by Karen Rivers
Have you talked to your mum yet? I don’t mean to pressure you, but I don’t get why you can’t just say it. Now that we are almost for SURE coming to England — it’s not like we have tickets yet, but when we do, then it will be totes definite — she’ll have to know before I show up at the door, beaming happily at you and scaring her to death. And maybe if I understood why she gave me away, I could forgive her and then I’ll be not angry and all Buddhist-peaceful-ish and becoming the path that I’m walking on and so on and so forth!
Ruth
Fi,
Remember how, a long time ago, I had the chicken pox and I got really sick, with a high fever and everything? It was so itchy! There was one in my ear that I couldn’t scratch and I kept jabbing it with a knitting needle and accidentally punctured my eardrum, which made me so dizzy I couldn’t even walk. Mum was a wreck, but luckily Nan was still alive, and she took me to A&E. I had to stay overnight! Anyway, Mum was so worried that she sat by my bed all night and held my hand and confessed things, like how she feels like a complete failure for not getting remarried and giving me a proper dad, not just a picture of one in a frame, with a French family who shun us and our barbarian ways. She cried and hugged me so hard, I thought my ribs would break.
Anyway, Fi, I’m thinking maybe if I said I was feeling poorly, then I could ask her about Ruth without it being so much like an attack. What do you think?
Ruby
No, never mind, that’s a terrible plan. Mum’s awful with ill people. She’d probably do a runner, like when I fell off my bike in the car park where I was learning to cycle and broke my arm. She thought for sure I would haemorrhage and that a blood clot would form and get somehow tossed into my lungs, and the next thing you’d know, I’d be collapsed on the kitchen floor with a trickle of blood coming from my mouth. Nan had to take me to the GP, and Mum went on an art retreat in St Ives for six weeks because even looking at the cast made her upset! I can’t have her go off again.
Are you reading this? Do they have the Internet in Wales? I only ask because you’ve stopped sending me pics. Do pirates attack caravans? Have you been kidnapped by evildoers? Please reply!
RUUUUUBY, where have you been? We came round earlier and knocked and knocked and no one answered. It’s TERRRRRRRIBLE about the statue. Your poor mum! We saw her earlier and she’s put you into a plastic box and someone’s already written on the outside of the box with a Sharpie! Won’t tell you what it says, ’cause it’s not about you, it’s just because whoever wrote it probably had a crap childhood and is angry with the whole world. Saw that on a chat show last night, that graffiti painters are all from broken homes and tragic pasts. Your past is a bit tragic too, specially now that you have an American twin! Maybe you’re secretly the spray-painter!
’Course, we KNOW it’s not you. Anyway, come round when you can, we’re at Soph’s doing henna tattoos all over our arms and legs. Trouble is, the ones on our legs look like hair! But it doesn’t come off, so we’re going to spray-tan until you can’t see it anymore. Don’t you just love getting all brown and gorgeousy-gorgeous? It’s so summery. Come if you like! xo
I think I know what you mean about snogging the Mole making me ahead of you, but it’s not like that, because I also know what you mean about not feeling ready, and I know that I’m not. Not to snog the Mole or to snog ANYONE. I don’t even want to.
Do you really think he’s nice-looking? Maybe he is and I just never noticed because Fi’s always going on about how terrible he smells and how he drinks the milk straight out of the carton and puts it back in the fridge, all spitty and so on. I do think that maybe if I’d done that self-defence class with him then he’d have talked to me more, and maybe we could have got to know each other a little bit. As friends, like you and Jedgar are friends. Then I remembered that he’s never said another word to me except, ‘Sorry about your nan’, and likely we’d just be kicking at the dummies and punching them in silence and afterwards he’d roll his eyes at me and walk away. Probably for the best, then.
Are you actually coming? That’s so exciting. (Exciting in the way that you’re excited when you’re in the queue to go on the London Eye and then it’s your turn and you suddenly realise how high up it goes and how you can’t get off until the ride is over, even if you want to. Scary. But exciting mostly.) Can you tell me exactly when? I need to know. It’s not like we’re planning to go anywhere, but Mum might suddenly decide she needs to go on a course on grieving or brushstrokes or glass blowing or home organisation and leave town. It would be terrible if the timing was wrong and she wasn’t even here.
Do you ever listen to STOP? If you don’t, you really should, because their words are basically just like poetry and I know you’re a poet and love poems and all that. Anyway, in the new single, Nate sings, ‘No one really knows me, even when I show them who I am’. Isn’t that brill? That’s how I feel about everything right now. And everyone. Everyone but you, maybe. Because for the first time ever, I feel like someone actually does understand me.
Love,
Ruby
Mum, everyone says that the Perspex box looks fantastic, so well done. I know it’s not real, but I still wish there were airholes so that the statue-me can breathe. I know that’s silly. Are you going to be home for tea today? I’ll make some bacon sandwiches. It’s just that we REALLY need to talk, Mum, truly.
Love,
Ruby
Darling, that’s lovely. I love bacon sandwiches. They’re the perfect food. Nan loved them too, didn’t she? Some days I miss her so much, especially when I’m done with a project and it’s getting so much attention. I won’t be home for tea, that’s the thing, because someone from the Guardian is coming up to do a bit about the statue and the library extension and they want me on camera. We’ll have to make sure to buy a paper on the weekend and not forget. I’ll just have something to eat here, but wait up for me, darling.
Lots of love,
Delilah (Mummy)
Mum says I can’t take any more calls on the mobile, but we’ve stopped at an Internet café, so I can write to you, FINALLY. Chloe’s making me mad with all these e’s she’s sending about Sophie’s party. I think she’s got your email addy wrong though, so you probably haven’t even been getting them! Can you call Chloe and tell her I’ve dropped the phone in the sea and that the Welsh don’t use computers like the rest of the entire world? I haven’t chucked the phone, but Mum’s going to do it for me if it doesn’t stop beeping with messages all night long. Plus it hasn’t got any more memory for pictures and I don’t know how to make space and the Mole won’t help me because he’s a complete wazzock, as you know. Sophie’s mum will do something brilliant for that party anyway, so I don’t know why Chloe has her knickers in a twist. Soph’s mum is a party planner! It’ll be fab! Chloe doesn’t have to do ANYTHING but show up! It’ll be the first, real, proper, excellent party we’ve ever had as mid-teens. Chlophie have decided that 15 is officially mid, so there should be a word, like preteen, teen, mid-teen, and then young adult. Gosh, seems funny that we’ll all be mid-teens and you’ll only barely be a teen!
Speaking of Chlophie, did they tell you that the date they went on with Hawkster and Angus was actually a BET? All the boys were in on it. They had a whole betting sheet on whether or not the boys could snog the girls. Chlophie are awfully upset but pretending not to be, like they do. Chloe says that Soph never thought Hawkster was even a tiny bit cute and she, Chloe, knew all along that Angus was a prat, because of what he wrote to you, but she was only going along to support Soph. But Soph says that Chloe was getting keen on Angus, after all, but she just didn’t want to tell you because of how stroppy you get and how you thought he was an horrid email writer who lurched around your mum’s art being creepy with spray paint. Anyway, they’re awfully miffed and surely about to do something mental to get revenge. You should find out what! I can’t do anything from Wales. It’s like being on another planet.
Anyway, BIG NEWS. We’re coming back early because Dad�
��s cousin’s wife’s son is moving to England with his family, only they aren’t coming over till September so he’s going to stay with us for the first bit of school. He’s AMERICAN, and he’s close to your age. I think he’s only 13! He’s got the worst name ever: Berk. How could anyone call a baby ‘Berk’? They may as well call him ‘Minger’. But you’ll like him! He looks a bit like Nate, Ruby, when you look at him straight on. So it’s like he’s your destiny. I can’t fancy him because he’s related AND younger than me, even though he’s not actually a blood relly.
Did you hear from Ruth again? Your plan about being ill is terrible but you already knew that, so I needn’t say anything, actually. You probably should just ask her, straight up.
Miss you!
I’m sorry. Or MEA CULPA. Or whatever is the right thing to say.
I was hanging out with Tink Aaron-Martin instead of you because 1) she’s funny and nice and why shouldn’t I? And 2) because now that I have a twin sister, I feel like it’s my duty to have more friends who are girls so I can understand how other girls are and how they think. And 3) because Mom wants me to have girl friends instead of just you and I feel like with all this stuff about my biological mom, it’s the least I can do for her. It’s not like I talk to Tink about Ashley Mary Jane’s heart, or my mysterious English twin, or being adopted or anything. We just skateboard around and give each other high fives and she pretends that she’s not looking at that blue-haired kid over my shoulder. I think she has a crush on him, and she’ll probably tell me about it pretty soon because we’re sort of almost real, actual friends.
And anyway, whatever, Jedgar. Why are YOU mad? It’s not like you weren’t chatting up Freddie Blue Anderson over by the slides because she’s pretty and has good hair, and in spite of the fact she has the personality of a piece of rotting cheese. You’ve been weird ever since you got back from camping. Did something happen that you’re not telling me? I think something must have. What’s going on?
Cor, I can’t BELIEVE you’ve missed the things I forwarded to you about Soph’s do! Why didn’t you say they weren’t coming through!? I changed the R in your name to a T, quite by accident, and didn’t notice. I just got this really angry note from someone named Bonnie Statling Anderson who says that if we don’t stop right away, she’s going to report us to INTERPOL. Which would be exciting, wouldn’t it? Wonder if they can throw people in some kind of international gaol for sending party messages to a wrong email addy? That’d be amazeog! Imagine! A gaol full of people who can’t type, wandering about crying, ‘But I meant it to be an R’!
Anyway, instead of sending them on, I’ll summarise, yeah? Because you’ve got other stuff to worry about, like your twin in America and the fact that someone has taken away your Perspex and now you’re all out there in the library square, waiting to be painted on by some wazzock.
Anyway, I’ve got Skinny Kate in on the revenge plan, because Angus, that spotty git, doesn’t know we’re mates. (D’you know her? She’s in our year at school but she’s very quiet and funny, in a nerdy sort of way.) She’s been interviewing him regularly at the chip shop. She told him she was practising to be a journo when she grows up, so we’ve all the facts, such as: He has a Siamese fighting fish named Horace, and he is deeply afraid of changing lightbulbs. Somehow we’ll work that into the revenge plan that Sophie can only know part of, right? Gosh, this is difficult. How can I do this without telling her about the party? Please don’t tell her. Make sure you don’t copy her on this by accident, then it will just be ruined, won’t it?
Love you! Kisses, dahling.
Chloe and Sophie
PS — Actually, it’s just from me, Chloe, but Soph insisted I sign her name too, because she didn’t want to write to you herself AND she doesn’t know what I’m typing over here in the corner. Oohhhhh, I mean, ‘her nail varnish is still wet’. YES, I ALREADY TOLD HER ABOUT ANGUS AND HAWKSTER, SOPH. RELAX. DON’T READ OVER MY SHOULDER, IT’S RUDE. Bye Ru-Ru!
But you didn’t forward me any of the things, so I still don’t know about the Thing You Asked Me Not To Say Anything About, and Chloe, how do you know that Soph won’t read the emails if you share an addy?
Fi told me about Hawkster and Angus and the bet. I think you should just forget about it and never speak to them again. They aren’t worth the trouble, they really aren’t. Wazzocks. (Wazzock is my new fav word, actually. Suits all of them.)
Fi, I’m so glad you’re coming back early! Hurrah! I’ve missed you more than anything. But I’m absolutely not going to fancy your cousin. I don’t have time for boys. I really have to deal with Mum. She came home tonight and was lying about being dramatic about the vandalism, talking about the ‘scourge of British society’ and their ‘disrespect for fine arts’, and trying to sign us up for that self-defence class your dad was on about last month! I told her it was already over, but she doesn’t always pay any mind to what I say. Besides, is she planning to stand beside the statue and ward people off with her fists?
I tried, I really did try to talk to her about Ruth, Fi, but everything I said came out all wrong and jumbled up, and then she got in the bath. I followed her into the bathroom and then she looked at me with such a proper look of caring that I burst into tears and had to run out because I couldn’t talk without crying. Then I chickened out. It’s just that she’s so upset about a STATUE. How is she going to be when I mention that there is an actual LIVE other version of me? Not just an art version that keeps getting scribbled on with Sharpies? What if she can’t cope? Then what?
Ruth’s going to be here SOON. I don’t know exactly when, because she hasn’t said yet, but … soon is soon.
We’re on our holiday. It’s OK, I guess. Ghosts and paranormal things are big here. Dad’s really into it. Says the ghosts have all the answers. They know who did it. Guess Dad supposes everyone was murdered. Do you believe in ghosts and things? Don’t know if I do, but it’s hard not to here. Crucifixes in everyone’s window and the like and lots of businesses doing tours. We haven’t seen a ghost. You probably think it’s funny, me writing like this to you. It is. I’ve never written to a girl before. Never wanted to. You’re the first one. Wish you’d write back, Ruby. At least tell me to go away. Maybe when I’m back, we could talk or something. Don’t know how you’d tell Fi, though. Well, she wants the iPad back now. I’ll have to send quick and delete. Tonight we’re going on a cemetery tour. Makes me think of you. Sounds creepy, right? I don’t mean it like that. This is stupid. Just write back if you like.
Ed
I’ve got the iPad away from the Mole! He’s been typing something mysterious all morning. And when I grabbed it, he snatched it back before I could see. Could the Mole be writing to a GIRL??? Mystery! Anyway, I told Dad I was reading Sherlock Holmes on the ebook app and he thinks that’s a jolly good use of time, so I just have to lie on the lounger a bit crookedly so he can’t tell that I’m really typing.
Look, I’ve come up with a brill plan. Why don’t you just not say anything? Just stick a pic of Ruth somewhere, one that obviously isn’t you, and then see what she does or if she even reacts at all. I know from reading proper whodunits that perps always have tells — reactions that give them away. She’ll have to say something, then. She can’t run away from a picture. She can’t avoid knowing that you know. And she can’t do that thing she sometimes does where she pretends it doesn’t matter or she’ll deal with it later. I don’t know HOW she does that, actually, it’s like she skims over important things so quickly you don’t even know it’s happening. But this will stop her in her tracks. She’ll see it and then it WILL matter. And she won’t be able to pretend it doesn’t.
See you SOON!
I know it’s 3 a.m., but I’ve just realized that we have to ask Ruby if it’s OK to make this documentary, because it’s about her too. If she finds out that I’ve told you some of her secret things to use in the animated part, she’ll be so angry, she’ll never speak to me again, and I’ll deserve it because I said I wouldn’t tell and I di
d! Maybe you could not use those parts. Please don’t use those parts. JEDGAR, IF YOU USE THOSE PARTS, YOU WILL RUIN MY LIFE.
Jedgar, call me as soon as you wake up. The trouble with documentaries is that they are true and about real people and real feelings, and so I think all the real people involved should know.
Ruth
Fi, I don’t know. But I don’t have any better ideas, so I suppose I can try. What’s the worst that can happen? It seems so jarring, though! But you’re right about how she skims. It’s like trying to talk to a cloud. Whenever I think, ‘Oh, I’ll say something now’ she just wafts away.
I can’t wait for you to be home. When you’re away, I’ve no one to properly talk to. I’ve missed you! See you soon-ish?
You stop talking about your twin
because you saw Mom’s chin tremble
when she ripped open the cheese packet
and it spilled orange dust on the floor.
Among the cheese dust on the floor
lie all your feelings about how your
real actual mom
gave you away
because you were broken
and because your real actual dad
died in a car crash.
“My whole life has been
decided by car accidents,”
you say.
And she doesn’t answer
because maybe she didn’t hear you
or maybe you didn’t say it
out loud
after all.
Ruth,
I’m at work but I just remembered that Tink called earlier to talk to you. You should call her back. She sounds funny and kind, just like YOU.
