by Alison Bond
‘Are you sure?’
‘Completely. So, you see, you would have found out the truth anyway. Better that I tell you than some bloody lawyer should phone you up out of the blue.’
‘So what are you saying? There’s a good chance you might never have told me?’
He didn’t answer. His eyes darted away from hers, and that was enough for Kelly to know that she’d nailed it.
Her throat tightened. ‘Never?’
‘It was a secret.’
‘No,’ she said. Blood rushed to her head and anger made an unsolicited return to the front of her mind. ‘Stop saying that, calling it a secret. It wasn’t a secret. It was a person. It was me. Didn’t either of you think I had a right to know who I am?’ She hated to think of other people, even her parents, having such control over her life, making decisions that would affect her for years to come. It made her feel manipulated and powerless.
‘You know who you are, Kelly,’ said Sean. ‘You’re my girl. You’re clever and confident, you’re happy’
Three words she would never have used to describe herself. What did he know? He was her dad, he was genetically programmed to love and protect her and think good things about her. The gene which evidently went astray in her poor dead superstar mother.
‘If that’s what you think of me,’ she said, ‘then you clearly don’t know who I am, any more than I do.’
‘So go and find out,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Go to Los Angeles. Find out who she was if you think that’ll help.’
‘It’s too late!’ said Kelly. Self-pity was giving anger a run for its money and jostling for position. ‘Nothing will help.’
‘At least go to her funeral,’ said Sean. ‘I think she would have liked that.’
Any minute now she would scream. He was being unreasonable. ‘If Ruby Valentine ever wanted me to go over and see her then maybe she should have invited me.’
He passed her the note. ‘I think she just did.’
‘Ha-fucking-ha,’ said Kelly. ‘Preferably before she went and killed herself.’
Sean winced as though he’d been slapped.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Kelly, even though a second ago she’d have said she had nothing to be sorry for. She was the victim here, right? The unwelcome result of a fling, the secret. Except she hadn’t known Ruby and Sean had; he’d said he’d been in love with her, maybe Kelly should have chosen her words more carefully. She’d read an article in a magazine once about dealing with bereavement. What had it said? Something about listening. People only want to talk.
‘What was she like?’
‘Happy,’ he said, and gave a sad sort of half-laugh. ‘Clever, confident. Like you.’
Kelly was sceptical. That didn’t sound like the tragic movie actress that Ruby was purported to be – the battles with drink and drugs, the failed relationships, all of which made more headlines than the parts she played. Sean’s judgement had been rose-tinted with time, surely? Besides, the woman had committed suicide, wasn’t that an undeniable statement of misery?
‘So why would she… do something like that?’
‘I can’t say,’ said Sean. ‘I would never have expected it. That’s the thing about Ruby. She was a survivor.’
They sat in the first awkward silence of their lives, so unused to being nervous of each other that they didn’t know how to make things right. ‘We’ll have a wee drink, shall we?’ said Sean. He sheepishly produced an almost half-full bottle of whisky from its hiding place in the dark spaces under the bench. ‘To Ruby.’ He reached across to hold Kelly’s hand. ‘You can handle this, love, I know you can.’
She didn’t want to toast her mother but she felt it was appropriate. The first mouthful tasted as emetic as salt tears yet the next one slipped down easily. Sean and Kelly drank and looked up at the stars. She tried to concentrate on the father/daughter bond but she kept thinking that the stars didn’t look as bright as they used to and maybe she needed glasses. And even though she maintained her self-righteous stance and didn’t give him an easy time, by the time they finished the bottle Kelly was entertaining the idea of getting on a plane and going to Ruby’s funeral.
She could not say she was angry at being kept in the dark if she was too scared to face the light. She couldn’t maintain that she had always wanted to know more about her mother if she refused an invitation to find out. Even if it was a posthumous invitation. She could sit here and pretend that the reason she didn’t want to go was because she was stubborn, but stubbornness is often just fear wearing a veil of pride.
‘If I did go out there, would you come with me?’ she said. Kelly had never been to a funeral, something she used to assume was incredibly fortunate, but now she was starting to wish that some distant relative had given her a trial run. This seemed like a very high-pressured way to lose her cherry. ‘I don’t know if I could do it on my own.’
‘Why don’t you ask Jez?’
Kelly screwed up her nose. She hadn’t even thought about him. ‘This is family stuff,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t feel right.’
‘Is everything okay? With you and Jez, I mean.’
‘Fine,’ she said. It was nice of her dad to act concerned. Kelly sometimes sensed that he didn’t like her boyfriend. Or maybe she was just projecting.
‘You know how much I hate funerals,’ said Sean.
This was true, and probably part of the reason why Kelly had never been to one. Occasionally, more frequently with every passing year it seemed, an old friend of her dad’s would pass away and he would stay away from the funeral to spend the day quietly with a view and perhaps a book, paying his respects privately. Kelly thought he was scared of death.
‘And you know how much I hate Los Angeles.’ This was also true, he hadn’t been there for years, but she could still remember the stress lines on his face when he returned the last time. ‘That’s not to say you will,’ he added. ‘Los Angeles is a good place to be young in.’
That sounded appealing. More and more these days the town where she lived was feeling like a good place to be old in. A place to settle down into a pattern and count off the living years as they trickled away without incident.
Kelly felt a sharp stab of loss tear through her and with considerable shame she realized that it wasn’t her dead mother she was missing, it was the mystery that had always surrounded her parentage. The comforting speculation in her head had been replaced with cold fact. Now the truth was out there she had to face it or forget about it, which she knew would be impossible. Could she really go? Get on a plane and fly away? People did it all the time. Being scared was no excuse.
‘I’ll go,’ she said. ‘I’ll go on my own.’ As the words left her mouth she felt a wash of satisfaction. It was the right thing to do.
She had so many questions. Her mother had been a movie star. She couldn’t get her head around that. Did that make her special?
‘Dad,’ she said. ‘Tell me everything you know about Ruby Valentine.’
3·Ruby Norton 1966
Ruby Norton’s remarkable beauty went unnoticed for many years but she always fancied she was something special. She waited impatiently through her unattractive childhood, hiding behind a shapeless cloud of dark hair and growing a thick skin as she endured the gentle teasing of her peers. It was frustrating. Then finally puberty bloomed late and long like a fiery Indian summer and her steadfast self-belief was rewarded. Her slightly lopsided smile and unusually pale eyes didn’t matter so much any more because the gaze was drawn elsewhere. She had a body that made men grow weak. And firm in other places.
Ruby wore the more conservative fashions of the times, but chose a size too small to flatter her curvy shape. She pulled wide belts tight to emphasize her assets. It was the perfect disguise. Ruby would leave the house wearing cashmere cardigans buttoned right up to her neck, looking thoroughly proper like a younger version of her own mother, but as soon as she was out of her parents’ sight she’d open up a few butto
ns to reveal paradise. Her generous boobs were the best in Wales. Long, luscious legs tapered up to hips that were made all the more voluptuous by an indecently tiny waist. And she didn’t mind skipping lunch from time to time to maintain her shape. It seemed a small price to pay for all the attention.
Ruby’s perfect boobs were currently receiving lavish consideration from Hugh, the youngest son of the local publican, who had taken his break early so they could have a quick fumble in the beer cellar.
‘Bloody hell, Ruby,’ said Hugh with his mouth full. ‘You’re gorgeous.’
‘What was that?’ said Ruby.
‘You’re gorgeous.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. She’d heard him the first time but she liked the powerful sensation that shot through her like pure adrenalin as she heard it again. Hugh was a popular lad in the town and half-promised to a girl from a neighbouring village who was currently sitting upstairs in the back kitchen wondering where her boyfriend was. Right now, however, Ruby had him enchanted and he would have been hard pushed to remember his girlfriend’s name, let alone their date. Ruby pulled away slightly just to see the anxious look in his eyes.
‘Five more minutes?’ he begged. Ruby smiled graciously, flicked her coal-black hair to one side and surrendered.
I think I love you,’ mumbled Hugh. ‘Let’s run away together.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Ruby. Running away didn’t bother her, but with Hugh? He might be considered a catch in this town, and he was a surprisingly adept kisser, but Ruby had far grander ideas for her future. Still, it was nice to be loved.
For most of her twenty years Ruby had been a good girl, so it was no wonder that she often felt bored. She had behaved with the propriety expected from the daughter of a prominent local businessman and her parents had slept soundly in their bed every single night. She had done exceptionally well in school and stayed away from bad influences. Consequently she justified her recent fall from grace as simply making up for lost time. With a bit of luck her parents would never find out and, even if they did, they might be grateful that at last she was attracting admirers. For some time now they had secretly worried whether any man would ever be foolhardy enough to take their inquisitive, headstrong daughter off their hands. She was always reading, their clever little girl, and not just novels, which would be bad enough, but newspapers too.
Ruby was expected to settle down with a good local boy, raise a family and be content, but from a very early age she had desired a world outside this small one where she lived. It got on her nerves. She was outgrowing this place. She had untapped ideas and passions that she knew could not be realized without leaving the comforts of home. She didn’t know exactly what form her ambitions took; a university education appealed but so did a career. Britain was entering a new age where both things were possible. Women across the country were stepping up and saying ‘I can do that’ without needing their father’s permission.
Did it matter that she wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted to do? Surely the important thing was ambition itself? She was confident that her life would be completely fabulous; she’d work out the details later.
But despite all these lofty aspirations Ruby found it tediously hard to leave. It was easy for the pretty only child of one of the richest men in town to get by. She had been lucky enough to be blessed with both beauty and brains. She sailed through a secretarial course – the undemanding work bored her silly – and was given a perfunctory office job in one of the family’s manufacturing plants which provided her with pin money for cocktails and cosmetics. Everybody in town knew Ruby, she had plenty of friends and admirers and she was careful never to compromise her reputation too much, to ensure she remained popular. Ruby wasn’t a slut, she was just well liked.
Sometimes, dancing at the Academy or driving with a boyfriend to a quiet spot by the old quarry, she thought that she was happy. She would dismiss her dreams of the wider world as naive fantasy and convince herself, if only for a moment, that this life was more than enough and maybe this man she was dancing with, or driving with, would be the one she would marry. But then inevitably the moment would pass and she would look up at her dancing partner and think about how she would rather grow old alone than marry someone as listless and as narrow as the town itself.
As her twenty-first birthday drew near, Ruby watched yet another friend announce her engagement and realized that if she didn’t make a break soon then she too would be picking out wedding china at Howells of Cardiff.
When her father asked her what she would like for her birthday, Ruby replied without hesitation, ‘I want to go to London, to live, just for a while, just to see.’
The world was changing. She was reading about it in the newspapers and she could hear arresting new music and impassioned voices on late-night talk shows on the radio. They talked of art and of politics and of revolution. She could sense the change in the anxious eyes of her parents’ generation. Post-war Britain was exploding out of its conservative restraints and it made them very nervous. Something was happening out there and Ruby didn’t want just to hear about it from the safe shelter of her home town. She wanted to see it. She wanted to be part of it. She wanted change.
Her father protested and her mother wept. To them the city was the source of all sin, where evildoers would tempt their only child into wickedness, but Ruby was resolute. They might be scared of the unknown but she wasn’t.
‘You’re ruining my life,’ she said. ‘You can’t tell me what to do.’
Her relationship with her parents was never the same again. Why should she care? If they didn’t understand her then that was their problem. Didn’t they know she was destined for great things?
From the moment her train pulled into bustling Paddington Station and she felt the raw energy radiating from the fashionable crowds, Ruby knew that she would not be going back. No matter how hard it was, she would find her place in the world, somewhere near the top.
4
London was brash and unpredictable and Ruby wasn’t entirely sure that she liked it. Back in Wales there were two buses – one which went to Cardiff and one which didn’t. Here the buses didn’t give you a chance to count your fare before hurtling along densely trafficked roads while you hung on to a rail and prayed that you were on the right bus and that you wouldn’t bounce right off the back of it into the path of an oncoming car. ‘Does this go to Earl’s Court?’ she asked the conductor, but he either hadn’t heard her or chose to ignore her.
It had taken her a few weeks to recognize the creeping sense of apprehension she felt on every corner, to identify why her bravado had gone into hibernation and why she wasn’t making any new friends. Then she realized that she felt shy, for possibly the first time in her life. And although she had craved new experiences, the novel sensation of acute insecurity wasn’t quite what she had in mind. For all of her life Ruby had relied on her social standing within a small community for company and acceptance. Suddenly to be without any sort of reputation left her unsure of herself. She was lonely, feeling too self-conscious to join in the vibrant scenes she could see in the West End streets as the bus sped past them. That was where she wanted to be. Not stuck in an office with one small window on the world.
As soon as her parents realized that she was determined to do this, references had been despatched and friends in the city were alerted to their daughter’s presence. Ruby rented rooms in Earl’s Court and had quickly found secretarial work, largely thanks to the glowing references from her father’s deputy. It was a modest, traditional firm, the work was hard and the people withdrawn.
Was it ridiculous for her to think that she could just come to a big city like this and find friends, make an impact? She felt small and she hated feeling that way. She wanted to prove, mostly to herself, that her ambitions were more than just pipe dreams and that she was right, not deluded, to believe that she was capable of greatness. This spark she felt inside, it couldn’t be the same for everyone. In her heart she thought she was differe
nt.
It wasn’t fair. In her old life she was considered sophisticated; here she felt unbearably provincial. Ruby hadn’t kissed a boy for three whole months, something of a record. She felt frumpy.
Earl’s Court had sounded so elegant. But in reality she had a poky little flat with unreliable hot water and too many stairs to climb. But, as ever, she was grateful when she pushed open the door, lifting it slightly to help it across the uneven floorboards. For all its humbleness, this was home now.
She turned up her radio as loud as it would go, even when the old lady upstairs hammered on the ceiling above her, and pretended that she was in a nightclub instead of in her nightdress, about to dine on champagne and oysters, not a cheese and potato pie with a slice of ham.
This life was not the one she had been expecting. Right place, wrong attitude. Starting tomorrow, everything would change. And if it didn’t, then maybe she would go home after all.
She slept better than she ever had in Wales. She needed the energy.
Most mornings, before she left the house, Ruby sat at her window in Earl’s Court and watched a young woman go into work at the hairdresser’s opposite. She was about the same age as Ruby and represented everything Ruby yearned for from a new life. She was the talisman for Ruby’s hopes and Ruby was fascinated by her. She wore outlandish clothes with an individual style that attracted stares of admiration or shock depending on which generation was doing the staring. She had fashionably short hair the colour of honey, and when she walked it was as if she was constantly dancing to some unseen beat. She was always smiling.
Today she arrived early. She had several friends in tow, all dressed up and boisterous as if they had just come from a very late party. None of them seemed to care that their celebratory mood was at odds with the slowly stirring London streets, that their laughter was too loud for the quiet of morning. Today she was wearing the shortest skirt that Ruby had ever seen, exposing long legs clad in stripy tights. On top she was wearing a deep pink coat the colour of raspberries, belted tightly around her waist. The finishing touch was a black pork-pie hat, the like of which Ruby was convinced she’d never be able to pull off. Her friends had it too. The look. The look that said, I belong, I’m part of something big. Ruby watched from her window as they all said goodbye with more laughter and hugs, and she couldn’t imagine that woman, that girl she supposed, ever being shy or unsure.
