The Facts of Life and Death (17 page)

‘Well, that’s nice,’ Mummy said. ‘Why is he pulling a potato?’

‘Because we didn’t have carrots.’

‘Aah,’ said Mummy, and laughed. Then she went over to the little window, where the tree outside pressed right up against the glass.

‘Daddy should cut back these branches,’ said Mummy.

‘I don’t mind. Except for the scratching.’

‘Wouldn’t you like to see out properly?’

‘I don’t really care.’

Mummy stared between the leaves at the dense forest beyond. ‘I’d like to be able to see out,’ she said, but then she drew the curtains anyway.

The few Gunslingers who had bothered dressing up and coming out that Friday night were in a sombre mood.

A second murder had knocked all the swagger out of them – as though their disapproval alone should have been enough to stop it happening twice. A photo of Jody Reeves stared at them accusingly until Daisy Yeo turned the
Gazette
face-down with a short, disgruntled moo.

A posse was a joke, a rope was not enough.

There had been some vague notion that they might find a watering hole of normality together, but it had dried up in the face of their own impotence, and staring into the dust of their failure was no help.

They didn’t have much to drink or much to say. Chip and Shiny played a desultory game of cribbage where they lost score halfway through and didn’t care. Nobody even thought to put money in the jukebox, and they sipped their ciders and nursed their shorts to the upbeat jangle of ‘Barbie Girl’.

They didn’t stay late, and when Hick Trick said he was off, they all left together.

Which was how they all discovered at the same time that some son-of-a-bitch had kicked in the front right headlight of each of their cars.

THE HEADLIGHT WAS
only a bit of old plastic, but when Daddy told Mummy about it over breakfast, she cried.

Ruby had seen Mummy cry before, but never so openly. Before, she’d always tried to hide it; this time she cried like David Leather had cried when Shawn threw his violin on the toilet-block roof – with the tears running out of her eyes and down her face in shiny rivers, and making a proper boo-hoo noise, and the air going all wobbly whenever she took a deep breath.

It made Ruby uneasy.

‘Stop it, Mummy,’ she said, but Mummy didn’t.

‘Come on, now,’ said Daddy. ‘It’s only an old headlight. I’ll get one from the scrappy. And it’s just the one. I can still drive it.’

‘You
can’t
,’ sobbed Mummy. ‘The police will pull you over and give you a ticket and then I’ll have to pay for that
and
the headlight!’

Ruby looked anxiously at Daddy, who pursed his lips and spread out his palms. ‘It’s not my fault,’ he said. ‘Someone did all the boys’ cars while we were in the George.’

‘I
know
,’ said Mummy. ‘I
know
it’s not your fault. But it’s always
somebody’s
fault and I’m the one who always has to pay for it!’ Daddy got up angrily. ‘It’s always about the bloody money with you!’ He picked up his keys, then strode through the house to the front door and Mummy didn’t even try to stop him, so Ruby ran after him.

‘Can I come?’

‘No,’ he said and slammed the door behind him.

Ruby stared at it for a long moment, waiting for him to come back and say she could really.

When he didn’t, her nose tingled with hurt and anger. Why did Mummy always have to make Daddy feel so bad?

She started to pull on her coat and boots.

Mummy darted out of the kitchen, wiping her eyes and nose on a piece of screwed-up tissue.

‘Ruby! Where are you going?’

‘To the swing.’

‘Why don’t you play indoors today?’ Mummy was trying to stop crying fast. Trying to smile. ‘There are lots of fun things you could do right here,’ she went on. ‘Maggie can come round for tea if you want. I’ll do fish fingers. You could make a den in the garden.’

Ruby was suspicious. Usually her mother couldn’t wait to get her out of the house. She was always going on about fresh air and exercise and things being
good
for her. And the
garden
? She hadn’t played in the garden since she’d learned to walk.

‘Why?’ she demanded.

‘I just don’t want you running about in the woods all the time. It’s so wet and muddy, Rubes. Wouldn’t you rather be indoors? Where it’s s— dry?’

She’d been going to say
safe
.

Now Ruby understood: Mummy was scared of the killer. She wanted Ruby to be safe. She wanted something
from
her – and Ruby sensed an opportunity.

‘If I play indoors, can I have a biscuit?’

Her mother hesitated. Ruby knew what she was thinking – they’d only just had breakfast, and she wasn’t supposed to eat biscuits at all before teatime …

‘Just the one,’ said Mummy.

Ruby ate her biscuit while she tried out cushions for the next posse. She chose the blue tapestry one on the easy chair. It was small and hard, and would give her lots of extra height.

Then, when Mummy went upstairs to strip the beds, she sneaked out anyway.

Ruby sat on the damp bench next to the swing, and picked the bark off two new guns.

Beside her, Maggie painted her fingernails bright red. She had already done her toes, and now she sat with her dirty bare feet tucked up on the bench, spotted with scarlet, while her flip-flops lay empty in the mud.

‘You going to the Leper Parade?’ Ruby asked, even though Maggie was only seven, so it didn’t make any difference to Ruby
what
she did.

‘Yeah.’

‘I’ve got a sack to wear,’ said Ruby. ‘And I’m going to have bloody scabs all over.’

‘I’m going to be a fairy,’ said Maggie.

Ruby screwed up her face. ‘You can’t be a fairy. You have to be a leper.’

‘I don’t care,’ said Maggie. ‘I got the costume. It has wings and everything.’

Ruby made a noise that meant that Maggie was an idiot, just like all the girls at school with their secret lipstick and their pop-star crushes and their pencils topped with pink fluff. She must remember to tell Mummy to get Rice Krispies to make the scabs.

‘Look!’ said Maggie, and spread her left hand for Ruby to see. ‘Like a lady.’

Ruby grunted.

‘Mine,’ said Em, snatching at the nail polish. ‘Mine.’ She had only just started to talk but had already mastered all the useful words.
No. Shut up.
And, just lately,
Mine.

‘No!’ said Maggie and slapped Em’s hand away. ‘You want me to do yours, Ruby?’

‘Nah. My Daddy says girls who paint their nails are slags.’

Maggie shrugged. ‘Just a thumb then?’

Ruby shook her head and Maggie started on her other hand. This one wasn’t even as good as the first. Out of the corner of her eye, Ruby watched Maggie’s left hand bend and twist awkwardly as she tried to control the little brush. The polish splodged over the edges of her nails and smeared down her fingers. Some even dropped on to her dress.

‘Shit,’ said Maggie.

‘Shi’,’
said Em. ‘
Shi
’
shi’ shi’.

Maggie laughed as she painted. ‘Listen to her! She only knows bad words, don’t you, Em? Shit and fuck. Shit and fuck.’

‘Shi’ an’ fuh!’ said Em, and then shoved a finger so far up her nose that Ruby had to look away.

She finished taking the bark off the second stick and held them both out like a gunslinger, twitching with recoil.
Pow. Pow-pow.
One was better than the other.

Voices floated up through the woods, and soon Adam and Chris followed them.

Ruby hadn’t spoken to Adam since he’d given her Lucky and wasn’t sure what to say.

‘Hi,’ he said, so she said hi back.

‘What are you doing?’ said Chris.

‘Painting our nails,’ said Maggie.

‘I’m not,’ said Ruby scornfully. ‘I’m making guns.’

Adam came over and she handed him the sticks. ‘This one’s good,’ he said.

‘I know,’ said Ruby. ‘The other one’s just the best I could find.’

It didn’t feel any different from the last time they’d spoken, and Ruby was relieved.

He handed both of the sticks back to her. ‘I’ll see if I can find a better one in the woods,’ he said, nodding his head towards the avenue of trees beyond the stile.

‘Are you going to Clovelly?’ asked Ruby.

‘Not today.’ He smiled, and Ruby blushed.

‘Look!’ Maggie waggled her red fingers at the boys and Adam laughed and said, ‘Very grown up.’

‘She’s going to do mine in a minute,’ said Ruby quickly.
She
was the eldest, not Maggie!

‘Mine,’ said Em, and snatched one of the guns. Ruby held on to it and didn’t let go, and then did – and Em fell backwards on to her bottom, squirting an invisible cloud of noxious fumes from her nappy.

‘Oh my God, it’s a stink bomb,’ said Chris, and both boys jogged away, laughing, and vaulted over the stile.

Ruby watched them until they disappeared around the turn in the path.

‘Ready?’ said Maggie.

Ruby turned. Maggie had the little brush out, ready for action. Ruby looked at it warily. It was so
red
!

‘Just a thumb then. And don’t go over the edges.’

Maggie did go over the edges, but only a little bit. Ruby held up her thumb. It shone like a sucked sweet. It was so gorgeous that it made her other nails look pale and naked.

‘D’you like it?’ said Maggie.

‘Sort of,’ said Ruby. She didn’t want Maggie to think she’d been right all along.

‘You wave it around like
this
and it will dry. This is the stuff that dries really fast.’

Ruby started to wave her hand.

‘You want them all done?’

Ruby screwed up her face. ‘How long does it last?’

‘Not long,’ said Maggie. ‘And it’s easy to get off.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. You just rub it with cotton wool. I seen my mummy do it.’ Ruby hesitated for ages, then said, ‘OK then.’

She held her right hand steady while Maggie leaned over it. When Maggie lifted her head away, Ruby regretted her decision. Five fingers was
way
too many to paint – especially badly. Instead of her single thumbnail looking like a marvellous and exotic jewel, her hand now looked as though she needed first aid.

‘You went over the edges!’

‘Only a little tiny bit.’

‘I don’t like it. Take it off.’

‘You have to rub it with cotton wool.’

‘Go on then.’

‘I don’t have any.’

‘Well how am I going to get it off then?’

‘Your mummy can get it off when you go home.’ Maggie got up and hung over the rope swing on her belly. ‘Don’t blame me,’ she croaked. ‘You wanted it done.’ Then she looked at the stile and wheezed, ‘They’re coming back.’

Ruby got up and walked over to the stile, but she couldn’t see Chris or Adam.

‘No they’re not,’ she said.

Maggie got off the swing and joined her. ‘I heard them.’

The path led away from the stile for thirty yards before curving sharply inland to skirt a gouge in the cliff. It was made of a narrow strip of compacted earth that softened at the first hint of rain.

Ruby leaned against the slab of slate that made the stile; it was cold against her ribs.

‘Hey!’ she shouted, and there was the sudden sense of something
stopping.
To listen?

‘They’re sneaking up on us,’ whispered Maggie.

‘Then I’m going to go sneak up on them,’ Ruby decided suddenly, and felt a dangerous thrill as she heard her own words.

She wasn’t allowed over the stile, but who cared what Mummy said? She’d been on a cowboy posse, hadn’t she? Hunting a
killer
. She could climb over a
stile
. She would hide and jump out at the boys right at that corner thirty yards off, before she even had to lose sight of the stile and the bench and rope swing. She’d give them a fright, and Adam would see how grown up she was, and they’d all walk back together.

‘You’re not allowed,’ said Maggie.

‘Shut up, slag,’ said Ruby. She swung a leg over the top of the slate.

‘I’m going to tell my mummy on you,’ said Maggie.

‘See if I care.’

‘Shut up.’

‘Shut up times a
zillion
times and no returns.’