Chapter 28
Ruby only felt more anxious with each passing hour.
In truth, she hadn’t much cared about Johan keeping his photo private.
Since they’d visited each other every night since that dinner, she’d stopped obsessing about the possibility of his infatuation with Opal.
Now Ruby was beginning to worry about the one he might have with her.
But it had been a useful cover. She just needed to keep up the pretence long enough to work out how she was going to explain herself to Opal.
Why hadn’t she been able to write a single word since she’d arrived at the house?
Why had this particular challenge hit such a nerve?
How had the circumstances of her birth remained such a blind spot for her?
These were all questions Ruby was expecting Opal to ask, and she didn’t have answers for any of them.
And then she’d spent the day with everyone else’s work. She hadn’t expected to be so impressed by it.
Adam’s dance had left her pondering what it meant to be born into self-expression and Noah’s ‘scene scape’, of which she had been especially sceptical, had made her feel an almost devastating sense of nostalgia for a place she’d never been to.
Each member of the group had been blindfolded and led, one by one, by Noah through his studio.
Without the impediment of sight, the screech of crickets and the medley of night-blooming jasmine and hot tarmac became transportive.
Ruby remained mystified by how the sounds and smells of someone else’s childhood could be made familiar.
Somehow, Noah had managed it by draping bundles of scent-drenched yarn from the ceiling and combining that with some canny audio sampling played from strategically placed speakers.
It had been disorientating to remove the cloth from her eyes and find such a different scene before her than the one her mind’s eye had pictured.
And then there was Heather’s piece. A tall human-shaped figure made of rough cement, holding a porcelain doll. Heather looked shy as she was called upon to explain the sculpture, fiddling with her hands as she spoke.
‘I was originally going to make a bullshit political comment about overpopulation, but then someone very wise made me realise that that was anodyne.’ Heather peeked up through her russet lashes, and her amber eyes caught Ruby’s.
‘So anyway I’ve made something more personal instead.
I’m calling it “birth of a dyke”.’ Heather did not break eye contact, and neither did Ruby, who found that she couldn’t, even as the intensity of the stare made the hairs on the back of her neck prick to attention.
It wasn’t until Opal crossed through their beam of vision that the spell was broken.
The larger figure was textured but featureless, as though Heather saw her queerness as cumbersome, yet unspecific. Where the doll had a delicate, intricately detailed face, ‘the dyke’ was nameless, and lacking any unique, identifying features.
Heather took a deep breath, as Opal came nearer to examine the figure more closely.
‘My whole childhood, I felt that my lack of girlishness took up so much space, and yet at the same time, what was there in its place felt completely unformed, undefined and impossible to name.’ Now as she spoke, she looked down again.
‘So I guess that’s it. The lesbian in me was born a faceless figure, and it’s taken me a wee while to carve her out into a real person.
’ Ruby felt the words burrow into her head like an ear worm. A shiver ran through her.
Adam too seemed moved, his face ruffled with empathy. It struck Ruby how similar their pieces really were. Both were retelling stories of a second birth, which was painfully less welcomed by those who brought about the first.
Heather walked to the corner of the studio, to let the others take a closer look at her work. Ruby found that she couldn’t look at the figure for too long; it unnerved her. And so she wandered over to Heather. They stood side by side, silently, and watched as the small group circled the sculpture.
There were so many thoughts flying around in her head that Ruby couldn’t work out which were too revealing to voice. Instead she asked: ‘Are you happy with it?’
Heather shrugged, but Ruby caught the tiniest hint of a proud smile that suggested she was.
‘It definitely feels more real than my other idea, thanks to you.’
It was Ruby’s turn at nonchalance, though she was glowing with the warmth of recognition. ‘Nah, that was all you,’ Ruby replied.
‘I wish I could hear your poem,’ Heather said quietly.
Ruby shifted her weight from one foot to the other. ‘Yeah, well I just felt …’ She scrambled for an ending to the sentence but Heather cut in just in time.
‘No I’m sorry, that’s not supposed to be pressuring or anything.
I respect your decision for privacy. This stuff isn’t easy, putting it all out there, and in such a small group as well; it’s not like an exhibition where there’s a crowd of strangers.
You can almost convince yourself no one will really get it.
But here …’ Heather gestured vaguely towards Adam and Noah, who were now studying the doll.
‘Here, it feels like you’re exposing your soul to people who can decipher it, you know, because they actually do get it. ’
Heather turned to Ruby, searching her face for something. And Ruby knew what questions were lingering in that stare: do you get it? Have you faced the faceless figure?
Ruby felt a rise of panic. ‘It’s a brave thing to do,’ she said, unable to hold Heather’s gaze but still for some reason compelled to answer those unspoken questions.
‘Putting it all out there; I’m not sure I’m …
’ Ruby swallowed ‘… ready to do that quite yet.’ Ruby thought of Cindy then, and the flash of understanding mixed with disappointment that had clouded her face as Ruby left her room hurriedly that day.
It was the same expression that Heather wore now.
‘Well whenever you’re ready, I’m …’ Heather blushed and cleared her throat, correcting her slip of the tongue with a: ‘we’re all here for you.’
‘Thanks, Heather,’ Ruby said softly.
After they had all eaten lunch in the orangery, a slightly strange spread of devilled eggs, cheese scones and salad nicoise, Johan and Opal disappeared upstairs to look at Johan’s photograph. Ruby couldn’t quell her intrigue, although she made an effort to look nonchalant as Johan left the room.
During their most recent midnight encounter she had made a point not to ask him what the photo was of, in part because she could sense how much he wanted to tell her.
Despite that, she couldn’t quite eradicate the flicker of jealousy that ignited inside her at the thought of him creating something for Opal’s eyes only.
She hoped that her ploy about keeping her poem private might elicit a similar reaction in him.
Ruby chastised herself for looking up from her plate when they came back through the door.
Opal’s face was flushed, her eyes betraying the tears just shed.
Whatever that picture was, it would seem that Johan was pulling ahead in the competition.
Ruby noticed everyone else’s hopes dwindle as they too noticed the telltale swelling and clumped eyelashes of a person moved.
‘Ruby.’ Opal sniffed, plastering on an unconvincing smile. ‘Shall we have a look … or rather a listen to your piece?’
Ruby felt her heart beating in her ears, but she kept her composure. ‘OK, yeah,’ she replied, before lifting one last forkful to her lips.
‘Maybe we can head upstairs to your room?’ Opal held the door open as Ruby pushed her chair back and made an effort not to catch anyone’s eye.
‘Whatever,’ she mumbled.
Out into the hall and up the stairs, Ruby felt the weight of her confession bubble into her throat.
She opened her mouth to release it, and found it stuck.
They marched on in silence, with only the sound of Opal’s conservatively heeled pumps applauding down the corridor. To Ruby the sound was mocking.
She opened her bedroom door and before she could change her mind she grabbed her notepad and thrust it into Opal’s hands, before turning away; she crossed her hands and stared out the bay windows.
The work was a precondition of her being here.
Without it, who knew if Opal would even allow her to stay; she would do well to try and take in this view while she still could.
Ruby heard the sound of the page turning; she imagined the expression of confusion on Opal’s face as she stared at the blank page, turning it to check she’d not missed something, and then flicking back.
The carpet was so thick that she didn’t hear Opal take a step forward and so when she laid a hand gently on Ruby’s shoulder, Ruby jumped.
‘Sorry,’ Opal said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to … I … there’s nothing here, Ruby. Did you want to explain?’ The tone was soft, understanding, and somehow that made Ruby even more on edge.
‘I haven’t fucking written anything, that’s why.’ Ruby was horrified at the feeling of heat rising in her throat and stinging on the inside of her nose. She would not cry in front of Opal.
Ruby heard a sigh coming from behind her and readied herself for what she was sure was the inevitable eviction.
‘It wasn’t Johan who didn’t want you all to see the photograph he took; it was me.’
Ruby turned to find Opal sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes watery with a kind of rageful sorrow that mirrored her own
‘Why?’ Ruby’s voice cracked.
‘It’s a portrait of me.’ Opal shook her head. ‘No that’s not quite right, it’s a portrait of my daughter, except, you can’t see her in it because …’ a tear trailed down Opal’s cheek ‘… because …’
Ruby felt a heaviness in her chest. As she watched Opal now she could no longer see the heiress, the lady of the manor, or even a competitor for a man’s affections. She saw a woman consumed with loss.
‘You don’t have to say it.’ Ruby didn’t know if she could bear Opal’s grief alongside her own.
Because that’s what it was, she realised now: grief.
To write about that man, the man who robbed her not only of a father in her life, but also of a family, who forced Hortense to leave behind everything and everyone she knew to live in exile with her shame.
Her shame that should have been his. Writing about him was to acknowledge all the things Ruby had lost. Or rather the things she’d had stolen from her.
This prize, this money, this opportunity was just another addition to that list. Because she could not write about her birth without bringing him to life with her words. Now she realised she could never do that, never disrespect her mother like that, not for all the money in the world.
Opal looked straight at Ruby. They stared at each other for a long time.
Eventually, Opal reached for the notepad beside her and shut it softly. ‘Neither do you, Ruby, you don’t have to say it either.’
Opal stood to leave. The moment Ruby heard the soft click of the door, she broke down.