by Ray Cluley
Ruby had opened the sandwiches and peered between the bread to check before throwing them away, just in case. “And nothing,” she said. “Flora.” Satisfied, Mum said, “Chip butties tonight.”
“Chip shop or oven?”
“Oven, Rubes. I ain’t made of money.”
Ruby nodded. There was a new bottle of Tesco’s own in the fridge, though, and always plenty of fags. She poured herself a squash, diluting it to little more than coloured water because Mum was watching.
“Got homework?”
“I’ve always got homework.”
“Hard life, being at school.”
Ruby drank her squash quickly, ready to retreat to her room.
“I’m out tonight,” Mum said.
“I know.”
“Mr. Browning will look after you.”
“I know.”
“Knows everything, don’tchya.”
Ruby wiped her mouth instead of answering. “I’m going to do my homework.”
“Glass.”
Ruby rinsed the glass even though a load of dirty dishes were still stacked beside the sink. Then she went to her room, closing the door behind her.
She loved her room. All right, it was small, and there was a damp patch that returned whenever she scrubbed it away, but it was hers and all her stuff was there. Her wall of masks, her bed, her desk.
She opened the secret drawer and whispered, “I hate her.”
The thing in the drawer pulsed. Red and gelatinous, it was a parcel of flesh in spasm. A fresh wetness glistened on its skin. Tiny bubbles rose like spit from open slits. It was changing. Growing. Strings like dried glue criss-crossed the meaty shape, thick mucousy strands that allowed it to expand but kept it secure in the drawer’s corner. Ruby had never touched it, not ever, but she knew somehow that it would be cold and slick like uncooked liver or how she imagined shark skin. She did know it was soft and pulpy, like chewed food, because she’d pushed a pencil into it once. The pencil had sagged afterwards, sodden and greyed at one end, rotting, so she threw it away.
“I chucked her sandwiches,” she told the drawer, changing out of her school uniform, “and I cheated in maths today. I hate maths. I told Becky I still liked Steve but I don’t.”
That was all for now. She was bound to have more to tell it later.
S
“I’ll be back by ten, half-ten.”
“That’s fine.”
Mr. Browning said it like he believed her, though they all knew Ruby’s mother wouldn’t come home until after the pubs kicked out.
“Right. Well, wish me luck.”
“Luck,” said Mr Browning.
“Break a leg,” said Ruby.
Her mother chose to ignore the tone that came with that, but pulled at the hem of her embarrassingly short skirt. “I got two of them,” she said, looking down and then looking up to check Mr. Browning had noticed. “Legs eleven.” She even turned one foot as if modelling new shoes, even though the strappy sandals had seen better days and even then they were fucking horrible.
“All right,” she said, when no other comments came. “See you soon.” She hugged Ruby, swallowing her into a bosom that strained the buttons she’d bothered to do up. She made as if to hug Mr. Browning too, then laughed. He laughed with her as if the almost “accident” hadn’t been a joke many times before.
“Bye then,” she said, staggering a little as she went. She blamed her heels with another laugh, though it had been obvious from the smell of her breath that there was more to it than that.
“Quite a character,” said Mr. Browning when she was gone.
“That’s a polite way of putting it.”
This time his laugh was more genuine. He stepped back from the door to let her inside.
S
They always watched films. Usually horrors or thrillers, some sort of 18 certificate anyway, and Ruby got a thrill out of how it would horrify her mother to know. It was her way of rebelling against having a babysitter. Mr. Browning—Phil—had lots of films.
“Have you seen this one?”
The cover was all reds and blacks with writing that dripped.
“Have we watched it here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then no. The only DVDs we have is a complete set of James Bond Mum won at Bingo.”
She didn’t like to say Mum in front of Mr. Browning. It made her sound like a kid. Plus it highlighted the fact that they were related.
“The name’s Bond . . .” Phil said, but he didn’t finish it.
Ruby opened the popcorn and tipped it into a bowl as he put the film in. She offered him some as he settled beside her on the sofa but he waved it away. He always did. He probably knew she didn’t get treats like this at home. There was a bottle of Coke, too. The real thing.
“Here we go.”
The film seemed to be about a woman killing off her lovers using some kind of magic so that they exploded into a fine mist of blood which she sucked right out of the air. Ruby had a hard time following the plot because she and Mr. Browning always talked through the first film. He asked her about school and her friends and life in general. It was good, even though she didn’t have much to say.
“Oops,” he said. “Forgot about this bit.”
The woman on screen was having sex. Lots of sex. They’d watched similar scenes before but this one was rather more graphic. And drawn out.
Ruby laughed.
“I’d fast forward it, but I think that’ll make it worse.”
Ruby laughed some more, then sat through an awkward quiet as they waited for the scene to finish. She picked popcorn from her braces.
“My mum fancies you, you know,” she said.
Mr. Browning said nothing. Just watched the woman panting on screen. If he was uncomfortable, the only way he showed it was through his silence.
“She wants to win big at Bingo so she can get her hair done and pay you for babysitting and buy you a drink.”
“Did she say that?”
“Sometimes.”
“When she’s drunk.”
Ruby looked at him, surprised but not shocked by his honesty. “Yeah.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Not any more. I’m used to her drinking. It’s pretty harmless.”
“No, I meant the other thing.”
Ruby watched him carefully, wondering how to answer.
“She’s a bit old for me,” Mr. Browning explained.
Ruby still only watched him, saying nothing. It made the woman on the screen seem louder as she built to her inevitably bloody climax.
Finally, Mr. Browni—Phil—took the bowl of popcorn from her lap and leaned in close and at last they did what Ruby had been waiting for since, like, ages ago.
S
Ruby whispered into her drawer, “It was quick at first but then he went for ages and it was much better than with Steve.”
The thing in the drawer knew all about Steve and how Ruby lost her virginity, just as it knew how disappointing the second and third time had been, though she’d told her friends and Steve that it was great. Now it throbbed with new secrets. The thin crimson skin pulsated, inflated, and it settled into a new size. It was darker in the middle, brown like rotten fruit, almost black. As she spoke, one tapered end of it spewed a string of fluid that curled upon itself in jellified coils that quickly solidified, cementing it more securely to the bottom on the drawer.
Mum was banging cupboards and drawers in the kitchen. She was looking for a bottle of wine she was sure she had, or trying to find the corkscrew, or something. Ruby still whispered, just in case, and tore newspaper pages into strips to hide any noise, smiling as she told the drawer everything she’d done that evening.
S
he’d made quite a nest of paper by the time she was finished.
S
“We better get dressed,” Mr. Browning said. “Your mum will be here soon.”
They lay in his bed this time. Ruby was still tingling, still glowing with the rosy warmth of what had just happened. She felt bigger.
“She’s only thirty,” Ruby said.
“What? Who is?”
Ruby turned to face him. He was looking at her, which was good. “You said she was too old for you. She’s only thirty.”
“Really?”
He was so shocked that she laughed.
“Doesn’t look it, does she?”
“No, I mean, it’s, yes, but . . . well, just . . .”
Ruby laughed again.
“She must have had you young.”
“Very young. But that’s not it—you think she looks older.”
Ruby watched him think about whether to admit it or not. She smiled. He had a good looking face, especially for a grown-up, but his thoughts were always so obvious.
“It’s okay, she does. She’s got those awful roots and her hair’s always frizzy anyway because she doesn’t take care of it.”
Ruby swept her own hair back as if it was in the way.
“And she’s put on weight because of the drinking.”
“Can we not talk about her please?”
Ruby zipped her smiling lips and leant in to kiss him. At first he pulled away but then he was kissing her and touching her and everything else, even though they’d just agreed to get dressed.
Before Ruby could get to the bit she liked best, just as she was finding it difficult to breathe in that way she liked, Mr. Browning began rushing. Ruby tried to catch up but he muffled his cry against her chest. Then he was getting up and stepping into his trousers.
“Come on, Ruby.”
“What did I do?”
“Your mum will be here soon.” He looked so serious that she said nothing, just did as she was told.
They sat on the sofa and watched another film, waiting. Ruby knew she was sulking but she couldn’t help it, and Mr. Browning seemed lost in thoughts of his own.
When the door finally went, it was almost twelve. The film was nearly finished.
“We could have had ages longer,” Ruby said. It was the first thing she’d said since they’d put the film on.
“I didn’t know she’d be late.”
She went with him to the door.
“Was she good?” her mum asked. She was holding the doorframe for support but still leaning.
“She was great.”
“You have a good time sweetheart? What films did you watch?”
“We didn’t finish,” Ruby said.
“Well, maybe next time.”
“Where have you been?”
“Sorry.” The apology was aimed at Mr. Browning. “There was a bit of a do afterwards. Rude not to stay for a couple.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m a bit pissed, to be honest.”
“Mum . . .”
“It’s okay,” Mr. Browning said again.
Ruby tried to steer her mother the few metres home.
“Steady on, darlin, there’s no rush.” Her mum staggered and had to put a hand against the wall to stop from falling. “I’m a little bit pissed,” she said. “Who’s going to tuck me in?”
“Come on, Mum, you’re embarrassing me.”
“Oh, am I? I’m embarrassing you? Don’t talk to me like that in front of Mr. Browning.”
Ruby didn’t want to look at him. She fumbled her key at the lock as if she was the one who’d had a few drinks.
“Kids, eh? Bet you don’t have any like Ruby at your school.”
“Not really.”
“Bet they’re all respec . . . respecerful of their elders.”
Hard to respect a woman who can’t even say it, Ruby thought. She managed to get the door open and guided her mother inside. She turned to face Mr. Browning, to smile an apology or thanks or goodnight or something, but he looked kind of sad. It made it hard for her to shut the door on him.
“What the hell are you playin at? Answering back like that. You’ll scare him off—”
Ruby went to her room.
“—just like all the others. You always fuck things up, Rubes.”
It was something Ruby had heard before. She was just going through the motions. Like pouring a pint of water she wouldn’t drink, or tying her hair back for when she puked her guts up.
Ruby shut her door on it all, sat at her desk, and opened the secret drawer. She was still warm between her legs, wet with what Mr. Browning had given her. Twice. She put her hand there and enjoyed how it felt on her fingers. “He said I was great,” she whispered, and used the slick of his mess to finish what he’d started. She tried to find a mask on the wall to represent him but they were all too feminine or frightening so she closed her eyes. She tried to be quiet, even though the sounds she made were swallowed up by the open drawer, and as she finished she bowed her head to where she kept her secrets and spoke his name. She remembered to call him Phil.
From the bathroom down the hall came the sound of her mother throwing up.
S
“The first time was really good,” Ruby told the drawer afterwards, “but the second time he didn’t wait for me.”
She was making another mask. She grabbed another handful of shredded newspaper and wiped her sticky fingers with it until her hands were black with smeared newsprint. She slathered the soggy strips over the balloon.
“I think he liked it, though. He must have, because there’s so much . . . stuff.”
She wiped the last of it from her hands, squeezing newspaper into sodden shapes before flattening them over the balloon.
“Seriously, there’s loads.”
She wiped between her legs with more handfuls of paper and spread the moist mess across the balloon, smiling as it took shape.
“I left him my underwear,” she said.
“I think I love him,” she said.
S
Mr. Browning greeted them at the door in tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt. Ruby tried to hide her disappointment, especially as she’d made a special effort. Not that he’d paid her any attention yet, thanks to Mum.
“Yeah, well, I don’t really do tutoring.”
“It’s just her first exams are next year and she’s already struggling—”
“Mum . . .”
“—and maybe you could help her? I’ll pay you.”
“It’s not that, it’s—”
“I got a new cleaning job. Only once a week, but it’s a bit of cash no one needs to know about.”
“Mum, he said he doesn’t do tutoring.”
“Just a bit of English? Maybe some maths?”
“I teach drama.”
“Oh. Is there an exam in that?”
“I’ll ask around,” Mr. Browning said. “About a tutor.”
“Thanks. I’d be very grateful.”
It was obvious how grateful she’d be because of the way she smiled. Ruby made no attempt to disguise her sigh and pushed passed them to wait in the front room.
She sprawled on the sofa. The popcorn was already in a bowl on the table. She put it in her lap and tried throwing pieces into her mouth as she waited. She stopped when she heard the front door close and sat up straight because it pulled her blouse tight.
When Mr. Browning returned, he barely looked at her. He had her underwear bunched in his hand.
“You left these,” he said.
Ruby smiled. “You can keep them.”
“You can’t just leave these around my flat,” he said. He sat at the end of the sofa and put her knickers
and bra on the table.
“Why not?” And before he could give an answer she might not like, “Don’t you like them?”
They weren’t anything special. Pretty, flowery, but a bit girly and faded now from too many washes.
“That’s not the point, Ruby. We can’t—”
“What about these? Do you like these?”
She unfastened some buttons. At first he turned away, “Ruby . . .” but he turned back as she spread the blouse open to show him the new bra she’d shoplifted at the weekend.
Mr. Browning cleared his throat. “And under the skirt?”
She showed him.
“Ruby, Ruby, Ruby . . .”
He was moving closer now. When the popcorn toppled from her lap they were both too busy to stop it, or even notice.
S
“Oh God.”
“Yeah,” Ruby said.
“No, did you hear something?”
There was a knocking at the door, loud in the way that said someone had tried once already, and then her mother’s voice, “Phil?”
Ruby said, “Oh fuck,” because it felt grown up. Mr. Browning called, “Coming!” and Ruby laughed because that was hilarious, even if he didn’t mean it yet. A moment later he was up, pulling on his tracksuit bottoms and putting his t-shirt back on as he went to the door. Nothing with buttons or zips, Ruby realized.
She pulled her new knickers back on quickly and buttoned her blouse. She grabbed the remote control from the floor and pressed play on whatever film was in, forwarding it a couple of scenes.
Her mother yelled, “Full house!” as soon as the door was opened.
“Excuse me?”
“I won! Two hundred and thirty pounds!”
“That’s great, Mrs. Haze, well done.”
“So I thought I’d come back early and we could celebrate or something. Maybe we could—”
“Ruby! Your mum’s here!”
Ruby was picking up the popcorn, sweeping handfuls back into the bowl, picking individual pieces from the carpet.