by Fox Brison
It just hit me how much I hated my own flat.
Now this, this I could get used to, my traitorous thoughts suggested, I could get used to the smell of home cooked food and kids running through the house, I could get used to seeing Rachel every night and listening to Ruth telling us about her day.
“It’s perfect,” I said causing Rachel to blush adorably.
“Can I take your jacket?” I removed it with a thank you and followed her into the kitchen. A square wooden table dominated the room. It was set for two with another bowl and plate set out on a tray.
Rachel owned some serious interior design skills.
The room was cluttered, yet did not feel claustrophobic or untidy. Everything had its home, and I smiled inwardly. Even in her kitchen she had a knack of making inanimate objects feel like they belonged! The beech wood doors on the kitchen cabinets helped to lighten what might otherwise have been a dark and dingy dungeon of a room. The ubiquitous strip light in the ceiling was replaced by a T bar overhead, and spotlights highlighted shadowy corners that would have encroached slowly into the room as the evening drew in. Even the plant pots on the window were put to good use. I’d never seen glass mosaic ones before, but the pale sunlight now filtering through the grey storm clouds caught on the small tiles and sprinkles of colour covered the walls and floor.
Rachel removed the bread, and I began to salivate. She left it on a cooling rack whilst Ruth began to set another place for me, and when she’d finished she carefully filled a plastic jug with water.
From the tap.
I watched Rachel ladle stew into the bowl on the tray and place two thick slices of buttered bread on the side plate. “Can I take it all by myself, Mum?” Ruth asked as she carefully lifted the tray.
Rachel saw my puzzled frown so hurried to explain. “My next door neighbour, Mrs Jessop. She’s like a grandma to the pair of us. I make her supper and check she’s eating right. She looks after Ruth for me on a Saturday morning when I have to work.”
“Ruth loves her.” It wasn’t a question, I could see it in the care Ruth took.
“Oh she does. Mrs Jessop’s a pure sweetheart. She even comes to Ruth’s school plays, choir recitals, things like that. I can’t believe her own family only live a few miles away…” Rachel stopped talking and flushed. “I’m sorry, I don’t normally gossip, it’s just Mrs Jessop is so good to us, I can’t understand why…” she stopped again. “Anyway. She’s our family and as Ruth has nothing to do with her biological grandparents,” she shrugged, “families, you know?”
“Oh yes, I surely do know.”
“Oh, God, I’m sorry, Devon, I forgot.”
“It’s fine,” I laughed, “but you shouldn’t sell yourself short, Rachel. What you do, the supper and visits, and including her in your family’s life, is wonderfully generous and I’m sure it means all the world and more to her.” The door opened and Ruth returned.
“Right who’s hungry,” Rachel asked.
“Me, me,” Ruth and I chorused eagerly.
***
An hour later Ruth was ready for bed. I knew I should have left, but I really didn’t want to and suddenly something in me shifted. I’d kept myself so isolated yet somehow this tow-headed kid was like the hole in the ozone layer and my glacier was starting to melt. “So what’s this?” I asked Ruth picking up a piece of A4 paper from the coffee table.
“It’s my Christmas list,” Ruth answered excitedly. “We had to write it for homework. Does it look like Santa would read it himself?”
“Doesn’t Santa read all of the letters himself?” I asked curiously.
“No, of course not, Devon,” she was incredulous, “he has elves to help. There are millions and millions of children in the world so he wouldn’t be able to answer each one personally. Miss Harrison said if we do a good job, he might answer one of ours." She leant in conspiratorially. “Matthew Jones says it’s stupid because Santa doesn’t exist, but I think he does. Do you believe in Santa Claus, Devon?”
Did I believe in a mythical man who managed to traverse the world breaking into homes to deliver secret presents to children on his nice list?
“Of course I do, Ruth” I grinned. “Miracles happen every day.”
“Mummy calls me her miracle, but normally when she thinks I’m asleep. It’s probably because I’m a bit like Harry Potter. That’s what Aunt Jessie said when I asked her about it.”
This kid was incredibly astute. Wait, Harry Potter? “Harry Potter?”
“Yeah, I’m the girl who lived.” I felt my eyes tear up at that whilst my mind raced to answer the question why did she live? What happened to this family to make one little girl so special in her aunt’s eyes. I glanced down at the list, top of which was a new watch and backpack for school. A Ghostbusters proton pack to be precise.
“You like Ghostbusters?”
“Yeah, Mum took me to see it for my birthday. I want to be a scientist like Holtzman, and have a lab above a Chinese.”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but it didn’t sound like the Bill Murray movie I remembered from my own youth. I started reading her homework again. “This is a very neat and precise list,” I complimented.
“Thank you, Devon, there’s more on the other side.” I was relieved when Ruth told me that, because so far Santa wasn’t going to have to bring a sack with what Ruth requested, a carrier bag would suffice. On the other side were a few small things for her mother, Aunt Jessie, Uncle Eli and Grandma J. What a sweetheart.
“Bedtime,” Rachel said from the doorway. I wondered how long she’d been watching us for. I had offered to help with the wash up, but was chased from the kitchen. Ruth wanted to argue, but Rachel simply raised her eyebrows in a ‘don’t argue with me, young lady’ kind of way and Ruth picked up her homework and sedately walked towards her bedroom. “And what do we say?”
“Night, Devon,” she leaned over and kissed my cheek, “and thank you for the lift home.”
“I’ll be through in a second, sweetheart,” Rachel called as Ruth skipped off to her room. “If you don’t have to, I mean, you’ve given up so much of your time and I know it’s getting late-” there was a crash and Rachel shook her head. “Erm… I need to go check on her… would you like a… I mean if you don’t have to rush off that is… it’s not much only a cheap bottle…” I think she was asking me to stay for a glass of wine but it was hard to decipher, between her unfinished thoughts and half sentences.
Maybe it was more hope than expectation when I asked, “I’ll pour, if you want?”
She nodded gratefully and as she headed to Ruth’s bedroom, I headed into the kitchen for the wine.
Chapter 19
Rachel
Tuesday 13th December, 2016
What the hell was I thinking asking her to stay for a glass of wine? After putting Ruth down to sleep, I stood outside the bedroom door and took a couple of deep breaths. It was bad enough I’d invited a complete stranger to dinner in my own home, but to ask her stay for a nightcap?
I heard her pottering in the kitchen, doors opening, fridge closing, the soft squeezed pop as the wine cork was reluctantly pulled from the warm embrace of the bottle’s neck and then the soft sound of wine sloshing into glasses. Any second now she’d be back in the living room waiting for me and I took another deep breath.
One glass of wine and then a firm, yet polite, shake of the hand as I sent her on her way.
I nodded to myself. Yep. That would work. I wouldn’t come across as rude and she wouldn’t get the wrong idea. I bit my lip. That was what my head was saying, but every other part of my body was screaming ‘stop being such a bloody numpty and go and talk to the woman.’
I really missed adult company. Mrs Jessop was great, but sometimes you want someone your own generation, someone who could relate to you. Yeah as if Ms Hottie can relate to you and your life, I scoffed. But she was gorgeous and funny and I needed just one night to be me, not Rachel the friend, not Rachel the mummy, not Rachel the waitres
s. For one night I wanted to be the Rachel who could sip a glass of wine on her sofa and have witty and intelligent conversation with a beautiful woman.
The Rachel I used to be.
“Did you find it alright?” I asked.
“Yes, and the glasses too,” Devon patted the sofa next to her. “Come on, Ruth’s out for the count, why don’t you relax?”
There was more chance of me wining the Turner prize, I thought. Because honestly? Sitting next to her with those damned near perfect legs disappearing up her short tight skirt? Relaxing wasn’t an option. I took the proffered glass, thanking all the stars in the heavens she’d found the good two, and sank back into the cushions.
“I love this place,” Devon said wistfully, and to my utter embarrassment I nearly snorted the wine through my nose.
“You’re joking!” I exclaimed.
“No, not at all. It’s so… warm and comfortable.” She leaned back against the arm of the sofa and swivelled to face me. “It’s completely you.”
Definitely not relaxed now.
I tried to see what Devon saw in my flat. Nothing matched, the rugs were a little threadbare, but spotlessly clean; the pine shelves had been sanded and varnished and now held some treasured books and a few even more cherished photos. I frowned. The one of Tommy and Louise in the hospital proudly holding their new born baby was missing. Ruth must have moved it. I often found it in her room, next to her bed. Eventually it would find its way back to its pride of place on the bookshelf.
“Everything okay?” Devon asked.
“Hmm? Oh I’m sorry did I zone out? I just noticed a photo missing, that’s all. As for this place? It felt like I’d won the lottery when I was offered it and it’s taken a few years to get it feeling like home. Most of the stuff’s second hand, furniture friends were getting rid of, that sort of thing.” I flushed, self-conscious about my paucity.
Devon reached out and touched my knee. “Upcycling it’s called. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with it, in fact, it’s all the rage these days. Shabby chic. Not to mention the environmental benefits.”
“I guess there are some advantages to being skint. It balances out all those gas guzzlers polluting our city.”
“Ouch? I think?”
“Oh,” I held my hand to my mouth, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean… you must think I’m so rude. It’s not like I objected to your gas guzzler this afternoon!”
“Not at all. I’m not trying to make excuses, but I try not to use it too much. However, I like mountain biking in really remote areas, so my beast is a godsend then. In city traffic?” She pursed her lips. “Not such a good thing, but I don’t see the point of either having two cars or getting rid of the useful one.”
I wouldn’t push my luck by suggesting she use public transport more often as I didn’t want to give the impression I was an opinionated bitch. Who knew it? Not me, that’s for sure. I mean, Jessie may have mentioned it once or twice in the heat of an argument…
Normally it didn’t bother me when I saw the Chelsea tractor drivers dropping off their sprogs in cars infinitely more fit for chasing sheep in the countryside, I usually had better things to worry about, like how I was going to stretch five pounds to last the rest of the week. Perhaps it was a subconscious ploy on my part, insulting her so she would leave on her terms rather than me throwing her, nicely mind you, out on her ear.
So I changed the subject. “What about you? House or flat?” I was way behind in the personal information stakes, she knew far more about me than I did her, although what I had learned so far made Ms Hottie add up to, quite frankly, nigh on super awesome in my eyes.
“Flat. St Katherine’s Dock.” She shrugged. “I hate it, it’s so impersonal. My ex decorated it for me and I haven’t had the opportunity to do anything with it. I generally work long hours, so I’m rarely there. I’m trying to cut back though.”
“You work in the city?” I took a sip of my wine. It wasn’t bad for cheap plonk.
“Yes. I recently moved jobs to a smaller firm and you know the story behind that.”
I nodded my head. “I can’t begin to think how you coped.”
“Badly, if I’m honest. Every day another little piece of me died whenever I’d see Amanda and Adam at the office, but I was stuck in a rut, I couldn’t see the betrayal through the infidelity as it were. I was drinking a fair bit, sleeping very little… crumbling, slowly but surely.” She stared into her wine glass and grimaced. “Then I got an email confirming a job interview I couldn’t even remember applying for. It was like I’d been thrown a lifeline and I grabbed it.”
“And you like your new job?”
“Oh totally. It’s so rewarding and everyone who works there, the three other women, are so bloody lovely it makes going into work a pleasure rather than a soul sucking chore. I think being generous and good-hearted must be a prerequisite for the firm. God only knows why they hired me.” She took a sip of her wine, deep in thought for a moment, somewhat unpalatable thoughts if the expression on her face was anything to go by. But she shrugged it off and gave me a gentle smile. “You met two of my colleagues at the Angel.”
“Oh yeah, they seemed nice. I know Jessie was impressed,” I added with a grin.
“Jane’s like a mother hen. I think I’ve put on ten pounds in the couple of weeks I’ve worked there, she’s always turning up with something in a Tupperware box, cakes, muffins, leftovers.” She placed her hand on her stomach and I stared at in approval. Jane could keep doing what she was doing, I was liking the results. “Hannah and I worked together once before and I’m ashamed to say I didn’t treat her very well.”
“I’m sure you had your reasons.”
“Not really, but Hannah’s been great, much more forgiving than I would’ve been. Now, we’re heading towards friendship, something I don’t know if I really deserve.”
“Everyone deserves a second chance, Devon,” I said softly. I wasn’t a big drinker so I felt this one glass already going to my head. It was either that or it was the fact her hand was still on my knee.
Probably the wine.
Nope, it was definitely the hand which was now gently caressing my leg. I stared at it then at her.
“Oh, oh my god, I’m so… really, p… p…” she took a deep breath, “please forgive me.”
“Devon, there’s nothing to forgive,” I said, huskily. It had been sooooo long since I’d felt anything remotely close to romantic that the candles and wine were really doing a number on me.
So to say I was a little disappointed when she removed it was like saying Neil Armstrong was disappointed to be the first man to walk on the moon. “Ruth’s your double. Do you get much help from her father?”
“None.” I sighed. Here we go. Pitying looks and a swift exit stage right. “She’s Louise’s kid-”
“Ruth’s not yours?” she interrupted, clearly shocked.
“No, I’ve been raising her ever since Lou died.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly and touched my knee again.
“Me too,” I whispered. “Lou was an amazing mother, took to it like the proverbial duck. Ruth will say something, or I’ll notice a little mannerism that’s all Louise. And there’s times when I feel terribly, terribly guilty when she calls me Mum because Lou never heard that. Louise is never going to get the chance to watch the beautiful, intelligent little girl she produced grow into the wonderful woman I know she’ll be.”
“I’m sure your sister is watching and bursting with pride at both of you. If anything she’ll be at peace knowing that Ruth has someone she can call mother, and that that person is you will only make it all the more special.”
I tended not to talk about Louise, except with Ruth, because it hurt too much, but with Devon it felt easier. Her thoughtful words were a cooling balm to the heat of guilt that always lingered in the background, and for a precious moment I could remember Louise without the all-encompassing pain. I could imagine her nodding in approval of this wonderful woman.
“What about Ruth’s father? Is he in the picture?”
“Tommy… no he’s not in the picture.” I smiled at the memory of him and Louise. “Do you believe in love at first sight, Devon?”
“Hardly,” she scoffed. Her answer was delivered so cynically I wondered if the damage wrought upon her by her ex-fiancée would ever be repaired. Bitch.
“I do because I saw it with my very own eyes. Louise had just started a second job at one of those fancy cocktail bars in the city, Heaven it was called. One day she waltzed into Eli’s like she was floating on clouds nine, ten and eleven, and told me she’d met the man she was going to marry. Three weeks later she did.” I felt the familiar upturn of my lips.
“So where is he now?”
“He died too.” I was a little raw, but talking to Devon was cathartic. I don’t think I’d ever opened myself up and allowed myself to grieve properly, mainly because I didn’t have the luxury of time. I had Ruth and she needed all my attention. “It was carbon monoxide poisoning. Tommy had finally found a job overseas and they were emigrating in the New Year, so I wanted to spend as much time with Ruth as I could.”
“Why were they emigrating?” she asked.
“Before Tommy met Lou, he was being groomed to succeed his father in some big company, but marrying Louise put a spanner in the works. His father was incensed, didn’t think she was good enough… the bloke said, how can some common tart help you move up the social ladder?” I chuckled at the memory of Louise sounding off about that particular insult, “No she was more likely to help him down the social snake. They even tried to buy Lou off. Some smarmy arsehole in a suit turned up at Heaven and offered her ten grand to walk away. Tommy was furious and told his family to back off. They didn’t like it so they gave him an ultimatum, Louise or lose everything.”