WIRES OR SUPERPOWERS? AND WHAT DO YOU THINK THE TWINFORD POLICE SHOULD BE DOING ABOUT THIS GUY, IF ANYTHING?’
‘DO YOU KNOW WHAT I THINK?’ said Alice from East Twinford. ‘GOOD LUCK TO HIM! I WISH I HAD THE MONEY TO LIVE IN THE LAKERIDGE BUILDING. THESE RICH FOLK HAVE MORE MONEY THAN THEY CAN HANDLE. WHAT DO THEY CARE IF SOME THIEF BREAKS INTO THEIR APARTMENT AND STEALS ONE OF THEIR VALUABLES? THEY SHOULDN’T HAVE ALL THIS WEALTH, IT’S NOT RIGHT, IF I HAD MY WAY I WOULD—’
‘THANK YOU FOR THAT INTERESTING POINT OF VIEW, ALICE, I MIGHT JUST CUT YOU OFF THERE,’ said Ted.
It was an intriguing discussion and Ruby was disappointed when the radio show moved onto the less interesting subject of bathroom limescale. She tuned out and instead let her thoughts drift as she watched the city flick past the cab window. It was only when Ruby had travelled halfway to where she needed to be that she realised she wasn’t going to have enough money to pay for the entire cab journey. Heck, she didn’t have enough to pay the distance she had already travelled. She had spent her dollars on the dress and the book, and now she was short.
‘Look man, you’re gonna have to pull over, I’ll step out here,’ Ruby said to the driver. ‘I’m outta funds.’
The cab screeched to a halt.
‘Unless. . . I don’t suppose. . .’ Ruby ventured, handing him every nickel and dime, ‘you might wanna help out a kid with a busted arm?’
‘Scram,’ said the driver, pointing his thumb in the direction of the sidewalk.
‘Thanks for your kindness sir,’ called Ruby, as the cab driver pulled away. ‘I’ll remember you in my will!’
Ruby arrived at the hospital almost a half-hour late and was met by a sour-faced nurse. Her name tag read, “Nurse Driver”.
‘You’re late,’ she said.
‘Only twenty-seven minutes,’ said Ruby.
‘Late is late,’ said the nurse.
‘Too late?’ asked Ruby.
‘Dr Shepherd has gone,’ said Nurse Driver, hands on hips.
‘Really.’
‘Dr Shepherd is a busy man.’
‘Sorry,’ said Ruby, giving her the old Ruby Redfort sad eyes. ‘I had such trouble getting here, first of all I—’
Nurse Driver raised her hand to stop the tide of excuses. ‘If you promise not to say another word, I’ll see what I can do.’ She made a few calls and told Ruby to sit it out on the hard plastic chairs in the waiting area.
Ruby picked up a crumpled copy of the Twinford Mirror. On page two was a piece about the Lakeridge break-in. Mr Baradi was quite shaken up to find the front door to his twenty-sixth-floor apartment wide open when he arose at 6.20 am.
‘It was unlocked from the inside,’ he explained to the police from the 24th precinct. ‘I ask you,’ he continued, ‘how in the name of rigatoni did that happen?’ Nothing so far has been discovered missing, but the search continues.
Forty-five minutes later Nurse Driver ushered Ruby inside a small white box of a room and informed her that the doctor would see her presently. One hour twenty-seven minutes later the door still hadn’t opened. Ruby read all the notices and information pinned to the walls, first in English and then in Spanish and then in Braille. At last the door opened.
‘So, want to get that thing off?’ said the technician, pointing at her arm.
‘Umm, yeah, that would be nice. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been great, but I oughta be getting back to my parents or they might decide to rent out my room.’
The technician didn’t rise to Ruby’s sarcasm. ‘Is that a yes?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Ruby.
‘A yes please?’
‘Yes please mam,’ said Ruby.
‘Better,’ said the technician, who then set about her task and soon enough Ruby’s arm was free of its plaster casing.
‘You got any advice for me?’ asked Ruby, pointing to her newly liberated arm. It felt weirdly draughty, now the plaster was off.
‘Uh huh,’ said the technician, ‘you might want to relax that attitude of yours. It’s not good for your future health.’
Ruby smiled at her. ‘Seeing as how you’re a medical person, I will bear that in mind.’ Then she thanked the technician, offering her a cube of bubblegum, which the technician accepted, and then Ruby strolled back down the corridor and out of the hospital.
Ruby took a taxi home, alerted Hitch to her cash-poor circumstances, and he came out to settle up with the driver – and her father was none the wiser.
Ruby walked into the kitchen to find her mother having her hair put up into an elaborate sort of do. Sabina was turning the pages of the latest copy of the Whispering Weekly, a sort of gossip and fashion journal. The gossip was about celebrities: mostly actors and singers, and the fashion was almost all about how the celebrities looked disastrous in their chosen gowns. FAMOUSLY FABULOUS? OR TRAGICALLY TERRIBLE?
There was one whole section dedicated to mishaps: close-ups of laddered stockings, pimples, ageing skin or bad hair. Tammy the hairdresser kept leaning over Sabina’s shoulder and tutting sympathetically and occasionally even turning the pages. The story Tammy was most interested in was about the actress who had had the misfortune to use a brand of make-up known as Face Flawless. Evidently the actress had attempted to conceal her blemishes so that she might look picture-perfect for her film premiere – the only thing was, Face Flawless used an ingredient in its formula that reacted badly under flash photography. The result was far from flawless: all the areas it covered glowed white. Poor Jessica Riley, her face was just a mess of circles and powdery blotches.
‘My heart goes out to her,’ said Tammy, making a sad face. ‘They shouldn’t print these stories.’ She waited for Sabina to turn the page. ‘I mean look at her,’ she said pointing a comb at a singer who had been snapped in an ill-fitting bathing suit. ‘Poor thing – gosh, though, she might want to think about shrinking those thighs.’
‘I’m sure she feels a lot better knowing that twenty million people like you all pity her,’ said Ruby.
Brant Redfort walked in. ‘Oh Ruby, you look different.’
Sabina looked up from the magazine. ‘Yes, you do. Why I wonder. . .?’
‘Could it be my. . . arm. . .?’ said Ruby.
‘Yes!’ said her parents both at once.
‘We should celebrate!’ said her father.
‘You know me, I love to celebrate,’ said her mother clapping her hands together. ‘Hitch!’ she called, ‘We’re celebrating! Could you rustle up something celebratory?’
There was a long ring from the doorbell followed
