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Authors: Marika Cobbold
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awkwardness?’
‘Not really.’
Ruth had a way of being interested that invariably resulted in me being determined to give away as little as possible. It was the way she looked at you, her eyes growing even larger, her head tilted, her ears back – no, perhaps not the latter, but there was definitely a quickening of the breath. It made me think she wanted to eat me.
‘It was good to see him.’
‘Really?’
Smile still in place, I shrugged in a non-committal way.
‘Well, isn’t he marvellous. After everything that happened.’
My smile disappeared. I could have sworn I heard it clanking as it hit the floor. Ruth took my hand across the table. I resisted the impulse to snatch it back.
‘As I said, it was fine. We met. I said, “Goodness, we haven’t seen each other since I suggested to your daughter that it would be a spiffing idea to go to an ice-cold lake in the middle of the night – doesn’t time fly when one’s having fun?” Then we moved on to talk about the weather.’
‘Did you really?’
‘No. No, not really. So tell me about you. How are you? And Robert? And Lottie?’
‘I’d much rather hear about you than talk about boring old me. So he’s stopped blaming you? I always thought that was so unfair anyway. I mean, how old where you when it happened? Nine?’
‘Sixteen. We were sixteen.’
‘Oh, that old?’
I wondered if she had intended to punch me in the gut or if she had been merely clumsy. With Ruth you never knew, just as you never quite knew if the stories she told you about her life were true or fabricated. This was made all the more disconcerting because of her voice, the way she had of enunciating each word with the perky, precise diction of a 1950s BBC presenter.
‘But he’s decided to let bygones be bygones?’ She nodded vigorously. ‘That’s good . That’s really good.’ She leant back in the chair and sipped her tea. She wrinkled her nose then smiled as if she were about to go Over The Top before having another taste.
‘Tea all right?’ I asked.
‘It’s quite strong for Lapsang, isn’t it? Anyway, your godfather is obviously a very generous-spirited man.’
I looked into her eyes, searching for the answer to the question: was it possible that, whereas I just didn’t much care for Ruth, she might actively dislike me? But no answer was to be found in her polite visitor’s gaze. I offered her cake. This was a pointless thing to do because there was no cake, I realised as I searched the larder cupboard.
‘So sorry. Don’t seem to have any biscuits either. Anyway, enough about me. I mustn’t bore you with all that stuff. After all, you and I didn’t even know each other when all that . . .’ my voice trailed into nothing.
‘Bore me?’ Ruth’s cheeks coloured. She was a handsome woman in her way, with her large deep-set eyes, fresh complexion and mass of dark hair. It was the kind of looks that made you think she would have felt right at home at some old sixties festival sitting cross-legged in the grass with a guitar, singing protest songs, rather than being what she was, a put-upon wife and mother and part-time PA.
‘Bore me, you say.’ Her voice rose half an octave. ‘How could I possibly be bored? I mean, your issues have been my issues for the past twenty years. It’s not as if I’ve had any choice in the matter.’
I shot her a questioning glance.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Take your first year at Leeds. Our parents had barely got married yet I appeared to have acquired not so much a stepsister as a goddamn case history.’
I couldn’t help laughing, then I apologised. ‘I’m sorry. It just sounded funny. Of course I know you’re being serious . . .’ my voice slunk back into my throat.
‘And it didn’t end once you’d got your degree, did it? How anyone could have that many accidents in the space of such a short time is beyond me. “I’m afraid we won’t make Lottie’s first birthday party after all. Eliza’s collided
‘Not really.’
Ruth had a way of being interested that invariably resulted in me being determined to give away as little as possible. It was the way she looked at you, her eyes growing even larger, her head tilted, her ears back – no, perhaps not the latter, but there was definitely a quickening of the breath. It made me think she wanted to eat me.
‘It was good to see him.’
‘Really?’
Smile still in place, I shrugged in a non-committal way.
‘Well, isn’t he marvellous. After everything that happened.’
My smile disappeared. I could have sworn I heard it clanking as it hit the floor. Ruth took my hand across the table. I resisted the impulse to snatch it back.
‘As I said, it was fine. We met. I said, “Goodness, we haven’t seen each other since I suggested to your daughter that it would be a spiffing idea to go to an ice-cold lake in the middle of the night – doesn’t time fly when one’s having fun?” Then we moved on to talk about the weather.’
‘Did you really?’
‘No. No, not really. So tell me about you. How are you? And Robert? And Lottie?’
‘I’d much rather hear about you than talk about boring old me. So he’s stopped blaming you? I always thought that was so unfair anyway. I mean, how old where you when it happened? Nine?’
‘Sixteen. We were sixteen.’
‘Oh, that old?’
I wondered if she had intended to punch me in the gut or if she had been merely clumsy. With Ruth you never knew, just as you never quite knew if the stories she told you about her life were true or fabricated. This was made all the more disconcerting because of her voice, the way she had of enunciating each word with the perky, precise diction of a 1950s BBC presenter.
‘But he’s decided to let bygones be bygones?’ She nodded vigorously. ‘That’s good . That’s really good.’ She leant back in the chair and sipped her tea. She wrinkled her nose then smiled as if she were about to go Over The Top before having another taste.
‘Tea all right?’ I asked.
‘It’s quite strong for Lapsang, isn’t it? Anyway, your godfather is obviously a very generous-spirited man.’
I looked into her eyes, searching for the answer to the question: was it possible that, whereas I just didn’t much care for Ruth, she might actively dislike me? But no answer was to be found in her polite visitor’s gaze. I offered her cake. This was a pointless thing to do because there was no cake, I realised as I searched the larder cupboard.
‘So sorry. Don’t seem to have any biscuits either. Anyway, enough about me. I mustn’t bore you with all that stuff. After all, you and I didn’t even know each other when all that . . .’ my voice trailed into nothing.
‘Bore me?’ Ruth’s cheeks coloured. She was a handsome woman in her way, with her large deep-set eyes, fresh complexion and mass of dark hair. It was the kind of looks that made you think she would have felt right at home at some old sixties festival sitting cross-legged in the grass with a guitar, singing protest songs, rather than being what she was, a put-upon wife and mother and part-time PA.
‘Bore me, you say.’ Her voice rose half an octave. ‘How could I possibly be bored? I mean, your issues have been my issues for the past twenty years. It’s not as if I’ve had any choice in the matter.’
I shot her a questioning glance.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Take your first year at Leeds. Our parents had barely got married yet I appeared to have acquired not so much a stepsister as a goddamn case history.’
I couldn’t help laughing, then I apologised. ‘I’m sorry. It just sounded funny. Of course I know you’re being serious . . .’ my voice slunk back into my throat.
‘And it didn’t end once you’d got your degree, did it? How anyone could have that many accidents in the space of such a short time is beyond me. “I’m afraid we won’t make Lottie’s first birthday party after all. Eliza’s collided
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