Читать книгу A Thousand Roads Home - Carmel Harrington - Страница 16

As they walked into their hotel room another dizzy spell hit Ruth and she clutched the door frame.

‘Are you OK?’ Erica asked, frowning as she spoke. ‘You don’t look very well. You’re not going to get sick on the carpet, are you? You’ll have to clean it up yourself if you do. Housekeeping are gone for the day. You’ll see that in the rule book. Rule number nineteen.’

Ruth shook her head in an effort to reassure Erica that she was not about to contaminate her room. She was not sure that she could trust herself to speak, to say the words out loud that she was OK.

‘Mam?’ DJ saw the colour drain from her face.

‘I am fine,’ Ruth lied. She just wanted to give in to panic, fall into the darkness.

Erica looked dubious but she was a woman on a mission. She had a tour to give and she was going to deliver it. ‘This door to your left, that’s your en-suite bathroom.’

Ruth and DJ looked into the small room, which had a shower, bath, toilet and sink. ‘It’s dirty,’ Ruth said with dismay. The room was clad in white tiles, with greying grout that looked like it had not been cleaned in years.

‘It most certainly is not. I pride myself on the cleanliness of this hotel,’ Erica said, smarting at the insult.

‘Awkward,’ DJ said, not bothering to hide a snigger.

‘You can bring your luggage in here.’ Erica swung her arm around, like she was a hostess on the QVC shopping channel showcasing a roomful of beautiful baubles and silk scarves.

DJ and Ruth both sucked in their breaths as they took in the scale of the room that was to become their home – their bathroom, living room and bedroom. Where would DJ do his homework? Perhaps she could move the lamp and small radio alarm clock off the locker.

‘Are we supposed to take turns sitting on that?’ Ruth asked, pointing to a single armchair that sat alone under the large bedroom window. Ruth blinked when the curtains morphed into bars. Their room became a prison cell. Your imagination working overtime, that’s all, Odd whispered. She blinked again and the sad grey curtains were back.

Erica pursed her lips together. Opposite the two beds was a long vanity table with drawers, on which sat the TV and a phone.

It’s all wrong. Everything is in the wrong place.

Ruth pulled at her hands.

Pop, pop, pop …

‘We have all the channels. Not that I look at much regular TV any more. It’s all Netflix and chill for me!’ Erica said, laughing at her own joke.

DJ started to flick through the channels before Erica had finished speaking.

Ruth counted the steps to take her from her bed to the bathroom. Six. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It should be fourteen steps. For four years, it had been fourteen steps.

‘Your accent, I can’t quite place it. It’s not a Dublin one, anyhow,’ Erica stated. She stared at Ruth, taking in her short hair, cut like a boy’s, which she wasn’t sure she cared for. Her face was white as a sheet, without a scrap of makeup on. And she had two piercings in each ear. She’d put money on the girl having tattoos. She had that look about her. She was what her Billy would call ‘alternative’.

‘I’m from Wexford originally. But Dublin has been my home for ten years,’ Ruth answered.

‘Oh, a beautiful part of the world. But as I often say to my Billy, half of Wexford is living in Dublin and half of Dublin are down in Wexford. Funny old world we live in, all topsy-turvy,’ Erica commented.

Ruth picked up one of her suitcases and placed it on one of the beds. She had placed some cleaning products in this case and wanted to start scrubbing the bathroom.

‘The rules of the hotel are listed on this.’ Erica pointed to an A4 laminated sheet. ‘There’s nothing too major, but if we didn’t have them, chaos would ensue. And if you have a problem with any of them, take it up with the council, not me. My Billy says I’m too good-natured.’

‘Mam?’ DJ whispered loudly.

Ruth turned her back on the woman and faced her son. ‘Yes?’

‘Where’s my bedroom?’ he asked.

Ruth said, ‘We will be sharing this room.’

Erica tutted loudly, so that they both heard her. ‘I don’t know. The phrase “beggars can’t be choosers” springs to mind. You’re luckier than most. You could have been given a sleeping bag and left to your own devices outside.’

DJ looked mortified. Ruth held the laminate up in front of her. ‘My son was simply asking a reasonable question. And from a cursory glance at this laminated sheet of paper, refraining from asking questions is not listed as one of your rules.’

Before Erica had a chance to splutter a response, Ruth added, ‘For the record, you will never know how grateful this “beggar” is for a hotel room.’

Erica’s face softened at those last words. ‘Maybe my choice of words was a bit harsh. There’s no point looking back. That much I’ve learned over the years. Your old home is gone. This is your home for the foreseeable. Make the most of it.’

Ruth re-counted her steps to the bathroom. Still six.

She felt another wave of dizziness overcome her. One, two, three, four. She sat down on the nearest bed before her legs gave way.

‘Are you always that pale? You’re like one of those goths,’ Erica said, looking at her closely. ‘I hope you’re not coming down with something. Keep out of the communal areas if you’ve a bug. I don’t want any viruses going around the hotel, thank you very much! All I need is another bad TripAdvisor review …’

She took a step backwards and covered her mouth, as if Ruth’s germs were about to march their way towards her right that minute.

‘I am not sick. I am tired.’ Sleep had not played much of a role in the last nightmarish forty-eight hours. Could Erica take this room away from them, if she suspected Ruth was carrying a virus? She felt panic join into the myriad of emotions that were running around her body.

Please leave. Just let me lie down on the bed and close my eyes for five minutes. Please.

Erica groaned, ignoring Ruth’s silent pleas, then sat down on one of the single beds, making it bounce as her body hit it. ‘I’m shattered myself. And while I don’t know your story, you seem like a nice family and I wouldn’t wish this situation on anyone. I’ve said to my Billy, over and over again, we should count our blessings. We own this beautiful hotel. Boutique, I like to say. And we have our own mews out the back. It has three bedrooms. With a lovely garden back and front. And we have our mortgage paid for over five years now. Yes, we really should count our blessings.’

DJ pretended to put a gun to his head behind her back.

‘… there but for the grace of God go I …’ Erica’s voice continued to drone on.

‘I do not believe in God,’ Ruth said, moving towards the door.

‘An atheist? I thought you had the look of one of those all right,’ Erica said.

… five, six … Ruth had reached the end of her patience and could take no more, so she opened the door to their room and said, ‘Goodbye.’

‘Well, I do beg your pardon,’ Erica sniffed, before heaving herself up from the bed with a wobble and a creak of her knee.

Human beings can always be relied upon to exert, with vigor, their God-given right to be stupid, Odd Thomas whispered as Ruth slammed the door shut behind Erica.

Never a truer word, Odd.

Every nerve in Ruth’s body felt frayed, exposed and tender. With a frenzy, she began to empty the contents of her two suitcases and the black sacks onto the bed. She doubled things up on hangers but still was unable to fit everything into the wardrobe. She hung their coats on the back of the one chair they had, looking around, trying to work out how she could turn this room into a home.

Who was she kidding? This would never be a home for them. It looked exactly like what it was: a small hotel room, crammed full of nothing. How had they come to this?

She grabbed her bleach spray and began to scrub the sink in the bathroom, frantically trying to remove years of inbuilt grime and dirt. And she felt herself sink into a vat of sadness and anxiety. Every bone in her body ached. Her eyes felt heavy. If she could just sleep. But then the sound of a drill on the street below filled their room. She checked the windows to make sure they were closed. But the noise kept coming. The lighting in their room was too bright and hurt her eyes, so she pulled the grey curtains tight.

‘Mam?’ DJ asked, hovering close to her. Like a car with no brakes, his mam was going to crash. He had to be ready to rescue her.

One, two, three …

Her bed was in the wrong position. It should be facing the other way. But she had no more energy.

Pop, pop, pop.

DJ watched her hit the wall, head on. Ruth’s anxiety spilled over until her body shook in response.

Ruth felt her arms and legs go heavy, her head buzzed until the pain became unbearable and she fell into a ball on the bed. She could feel DJ’s eyes on her, watching her, as he always did.

DJ’s voice whispered in her ear, ‘It’s going to be OK, Mam. Go to sleep and it will all be better when you wake up.’ He had been only three years old the first time he helped to calm Ruth down. He didn’t understand why his mama had got so upset when they were shopping and the fire alarm went off. He thought it was really cool when the big fire engine came. But he did understand that she was scared. And he loved her so very much, he would do anything to take away her fear. He knew she liked listening to her music through her headphones, so he gently placed them on her head and said, ‘DJ make Mama better. There, there, Mama.’ He wrapped his arms around her and snuggled into her back. She was warm and soft. He loved snuggling with his mama.

Ruth closed her eyes as she felt her son’s soft hands gently place her headphones on her head, as he had done hundreds of times before. And while she could not thank DJ at this moment, she was grateful more than he would ever know. For now, she let the music take her to her safe place, away from the pain, away from the chaos, away from here.