Who Killed Ruby?. Camilla Way
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Название: Who Killed Ruby?
Автор: Camilla Way
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
isbn: 9780008281014
isbn:
In tonight’s dream though, just as she’d heard her sister’s scream she’d looked up to find their old neighbour, Declan Fairbanks staring in at her through the living room window. For a moment she’d held his pale blue gaze before being hit by the overwhelming rush of fear that had caused her to scream out so loudly that she’d woken Cleo – and probably half the street too.
It was not the first time she’d dreamt of Declan; he often appeared in her nightmares, always with an accompanying feeling of disquiet. Sometimes she’ll dream that Morris Dryden is there too, his happy grin and rosy cheeks incongruous with her terror.
This, of course, is not surprising, tied as Morris and Declan are to that day, their witness statements playing a key role in Jack’s conviction. But she’s noticed lately that her unease when she dreams of Declan is laced with something else – a queasy kind of revulsion. She remembers little about him: a rather severe-looking man in his fifties, dark hair peppered with grey, very striking pale blue eyes. She has a dim recollection of him shouting at her once for kicking a ball at his window. Perhaps that’s where her aversion springs from, the childish memory of being chastised mixed with the general horror of Ruby’s death. Perhaps that was all it was.
For a long time she lies staring at the ceiling, only the street lamp below her window casting its weak glow upon the blackness. The wind has stopped; the world outside is silent now. But when at last she starts to drift off back to sleep, a sudden noise from the street jerks her back to full consciousness. What was that? Her window is open a crack and she lies very still, listening, until another sound from outside has her sitting up, suddenly alert. There it is again: feet shuffling on the pavement below, then the sound of someone clearing their throat. Her nostrils prickle as she detects the faint trace of cigarette smoke. Slipping from her bed she creeps to the window and looks out.
There is someone standing by her gate and she feels a jolt of shock when she realizes that it’s her mother’s boarder, Shaun. He’s looking away down the street, the red glow from his cigarette rising and falling as he takes a drag, and she quickly steps back from the street lamp’s glare. What on earth? She waits, heart pounding, until she hears him move off, his footsteps on the pavement gradually retreating, and when she dares to peer out once more she sees him rounding the furthest corner, before finally disappearing from view.
Vivienne’s disquiet continues throughout the weekend, no matter how hard she tries to distract herself. What the hell had Shaun been playing at? Was he stalking her now? The thought is as baffling as it is frightening. She knows that all of her mother’s guests are carefully vetted before they’re sent to her; that Stella’s never given anyone with a history of violence – or any other serious crime, for that matter – yet what did either of them really know about him? When her alarm wakes her on Monday morning these questions are still weighing heavily upon her as she heads for the shower.
Thirty minutes later she and Cleo hurry out of the house only for Viv to come to an abrupt halt before the door has closed behind them. ‘I’ve forgotten my phone. Get in the car,’ she says, handing Cleo the keys and turning back inside. ‘I’ll give you a lift to the bus stop.’ But when she reappears twenty seconds later, it’s to find Neil and Cleo in deep discussion at the gate.
They stop when she approaches and she smiles. ‘Hey, Neil, how are you?’ She puts a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and propels her towards the car. ‘Sorry to rush off,’ she tells him, ‘we’re running late as usual.’
‘No problem,’ Neil calls after them. ‘Have a good day!’
Viv smiles and waves, but once they’re in the car she turns to her daughter. ‘What were you two talking about so avidly?’
Cleo shrugs. ‘Just Fortnite, gaming, that sort of thing. He knows quite a bit about it because his son’s into it.’
Viv puts the key in the ignition and glances at her in amazement. ‘He has a son? He never said.’
‘Yeah, he lives with his ex-wife, apparently. Why, what’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing’s wrong with it, it just seems odd he’s never said so before.’ Neil was someone who really liked to chat about himself, and it did seem strange he hadn’t mentioned such a huge part of his life. She can’t stop mulling it over as she pulls away from the kerb and checks her rear-view mirror, where she sees Neil grinning enthusiastically after them. He’d once told her that he was an IT consultant, but it occurs to her that in all the time he’s lived next door he’s never seemed to have a job to go off to, or at least, not that she’s noticed.
After she drops Cleo at the bus stop she edges slowly through the morning traffic towards the café, and her mind returns to Ruby. Her sister would have turned forty-eight this year, Noah would be a grown man. Perhaps he’d have had kids of his own. For years afterwards, Viv had tortured herself with ‘what ifs’. What if she’d called an ambulance straight away? What if she’d tried to get help rather than running off to hide? Might Noah have been saved? As a child she would be plagued with thoughts of Noah’s tiny heart beating on even after Ruby’s had stopped, until it too had ceased. It was a thought that made her breathless with pain. Later, much, much later, she’d read that no baby can survive longer than fifteen minutes in utero after the death of its mother, that no ambulance would have reached their cottage in time. But still the guilt has never left her, the belief that she could have done something, anything, to save them both. She should have protected her sister. She should have stopped Jack, somehow. After all, she’d been the only other person there.
As she parks and makes her way to the café, Viv considers phoning her mother to let her know she’s thinking of her, but decides against it. Stella doesn’t like to dwell on today’s date, and that’s understandable. After all, she has her own demons to fight; her own ‘what ifs’. What if she hadn’t gone to work that day? What if she’d fought harder to keep Jack Delaney away from Ruby? Now that Viv has her own child, she feels only too keenly how Stella must punish herself, even after all these years.
She thinks again of the dismal iris-strewn grave, the two names on the temporary wooden cross, and bites back her tears. She and her mother had never once returned to their old village to pay their respects in that crooked and crowded churchyard. Perhaps they should have: perhaps it might have given them some sort of closure. After all, her sister would have wanted her to be happy, to get on with her life. And Vivienne was happy. Yet thirty-two years on the nightmares persist, as if something is holding her back from moving on completely. She wonders if she ever will.
She’s grateful when she opens the door of her café, soothed by its cosy familiarity. She takes in the mismatched wooden tables, the large yellow sofa, the box of children’s toys and shelves full of books and board games, the paintings by a local artist on the wall, and feels her tension ease, glad of a day’s work ahead to distract her. It’s her new employee Agnes’s first day today, and she spends time showing her the ropes. Agnes is eighteen with a nervous little face and round hazel eyes that seem perpetually baffled by the world, but proves herself a fast learner nonetheless, and after the morning rush, the café settles down to its usual steady stream of customers and bustling ordinariness.
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