pulled out of the car park with almost reckless speed. Still, she wasn’t fast enough to miss an intriguing tableau.
The stranger striding away from Daniel. Daniel shouting after him.
Ruth lowered her car window, just a touch, to catch the words.
Daniel called, “You’re really pissed? Over a girl like her?”
A girl like her. It was a familiar phrase, especially from Daniel’s lips.
But there was nothing familiar about the stranger. He tossed a glare over his shoulder and called back, “Don’t worry about the lift. I’ll walk.”
3
The next morning, Ruth opened her curtains and scowled at the unholy brightness of 10 a.m.
She was not made for mornings.
But today, she’d have to cope. Ruth wanted to be out of the house when the courier came; it was easier that way. Plus, a brunch date with her sister was long overdue.
She chanted those reasons to herself as she got dressed. Pyjamas, she knew, were frowned upon in public settings, so she wore a soft, jersey tracksuit instead.
Whatever.
Hannah was waiting for her at the Greengage Cafe, which held the dubious honour of being Ravenswood’s only cafe. It was also the only place, aside from the local pub, that served food before 5 p.m. Ruth couldn’t go to the pub; too crowded. Plus, she didn’t mix well with tipsy locals.
So she shuffled into Greengage, sank into a dainty, white chair opposite Hannah, and tried to blend into the furniture. It didn’t work very well, maybe because the chair was barely wide enough to contain Ruth’s arse. Or maybe because Hannah, in her shiny lip gloss and jewel-toned knit set, was ruining Ruth’s bland effect.
“Sit up straight,” Hannah said. The please was silent. She snapped her menu shut and caught the eye of a passing waitress with ease. “What will you drink?”
“Water,” Ruth mumbled. Why Hannah asked every time, she had no idea.
“And what will you eat?”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “You know what I’ll eat.”
“I wouldn’t dare to assume.”
“Don’t be an arse.”
As the waitress neared, Hannah’s exasperation melted into a beatific smile. “Good morning, Annabel.”
The teenager didn’t smile back. Her tone robotic, she said, “Drinks?”
“We’re ready to order, thank you.” Hannah’s light, pleasant voice never faltered, and her smile never wavered.
Ruth didn’t know how she did it.
“We’ll have a strawberry lemonade, an orange juice, and water for the table. I’ll have the…” Hannah studied her menu as if she hadn’t already chosen. She was always conscious of seeming too perfect. She knew it intimidated people. “The eggs Benedict,” she said finally. “Ruth?”
Sigh. Clearing her throat, Ruth said, “Ham and cheese omelette. Brown toast, no butter. Thanks.”
The waitress, Annabel, didn’t even look in Ruth’s direction. She shut her notepad with a little slap and snatched the menus from the table.
“Well,” Hannah murmured. “You fixed that girl’s bike, once. Do you remember?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“About five years ago. Her father wouldn’t take it down to Mack’s, so you fixed it for her.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“She had braces. She thought you were God on earth.”
“You blaspheme too much. Mum would slap you.”
“If Mum hasn’t slapped either of us yet, she never will.” Hannah winked one perfectly made-up eye.
Ruth laughed. That was her sister’s superpower; she could always make Ruth laugh.
Sometimes, being with Hannah was as easy as ever. Sometimes, being with Hannah was like tiptoeing through a landmine of Ruth’s own guilt and self-loathing.
When it was like that, things only got worse and worse. Hannah would be upset at Ruth’s cold silence, and try to hide it, and Ruth would want to say, “It’s not you or anything you’ve done, it’s me and this fucked-up tongue that won’t obey and this fractured mind that won’t think and the guilt I thought I’d gotten over lurking like a shark beneath dark waters. Can you forgive me for making you pretend? Can you forgive me for being yet another reason you pull up that false smile? I am an ungrateful sister.”
Today was not one of those days. Nothing dramatic occurred. Hannah wasn’t too annoyed when Ruth refused to drink the juice she hadn’t asked for. Ruth managed not to drop anything or spill anything, or otherwise command the kind of attention that made her want to jump into a grave. Things were easy.
Until they weren’t.
Cameron Wright and Will Hardy wandered into Greengage with raucous grins and boisterous words. They had been inseparable as children, and adulthood hadn’t changed that. They’d also been nasty little shits, and adulthood hadn’t changed that either.