went to the door.

  “Ruth, it’s time for dinner!” Cindy grinned at her brightly. Ruth thought of how, just moments before, this same woman had been laughing about ruining her entire family. Ruth’s heart began to beat hard. She couldn’t think of what to say; she just knew she had to get away from her!

  “I just … need some fresh air for a moment…,” she mumbled as she ran past Cindy to the elevator and stood there pressing the button frantically until it came.

  “Ruth, honey!” Cindy called sharply. The elevator door opened, and Ruth stepped in and pressed the button.

  “Don’t call me honey,” Ruth whispered under her breath.

  “Ruth!”

  But the door slid shut and Ruth didn’t hear any more.

  The elevator hit the ground floor with a soft thud. Ruth rushed through the big plush lobby where people were sitting around in fancy clothes chatting over drinks, and almost threw herself at the glass doors leading out into the street. They slid open silently and at last she was outside. The cold air greeted her like a sharp smack in the face. That felt better. She stood at the top of the steps, breathing it in greedily. People were coming and going in groups and couples.

  By this time next week they’d all know about where she lived. Ruth swallowed hard. All those stupid things she’d said in the interview! If only she could take it all back. The moldy bathroom, the decrepit dog, her father’s bizarre shed, and her mother’s terrible scones!

  Oblivious to the noise, the crowds of people, the cars and trams, and with no clear idea where she was, Ruth walked quickly through the streets. When she turned a corner, she could see the city skyline not far away, so she headed in that direction. Soon she was hurrying down the street with dinner-goers and film patrons, and families on their way to walk along the river. She flew in and out around people, then across roads onto the pavements, past billboards, shops, cafés, and churches, acting like she knew exactly where she was going … when she didn’t at all.

>   She was waiting for everything to become clear.

  When she came to a big wide bridge, she slowed down and looked back at the tall lit-up city buildings and down at the web of pretty lights along the river. The lovely church just over the bridge, with its high pointy spire reaching right up into the pink-and-gray clouds, looked awesome. No one seemed to be noticing her much now. She stopped, leaning on the side of the bridge for a rest. The new watch, along with all her television clothes, was back in the hotel room, so Ruth had no idea of the time until she saw the town hall clock.

  Five minutes to six! Her old life was almost finished.

  She walked over to the church and sat down on the steps. When she looked up, to her complete astonishment, she saw her own face on an enormous electronic billboard opposite. The words Will She Win? were scrolling under the image, along with news items about sports stars, the economy, and celebrities—all of them underneath her face!

  So this was it! Her new life. The show would go to air. Her family would be humiliated and Ruth would become a star.

  This is what she’d wished for.

  Except it wasn’t. Not really.

  In one sudden blast, Ruth realized that she didn’t want it at all. She wanted a lot, but not this. In spite of … everything, she really missed her family. Impractical, loud, messy—what did it matter? She didn’t want to see them hurt or humiliated. She loved them!

  Ruth stood and ran down the steps and around the side of the building in a complete panic. What could she do? She remembered seeing a red door around these parts earlier that day but couldn’t think where. She turned the corner and … stopped, hardly able to believe it. Right in front of her was an enormous door with a brass knocker and black steps leading up, and it was bright red!

  It was amazing how much slid by in two seconds. She saw herself on television, winning the national championship. She saw herself with all her fantastic new clothes, and all that wonderful stuff, her face on billboards around the city.