The Hidden Girls by Rebecca Whitney

Author:Rebecca Whitney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan

10

With her head below the fence line in her back garden, Ruth works quietly to avoid catching Frieda’s eye. She scrapes over weeds to make space for plants to grow in the spring. Paper packets of seeds rattle with tiny hope in the pocket of her long, tatty cardigan. If Ruth can’t walk or drive, then she will plant, the soil a balm to her anxiety, and taking control of this tiny patch of London is satisfying in a way that housework can never be. She’s completing tasks not instantly undone, creating life, improving her world.

Ruth thought she’d be safe out here today, that it would be too soon for Frieda’s next washday, but her neighbour’s out of sync, or perhaps she’s finding extra things to do just to annoy Ruth. The gap between the houses is strung with tension as Frieda pegs out clothes in the thin sun, her shape bobbing in Ruth’s peripheral vision. Ruth bows her head, framing the other day at Frieda’s house inside the woman’s instability. ‘You and me are cut from the same cloth,’ Frieda had said, but it’s no cloth Ruth wants to be tangled in. Whatever the woman wants from her, even if it’s simply an outlet for her cryptic blather, Ruth needs to steer clear. She doesn’t need another excuse to worry about things that don’t exist. All roads lead Ruth to the psych unit.

She stands to go indoors only to find Frieda leaning at her fence as if she’s been waiting there some time. ‘Ruth!’ The fence panel creaks with her weight.

‘In a rush.’ Ruth heaves open her back door. ‘Can’t talk.’ The door is getting stiffer every day in the cold damp weather, and Ruth has to slam it behind her when she’s inside. Breath wheezes in her tight throat.

From the glimpse Ruth caught of Frieda, her neighbour appeared gaunter than when Ruth was at her house, the circles under her eyes deeper. Today’s winter sun could have accentuated her shadows or Frieda might have been wearing make-up before, though Ruth didn’t notice it if so. Liam said his mum self-medicates for whatever’s wrong with her, and Ruth wonders how much of the woman’s illness is psychological and how much physical. And is anyone apart from Liam looking out for her? Ruth’s never seen another visitor in the months she’s lived here.

She peers from the window. Frieda’s gone inside now and Ruth pulls back into the room with a sigh; the chance to make amends has been taken out of her hands.

The next day when Frieda walks past Ruth’s gate, Ruth holds steady; her mood is brightening and Frieda will only take her down. Frieda knocks on Ruth’s door when she returns from shopping and Ruth sneaks upstairs to Giles, whispering, ‘I don’t want to see her.’ Giles is midway through a work call in their bedroom, annoyed at the interruption, but busy enough to wave the problem away, and neither of them answer the door. As Ruth peeps from the bedroom window, the woman shuffles from the garden with shopping trolley in tow.

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