where were they now? Why did the memory of them haunt her?
Her gloved hand pushed a tendril of hair from her face and she sighed. The noise escaped into the chatter-tinged air with the sound of age-old sorrow and weariness.
‘Tom, Edie and Philippa,’ she continued. ‘I told you my parents were addicts. One of the ways they funded their addictions was via benefits. The more children they had, the more money they got. I was the oldest, then Tom, Philippa and Edie. I was six when Tom was born, and I can still remember the awe I felt when I first saw him—such a tiny scrap of humanity. I felt welded to him. Same with the girls. All I wanted was for us to stay together as a family, and I vowed I would do whatever it took. Mum and Dad told me that it was up to me—that they couldn’t do it so I had to be strong. I had to be responsible. I had to lie to social workers and school teachers. Had to make sure everyone believed we were a happy family.’
Ethan’s chest constricted at the sight of her face, whiter than the snow that glittered and glinted outside. He could picture a much younger Ruby, her expression oh, so serious, tucking an unruly curl of dark hair behind her ear as she concentrated on changing a nappy or manoeuvred a heavy pan of water onto the hob.
‘That must have been tough,’ he said softly.
‘It was and it wasn’t. I loved them all so much, you see—and I told myself that Mum and Dad loved us really. But the cold hard truth is that they used us. More fool me for ever thinking otherwise. Even after it all went wrong, when I screwed it up, for ages I still kidded myself that they loved me.’
‘What happened?’
‘I couldn’t hold up the façade and it crumbled down. We were whisked away into care. They couldn’t find a carer to take all four of us so we were split up. We went from being a family unit to having visits in a social worker’s office once a week if we were lucky.’
‘That must have been beyond terrible.’
‘It was.’
Her words were flat and in that moment he knew that it had been unfathomably horrific.
‘I fought for us to be placed together, or at least near each other. But nothing I said made any difference. The social workers said that we were better off like that than with our parents. But it didn’t seem that way to me. Sometimes I even pictured my parents missing us so much that they would turn over a new leaf and we’d all go back to them.’
She laughed—the noise devoid of mirth.
‘I take it that didn’t happen?’
‘Nope. They turned up to see me once—stoned and drunk—hurled abuse at me and the social worker ended the meeting. I’ve never seen them again. No idea if they are alive or dead.’
He placed his hand over hers, wished he could find words to convey his feelings.
‘Time went—and one day a social worker came and told me she had good news. An adoptive family had been found, but they would only take three children—Tom, Edie and Philippa. I was too old and too difficult. I’d been acting out, and they figured it would be bad for the others if I was placed with them.’
She paused, her blue eyes wide and unfocused, as if she had teleported through time to relive the moment.
‘The social worker explained that if they waited, kept trying to find someone to take all of us, it might end up that none of us got adopted—or that Tom, Edie and Philippa would end up separated. She promised me there would still be contact. I’d still see them. But it didn’t go down like that. Tom Edie and Philippa moved in with their new family and I was told there would be no contact whilst they settled in. I fought it—I went on and on to the carers, to the social workers. They told me I had to wait. That I was being selfish. Then one day I decided to take matters in my own hands. I bunked off and went to their school. I was so desperate to see if they were okay. That’s all I’d ever done, you see.’
Her hands gripped the mug of hot chocolate so hard he leant over and prised her fingers free, retained her hand in his grasp. He could envisage her so clearly; frantic and determined, fuelled by a love that gave her the strength to do anything for the sake of her siblings.
‘It was the end of school—I saw them run out to a woman who I knew must be their new mum. She looked so pretty, and like she adored them, and they looked so happy. It just needed Mary Poppins to make it complete. Not me.’
‘Oh, jeez, Ruby...’
What could he say? What could he do to fix this? To mend the void that echoed from her voice? Helplessness gnawed at his insides and he did the only thing he could. Moved his chair round the table in the hope that his body, his presence, would offer some comfort.
‘After I saw that I knew what I needed to do. I told the social worker that I didn’t want to see my siblings for a while. That I understood it was better for them to integrate into their new family. Eventually, with a social worker’s approval, I wrote them a letter to tell them I loved them but a clean break was better for all of us. I knew it was right—my presence in their lives would only make everyone feel bad. Their new family would feel bad for not being able to take me, and Tom and Edie and Philippa’s loyalty would be divided. That wouldn’t have been good for them. So I decided there and then that I would try and be happy for them.’
Her slim shoulders lifted.
‘And I am happy for them. But occasionally I still miss them so much it hurts.’
A solitary tear seeped from her eye and he reached out and caught it on his thumb. The moisture glistened on the pad of his glove and he pulled her into his arms.
‘It’s okay, Ruby. Cry it out.’
Her body tensed and he rubbed her back in a gentle circular motion. Felt her relax as she snuggled into his chest and wept. From somewhere he found soothing words as he rested his cheek on the silkiness of her hair. He realised he couldn’t remember a time when he had done this. Offered comfort. Oh he’d tried with his mother, after Tanya, but she’d pushed him away, her whole body stiff with grief. Her eyes had told him what she had later confirmed in words—the wish that it had been him who had died rather than his sister.
He pushed the thoughts away—right now it was all about Ruby. His past couldn’t be changed or fixed—his mother had no wish to mend fences in any way. Tracey Caversham wouldn’t even take his money, let alone any affection. But he was grateful that Ruby seemed to derive some comfort from his actions.
After a while she placed her palms on his chest and gently pushed herself upright. ‘Phew,’ she said as she looked up at him, tear-swept eyes glistening. ‘I’m sorry. What you said was so beautiful, and suddenly I could see them so vividly. Memories deluged me and turned me into a watering pot.’
‘There’s no need to apologise. At all. I’m glad you told me. Tell me more about them. About Tom, Edie and Philippa.’
So she did, and as she spoke he could visualise the energetic, dark-haired Tom, with his cheeky grin, see the chatterbox Philippa with her blonde ringlets and quiet, straight-haired Edie who sucked her thumb.
When she’d stopped speaking Ruby squeezed his hands. ‘Thank you. Mostly I try to leave the past in the past. But sharing the good memories has made the bad memories easier to bear. I feel lighter. Thank you, Ethan—and I mean that. If you ever want to talk I’m here for you.’
