To her left, there was a small writing desk, sans paper and pens. It was currently empty, like so much of the room. A cork noticeboard hung above the desk, but it didn’t even contain any pins, let alone any pictures. There was a slim metal rail opposite the desk, where some of Ruby’s clothes hung down lamely, each supported by thick plastic hangers, and along the ceiling ran a strip light, which hummed loudly whenever it was turned on.
‘Just great,’ Ruby muttered to herself, feeling surly as more goosebumps pricked along her skin. It was always so very cold in her room, probably because of the lack of natural light. A single window resided high above her bed, barely a sliver in the thick bare wall. Beyond the crappy little window. Ruby knew that the sun was shining, had seen it while she sat in the musty office for yet another interrogation. How long had she been here? No one would permit her to look at a calendar.
The sun was her sole connection to the outside world. She could tell from its glorious glow that it must still be summer.
Approaching her bed, Ruby kicked off the rubber-soled shoes they made her walk around in and climbed on top of the aged mattress. Rusty springs winced as she drew herself up onto her tiptoes and leant against the flat grey wall that covered her room.
Grey.
It had quickly become her least favourite colour, mainly because it barely felt like a colour at all. It was so uniformly bleak, reminding her only of rainy days. Why couldn’t her room have been painted in something more vibrant, like yellow or blue?
Still straining on her tiptoes, the mattress sagged beneath her weight and the springs wheezed. Ruby didn’t care. She needed to see the sun at least once more that day. Her fingertips scrambled up the smooth walls, reaching for the ledge of the tiny window.
‘Come … on.’ She puffed.
It was always just too far. Fully extended, on her tiptoes, arms stretched so that her shoulders ached, she’d find the ledge in her grip and then try to haul herself up higher, desperate to look out at something natural, something that wasn’t grey. But, as usual, she was several inches too short. Even clutching the ledge, she couldn’t haul herself up any more, all she was looking at was the bland surface of the wall, instead of the glorious glow of sunshine.
‘Shit.’ She slapped her hands against the brickwork and then slammed down against her bed in an avalanche of sagging springs and disappointed breathing. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ Ruby gave the wall several punches for good measure. Her knuckles began to throb, whilst the matte grey paint remained mockingly pristine. ‘Shit!’
With one final sigh, she dropped onto her back and peered up at the cracks in her tiled ceiling. It reminded her of the ceiling back in her maths class, where she’d sat beside Annie and they’d scribbled notes into their textbooks instead of following along with Mr Simmons as he tried to get them to understand algebraic equations.
‘Keep climbing those walls and your bed will break.’
A voice crept into the space around her, distant yet close. Ruby rolled onto her side.
‘I just want to see the sun.’
‘A fart couldn’t even escape through our fucking windows.’
Ruby snorted. ‘You’re right.’
‘I’m always right.’
Dexter Griffin. Ruby had met him in the canteen during lunch and dinner service and they’d realised that they were dorm mates. A vent which ran between their rooms permitted them to chat freely with one another on still afternoons such as this, when the rest of the building was quiet. If an alarm was sounding, or they were on lockdown, Dexter’s voice would be drowned out by the incessant wail of a siren.
‘You coming to dinner tonight?’ Dexter’s question floated down the vent. He was seventeen and liked to boast that his eighteenth birthday was imminent, and thus so was his departure. When Ruby thought about him leaving, a hole opened up in the pit of her stomach, which she feared all her organs would fall through. He was the only friend she’d made since her arrival. He’d dropped down beside her on the bench in the canteen and extended his hand, smiling warmly. ‘I’m Dexter,’ he’d announced as she gently shook it, ‘and you’re new around here. I always spot the new faces.’
Dexter laughed like Muttley from Wacky Races and had an answer for everything. Five years her elder, he seemed so vastly worldly and his proximity to freedom made him exotic, alluring.
‘Um,’ Ruby cleared her throat, suddenly nervous. The bespectacled woman had been very clear about dinner service:
‘Once you open up and talk about that day, your privileges will return. You know that my hands are tied over this, it’s due process for someone in your … situation.’ Glenda had offered Ruby a pitying smile. ‘You just need to talk. It’s really not so hard. Until you do, your access to the canteen and other communal areas has to be revoked. You need to understand that I’m trying to help. But until you talk about that day, about what happened, you’ll eat dinner alone, Ruby, in your room. I’m sorry.’
Time had become untethered since Ruby arrived at her new home. She couldn’t place how long her embargo from the canteen had been enforced. One week? Two? The pit in her stomach widened. If lack of direct sunlight didn’t kill her, then surely loneliness would. The question was – which would take her first?
‘So will I see you?’ Dexter prodded.
‘Not tonight, no.’
‘Damn, Ruby. Just tell them what they want to hear, then they’ll let you out more. You just have to play the game.’
There had already been too much playing, too many games. From now on, the only drumbeat Ruby would dance to was her own.
‘I can’t.’
‘You can, we all do it.’
‘Really, I can’t.’
‘Seriously, come on. I miss seeing you in the canteen and I’ll be going soon, remember? Don’t you want to see me?’
There were so many people Ruby wanted to see. Squeezing her eyes shut, she slowed her breathing – a trick she’d developed for staving off the onset of tears. Crying just wore her out; it was pointless doing it alone in her room without anyone to make notes or observations.
‘Ruby, just play nice with them,’ Dexter urged. And he was right, she knew he was right. If she gave them what they wanted, she’d get to go outside into the common area, get to eat in the canteen, get to bask in human company instead of this imposed isolation she was suffering through.
‘I … I can’t.’ Suppressing a sob, she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, sealing herself in darkness. ‘I’m just not ready.’
‘Well hurry up and be ready,’ Dexter advised, ‘else you’re just going to waste away in here.’
Six
‘You’re late.’
Beth nodded in acknowledgement at Suzy Parker, who was propped up behind the ticket collection booth, eyes almost completely hidden by the thick layer of liner she always insisted on wearing.
‘Like thirty minutes,’ Suzy called after her, voice shrill with judgement. ‘That’s not like you, Beth.’
No. Beth agreed silently. It isn’t.
When it came to timekeeping, Beth was always punctual. In her five years working at the cinema, she’d never taken sick leave or been absent for any reason. She was reliable, hard-working, the model employee. Because she forced herself to be.