to put into words.
‘Leave your nose alone or you will set up an infection. Your mother has been worried about you. I told her that I thought you would be safe enough here.’
At once, the anxious expression breaks up into a smile that contains glee and satisfaction and a measure of triumph.
I am beginning to understand that Ruby’s innocence is shot through with calculation. Maybe the innocence itself is calculated. And I realise that the notion interests me more than anything has done for quite a long time.
‘So I can stay for a bit?’
Our separate conversations with Lesley have had a further curious effect, of course. That she is in opposition to both of us makes partial allies out of Ruby and me.
‘I would like a drink. A proper drink, I mean. Will you call Mamdooh?’ I say.
I am stalling for time because with part of myself I fear the loss of privacy that having her here will inevitably mean. I want to be alone to concentrate on the past, in order to hold on to it for as long as I can. Yet maybe the offer of help that Ruby made is less naïve than it sounded; maybe there is something in her idea.
Wearing his disapproval like an extra robe, Mamdooh brings in a tray with two glasses, a jug of water and a decanter with a couple of fingers of whisky in the bottom. I have no idea when I last drank Scotch.
‘Mum-reese, you will have plenty water with this?’
‘No, thank you, I’ll take it neat. And a decent measure, please. That’s better.’
Ruby accepts her glass with small enthusiasm. ‘I don’t really like whisky.’
‘What do you drink?’
‘Depends. Vodka and Red Bull?’
‘What’s that? I’m sure it’s disgusting. I don’t have anything of the kind anyway, so you’ll have to make do with Scotch.’
We both laugh and Mamdooh peers at us in surprise.
When we are alone again she draws up a stool and sits close to my chair. The sun has set, the street outside is noisy once again with shouts and music as people prepare the iftar . It is already twenty-four hours since Ruby arrived.
As I taste my drink – rolling the unaccustomed spirit in my mouth – I am thinking about Lesley.
It is some time since I have spoken to my daughter, I can’t remember how long exactly, but it must be months. Whenever we do talk there are always polite words that fail to builda bridge. And the space between us, that has always been there. From the very beginning.
Lesley was born in the middle of a grey, sad English winter. My pregnancy had been unplanned, my husband and I hastily bought a house to be a home for our unexpected family. From the windows there were views of sodden fields, and ponds mirroring the weeping skies. In this house, the baby and I spent long days alone together while my husband was working in the City.
Lesley cried unceasingly, for no reason that I could discern. I had completed my medical training by that time, and raw as I was as a doctor I knew for certain that she was not ill or even failing to thrive. I couldn’t feed her myself, although I persevered for almost a month, but she accepted a bottle. She gained weight and passed the developmental milestones at the right times, but she was never a placid or contented baby.
I don’t deny the probability that she absorbed my unhappiness and reflected it back at me. I tried to hold the infant close, tried to soothe her yelling by rocking her in my arms as I paced through the silent house, but she would not be pacified. Her tiny body went rigid and her screams were like scalpel blades slitting my skin. When Gordon came home he would take her from me and she would whimper and nuzzle and then fall asleep, exhausted. The silence came like a blessing.
As soon as I could, I found a nurse for her and took a job at the local hospital.
And from there we have gone on.
‘Well?’ Ruby demands. ‘Can I stay?’
I turn my glass, looking at the dimples of light trapped within it.
‘ Can I?’ she repeats.
‘What did your mother say to
‘Leave your nose alone or you will set up an infection. Your mother has been worried about you. I told her that I thought you would be safe enough here.’
At once, the anxious expression breaks up into a smile that contains glee and satisfaction and a measure of triumph.
I am beginning to understand that Ruby’s innocence is shot through with calculation. Maybe the innocence itself is calculated. And I realise that the notion interests me more than anything has done for quite a long time.
‘So I can stay for a bit?’
Our separate conversations with Lesley have had a further curious effect, of course. That she is in opposition to both of us makes partial allies out of Ruby and me.
‘I would like a drink. A proper drink, I mean. Will you call Mamdooh?’ I say.
I am stalling for time because with part of myself I fear the loss of privacy that having her here will inevitably mean. I want to be alone to concentrate on the past, in order to hold on to it for as long as I can. Yet maybe the offer of help that Ruby made is less naïve than it sounded; maybe there is something in her idea.
Wearing his disapproval like an extra robe, Mamdooh brings in a tray with two glasses, a jug of water and a decanter with a couple of fingers of whisky in the bottom. I have no idea when I last drank Scotch.
‘Mum-reese, you will have plenty water with this?’
‘No, thank you, I’ll take it neat. And a decent measure, please. That’s better.’
Ruby accepts her glass with small enthusiasm. ‘I don’t really like whisky.’
‘What do you drink?’
‘Depends. Vodka and Red Bull?’
‘What’s that? I’m sure it’s disgusting. I don’t have anything of the kind anyway, so you’ll have to make do with Scotch.’
We both laugh and Mamdooh peers at us in surprise.
When we are alone again she draws up a stool and sits close to my chair. The sun has set, the street outside is noisy once again with shouts and music as people prepare the iftar . It is already twenty-four hours since Ruby arrived.
As I taste my drink – rolling the unaccustomed spirit in my mouth – I am thinking about Lesley.
It is some time since I have spoken to my daughter, I can’t remember how long exactly, but it must be months. Whenever we do talk there are always polite words that fail to builda bridge. And the space between us, that has always been there. From the very beginning.
Lesley was born in the middle of a grey, sad English winter. My pregnancy had been unplanned, my husband and I hastily bought a house to be a home for our unexpected family. From the windows there were views of sodden fields, and ponds mirroring the weeping skies. In this house, the baby and I spent long days alone together while my husband was working in the City.
Lesley cried unceasingly, for no reason that I could discern. I had completed my medical training by that time, and raw as I was as a doctor I knew for certain that she was not ill or even failing to thrive. I couldn’t feed her myself, although I persevered for almost a month, but she accepted a bottle. She gained weight and passed the developmental milestones at the right times, but she was never a placid or contented baby.
I don’t deny the probability that she absorbed my unhappiness and reflected it back at me. I tried to hold the infant close, tried to soothe her yelling by rocking her in my arms as I paced through the silent house, but she would not be pacified. Her tiny body went rigid and her screams were like scalpel blades slitting my skin. When Gordon came home he would take her from me and she would whimper and nuzzle and then fall asleep, exhausted. The silence came like a blessing.
As soon as I could, I found a nurse for her and took a job at the local hospital.
And from there we have gone on.
‘Well?’ Ruby demands. ‘Can I stay?’
I turn my glass, looking at the dimples of light trapped within it.
‘ Can I?’ she repeats.
‘What did your mother say to
Similar Books
