The Peculiars by Jen Thorpe

Author:Jen Thorpe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Phobias abound at the Centre for Improved Living, where Nazma goes for help. She’s crazy about baking and desperately wants to become a pastry chef, but her fear of driving keeps her stuck working in a train-station kiosk, where she sells stale food to commuters while dreaming of butter croissants and fresh strudel.
ISBN: 978-1-4859-0341-3
Publisher: Penguin Random House South Africa
Published: 2016-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

20

Ruby

Politicophobia: Fear of politicians

Ruby eventually called Janet after her second fake sick day merged into a weekend. They set up the meeting for the Tuesday morning before the third meeting at CIL, at the Ministry’s offices in Woodstock. Although all other government offices were in the centre of town, theirs were in a ramshackle U-shaped building that framed an overgrown courtyard. State priorities had dictated that Wellbeing was on the outskirts. Half of the building wasn’t rented out yet, and there were signs of squatters: broken windows, grey polyester blankets lying about, and the smell of urine. The rest of the air smelled like sea spray and fish.

Against this grimy backdrop, the entrance to the Ministry in the used half of the building gleamed. Its double-thick glass doors were embossed with the government crest, and a huge chandelier hung from the ceiling above the polished wood desk. Ruby should have known which type of wood it was from her father’s many lessons when she was younger, but couldn’t remember. Inside, the reception area smelled like neroli and jasmine as a result of an air diffuser, placed discreetly on the floor in the corner. The tiled floor was polished and slippery.

The receptionist greeted her with practised disdain, asking who she would like to see and instructing her to have a seat. She made no discernible movements while Ruby found her way to a deep leather chair and sunk into it. She flicked through the latest Psychologies magazine, not seeing anything of interest, but continuing to move her eyes across each page as though engrossed. In the old days her mother had read magazines while her hair was being done, her head stuck in a giant hair-drying egg. Then, too, Ruby had sat still and quiet, trying to emulate her mother’s casual flicking of the pages. She had never quite mastered it, but she liked the way the pages squeaked if you ran your fingers down them tightly enough, and did it a few times.

The receptionist still didn’t speak or move. Eventually, without signal or reason, she stood up. Ruby wondered how she had known, or finally decided, to let her in, but before she could think too hard she was ushered towards the lift doors, the receptionist’s heels clicking on the floor. Ruby entered the steel mouth and pressed two as instructed. The lift made a humming sound, and, faster than she would have liked, she was there. The doors opened onto a carpet so lush she could imagine lying down on it.

In the entrance to the second floor another receptionist greeted her and followed the same pattern, offering her a coffee as a bonus, which she gladly accepted, grateful for small pleasures. As she waited, Ruby reached up to scratch her head and felt the disappointment of short nails limiting her to only rubbing her favoured spot behind her ear.

Janet walked in. Ruby hadn’t seen her for several years but it didn’t seem like much had changed. Her navy shoes were Louis Vuitton, her hair in the finest braids pulled tightly back to her scalp.

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