Chapter 21
Ruby had spent five days trying to avoid her desk. Every time she walked past it on her way out of her room, she would steal a furtive glance at the notepad, which still only had the word ‘birth’ written at the top of the blank page, next to a small scratchy question mark.
Ruby had taken a long bath each morning, and then taken herself off into the grounds, wandering down past the pool, framed with its matching sets of pinstriped sunshine yellow lounges and parasols and towards the neat row of trees bordering the garden that she could see from her window.
Behind them, she’d found a stream, which was crystal clear and, when she’d dipped a hand in, freezing cold.
Following the banks of the stream, she found a small wooded area, and then had come up against a padlocked gate, which she assumed marked the edge of Fairfax and the beginning of whatever sprawling estate came next.
Ruby imagined that these people and Opal probably called each other neighbours. It was certainly a stretch of the term.
As Ruby woke up at the end of her first week at Fairfax, she was surprised to find that her usual routine – breakfast, bath, walk – was starting to feel claustrophobic.
Strange how so much space could make you feel trapped.
She had reached the padlocked gate and was turning back when she spotted a figure coming towards her.
Marching through the overgrowth, there was something about the gait that made her sure it was a man.
As he got closer, his features settled into focus.
It was Martin. He was a little out of breath, and a little surprised when he finally pulled his gaze up from his wellied feet and saw Ruby.
As he approached, he gave her a friendly wave and an overly friendly smile.
Ruby wondered if he was going to stop and chat.
In the end, his politeness must have won out.
He took off his tweed flat cap and wedged it under his armpit.
It struck Ruby that it was absurdly warm weather to be wearing a wool hat.
‘Morning, I see you’ve discovered my secret woodland.’ Martin was lightly panting, as though he’d been walking briskly, or he was nervous. He shot a quick look over his shoulder, and Ruby landed on the theory that it was probably both.
‘Mr Fairfax …’ Ruby was entirely unsure how to address him, but she hated herself for tending towards the formal, as though this ruddy Australian playing fancy dress as Lord of the Manor was somehow worthy of deference.
‘Please call me Martin.’ He smiled; it was easy for him to seem gracious. ‘And anyway the name is Fortescue. For the record it’s my wife’s name as well …’ There was an edge to his voice. Ruby couldn’t quite discern what it was: bitterness? Shame?
‘Martin, right, got it.’ Ruby was eager to get away and leave Martin to whatever it was he was up to, but there was a small part of her that couldn’t dismiss the niggle of her curiosity. ‘Where are you off to?’ She sounded nonchalant, but trained her eyes on his face as she waited for an answer.
‘Just … just off to visit the neighbours, got some …’ he paused, and Ruby wondered if Opal fell for these bare-faced lies; it was an amateurish performance ‘… some business to sort.’
Ruby nodded slowly, raising her eyebrows in a sort of mocking consideration of this alibi. She was thrilled to see his cheeks grow redder, as her incredulity became obvious.
‘Business is it? Interesting.’ Ruby’s tone was scathing.
She hadn’t thought that she bore any sympathy for the state of their marriage, but there was something about Martin that softened the edges of her disdain for Opal.
How clichéd of him to be fucking the neighbour, and to be using the ‘secret woodland path’ at the end of their garden to get to his not so sneaky ‘business’.
‘Well, I hope it’s a satisfactory arrangement for you both …’ Ruby looked Martin up and down ‘… business wise.’
Martin nodded sheepishly and fixed his cap back on top of his head.
Ruby found herself thinking that he had probably been a bit of a heartthrob back in the day.
He was still good-looking, but now there was something a bit try-hard about him.
The strong aftershave, the shirt with one too many buttons undone, his dark hair combed back so slickly she suspected there was some thinning at the crown he was trying to disguise.
‘Cheerio!’ He doffed his cap and walked away. Ruby stood still on the path for a moment, contemplating calling after him with another witty barb. But then she couldn’t think of anything, so she headed back towards the house.
She hopped over the stream and came through the line of trees right by the two outhouses.
She’d tried to peek through the windows the last couple of days, hoping to get an insight into what her competitors were up to, while she whittled away at her own chances of winning the money.
Heather often wouldn’t even emerge until halfway through dinner, so consumed did she seem to be in her masterpiece.
Ruby was a little taken aback then to spot the quiff of red hair as she came around to the front of the building. Heather was sitting at the small cast-iron garden set on the small gravel patio the studios shared. She turned at the sound of Ruby’s footsteps.
‘You been on one of your walks again?’
Ruby didn’t reckon she’d exchanged more than a dozen words with Heather, and yet it would seem that Heather was quite familiar with Ruby’s movements.
It was a little disconcerting, especially as Ruby had been lying about the hours she had spent writing at her desk each day, when Opal asked them all at dinner how their days had gone.
‘Yeah, just a little wander, you know?’ Ruby sounded more defensive than she’d intended.
Heather just shrugged. ‘Don’t suppose you have a rollie I can pinch?’ Heather asked. Ruby was relieved to be back on well-trodden ground.
‘Course.’ Ruby took the other seat at the small table. ‘How’s it going anyway?’ Ruby gestured to the converted stable behind them with her chin, a filter between her lips.
Heather grimaced. ‘Honestly?’
Ruby nodded, handing over the tobacco pouch and rolling papers.
‘I’m losing my mind a little bit. It’s kinda fucking odd to be somewhere this idyllic, and trying to make art that’s, you know, real and …
’ Heather trailed off as she rolled her cigarette, and Ruby caught herself admiring the smattering of freckles that danced over her cheeks as she crinkled her nose in concentration.
‘Real and means something.’ Heather dragged her tongue along the edge of the paper, and Ruby looked away.
‘Do you know what I mean? Or am I just too fucking Scottish to appreciate a nice time?’
When Ruby glanced back, she was surprised to see Heather smiling.
She’d been so stoic and serious up until that moment.
In the brilliant sunshine, with the green of the lawn framing her face, Heather’s hair almost glowed, and her amber eyes were lit up by the reaches of her smile.
Ruby hadn’t noticed how symmetrical Heather’s face was; now she fixated a moment too long on the perfect Cupid’s bow of her top lip.
It was only when Heather lit her cigarette and leant back in her seat that Ruby realised she hadn’t said anything.
‘God, sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m kinda out of it.’ Ruby reached for the lighter, relieved to have something to do with her hands, while she tried to recall what they had been talking about. Finally it came to her.
‘I get it. I feel the same, never thought I could feel cooped up in a place like this, but it’s almost like it’s too quiet to hear my own thoughts.’
Heather nodded in agreement, and Ruby felt that small thrill of relatability, as a precursor to connection.
‘It’s exactly that. I had this stupid idea about rabbits and now … I don’t know, it just feels so anodyne,’ Heather drawled as she took another puff.
Ruby’s confusion must have presented as a grimace.
‘Fuck sorry, I must sound like a pretentious cunt right now.’ Heather chuckled to herself, but she also blushed lightly.
‘No not that, I just have no fucking clue what anodyne means.’ Ruby usually hated admitting things like this.
When she was with Jude and they would have writing sessions together, he would often use words she’d never heard of, and rather than ask him to explain, the thought of which made her blood boil pre-emptively, she would make a mental note and then look them up in Hortense’s thick, well-thumbed red dictionary when she got home.
Anything to avoid the possibility of his smug satisfaction at her ignorance.
Now, though, sitting in front of Heather, she was eager to hear an explanation, and unembarrassed. Heather for her part did not flinch with pity; instead she said simply, ‘It’s like boring, uncontroversial.’
‘Did you go to art school?’
Heather laughed again at this, louder, heartier than before and Ruby smiled. ‘It’s that obvious is it? Yeah, Glasgow School of Art. That’s actually how I met Gareth. He came up to my final year show, offered me an exhibition at Toad on the spot.’
‘What do you think of him?’ Ruby had made her mind up. She found him pompous and affected, but she was keen to get Heather’s read. Why that was exactly, she wasn’t so sure.
‘Who, Gareth?’
Ruby nodded, taking another drag.
‘He’s a bit of a twat sometimes, but he’s got a good eye, and he’s, you know …
’ Heather eyed Ruby up and down, seemingly trying to suss something out ‘… he’s a fighter for the cause,’ she said finally.
Ruby wasn’t sure if she had passed whatever assessment was being made, but she suspected Heather was trying to work out whether she was gay.