8
Ruby
Tonight I’mhome before Dan and cook instead of heating up pre-packaged meals from the supermarket. He likes pasta so I make spaghetti and hope he didn’t eat already. Even if Dan has, I’m expected to have a meal ready for him after work.
Tonight I tell Dan; I’m running out of time.
I sit at the table, chewing my nails and jump up as the front door closes. Dan appears and sweeps me into a tight embrace, before he looks over at the boiling water.
“Hey, angel.” He kisses me gently on the mouth. “You cooked, thank you.”
Why does he thank me if I’m in trouble when I don’t?
“I hope this is okay.”
“Sure is. Smells good. I’ll change.”
I busy myself arranging the bowls and the salad, straightening the cutlery into order and perfection. Dan returns in a clean checked shirt and smart jeans, and sits at the table. I open a beer and place the bottle next to him.
“You spoil me,” he says. “Any reason?”
“No.”
Meal served, I attempt to eat; but the pasta sticks in my throat. Dan eats plenty, always does. He has two more beers in the course of our silent meal and sweat beads along my back. Dan doesn’t need alcohol to make him nasty, but it doesn’t help.
We talk about work—his mainly. He’s a personal trainer at a local gym and a gym is the last place you’d find me. Some days Dan doesn’t have time for his own workout and they’re difficult days because he brings home the frustration with him.
The half hour we eat is excruciating because I try repeatedly to broach the subject but can’t. Even by the time we’re finished and I’m washing dishes, the words still choke me.
“Something’s bothering you, angel, what’s wrong?” Dan asks quietly.
I drop the cup back into the water. “Ruby Riot has another gig this week.” He doesn’t respond and I don’t look round, rubbing soapy bubbles between my fingers. “I don’t want to let the guys down.”
Dan sighs. “You shouldn’t get so involved. You know the band will fall apart soon, you’re pretty shit.”
I turn and rest against the sink. “But Jem Jones—”
At the mention of his name, Dan’s features harden. “Jem Jones. Still telling you you’re talented?”
“Yes,” I say in a meek voice.
“Why?”
“He likes our music.”
Dan flicks his tongue against his teeth. “Has he touched you?”
“No. And I wouldn’t let him.”
“Keep it that way. I don’t know what his game is but seems strange he’s getting involved with a crap band like Ruby Riot.”
Dan stands and approaches me at the sink. I gauge his body language, no anger but some tension. I mentally calculate how I need to behave to lessen the chances of a meltdown.
“I know music means a lot to you, angel, and that’s why I let you join in. But you do know this won’t last forever? If the band interferes too much with us—your life here—you’ll have to give up.”
I grip the sink, cool metal biting my palms. “I know. Like you said if Ruby Riot is no good, things won’t go anywhere so you don’t need to worry.”
“Where’s the gig?”