‘Ruthie,’ Mary Ellen whispered as she took Ruth’s warm brown hand in both of her cold, thin, bloodless ones. ‘My wonderful girl.’ And then, with a weak smile and a sigh, ‘Sorry I won’t be here, darling.’ That was all she managed to say.
It was then that Ruth finally understood that her aunt was never going to leave the hospital bed and walk outside that room again. That she was never again going to open the door to her flat, smiling, or call out, ‘Just come up, sweetheart,’ from the upstairs window. They would never laugh again about Rodney’s conservative political views or his light fingers when it came to chocolate biscuits.
None of that ever again
.
Mary Ellen was dying. That’s what was happening.
Dying
. Ruth lowered her head onto the scrawny hands that already smelled of some other place, and closed her eyes. When she looked up again her aunt’s beautiful eyes were closed. The rasping, tortured sound of her breathing was suddenly unbearable, and Ruth crept out and sat on the floor near the door outside the ward. She put her head on her knees and let the tears leak out onto the faded knees of her jeans.
Very soon after that, her father came in with the two boys, and when they went home Ruth went with them. In the morning she learned that her aunt Mary Ellen had died in the arms of her two sisters just after midnight and that in the end it had been peaceful.
H
oward had nodded off, his head resting on his hand, his elbow propped on the window ledge.
Ruth leaned across him and put her finger up to the foggy bus window. She drew a few circles and then connected them with straight lines. Thinking about Mary Ellen had sent a rush of tears to her eyes. They slipped down her cheeks as easily as water from an overflowing downpipe and dripped onto her jumper. It didn’t worry her too much, though. Howard was asleep and all the other passengers were facing the front.
Wet cheeks for a wet day
, she thought, brushing the tears away with her hand.
‘It’s time to get on with things,’ her mother had told her about a week after the funeral. ‘We have to move on … even though it’s so hard.’
‘Maybe
you
do!’ Ruth had replied savagely.
‘You’re not the only one who misses her, Ruth,’ her mother had replied.
Ruth knew this was true, but she hated her mother for saying it.
They were travelling through countryside now, soft green paddocks with cows and sheep huddled together under trees. The rain continued, light but relentless. They passed over a bridge and Ruth caught a quick glimpse of a brown river. She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, blew her nose and looked around. The man behind her was asleep and the older couple two seats up were leaning into each other talking. A couple of women a few seats behind her were chattering quietly about shoes.
‘Like one?’ It was the girl opposite. She leaned across the aisle with a wide smile and held out a packet of Ruth’s favourite mints. ‘I’ve got heaps.’
‘Oh no,’ Ruth shook her head nervously, ‘but thanks anyway.’
‘Sure,’ the girl said cheerfully and turned around.
Ruth sat back rigidly.
She should have been friendlier.
She shot a furtive glance at the girl and her mother. The woman was asleep, her head lolling against the window, and the girl had her arms crossed over her chest as though she was thoroughly bored and fed up. One of her long suede boots was sticking out into the aisle,
bouncing
. Ruth knew that pose. It was how her friends used to look so much of the time.
Totally bored with
whatever was happening
. Flicking their hair, pouting and crossing their legs impatiently, bouncing one foot up and down as though they were practising at being actors on a television show. Lou particularly. Ruth took another quick look at the girl. But there had been that nice smile, and Lou would never offer lollies to a perfect stranger. Not in a million years. Dare she say something?
But just as she’d almost got the courage up, the bus stopped and the girl and her mother got off. Ruth stared out the window at them crossing the road. The girl must have sensed Ruth’s eyes on her, because when she got to the other side she turned back to the bus, smiled at Ruth and waved. Ruth waved back, watching them both walking away along the street, wishing that she could go with them and slide unobtrusively into their lives. The woman looked like the sort of mum who could cook beautiful food like oysters and … whatever else French people eat! And that girl could show her how to wear clothes and put make-up on and get used to every rotten thing that had happened.
If only she could.
Never again would she have to set eyes on Lou and Bonnie or Katy and Susie. At the new school there wouldn’t be any kind of gangs or social hierarchies. Ruth stared out the window, hardly noticing that the sky had become a watery blue, with barely a cloud to be seen. She was thinking about the way the girl had briefly put her arm around her mother’s shoulders as they’d walked away from the bus. The woman had turned her head and they’d smiled at each other like …
best mates
. How would that be?
Ruth felt Howard shift a bit and realised that he was awake; she turned to him, and then laughed because he looked a mess. His hair was flattened on one side and standing up all over on the other, and he was still groggy with sleep.
‘Who was she?’ he asked.
‘Don’t know.’ Ruth was thoughtful. ‘Just met her.’
‘I heard her in my sleep,’ Howard said.
‘Yeah?’
‘I always hear what people say when I’m asleep.’
‘Do you?’ Ruth stared at Howard and smiled.
Howard had the grace to shrug. ‘Well, sometimes I get it wrong,’ he said ruefully.
‘What were you dreaming about?’
But Howard only shrugged again as the bus pulled out from the kerb.
* * *
They got off the bus outside a service station and looked around. It was a question now of finding that back road. It had looked easy on the map, but now they were at the town neither of them really had a clue which way to walk to find it. The air was chilly, but at least it wasn’t raining.
‘You kids waiting for someone?’ A heavy woman with short dyed-blonde hair, dressed in tight dirty jeans and a man’s T-shirt, had walked around the corner from the garage. She stood with folded arms, scrutinising Ruth and Howard suspiciously.
Howard closed down immediately. Ruth could feel it. He was like a snail retreating into its shell. He mumbled something, shook his head and began to wander off.
‘Howard!’ she called after him. How come he was leaving this weird-looking woman to her?
He stopped a few metres away but only half-turned around, and stood looking at the ground, kicking stones as if nothing had anything to do with him.
‘We’re not waiting for anyone,’ Ruth said to the woman. ‘Except, could you tell us please which way is Henderson’s Lane?’
The woman looked from one of them to the other. ‘What you going out there for?’ she asked eventually.
‘I’m …
we’re
going to … Happy Chance Bridge.’
‘Why?’
Ruth had a mad impulse to chuck something at her and make a run for it. What did it have to do with her? On the other hand, why
were
they going out to the bridge? Their mission to find Rodney seemed more ridiculous by the minute.
The woman grimaced and gave a snotty sigh when she saw that Ruth wasn’t going to answer her.
Howard bent down to pick up a few stones and began to throw them at a Coke can lying some distance away in the gutter. With every hit, a little rush of elation went through Ruth. She liked the fact that he was a good shot and, even more, that he was ignoring this horrible woman. Howard threw one more stone, dropped the rest back on the road and began walking away again. Ruth shrugged and then followed.
‘Head out to that intersection there and turn left,’ the woman called after them.
Ruth turned to see one massive arm pointing right. ‘That road will get you straight onto Henderson’s.’
‘Thanks,’ Ruth called back, then grabbed Howard’s shoulder and turned him in the right direction. ‘Come on, this way.’
‘My bet is you’re both up to something,’ the woman called. ‘So before you try any funny business … just remember I’ve seen you!’
Neither Ruth nor Howard said anything or even turned around. Ruth walked stiffly behind Howard along the quiet street, not noticing her surroundings she was fuming so much. But when she caught up to Howard she saw that he was smiling to himself.
‘What’s funny?’
Howard gave one of his short laughs. ‘
Remember I’ve seen you!
’ He mimicked the woman’s tone, making Ruth laugh too.
By the time they got to the intersection, they had begun to entertain each other with stories about who the woman
really
was under her grimy T-shirt. A spy? A policewoman in disguise? They got their biggest laugh imagining her dressed up as a fashion judge at the races.
Howard
was
a weirdo. But she liked him.
After a few blocks, the paving gave out and they were walking along a narrow, winding dirt track. There were trees on both sides but it wasn’t dense bushland and Ruth could see the small farms and houses that were dotted here and there. After the cramped bus ride and the unpleasant conversation with the woman at the service station, a spurt of energy seemed to hit them both and they quickened their pace. The smells and sounds of the country were making Ruth feel as if a plug had been pulled out from the top of her spine. She smiled to herself. Something was loosening knots in her backbone.
Smile, Ruthie!
they were always telling her.
Get the frown off your face
. She looked across at Howard, about to tell him about the way she was always being told to lighten up, but he seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts, so she kept quiet. She pushed her shoulders back and kept on walking.
‘No one knows where I am,’ Ruth said suddenly, more to herself than Howard.
‘Except me,’ Howard said.
They smiled at each other.
‘Did you see your aunt dead?’ he asked abruptly.
‘No.’ Ruth was surprised by the question, but didn’t mind it. She’d been thinking about Mary Ellen and the way she liked walking at night. Sometimes when Ruth stayed over they went walking at night after dinner for ages. Traversing the inner suburbs, along back roads and through parks. Ruth loved it, especially in winter, when it was dark and n o one else was about and her aunt would tell her things.
‘But I saw her really sick,’ she offered.
Howard nodded.
‘Have you ever seen a dead person?’ Ruth asked curiously.
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I was in a car accident where someone … died.’
‘You were
there
?’ Ruth’s head filled with a mess of chaotic images, but she couldn’t imagine what it would be like.
He nodded.
Then she remembered hearing that Howard’s mother had died in an accident. This was before she’d got to know him at all. She didn’t know if the story was true. A lot of stories about Howard bounced around that school. For someone so quiet with no friends, he’d certainly made a weird impact on a lot of people.
‘Did your aunt talk about the rat after she gave him to you?’ Howard asked.
‘Oh yeah,’ Ruth laughed.
* * *
The world Ruth and her aunt had developed around Rodney had started well before Mary Ellen got really sick. In fact, it started the week after Ruth brought him home. Mary Ellen had dropped by to bring back some dishes she’d borrowed. When Ruth’s mother was out of the room, Mary Ellen had asked Ruth in a playful whisper what she thought the rat might get up to when they were all asleep. It had ballooned out from there. Sometimes the two of them had arguments about what the rat might think about this or that, or whether he was really angry about something or maybe just faking it. It was a game, but a serious one all the same.
Oh, I wonder if Rodney would be interested?
her aunt might say as she flipped through the paper and came across an article on facial-hair reduction.
What do you think, Ruthie? Will we cut it out for him?
So much fun they’d had! Ruth and her aunt would try to guess the rat’s views on everything from climate change to high heels –
Just had a word with him, darling … he takes a dim view of them –
and explode with laughter. Ruth loved the sparkle that would rush into her aunt’s eyes when she was pretending to be Rodney.
Well, what else would you expect from a … rat!
she’d sigh, and Ruth would start giggling.
Of course, half the fun was that no one else was in on the joke. It was
theirs
. Ruth’s mother would shake her head as though she didn’t even want to understand because it was all too ridiculous. But occasionally Ruth had the feeling that her mother was jealous.
For goodness sake, Mary Ellen, stop it!
she’d said once.
You’re a grown woman! The girl’s imagination is fiery enough without you encouraging her!
‘No girl’s imagination is ever
too
fiery,’ Mary Ellen had whispered to Ruth when her mother was out of the room. ‘Never forget that, Ruthie. Keep it stoked now, won’t you! Keep it as fiery as hell!’
* * *
‘You used to hang out with those girls at school,’ Howard said suddenly.