SIX DAYS TO GO

Ruby’s bedroom door was open, but she held the doorknob like her life depended on it. Leaning out at an almost forty-five-degree angle, she tried to get closer to the stairs so she could listen more easily, but refused to let go of the handle, in case she had to bolt back inside her room.

Despite it being ridiculously early on a Sunday – nine a.m. – she was wide awake and fully dressed.

Her parents were below, hissing snakes having an argument that they thought their children weren’t aware of. They did that a lot, as though whispered words hurt less than ones that were screamed. In Ruby’s experience, whether the ugly words were quiet or loud, whether people let you down easy or stuck the knife in, it still hurt the same. Even if the pain wasn’t immediate, it would slowly spread through the body to immobilise, if you waited long enough.

Generally, she didn’t care what her parents rowed about. This time she had a vested interest – Mum and Dad were supposed to be going out today. She needed them to. They were supposed to be going shooting together, with some stuck-up businessman that Dad wanted to impress. As usual he was trying to trot the family out like some kind of prize, all shiny, bright, perfect. Screw that. It was a load of fakery that Ruby didn’t want anything to do with.

Luckily, Dad didn’t like her and Mouse going shooting, said they were too young. So, Ruby was meant to be babysitting Mouse while Dad showed off his trophy wife. Result.

But now it looked like her stupid parents were about to scupper her plans. She frowned, listening hard to make out the words among the sibilance.

‘Please stop your stressing. I’m too tired to go out today. I was busy decorating the house all day yesterday – not that you’ve noticed.’

Unbelievable. Mum had spent an entire day wafting around making sure glass baubles were in the perfect position, and was offended because no one cared? Ruby had assumed she’d done it for her own gratification; she had certainly seemed happy enough, humming along to Aled Jones singing carols, then switching to Band Aid’s ‘Feed the World’.

Dad’s reply was a grunt. ‘Christmas is your thing. I’ve more important things to think about than if you’ve tied the perfect bow,’ he spat. ‘Such as landing this deal so that I can keep this very expensive roof over our heads, pay for the presents under the tree, the new carpets, everything that you take for granted. That iPhone for Mouse wasn’t cheap—’

Ruby stiffened when she heard about the expensive gift her sister would be receiving.

‘Come off it, you do it for yourself, Benjamin. You do it because you love business. You love it more than you love me, or the kids, or anything else in this world.’

‘Yeah? Well, your only job is to look after the kids and keep the house going, sweetheart. But you’d rather hang out with your mate, Fiona, and get drunk. Not exactly parent-of-the-year material yourself, are you?’

‘Be careful, Benjamin. You’re on thin ice. And nothing you’re saying is improving my headache or making me more inclined to go shooting with you.’

‘Fine.’ Ruby could imagine her dad throwing his arms up in the air, like a child, the way he always did when he knew he was losing. ‘I’m going. I don’t know what time I’ll be back.’

Ruby crept back into her bedroom and slowly, quietly, eased the door closed so that she wouldn’t be heard.

Typical. Usually, her mum was utterly pathetic. She always went along with anything and everything that Dad wanted. Ruby often despaired at her lack of backbone and wondered what the explosive consequences would be if she ever stood up to him. Finally, today of all days, she had decided to make a stand. Not a very honest stand, though. The truth was, her mum hated shooting, even though it was only clay pigeons, not actual living things. But, of course, she didn’t have the guts to tell Dad that.

Mum’s newly grown courage was totally annoying, though. Ruby needed both of her parents out of the house. She had arranged to sneak out and meet up with Harry. Yeah, she was supposed to be babysitting Mouse, but the kid could look after herself; all she ever did was find places to hide so she could read in peace. That and spy on people.

Now all Ruby’s plans had been slashed to pieces because of her stupid parents. Was there a way she could breathe life into them? She really wanted to see Harry. She needed to see him. She was ready now; had put her black skinny jeans on, cute pixie boots, and a black cropped jumper that showed off a glimpse of her flat stomach – she’d inherited her mum’s figure, thank goodness. The jeans were high-waisted enough to hide the thin scars criss-crossing the skin below her belly button.

She really, really wanted to see Harry. Despite the ban.

Screw it, she’d go anyway. Her mum might come up and check on her, find out, but what was she going to do? She never shouted, never did anything.

Throwing open her bedroom window, Ruby hung out, looked down the trellis. They had only moved into the house in June, and although Mouse had quickly discovered this alternate route into the bedrooms, Ruby herself hadn’t tried it yet. It couldn’t be that hard if the squirt used it, though. She chucked her Puffa jacket down to the ground first, then hauled herself over the sill. Balanced on the ledge, which was wide enough for her to stand on, on tiptoes, then felt blindly with one foot for the solid wooden trellis that would act like a ladder. There it was. It was a little awkward, but she was soon down on the concrete slabs of their patio. No sign of her mum. She nipped around the side and was out of the gate in seconds as she pulled on her coat, on her way to her date.