Bring a Warm Coat by M.E. Hardiman

Author:M.E. Hardiman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Xlibris NZ
Published: 2022-10-05T11:39:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

Helen walked right by her. Ruth had smiled and beckoned her over, but Helen glared and turned her head towards the girl she was with, as if chatting, but Ruth knew Helen. She wasn’t even friends with that poor girl; she was making Ruth jealous, and it was working. Ruth had been trying. She thought she was making progress by just being as relentless as she could, but Alice had said that was making Helen furious. Alice had been stuck in the middle for well over two weeks now. Poor Alice.

Filip had managed to find her a pencil and some paper. There was German writing on one side, and it was only the size of a writing pad, but it was something. She had never been good at drawing people; landscapes were her thing – and not realistic ones either. Ruth preferred to say she was inspired by the expressionists, trying to sound as if she knew what she was doing and what she was talking about. In actual fact, she was trying to cover up her mediocre skills. She loved art. People had said she was talented – but mostly family. This, however, was laborious. She wanted it just right for Helen, just to show her how sorry she was – perhaps a picture of the three of them, heads only, smiling.

‘I can’t do it, Ruth.’ Alice was pleading with her. ‘It’s just gone on too long.’ She sat on the crate next to Ruth and let out a big harrumph like a child sulking. ‘I just don’t think she will ever forgive you.’

Forgive – that was an intense word. Ruth hadn’t thought about it like that. She was under the assumption that Helen just wasn’t accepting her apologies until she got it right or had paid her dues. Forgiveness was another matter entirely.

‘Do you think I should be forgiven?’ Ruth asked, emphasising the you rather than the forgiven, gauging Alice’s response.

Alice shook her head but said, ‘Yes, of course,’ in a bright, cheery voice.

Ruth’s heart sank. They sat in silence, always looking out to sea, with all the time in the world to think, to overthink. Ruth had been searching in the wrong direction. Helen was not going to forgive her, but did she really have anything to forgive? Ruth hadn’t done anything to her personally. If anyone, it was poor sweet Geoffrey. She wondered if her drawings had ever found him. She wondered if he was writing to her. She was wretched; her hope was running low.

Ruth had successfully managed to persuade Alice to give Helen the picture, but listening to Alice retell Helen’s reactions and words was cutting deep. Alice had a way of breathlessly recounting every minute detail.

‘Ruth, she screwed it up. She just more or less pulverised it and threw it over the railings. The look in her eyes was terrifying.’

It was dramatic but, Ruth assumed, accurate. She was going to have to face Helen herself, physically make her sit and listen. What would she even say? I’ve given up hope of ever seeing anyone ever again.

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