by Karen Rivers
Since Nan died, I’ve wondered a bit if it wouldn’t be better to be dead too. I think about it, being dead or getting to be dead, but then I stop because if I’m dead, I’ll never meet Nate and you. Nate and you are keeping me alive! Nate and you and Fi and because I’d feel too guilty about Mum, if I went too. She’d blame herself and I’d feel awful about that. Besides, I don’t know enough people yet, so no one would come to my funeral, and it would all be bleak and awful, and Hawkster and Angus would probably graffiti my coffin.
This is the worst one. And I’m only telling you because you’re my sister. It’s that … well, sometimes I wish my mum wasn’t my mum. She’s brilliant at art, but she’s a pretty terrible mum. She means well, I know she does, it’s just that she hasn’t a clue what she’s doing. It was Nan who taught me to read and took me to school and went to my school meetings and things. Mum never knew what time anything was on and she didn’t seem to mind if she missed it. She’d just laugh about it and say it wasn’t important and she didn’t understand that it was important to me. Mum just thinks that childhood doesn’t much matter because you forget it all, and things that aren’t missed aren’t things that can possibly matter, because — after all — you’d miss them. It’s a bit like your Buddhism, I suppose, except different. More flighty. And Mum leaves me alone all the time now! She says I’m grown up. But I’m not grown up a bit. I just fake it with clothes and makeup. Sometimes I wish she’d say, ‘Look, don’t wear that, it’s not for children’. But she doesn’t, she doesn’t even really notice, I don’t think. And sometimes I get really scared here alone and I have to turn the telly to the kids’ channel very loud so that it isn’t scary anymore. I know the shows are rubbish, but at least they aren’t scary. She doesn’t seem to twig that without Nan here, I’m just on my own. She doesn’t seem to know how much I miss her.
Fi says that Mum is rushing me through my childhood so that I can grow up as fast as she did. Mum had me (us, I suppose) when she was only 21. She got married at 20! That’s only six years older than Fi. She says it’s because she knew that Dad was the One. It must have been hard, to be a mum AND a widow when she was still really a young person who just wanted to do her art and be famous and things. But why would she want me to be LIKE her? She doesn’t seem very happy, not ever. Being a mum and being a proper grown-up all seem a little bit outside of what she was designed to do, which was to do her art and be up all night painting and sometimes to sleep all day and to forget to eat anything except for toast and a million cups of tea.
(This is worse than that other worst one. If anyone found out about this one, I’d die! I would.) But you asked, so I should explain. It’s about the Mole. (Ed.) The thing is that I snogged him after Nan’s funeral. This is a hugely massive secret of epic proportions! No one in the world knows. Fi’s the only one I could tell. Chloe and Sophie would just fall about laughing and that would be embarrassing. But Fi hates her brother. And I do too! Hating the Mole is just what we’ve always done, ever since I first met Fi. She calls him the Mole because he lurks about in the dark, staring at computer screens. She’s being a bit cruel, really, but he is her brother. During meals and things, he’s always looking off into the distance, as though something very interesting is happening about five metres behind the person talking and they are really boring him and he’d rather just get up from the table to go and check out the interesting thing. Which doesn’t exist.
I can’t think WHY I snogged him, but it must have been because grief does funny things to people. It was right after Nan’s funeral, during the cemetery part. I was by myself, waiting while Mum chatted with our neighbour. The Mole came right up to me, in this funny black suit that was too small, showing his ankles and everything. And he said, ‘I’m sorry ’bout your nan, Ruby’, in this really kind voice that I wasn’t expecting to hear from him. I don’t know where Fi was. I thought, ‘Gosh, what a lovely voice’. I’d never heard him speak before, not even once. Usually when he talks to Fi, he just sort of growls at her and she makes a pretend dog barking noise back. It’s their thing that they do.
So, anyway, then I burst into tears. The ugly kind, where there’s snot dripping down and all that. I felt like I couldn’t breathe! He grabbed my hand and led me round back, behind the garage where they keep the grave-digging equipment. Then I thought about the grave-digging equipment and I cried even harder. He sat me down on a bench and started rubbing my back. Eventually, I stopped crying, and suddenly, I was just very sleepy, like I had to put my head down and fall asleep right away. So I put my head on his shoulder.
We sat like that for quite a bit. The sounds of the funeral seemed very far away. I could hear talking and, unbelievably, laughing. Like people were at a garden party and not a service for someone who died tragically and horribly and unfairly. I almost started crying again, but he said, ‘Don’t’.
And then he kissed me. Just like that. It was actually a bit nice, now that I think of it. It was the only time I’ve ever kissed anyone. Ever.
Apart from the embarrassing note, he hasn’t spoken to me since. I should have known he was awful. ‘No social skills’, Fi would say. ‘Or maybe he’s a vampire. And that’s why he hangs about in the dark all day. Either way, evil’.
I don’t know if I want to hit Send! I’ve never sent anything like this to anyone else before. But I will. I’ll send it to you. Because you’re my twin, and we shouldn’t have secrets, should we. We won’t. Let’s just decide that. To not have any secrets, not between us. OK?
Write me back, Ruth Quayle, and tell me some more of your secrets, and then pretty soon, we’ll feel like this is normal. We’ll feel like this is how it’s always been.
Love,
Ruby
PS — I’ve attached a picture of the Mole so you can see what he looks like.
Rube, these last few days were the best!! Thank you!!!!!! I can totally see us being roommates when we go to design school in Paris. It’ll be fab. I’ll wait for you! It’s only a couple of extra years anyway. I’ll get a job in a café and learn French and fall in love with a glamorous French garcon. Mum says it’s amazing we can hang around together so much and never even have a spat, and it is. Before you came along and we got to be such good friends, I was always having tiffs with Chlophie.
I’d trade the Mole in for you in a heartbeat! The vile, dark-dwelling beast. I wonder if we could just swap you out and then you’d be my sister and he could live with your mum. She’d probably not even notice that it happened for at least a fortnight or until the sculpture is finished, whichever comes first. She’d like the Mole. He’s low maintenance.
I have to go and pack. I can’t believe we’re going on a caravan holiday. It’s so horrid, there are no words for how horrid. I’ll be back in time for Sophie’s birthday bash. It’ll be amazeog, am sure. Her mum is brill at parties and Chloe’s bursting with some revenge plot for Hawkster and Angus.
Oh, Dad’s shouting at me from the front door. I’M COMING, DAD! I mean, I’m not, as I haven’t packed yet, but don’t tell Dad. xo
I was flipping around the channels on the TV in the middle of the night last night while eating a bag full of black jelly beans, and getting a little nauseated from either the flipping or the jelly beans, when I landed on SHARKTOPUS! Jedgar, someone has stolen our idea! Except of course it isn’t a shark/orca hybrid, it’s a shark/octopus hybrid! Which, if you think about it, doesn’t have any of the chilling intelligence of a shark/orca hybrid, so is not alike at all. I haven’t written the voice-over yet, but don’t worry, I’m on it. I mean, I’m thinking about it, which is the first step in writing anything, you know. Only the last, tiniest part of writing is spent actually typing something on your laptop.
Jedgar, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel like I am full of an electric current that won’t stop charging, and if I flick my hands, sparks might fly off the ends of my fingertips like fireflies. I am shivering with excitement, or maybe I have the flu, or maybe I just feel all strange and current-y and e
lectrical because I have a twin sister who exists in England and I now actually know who my biological parents are. In fact, using a genealogy website, I have traced my lineage all the way back to A PRINCE IN FRANCE! Can you even believe that? This whole thing is crazy! It turns out that my dad’s last name was French, and then my birth mom translated it to Starling, and then I was adopted by someone named Quayle? It’s like an entire flock of names, which are now flapping around in my skull, looking for a way out. But there isn’t one. There is just me, with a bunch of thoughts that won’t stop. I am half French! I have a family tree! I have a history! It’s like reading the most interesting book that I’ve ever read in my entire life, except I am the main character.
Jedgar, do you think I should try to contact my French relatives? Or meet the English ones first? I’ve talked Mom and Dad into taking our summer trip to England, even though we only have five days and they have pointed out that we will waste two of them traveling, but three days in England meeting my twin sister and my biological mom seems like ENOUGH TO BLOW MY MIND COMPLETELY ANYWAY JEDGAR OMG THIS IS MY LIFE!
OK, good night for now, Jedgar Johnston.
Ruth
Dear Mom and Dad,
I feel completely terrible that you two are sad, so TOMORROW NIGHT, do not make any plans for dinner. I am going to make hamaroni. And I hate hamaroni! So that tells you how much I love you and also need you to stop acting weird around me because if you really think about it, what does it matter that I have a twin in England? Except for it being one of the coolest things that’s happened to anyone ever at any time, obvi. I am so excited that you’ve agreed to go to England for our summer trip. It means more to me than everything in the whole world all put together. You are the BEST. Srsly.
Mom, I took your advice, and I’m trying really really hard to become better friends with Tink Aaron-Martin. I thought you should know that. It’s hard to just go ahead and make friends with someone. I don’t know what else to do other than skateboard with her when she’s at the park and show her stuff. Should I call her? Should I tell her I have a twin sister in England? I’ve just realized that I don’t know how normal people have normal friends, because I’ve always just had Jedgar and Jedgar is sort of mostly enough.
Anyway, I absolutely need you to give me useful friend-making pointers as well as to be my mom, in just the regular way, that has nothing to do with the fact that Delilah Starling exists. Let’s talk about all of this over hamaroni, just like olden times before all of this stuff came tumbling out of the universe and landed square on top of our heads.
Mom, can you leave me the recipe for Hamaroni Surprise?
Love,
Ruth
Ruth,
I am so sorry if I made you feel like I’m upset with you! I promise I’m not and I can completely see how it would be exciting to have a twin. If I’d had a twin when I was a kid, I would have made her do all the hard things I didn’t like and wasn’t good at, like gymnastics. I don’t know why I think she’d be good at things I was terrible at, it just seems like that would be fair. I think this is all amazing. And that’s the truth.
Daddy and I were just talking about what we can do to get information from the agency, who have written back and said that closed adoptions are still closed and can’t be reopened for reasons like this one. He wants to hire a lawyer but I think we should just wait it out. At this point, what can they tell us that we don’t already know? We can piece together the story by just asking Delilah directly now. I’ll leave that up to you, Ruth. This is your other family. It’s your roots. It must be amazing for you.
Why don’t I make the hamaroni with you? It’s not that I don’t trust you to cook, it’s just that the last time you did, you set a dishcloth on fire and threw it on the curtains and we had to replace the entire wall. Luffetta has enough problems right now without also being lit on fire. I’m coming home early today, so it works out perfectly! I’ll bring everything we need to make dinner.
Love you more than a root-beer float on a hot day,
Mommy
MOM, it’s MOM. Not MOMMY.
I AM ALMOST THIRTEEN.
And that’s totes great that you’re going to help me, because I’m a terrible cook!
Love,
Ruth
If it works,
then how will Luffy feel?
Not echoing with the memories
of his ancestors.
Instead, suddenly alive,
in a lab
in the suburbs,
pretending to be OK,
but not knowing what OK
really looks like
for his kind.
JEDGAR, I’ve had a terrific idea! I’m coming over. Be there or be a rectangle! Ha-ha. That’s what my dad would say. Funny, right?
OK, but it’s crazy here because everyone is packing for our camping trip. We have enough stuff to survive in the wild for two years. Mom is right now holding up a pair of snow pants and saying, “Remember that year when it rained and we were freezing? Should I bring these?” And Dad has managed to pack the entire barbecue. It takes up the whole backseat. I guess we’ll have to ride on the roof rack. We have to leave in about two hours, so I hope whatever you want to do isn’t something that takes a long time.
I almost had a chance to talk to Mum tonight. She came home for tea and everything, and we were just going to sit down when the phone rang. Mum answered and right away, she got all upset. It was like someone dropped a black cloud directly behind her eyes and all the light was gone. I could tell she was nearly crying, but she didn’t want to let on.
It turns out that someone painted something rude on my bottom. Not MINE, but on the sculpture that’s finally been moved from her studio to the site at the library for the finishing details. It says MINGER. I don’t think Americans use that word, do they? It’s a word to describe someone really ugly and awful. Mum is going back with a couple of her artist mates to clean it up, then they’re going to build a Perspex ‘safety box’ around the statue. It sounds like an aquarium, but without the water. I’m trying not to think about the statue-me struggling for air in a box. It’d be a bit like being buried alive, I’d think. Awful.
Ruby
Dear Nan,
I know it’s been a few days since I’ve written to you. How are you? I’m fine.
I’m not really fine. I’ve been at Fi’s, as you know, which was lovely, but now I’m back home, with Mum, except she’s had to go back to the library again because someone vandalised the statue. Just when she was going to be finished, Nan! I’m pretending that I don’t think it was Angus and he did it because of me, but I think it was Angus and he did do it because of me! Mum said that he came round again while she was working. She said something like ‘How are things going with my gorgeous daughter’? And she said he got cross and kicked over her tin of varnish all over the place. Took her ages to clean it up. I don’t think she thinks he’s so romantic anymore!
I wanted to go with her to help her fix the statue, but she refused, which was horrid, because I also wanted to go so I wouldn’t have to be here by myself. What if Angus wants to take revenge on the REAL me? And revenge for what? What a git. Besides, obviously idiots are going to ruin anything nice in this place anyway. Look at the graveyard! And the church! Everything’s spray-painted, even your headstone now. I tried to scrub it off, but it didn’t work. It’s like someone’s let monkeys loose with the entire aisle of paints from Homebase.
Love you and miss you more than anything,
Ruby
RUBY, I have some news, which is that Mom and Dad have agreed that we will come to England for our vacation this summer, which is so much better than CAMPING (and even Disneyland!), it’s nearly ridic. England! And YOU. You don’t have to worry about anything, because we’ll stay in a hotel.
The Mole is actually super cute. I have no idea why you call him the Mole! He’s completely adorable and if he wanted to snog me in a cemetery, I would probably let him, although maybe not, beca
use I’m not sure I am ready for any sort of snogging yet. Or kissing, as we call it here in America. “Snog” is a funny word.
When I read about the Mole and then your other secrets, I realized that I am completely boring and no wonder I don’t have lots of friends who want to borrow my clothes and go to parties. I don’t kiss people and I am not in love with anyone, not even a pop star. I like skateboarding. I work really hard at school to keep up. I am trying to make new friends. I LOVE horror movies. My best friend is a boy named Jedgar. My parents are smart, funny, and basically awesome, even when they are having fridge-arguments. Example: Dad’s quote on the board by the fridge today says, “To understand everything is to forgive everything.” Mom has written underneath it, “I forgive you for not getting milk but I don’t understand why you can’t remember it, if it’s all I’ve told you to get.” And then Dad has written, “I got distracted by the sale on macaroni!” And Mom has written, “You can’t drink macaroni.” That actually kind of made my day. I love them. They are crazy weirdos, but they are great.
There just isn’t much more. That’s all I have. That’s who I am.
I sort of feel like I’m letting you down with that, with the lack of snogging, like you’re ahead of me. Is that ridic? Please say it is, because I know it is. I just need for you to say it too.
