by Karen Rivers
‘No’, I managed. ‘I suppose not’.
She shook her head. ‘And I don’t want you to be cross with Nan. She’s dead, for one thing. And for another, she was doing what she thought was best. She thought I’d fall apart and not be able to be a mum to either of you. Nan never thought much of my … abilities, I suppose you could say. She always thought I’d ruin things and run away. Because I ruined things and ran away a lot when I was young. I wish she’d believed in me. I wish she believed in me like I believe in you’.
‘You do’? I said. I was really surprised that she said that. I mean, on top of everything else, I never actually thought she thought I was worth believing in. Not yet, anyway. Maybe when I grew up or that. But not now.
‘I do’, she said. ‘And you know what? I really could do with a tea’.
And then there was no milk. So she went to the shop to get some.
That was about an hour ago.
I said I wasn’t going to say I’m sorry again, Ruth, but I am sorry. Are you still coming to England? Please don’t be so cross with Mum that you cancel the trip. It’s like what you said about being a leaf on the river. I think sometimes it isn’t nice at all to be a leaf on the river. Maybe the weather is terrible and cold and there are ducks attacking the leaf, or worse. But I guess the leaf doesn’t have any choice. It just floats. And eventually, it gets to the nice bits again, the sun comes out and it’s calm and such. I’m probably messing up what you meant in the first place, but that almost makes sense to me.
You don’t have to forgive Delilah. You don’t have to do anything. You have a mom. Delilah can just be Delilah, this person that you’re never going to forgive. But I’ll always be your sister.
Love,
Ruby
Dear Nan,
Mum’s at the shop buying milk for tea. You know how you always said that tea was the answer, no matter the question? I hope you’re right. I don’t think you are.
And I definitely don’t think you were right about telling Mum to leave Ruth in America. Why did you do that, Nan? I am not feeling frightened right now. I might be alone in the house, but if something goes clunk, I’ll know it’s you, trying to answer. And if it doesn’t go clunk, and you aren’t trying to answer, I’m not sure that I can forgive you. I don’t think I know how. Even if I am a leaf on the river and everything like that, which made so much more sense when Ruth said it than when I try to. Ruth might forgive you, because of Buddha. BUT I DO NOT.
The letter magnets on the fridge aren’t moving. If you don’t move those magnets, Nan, I’m just going to end this. I’m going to be furious with you for eternity.
Ruby
Ruth, are you OK?
It’s just that you haven’t answered. I thought I’d wait and wait and then you’d answer, but you haven’t, and I’m panicking. I need you to be OK. I don’t know what else to say or to do.
Can you reply? Please?
I’m really worried about Mum. She seems different somehow. Lighter. She’s really happy you’re alive. She says that even if you don’t forgive her, you being alive will always be the best thing that’s ever happened in her life. And she’s being strange with me, all paying attention, and asking me about my life, and doing other peculiar things. Like she went down to the shops to buy bacon for tea and when she came back, she had forgotten the bacon, but she had got an Alsatian named Peaches. The dog came lolloping into the house like she owned it, weed on the logs by the fireplace, and ate my brand-new plimsolls like they were her very favourite sort of biscuit.
I’m afraid of dogs. And likely allergic!
Mum said to me, ‘I found an advert for a guard dog on the wall at the shop’.
I felt like I was having a very strange dream. ‘What’? I said.
‘Ruby’, she said. ‘I’ve bollocksed everything up. I’m a terrible mum. I left Ruth in America. I run away when things get hard. Maybe Nan was right to think that I’d not cope. But I … well, I’m starting over. I want to make it up to you, and I’m starting by doing all the right things. Nan was on me to get us a dog ages ago, to look after us. And I kept putting it off because I thought we didn’t need looking after. But we do. YOU do. This dog is for you, to make up for the fact that I’m a terrible mum. And maybe she can also help us guard the library statue’.
‘But Mum’! I said. ‘That’s completely daft! She’s a DOG, not a person! Only a person can be a mum. And you aren’t THAT bad. I mean, sometimes you’re rubbish, but mostly you’re good and you love me and you put food on the table. And the thing about Ruth is that you thought she’d died. That IS pretty terrible, but I’m pretty sure it’s Nan’s fault, not yours. And I don’t think an Alsatian will change anything’!
‘I know’, she said. ‘I just feel so helpless. And somehow when I saw that little sign that said “GUARD DOG FOR SALE”, it felt, right then, like the right thing to do’.
Then she burst into tears again. Floods. So did I, because I can’t bear to see her sad, and also because I was sad too. It’s like we’re both mermaids now, but we’re swimming around inside a house that’s just filled to the brim with sadness instead of water.
We were distracted when Peaches began to gnaw on the table leg quite aggressively. She IS very well trained, though, because when Mum said, ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, PEACHES’, she stopped, and I swear she hung her head in shame. She reeks like a big wool jumper that’s been left out in the rain after being sprayed by a cat, and she breathes so heavily, like she is so excited about how she’s going to maul her next victim that she can barely bring herself to stop pacing.
Peaches is not just a guard dog, she is a trained assassin. All you have to say is ‘Harry Potter’ and Peaches will kill and eat whoever is in the room. The code words to stop her in her tracks are ‘Hermione Granger’, so I have been walking about muttering ‘Hermione Granger’ because I don’t want Peaches to get confused. She has enormous teeth and the facial expression of someone who got left behind twice in Year Three and is more than a little narked about it.
There’s still so much to talk about with Mum, but Peaches takes up all the room in this house with her smells and sounds and general terrifying-ness! I’m sure your Caleb is lovely, but I can’t help but look at dogs and think they are all just looking back at me like I’m some sort of walking, talking, trembling meat.
Ruth, are you OK? Are you being a leaf on the river? I just need to know that you’re all right. That you’re going to forgive her or maybe just try, that this is all going to be OK.
I love you. And we’re sisters forever, no matter what. Even if you decide you can’t do it, be the leaf, forgive Delilah, any of that. You don’t have to. It doesn’t change us.
Does it?
Ruby
Mum’s bought a dog. A DOG, FI. What am I supposed to do with an Alsatian? I’ve never liked dogs, everyone knows that. This one also is a trained killer. I don’t think that makes it better.
I’m attaching the emails I just sent to Ruth because my wrists are sore from typing and I can’t say all that again. She hasn’t replied yet and I’m terribly worried but I don’t know what to do about it. She’s never given me her number or anything! So I can’t call her. Anyway, phones make me nervous! Why hasn’t she replied? I know it’s a lot to take in. I just need to know she’s OK.
You forgot the attachment! What’s happened? Shall I come round?
Alsatians are my favourite. They’re so smart, you know. And fashionable. I read in the rags that Madonna has got three to guard her estate.
More importantly, BERK IS HERE. You’re definitely going to fancy him, Ru. I know you say you won’t, but he’s the spitting image of Nate! He’s even got that awful emo hair! I burst out laughing when I saw him. But it’s like he was made for you. Want to come round to mine and meet him? PLEASE?
I’ll try the attachment again.
Oh, also, Fi, it’s super important that you tell everyone in your family not to say ‘Harry Potter’ in front of Peaches. She’s actually tra
ined to kill if you say those words. I’d best never take her to Waterstones. Don’t come round. Mum’s having a bath and a think. I’ll come to you. Read the attachment so we can talk about it when I get there. I can’t say it all out loud. It’s easier just to read it, Fi. Trust me. It’s just … a lot.
Ruby, I know you’re at Fi’s, but I was just thinking that the most important thing here is this miracle we’ve received: She’s alive! Your sister is alive! It’s all so shivery and strange, like a shimmering oasis in a desert.
I’m not sure what to do. Or say. Or what happens next. A proper mum would probably know. Which is how I know I’m letting you down again. I’m sorry, Ruby. I really am.
I know that I said before that I thought dead people don’t have wishes that they needed to have fulfilled after they are dead, but I was wrong about that, I’ve decided. I think Nan wanted this to happen.
I’m working out what to say to Ruth. Tell me when she replies to you. Tell me if she’s ready.
Love,
Mum
Dear Nan,
I’d given up mostly. I walked around the house and all the paintings were still hanging perfectly and the magnets on the fridge didn’t shift. There weren’t any crashes and nothing happened. The only noises were from the large, smelly dog that Mum brought home. Peaches is her name, but I know you know that, if you’re real, but you aren’t. That’s the confusing bit. Because, Nan, just when I was convinced I’d made the whole thing up, Peaches brought me the boot. My blue suede boot! With your letter in it.
Your letter, Nan! I don’t know how you did it, how you got Peaches to find it and bring it to me, but it was brilliant. At first, I was furious of course. I thought she was eating my boot, not delivering your note. When I realized, I gave her a whole block of cheese. She loves cheese.
I’m a bit scared to read the letter. Silly, I know. I’ll do it now, though. I just wanted to write to you first to say that I believe you’re here, after all.
Hi Nan. I love you and miss you so much!
I said that out loud. Did you hear?
Love,
Ruby
Ed,
Sorry, this isn’t a real note. I don’t know what to say to you. I do believe in ghosts, though. I thought you should know. I really do.
Ruby
Dearest, darling Ruby,
If you are reading this, it means I have passed on (passed up?) to that great next step, whatever it might be. Don’t be sad. I hope you are a teenager, at least, and can cope, but as I am writing this letter, you are only 11. You are so much like your mum at your age, it’s uncanny. Sometimes I almost call you ‘Delilah’ by mistake, seeing your head bent over your drawing or the way you push your hair behind your ear.
I just hope you aren’t EXACTLY like her, not in all her ways. Did I ever tell you about all the times she ran away from home as a teenager? We used to have a detective who we dealt with exclusively when she did another runner. He’d always track her down. It started off with big things, but eventually she did it for everything. When she did badly on her O-levels, when her dad was cross with her for burning the tea, when a boy she liked didn’t call her when she hoped he would. She was a bit mad, I suppose. We loved her, but she was always like a bird, always flying off somewhere.
When you were born, you were loveliness embodied. Oh, I could have eaten you up! You were perfect. I know it’s not very properly grandmotherly of me to say those things, I should teach you to keep your emotions in check, but I still feel amazed — almost like crying — when I look at you. You are still amazing, even if you don’t feel it because you have spots or lank hair or you are in love with the wrong person or whatever dreadful teenage affliction is plaguing you. I hope if I teach you anything, it’s that you don’t need a man (or a boy) to give you an identity. You are you and you are unbearably perfect regardless of whether the boy you have a crush on likes you back or the other girls in your class tease you because you’re different and cleverer than most. Your mum got teased a lot.
This is the part in the letter where I tell you what I know. What I did, really.
And what I know is this: You were born a twin, and your twin is dead. Her name — unless they changed it — was Ruth Elizabeth. She was born with a heart condition, the poor little love. Full of holes, it was.
I was so afraid she’d leave you both, I did the only thing I could do. I lied. I never lie. I know that your mum has her issues with me, but believe me when I say this was the only time I lied to her, outright. I know that I did the right thing, telling her that Ruth was dead, when she wasn’t. Not then. I actually let her be adopted, knowing that she wouldn’t survive a week. It was all so American and legal and there were lawyers and it was overwhelming, even for me, but I had to be strong. I had to be strong for both your mum and myself. I had to make decisions. I didn’t know it was going to be like how it was, with all those people and social workers and interviews. But the more I said it, the more firmly I believed it. Your mum wasn’t competent enough to cope with two of you, if one of you was dying. That poor baby would have to be in the hospital for her whole life, however long it would be, not dead but not exactly alive either. Your mum, she couldn’t have coped. She just couldn’t.
And maybe I couldn’t either. There. I said it. I didn’t know how to look after a baby so frail. I didn’t know what to do for that angel except let her go.
I know it sounds heartless. I know it felt heartless. But it was impossible for your mum. She was barely hanging on after Philippe went. I had to get her back to England. America was breaking her heart, which was already broken. She was like a bird that couldn’t fly, do you see? She needed to come home where I could help her properly, at her own home, in her own bed, with you by her side. You were her baby, but she was mine.
Everyone just does the best they can. That’s the thing of it. That’s all we can ever do.
I just wanted you to know, suddenly. In case your mum never told you. She always said that she would, when you were ready, but I don’t know if she’ll ever believe you are. I don’t think she feels ready for it herself, to tell you that there was Ruth once, and now there isn’t. That you were once a sister. I just got this idea that maybe you’d feel somehow like there was a piece missing and I wanted to tell you that yes, there is. One missing, beautiful piece.
I love you so much, darling girl. I love you for always. And I’m terribly sorry to have died, which I must have done, or you wouldn’t be reading this at all, would you?
Love you, my girl.
Nan
Ruth,
I know that sorry isn’t enough. What can I do? I have so much to say, but I can’t say it until I know you’re OK. Until I know you’re there.
Ruby
Ruth, please walk Caleb. Mommy and I are at the restaurant now. I wish you’d come with us! Are you sure you’re OK? I’ll bring you a dessert.
Love,
Daddy
Sent from my iPhone
DAD, for goodness’ sake, it’s DAD, not DADDY!
I am so close to 13 now, it’s like I’m practically inhaling the same oxygen as I will be breathing on my 13th birthday! When I am a teenager, will you believe that I no longer should call you DADDY?
I’m sorry, I’m fine. I mean, I’ll probably be OK. You know what the calendar said today? “All wrongdoing arises because of mind. If mind is transformed, can wrongdoing remain?” Well, I guess I need to transform my mind from the leaf to the river or the foot to the path or whatever you think makes the most sense, but I have to forgive Delilah Starling before I get broken inside. Because that could totes happen. I can already feel it happening. It’s like something is curling up and turning black and it’s scary, Dad. I don’t like it. But I know I can do it! I can figure this out. I feel like maybe I already have, actually. It just took me a few days.
I’ll tell you about it all later, OK? But don’t worry about it. I’m absolutely fine and anyway, Jedgar is here and we are doing stuff for our movie. Did you
know that Delilah Starling has a whole big book of art, which we checked out of the library? She’s done about a million paintings of me and Ruby. What if I’d just found this book one day while I was spelunking through the library shelves aimlessly? I might have dropped dead of a heart attack on the spot. I don’t think Ashley Mary Jane’s heart could have coped with it at all.
Stop looking at your iPhone! Pay attention to Mom! Tell her that her hair looks nice!
Love,
Ruth
Mom,
You looked really, really nice tonight. I just wanted to say that! You look amazing! No one would ever guess your age! And Dad is lucky to be married to you, and I bet he thinks so too, even if he forgets to say things like, “Wow, those shoes make your legs look amazeballs!”
And you’re a really really good mom. I don’t think I remember to tell you THANK YOU for being so awesome all the time, but I’m lucky and I love you and all that. More than … well, more than anything.
Love,
Ruth
The thing is that
someone always wants
the runt.
The runts sell first.
A family comes and
the kids always say,
“That one.” And point
to the smallest one.
They want to save it.
I did.
And so you were saved.
And thrived.
And so?
Now what?
There are things you
have to say.
Woof, you say,
your bark strong and hearty,
like you can hardly remember
anyway, how you were once
the smallest,
the most wanted.
