by Lauren Child
RULE 2: IF YOU WANT TO KEEP SOMETHING SECRET, DON’T LEAVE IT LYING AROUND.
Chapter 2.
There’s a lot of truth in fiction
WHEN RUBY ENTERED THE STYLISH, modern kitchen, she was automatically handed a vile-smelling green drink. Ruby glared at Mrs Digby, bearer of the unfortunate liquid.
Mrs Digby shrugged. ‘Don’t look at me, it’s your mother’s orders – she wants you to grow.’ Sabina was always trying to get Ruby to eat foods that might promote growth. ‘Personally I don’t see what’s so wrong with being short,’ Mrs Digby added. ‘I’ve always been short and it’s never stopped me from getting by in the world.’
This was true. Mrs Digby was probably one of the smallest and most determined people one could meet. She had been with the Redforts long before Ruby was born and before that she was housekeeper to Ruby’s mother’s parents. Her face resembled an autumn leaf – dry and covered in lines. When she applied lipstick, it bled along the tiny cracks around her mouth, creating miniature rivulets. She was getting on in years but no one was exactly sure of her age – if asked she usually answered, ‘sixty, seventy, eighty, who’s counting? Not me that’s for darn sure.’
Mrs Digby spoiled Ruby whenever possible but never, ever, went against Mrs Redfort’s dietary instructions. Sabina Redfort was always putting her household under one health regime or another and Ruby and her father dreaded them all.
Ruby took the drink without arguing, brought it to her lips and said, ‘Mrs Digby, could I have just one cookie, just to take the taste away?’
Mrs Digby considered the request for a mere moment. ‘Well, your mother didn’t say you couldn’t – so I guess it would be all right.’ She turned her back just for a second, maybe two, and in this tiny moment Ruby poured the drink down the sink, having been careful to first make sure she got some of the green liquid on her upper lip.
‘Yuck!’ said Ruby.
‘There’s a miserable kid,’ said the housekeeper, wiping Ruby’s face as if she were still just a toddler. Mrs Digby looked at Ruby’s T-shirt, which bore the statement some days stink and muttered, ‘well, who can argue with that.’
She paused.
‘On second thought your mother will. If I were you I might avoid the trouble by changing into something, you know – frilly.’
Ruby made a face – ‘frilly’ was neither in her vocabulary nor her wardrobe. As far as her attire went, she was more often than not dressed in jeans, sneakers, a T-shirt printed with either a somewhat hostile word: bozo, an interesting number: 1729, or some less than agreeable statement: bored beyond belief. But she knew what Mrs Digby meant and she knew she had a point.
The backstairs door opened and in walked a young woman followed by three large boxes of heirloom tomatoes balanced on a pair of skinny legs.
‘Hola Ruby, how are you?’ said the woman.
‘Bien gracias Consuela,’ replied Ruby. ‘Hey, is that you under there, Clance?’
‘I think so,’ muttered Clancy, struggling to heave the boxes onto the counter. He rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll just go and fetch the others.’ Clancy was a good-natured person – mostly he tended to like people, but he didn’t much like Consuela. Too bossy. Mrs Digby was no big fan either.
The trouble had begun when Sabina Redfort rather rashly decided that Mrs Digby’s cooking was too stodgy and that they should adopt a more olive oil and tomato based diet. This had led to the hiring of dietary expert Consuela Cruz. Consuela had been flown over from Seville, Spain, along with many suitcases and countless cooking utensils, and though her salary was eye-watering, Mrs Redfort considered her to be worth every penny.
The new diet, however, may have been helping maintain healthy hearts but it certainly wasn’t generating much love. Mrs Digby made a muttering sound deep in her throat and Consuela clucked her tongue and both women left the room by different doors. Ruby, now alone, piled several cookies on to a plate (ten to be exact) and went about making herself some more appealing drinks (two banana milks with strawberry ice-cream). The banana milk was imported from Europe, for though Brant Redfort had tried, it seemed impossible to find anywhere inside the USA.
Ruby popped straws in both drinks and carefully carried them out of the kitchen – sucking on one of the straws as she went. She was about to climb the stairs, when she caught sight of the little light on the answer phone flashing to indicate a message. She pressed play.
‘Hey there Redfort gang! It’s the Humberts here – Freddie and I were just saying how much we would like it if you all came over – and Quent would just adore to see darling Ruby! Call us back won’t you! Bye bye bye!’
This voice belonged to Marjorie Humbert, a family friend, wife of Freddie Humbert the Twinford City Bank manager and mother of Quent the dullest boy in town. Ruby automatically pressed ‘erase’ and continued on her way. She was followed by the large husky.
‘Hey there Bug,’ cooed Ruby, ‘wanna watch some TV?’
When she entered her room she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Mrs Digby was right: if she wanted to avoid a whole lot of grief she might want to put on a dress. She rummaged through her closet until she found an interesting red and white number she had picked up at a thrift store – if Ruby wore anything other than jeans and T-shirts, then it was usually second hand. She was one of those girls who people talked about as ‘having her own style,’ which was sometimes meant as a compliment and sometimes not. The hem of the dress was secured with sticky-tape, but one hardly noticed if one wasn’t looking too closely.
Ruby pulled on some black over the knee socks and a pair of Yellow Stripe sneakers. The dress still retained its thrift store odour, so Ruby sprayed herself with some perfume. (Oriental Rose: she had a sizeable collection of beautifully bottled fragrances which, when worn mingled with the odour of the bubblegum she so often chewed, creating a unique Ruby Redfort fragrance.)
Clancy had not yet reappeared so Ruby carried the tray of snacks up the open-tread staircase which connected her room to the rooftop. She liked to sit up here on warm evenings looking at the stars, writing in her notebook, reading and, more than occasionally, watching the portable TV. She settled down in the beanbag, in one hand a cookie and in the other a large green apple. She believed that the healthy attributes of the apple might counteract the bad effects of the cookie. (Ruby Redfort had a lot of theories like this one.)
She looked up when Clancy popped his head through the trapdoor. Clancy was a shortish, scrawny looking boy – not exactly your ‘yearbook kid’ but certainly one of the most engaging characters you were likely to talk to, if of course you bothered to talk to him – which a lot of people didn’t.
‘Oh boy! I had to make a dash for the stairs or she would have had me peeling tomatoes for the rest of my life – I wouldn’t mind but tomatoes give me hives.’
He slumped down next to Ruby, who was busy flipping through the channels. Ruby was a keen watcher of TV – she watched a lot. She loved sit-coms, dramas, news shows, quiz shows, documentaries, but it was the detective shows that were her TV passion, and Crazy Cops in particular. Crazy Cops was a police drama that Ruby and Clancy were practically addicted to – it was very informative while at the same time being extremely entertaining. They had both picked up a lot of knowledge about police investigations and human behaviour from watching Crazy Cops. ‘There’s a lot of truth in fiction,’ was something Ruby was fond of reminding her parents whenever they complained about her ‘TV habit’. Sunday night, however, was toon night, and they were just into a fourth episode of Grime Girl of the Crime World, when Ruby heard her parent’s car drawing into the driveway.
Clancy looked at his watch and groaned. ‘I guess I gotta go, my dad won’t exactly see the funny side if I’m late.’
‘That’s too bad Clance, but hey, don’t forget to smile.’
‘Yeah, yeah, some friend you are – I’ll call you later.’
He left by climbing from the roof onto a branch of the large tree handily positioned right next to th
e house – from there he could shimmy his way down to the yard. Ruby descended more conventionally, by way of the stairs.
Noticing that she had forgotten to tackle the large pile of shoes in the middle of the room, she fetched the beanbag and placed it on top. The room looked magazine-shoot tidy. She took one last look in the mirror, then adjusted the barrette securing her long dark hair in a firm side-part, giving her a look of utter composure.
Satisfied, Ruby sort of half walked, half hopped downstairs, followed silently by Bug.
Chapter 3.
‘Sounded like dessert’
‘HEY HONEY, HOW’S MY GIRL?’ said her father, lifting Ruby up over his shoulder and mussing her hair. It was a ‘welcome home’ ritual Brant Redfort had never grown out of.
‘Hey Dad, d’ya wanna cool it, you’re messing with my look!’ said Ruby in a somewhat strangled voice.
‘Oh Brant!’ said Sabina Redfort, pretending to disapprove. ‘For an intelligent man you really can behave like a total nut.’ No one but Sabina would ever describe Brant Redfort as intelligent. Ruby had been born to parents who would never be giving Einstein a run for his money.
In many ways nature had been generous to Brant and Sabina. They had been given an easy charm and likeability, good looks and generous personalities. But for all their fairytale-like graces, they had little going on upstairs in the smart department. However, you would be hard-pressed to meet a more popular couple, and for this reason they headed up just about every committee or fundraising benefit in Twinford – they were what’s known as ‘socialites’.
The Redfort family walked upstairs to the living room and settled down on one of the large white couches.
‘So how was Switzerland?’ said Ruby ‘Oh it was wonderful, just wonderful, if we hadn’t had to get back for the museum launch we would have stayed on longer,’ said Sabina wistfully.
‘Oh yeah, what museum launch is that?’ said Ruby.
‘Ruby, surely you haven’t forgotten about the Jade Buddha of Khotan!’ exclaimed her mother.
‘Sabina honey, she’s pulling your leg,’ said Brant, raising his eyes heavenwards. ‘You have been talking about nothing but the museum launch for the last two months.’
‘Oh very cute!’ laughed Sabina as she pinched Ruby on the cheek.
Ruby’s parents were both wildly excited about the Jade Buddha coming to Twinford. Stolen from the ancient kingdom of Khotan during the 8th century and missing for over a thousand years the Buddha had recently been rediscovered encased in a block of ice somewhere north of Alaska. The archaeologist who dug the artefact out of the glacier was the senior curator of the Twinford City Museum, Dr Enrico Gonzales. In recognition of this monumental and heroic discovery, the people of Khotan had agreed to have the Buddha displayed at the museum for a limited period before it made its long journey home. Brant and Sabina were, of course, on the museum party committee.
‘You guys sure do travel light,’ said Ruby looking around for their suitcases.
‘Oh yes,’ said her mother. ‘The airline managed to lose every piece of our luggage – can you believe it!’
‘So I guess you lost all your vacation pictures too?’ said Ruby hopefully. Ruby had endured many tedious hours of her parents’ vacation snapshots and would go to any reasonable lengths to avoid the misery of a family slide show.
‘No,’ said her father, ‘luckily I kept all the film in my carry-on luggage – I can’t wait to get them developed, you’ll see I got some beautiful shots.’ Ruby considered this unlikely; Brant was a horrible photographer.
After quite a lot of welcoming from a very excited Mrs Digby – ‘Good to have you back at last, you’ve been away too long!’ and a good deal more fussing, ‘You’ve lost weight Mrs R, you need feeding up,’ – supper was ready and the family sat down to eat. Mrs Digby had gone to a lot of trouble with the table and there was a huge floral display which was very difficult to see over or indeed round.
During dinner, Ruby’s parents burbled on about the wonderful hotel and the delicious schnitzel and the beautiful Alps. And the conversation went something like this:
SABINA: ‘Quite the tastiest schnitzel I have ever tasted.’
BRANT: ‘And what about those Alps! Talk about high.’
Until Ruby wished they would start talking about the Jade Buddha again. But then, of course, they did.
SABINA: ‘Speaking of Switzerland, Marjorie mentioned that the Buddha’s glass display case has all been expertly designed by a Swiss expert – no one’s met him, no one – he’s an utter recluse.’
BRANT: ‘Oh yes, that’s right, a fellow named… what’s his name honey?’
RUBY: ‘Klaus Gustav.’
Ruby hadn’t exactly been listening, but she had been party to so many of these discussions that her brain had absorbed all the interesting and less than interesting details.
SABINA: ‘That’s right Ruby! Well, according to Marjorie the glass display case will be the shape of a cylinder and is going to rise up through the museum floor at the stroke of midnight!’
BRANT: ‘How does he do it, do you think?’
SABINA: ‘Beats me! Must be some kind of magician – no one even knows how you get that glass cylinder open – it’s top secret.’
BRANT: ‘Well if their glass is as excellent as their schnitzel we are going to be in for a treat!’
…and they were back to talking about schnitzel again.
Ruby wished hard for some kind of distraction before her brain froze over – and her wish was granted by a loud thud and a high pitched shriek.
‘Whatever in the world was that?’ exclaimed Mrs Redfort.
‘Sounded like dessert,’ said Ruby.
‘What?’ said her mother.
‘I must say having Consuela around is great if you are looking to lose weight but I am afraid our friend Bug has been pounding it on.’
‘Bug’s been putting on weight? What do you mean? Why would Bug put on weight?’ asked Mrs Redfort.
‘On account of all the low flying food in there,’ replied Ruby. ‘Mrs Digby and Consuela throw ingredients at each other nearly every night. Most of it ends up on the floor and Bug is only too happy to clean up, if you know what I mean.’
‘What!’ said Brant who was very much against pets eating their owner’s food.
There was a crashing sound followed by a yelp.
‘Yeah, I’ve pretty much got used to it but you may get complaints from the neighbours any day soon.’
‘Oh we don’t want that,’ said Brant, looking over towards where Mr Parker lived. Mr Parker was a very difficult man.
‘Get used to what?’ said Sabina
‘Kitchen friction,’ replied Ruby. ‘Mrs Digby can’t stand Consuela and Consuela can’t stand Mrs Digby – it’s been like this ever since you guys went away.’
‘Really?’ said Sabina
‘Oh yeah,’ said Ruby raising her voice a little, to make herself heard over what sounded like the smashing of a cut-glass tulip vase. ‘It’s been terrible – I must say this fish is very good though.’
Sabina slammed down her napkin, stood up and strode over to the kitchen door.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mom,’ warned Ruby through a mouthful of mackerel. But Sabina was not to be deterred. She opened the door just as Mrs Digby took aim with a pitcher of tomato juice. Consuela ducked and Sabina found herself covered in red gloop.
‘Mrs Digby! What has gotten into you!’
Mrs Digby quickly reached for a large dishcloth, put it down and picked up a towel.
‘That’s the second time today that someone has thrown a drink over my Oscar Birdet suit!’ exclaimed Sabina.
‘Really? Who was the first?’ inquired Ruby, who was by now standing in the doorway, and chewing on a carrot.
‘Some frantic little man at the airport – spills my martini all down my front and now this! Boy, this tomato is never going to come out.’
‘Let me clean it up, Mrs R,’ said Mrs Digby, who was
looking rather pale in the face.
‘I’ll thank you not to touch it Mrs Digby, it’s dry-clean only!’ replied Sabina, these last words coming out rather more sharply and with more volume than she had intended.
‘Is never gonna be clean again Mrs Redfort, no way José,’ said Consuela giving Mrs Digby a smug look. Sabina was about to try and calm things down when Mrs Digby got in first.
‘Well, I can see whose side you are taking in all this, and me a person you’ve known your whole entire life. I see thirty-six years of service and loyalty count for very little round these parts. Maybe I’ll just go and pack the few sorry possessions I own and get out of here for good! No doubt cousin Emily will take me in.’
‘Oh Mrs Digby! Please don’t… ’ pleaded Sabina, but it was no use. Mrs Digby was already making her way downstairs to her housekeepers apartment – there would be no pancakes for breakfast, that was for sure.
Ruby was relieved when the telephone rang.
‘Redfort high drama society. You want drama, we got it.’
She hoped it would be Clancy Crew, he would certainly lighten the atmosphere – but it was Marjorie Humbert.
The following words were delivered by Ruby at super high speed to avoid conversation.
‘Hello Mrs Humbert yes I’m weller than you could begin to imagine I would love to chat but I know my mother is on the edge of her seat at the prospect of talking to you – bye, bye, bye!’
Ruby handed the phone to Sabina. ‘Gotta walk, Bug,’ she said, and whistled to the dog.
Jeepers, could I use some air.
Ruby and Bug left by the back door and made their way down Cedarwood Drive, turning right on Amster Street. Ruby decided to stop by the tree on Amster Green; a large oak in the middle of a triangle of grass. It stood there surrounded by blossom trees; a wooden bench sat directly under it. The oak tree was old, with branches that twisted towards the ground and swept up again. It was perfect for climbing. Ruby and Clancy liked to sit up this tree and watch the people down below; when the tree was in leaf it provided perfect cover.
