door.
‘Can I come in?’ It was Ruby.
‘Sure,’ I said, surprised. Mia and Ruby were constantly in and out of each other’s bedrooms, borrowing shoes and stealing hair ties, but they rarely came upstairs into mine. I’d become used to this and pretended not to mind, even though it was another small but significant demarcation underlining that I was different to them, that I wasn’t quite in their gang. And to be fair, my room was more spartan than theirs. No cushions on my bed. Grey blinds on my skylight windows instead of curtains. The only photo was on my bedside table, taken on my third birthday in the kitchen downstairs. I was wearing a party hat, the elastic digging into my chubby chin, and beaming at my cake. It was shaped like a ‘3’ and covered in Smarties. My mother was crouched protectively around me, also wearing a party hat over an abysmal perm. It was the last photo taken of us together.
‘Hey,’ I said, as Ruby appeared from behind the door. ‘What’s up?’
‘Can I sit?’ She nodded at my bed.
‘Course. You all right?’
She pinched her lips together and inhaled. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, ‘but I was wondering if I could borrow some money?’
‘Money?’
‘You know the papery stuff that buys things?’
‘What for?’
She didn’t reply.
‘Ruby?’
‘It’s kind of embarrassing,’ she said finally.
‘Try me.’
‘A personal thing.’
‘How personal?’
Ruby pressed her hands to her face and spoke through her fingers. ‘I think there’s something wrong down there.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘An STD,’ she mumbled through her fingers. ‘I think Jasper might have given me something.’
‘OK, what are the symptoms?’
She dropped her hands and scrunched her nose. ‘Burning. Like a really bad burning. And itching.’
‘What about discharge?’
‘Gross! Can you not use that word?’
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘that’s just a thing sometimes, isn’t it? Cottage cheese or whatever. But hang on, I’m not saying I won’t lend you money, but can’t you get a free test for this kind of thing?’
‘I can’t get an appointment until the end of the week and also…’ She paused. ‘OK, this is going to sound stupid, but what if I’m spotted?’
I pinched my lips together to stop myself from smiling. Ruby had been on television once in an advert for Andrex but, sure, she was going to get asked for her autograph in an STD clinic.
‘There’s a place off Harley Street that can do all the tests for £300 tomorrow and it’s same day results. Blood tests, swabs, the lot. But I’m broke and I don’t want to put it on my credit card in case Dad sees. I don’t want to ask Mia because it will go straight back to Mum. And I don’t want to ask Jasper because if he has given me something, I want to cut his blue-blooded penis into very small pieces and feed it to the birds. So I thought of you.’ Ruby looked up at me hopefully.
‘Flattered, thanks.’
‘Oh, go on, Flo, pleeeeeease. I can’t tell you the pain. It’s like I’ve chopped a chilli and had a good rummage down there.’
‘All right, all right.’
She leapt up from the bed and hugged me. Her hair smelt of cigarettes. ‘Thank you. You’re the best. Can you transfer it now and then I’ll book it first thing?’
‘Yes,’ I replied wearily.
‘Amazing, thank you, thank you,’ said Ruby, releasing me and heading for the door.
She vanished downstairs again leaving me standing in my bedroom, shaking my head. Was it OK to feel strangely proud that she’d asked me for this kind of help over anyone else? I decided it was, especially because Ruby didn’t seem that emotionally traumatized by her fiery private parts.
I was on the phone to a customer the next morning when Zach appeared by the counter and loitered.
‘I’ll wait,’ he mouthed, when I pointed at the phone to underline the fact that I was busy. It was off-putting, Zach hovering in front of me while I tried to concentrate on the demanding American who wanted me to find a book about the history of the tractor which was printed in 1942.
‘What is it?’ I asked, when I finally hung up.
‘Your Instagram poet has said yes.’
‘What? I thought she’d never go for it. And the dog?’
‘Yeah. The publishers are keen. Just spoke to them. I think they see it as a credible place for her. A grown-up bookshop instead of, well, reciting that dross to a million 16-year-olds from her bedroom. But they’ve suggested Thursday next week. Is that too soon?’
‘WHAT?’ I repeated, more loudly. ‘It’s way too soon.