“Listen,” I said. I grabbed Ruby’s hand and tugged her away from the thing. “Keep walking and I’ll tell you.”
And I did. About how our body is just an earthly shell to hold our soul, and how our soul flies out of our body when we die and lives forever. In heaven.
“What’s a soul but?” said Ruby.
“Soul but,” said Dillon, back to normal.
“Your soul is… ” I said. No point in giving them the holy spirit living inside each one of us routine. I never even met a minister who had a bloody clue what the holy spirit was. “Okay, your soul is… your essence.” Silence. “Or, your spirit, your vital spark.”
“That bird was dead,” said Ruby.
“Your soul,” I said, louder, “is the bit that the Blue Fairy gave to Pinocchio to turn him into a real boy.” Both faces turned up to me, just for a second, until the rain hitting their cheeks turned them down again. “And Sleeping Beauty? Her whole body except for her soul was asleep until the Prince kissed her. And the wicked Queen poisoned every single bit of Snow White except her soul, and that’s how come she was okay. You know Babe?”
“Babe the Pig?” said Ruby.
“He was a pig with a person’s soul,” I said.
“And your body dies,” said Ruby, “but your soul lives forever and it can fly.”
“You’ve got it,” I told her. “Close enough, anyway.” I steered them towards the low dunes at the top of the beach and the path that cut through to the campsite shop, then stopped, tugging on their hoods to hold them. At the corner of the nearest caravan, a figure was huddled under the shelter of the overhang. Must really want a ciggie, I thought, hoping it was true. But I knew who it was even before he came shuffling over to stand in front of us.
“Please, jess?” he said.
“Yeah, hiya,” I said. “Didn’t recognise you… ” dripping wet with another two day’s muck.
“Where she is?” he said. “Jaroslawa. You tell, jess?” He was hunched inside a soaking wet worky’s jacket that was only making things worse, chuting the rain down onto the thighs of his jeans. There’s nothing worse than wet jeans, unless it’s wet trainers and he had them too.
“Okay, I’m sorry to be telling you this,” I said, “especially if you had a fight and maybe you said things you didn’t mean. Cos you are going to be sorry for the rest of your life.” He didn’t understand a word of it. I tried again. “She died. On Tuesday. I’m sorry. She died.”
“But her soul will live forever in heaven,” said Ruby.
My mother would be proud of me.
“Dead?” He crossed himself. I nodded. “Jaroslawa,” he said, like he always did. “Sick?”
“Car crash,” I said. “She… listen, I’m sorry, but she… ” I didn’t want to use the simple words he would understand in case the kids understood them too. “She committed suicide,” I told him, talking quite loud that way you do to help foreigners decipher it.
“No,” he said. He had stopped hunching against the rain, and the way he stood there with the water streaming down his face, over his eyebrows and through his scrubby beard, made me think of the starling. “Not ever. No way. Jaroslawa! Jaroslawa!”
“I know,” I said. “It’s tough to take. But you need to stop hanging around us, right? If Gus sees you, it’ll make it harder for him. So you have to just leave us alone.” The kids were huddled in beside me, sheltering, but a strong gust blew a good soak of rain against us and made Dillon start to grizzle. “Listen, I need to get going,” I said. “You should go back inside. Get in out the rain.”
But he was still standing there when I reached the corner of the track and turned. I looked back twice, and he was still just standing there.
At least the shop was open. The door dinged and we fell in, dripping and shaking like dogs.
“Stay on the cardboard!” It was the same woman as yesterday, Princess Charming herself, in jeans and a fleece now instead of her kaftan, barking at us like a sergeant major. “Get that kid off my clean floor!” The lino was newly mopped and she’d laid flattened boxes on top to walk on, but she hadn’t wiped it off or let it dry, and the cardboard was soggy round the edges. She’d find out later about the ink coming off when she saw inside-out Walkers Crisps and Borders Biscuit Co all over.
“Why the heck would you clean a floor on a day like this?” I said.
“No dafter than going out for a walk,” said the woman. She was poring over a ring-binder full of dockets and a pile of loose papers, but she still had an eye for the kids, watching them like she could hear them ticking and see the fuse fizzing down. “What do you lot want anyway?”
“Treats,” I said. “Sweeties, chocolate, fizzy juice, bubblegum.” She frowned and heaved a sigh up from under the floor. “You are open, right?” I said. The kids were off up the sweetie aisle already, hunkered down, concentrating hard.
“Not really,” she said. “I’m open for deliveries. Half-term next week. There’s a big order coming in, only God knows what’s in it.” She lifted a handful of papers and let them fall.
“You seem a bit flustered,” I said.
“Aye well,” said the woman. “I’ve been let down. Wee madam was just supposed to clean the weekly vans for change-over day. Don’t ask me how she ended up ordering stock and booking in. And now she’s upped and left.”
“When was this?” I said, wondering if she meant Becky.
“Haven’t seen her since Saturday,” the woman said. “My friend in Gatehouse that has a B &B said, ‘Get yourself a Pole, Gizzy. They work like black slaves and there’s never a word of complaint from them.’ So I got myself a Pole and look at me!”
Light dawned, better late than never. “Ros,” I said.
“Aye!” Gizzy barked, loud enough to make Ruby raise her head and look over. “Where’s she skipped off to? Do you know?”
“Home to Poland,” I said. “She left a job?” As well as a friend in need.
“A good job. Flexible hours and accommodation. And my friend in Gatehouse had the cheek to say they were grateful. Grateful! Even when it’s all on the books and contracts to your armpits, they’re not to be trusted.”
“So you’ve got an opening?” I said. “Flexible hours?” Because here’s what I was thinking: I couldn’t stay at Gus’s. Couldn’t just move in. Couldn’t live with myself if I did. But I’d love an excuse to be nearby every day. For him and the kids. Let it happen more naturally, on less of a sick timescale sort of thing. Plus, four days at the Project and the odd night behind the bar at the leisure club wasn’t exactly keeping me in fox furs.
Gizzy looked me up and down. “I’m not interested in a mum,” she said.
“I think that’s illegal,” I told her. “But I’m not their mum. I’m just babysitting today.”
“Our mummy’s dead in heaven,” said Ruby, coming up and putting an armload of crap on the counter. She turned to go back for more. “Her earthy body is dead, but her soul has flied to heaven.”
“Here!” said Gizzy. “Is this the King kids from the end house?” I nodded. “I heard on the news. What experience do you have?” She didn’t even take a breath in between. It couldn’t really have been much clearer: she wanted the dirt dished even if she had to give me a job to get it.
“I run the D &G Free Clothing Project for St. Vincent de Paul Church in Dumfries,” I said. “Cash handling, stock control, cleaning and organizing, all that. Supervising other staff. But it’s only four days a week-I’m off on Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday.”
“I need Friday, Saturday, Sunday,” she said. “But we can work it round. References?”
“Father Whelan and Sister Avril Kennedy do you?”