Kitabı oku: «If Ever I Fall», sayfa 5
‘Well spotted,’ I tell her. ‘You’ve got excellent eyes for a ghost. Would you like me to come to the door with you or to hang back?’
‘I want you to come. You don’t look scary though. I said you should have worn a mask.’
‘Never mind. I’ll pull a really creepy face instead. How’s this?’
She looks up at my attempt at facial contortion and giggles while pressing the bell.
A moment later the door swings open and we both shout: ‘Trick or treat!’
‘Wow! You do look scary,’ booms the large bald man who answers. ‘I’d better give you some sweets, hadn’t I?
He reaches to grab a big bowl of mini chocolates from a shelf above a coat rack standing beside the door. How strange, I think. All the jackets hanging there are red.
‘Here, help yourself,’ he says. ‘And please don’t trick me.’
As the little ghost reaches out, the man turns to me. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks. His voice is different now, though. It sounds female. Like that of a young woman.
What’s happening? One moment I’m looking him in the eye, wondering what the hell is going on with his voice, and the next everything fades to black. I’m shouting out, but I can’t hear myself, like I’ve been muted. I’m confused, afraid.
Then I hear that voice again.
‘Can you hear me?’
It definitely sounds like a young woman; maybe a teenager. The tone reassures me somehow. It seems familiar, although I can’t put my finger on why.
‘You have to get up. It’s not safe here. You need to open your eyes.’
Bright sky is above me: light blue with fluffy sheep clouds. I turn my head to the right, feel damp grass under my cheek and view the sea through the gaps in the rickety fence. Why am I lying on the ground? What happened?
I heave myself up. First into a sitting position and then, once I’m sure everything’s working, on to my feet. I feel dizzy, especially when I look at the sea far below. There’s a twinge from my head, but nothing like the pain I felt when I first woke up after the accident. I must have fainted or passed out. It didn’t feel like that, though. It was more like I was in a trance – reliving a forgotten memory, as I had before.
So who was the young girl trick-or-treating with me? Was the little ghost my daughter? It felt like she was. But how can I be a father and not remember? That’s not the kind of thing you ever forget, is it? I must be mistaken. Maybe she was a niece, a young sister or a friend’s daughter. Perhaps it wasn’t a memory at all. It could have been a scene I watched in a film, although again it felt so real.
I think back to the feeling I keep having that I should be somewhere else, with someone else. Maybe there’s a good reason for that.
I shiver in the wind. What about the older girl’s voice that spoke to me at the end? She told me to get up. She said I wasn’t safe. Was she right? And why did she sound so familiar?
I turn 360 degrees, scanning the open space in every direction for some clue. And then I see her: far in the distance along the clifftop, in the opposite direction from which I was walking.
The woman in red. Or maybe not a woman at all. Could she be the one who just spoke to me? Could she be a girl? A teenager?
She looks identical to the last time I saw her; same jeans and knee-length coat, billowing long black hair. She’s looking at me, although she’s some distance away: too far to clearly make out her face. So how could she have been talking to me?
I cup both hands around my mouth and shout to her. ‘Hello! Can you hear me?’
She doesn’t react, so I wave my hands above my head, staring at her the whole time and shouting some more.
She stands there, hands in her pockets, looking straight at me but through me.
Then I blink and she’s gone.
CHAPTER 9
Friday, 7 April 2017
Dear Sam,
Sorry about breaking off so abruptly last time. Ruby had got herself all confused, poor thing. She’d had some sort of nightmare; then she woke up and got into a panic at not being able to move her arm. It’ll take her a while to get used to the plaster cast.
I’m keeping her off school for a couple of days. Yesterday she was shattered after all the time we spent at the hospital. Today it was more about giving her a chance to get used to doing everything one-handed. She should be fine to go back next week, from what the doctors said. As long as she’s not in any pain and keeps her arm rested in a sling. She’ll still be able to do most of her schoolwork, thanks to being left-handed, but there’ll be no PE or Games for a while. She’s mainly excited about all her friends signing the plaster.
I didn’t have a chance last time to tell you about the hospital visit itself. We went to A&E at St Joseph’s and were there for hours. One nice – and somewhat surprising – thing was that Dan turned up.
There, I’ve mentioned him. You probably wondered when I was going to. It had to happen eventually; he’s still in our lives and always will be, despite what happened between us. Forgive me if I’m not as impartial or diplomatic about him as I ought to be. I’m writing to your future self, Sam, not to the person you were. So these letters are making the assumption that you know all about the separation and so on. The whys and wherefores are not something I want to discuss here. I will say, though, that you mustn’t feel bad about any of that – I’m not suggesting you do; there’s absolutely no reason to. But just in case.
I rang him at work after the accident. He said initially that he couldn’t make it, because it was deadline night, but then he turned up after all. That was unexpected and, in light of Rick’s disappointing response, it actually felt refreshing. Dan was really supportive, and I think Ruby and I both appreciated it.
Things between us were really good for once. Dan stayed at the hospital the whole time and followed us home to tuck Ruby up in bed. He even stayed for a glass of wine. But then things turned sour. First he said something derisive after I changed into some casual clothes. Then he picked up on the fact that Rick had been here and got all narky with me. He didn’t actually accuse me of not paying enough attention to Ruby when she had the accident, but I could tell he was thinking it. He put me on a guilt trip about giving up work and, before I knew it, he was asking for a divorce and saying all kinds of hurtful things.
After everything I’d been through that day, it was too much. I burst into tears. Pathetic, I know, but I didn’t have the energy to argue back. Dan went home. I sat there, sobbing my heart out until there were no tears left.
All in all, a pretty dreadful day.
The thing is, Sam, before we had that argument, I was feeling better about our relationship than I have in ages. Dan turning up at the hospital renewed my faith in him. It felt nice the three of us being together again as a family unit. A small part of me even started to wonder …
No, I can’t bring myself to say it. Not after how it all turned out. I guess that was why it hurt so much when he started having a go at me. The irony is I’ve done that to him on loads of occasions; if I’ve not actually used the D word at some point, then I’ve definitely implied it. I’ve shouted and screamed at him; behaved in the bitchiest way possible countless times. I even made him return the present he gave me last Christmas, because we’d agreed not to do gifts. Nasty or what?
That might not sound like how you remember me, Sam. I never used to lose my temper so easily, did I? It’s part of the personal problems I’ve been having: the breakdown I mentioned in my last letter.
The thing about Dan is that he usually takes whatever I say firmly on the chin. As awful as that sounds, it’s true. He’s not the type to shout back, even when I deserve it. He definitely hasn’t asked for a divorce before. He’s never been one to say much at all about his emotions. That’s played a part in the problems between us. So in a way, although it sounds warped, I’m glad he shouted at me. It was good to see him being passionate, but a shame it was so horribly negative.
Gosh, just thinking about the current state of my relationship with Dan has got me welling up, especially since we used to be so good together. The way we met – in a pub with a group of friends – might not have been especially romantic. (I’ve told you the story before about how I knocked over his beer, spilling it all over his shirt.) But everything else about the start of our love affair was perfect. We fell head over heels for each other. I knew I wanted to marry him after we kissed at the end of that first meeting, believe it or not. I’d never got on so well with another person, male or female, before. We just clicked instantly, as if we’d known each other for years, even though I spent the first half an hour or so apologising for my clumsiness. It was like everyone else we were out with that night disappeared. Within a few weeks we were inseparable, and it remained like that for so long.
Relationships change over the years, of course, especially when you start a family. But when you’re married to your best friend and soulmate, as I truly felt I was, you travel through the ups and downs of life confident that your relationship will stand the test of time, no matter what. Unfortunately, as we eventually found out, even the strongest marriages have their breaking points.
Anyway, I digress. Back to the other night. After Dan had left and I’d cried myself out, I got into a bit of a state. I’d better explain. Sorry for the heavy subject matter again, Sam, but I need to do this.
You’ve heard of OCD, right? Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It’s kind of a trendy mental illness these days. All sorts of people claim to have it: famous sports stars, actors, comedians, you name it. It’s often mentioned in a light-hearted way. They say something like: ‘I’m a bit OCD.’ Then they go on, with a wry grin, to explain how they like to order things in a certain way in their kitchen cupboards or have to check the front door twice before going out.
This winds me up because from my perspective, as someone who definitely does have OCD, it isn’t funny at all. It’s debilitating, humiliating, infuriating; rather than tell people, I do my utmost to hide it, even from those closest to me.
On the other hand, you get films and TV documentaries taking things to the opposite extreme. They tend to portray OCD in its most acute form. You see someone housebound or unable to lead a normal life because of it. They’re some kind of twitching wreck, hopping down the pavement to avoid cracks, or scrubbing all the skin off their palms for fear of germs. I understand why the producers and directors do this, as extremity makes for a more powerful story, but I just wish someone would portray the condition in a way that more closely matches my own experience.
I’m a functional fruitcake, remember, and I think the middle ground – the place where I and many other sufferers live, hiding our craziness from view – gets overlooked.
For a long time, I tried to hide it from myself by denying it was there. Now, finally, I’ve come to terms with it. I’ve sought help and I’m on the road to recovery, but it’s hard enough for people to understand without it being portrayed inaccurately in popular culture.
Wow. I can’t believe I told you all that, Sam. I thought it would be hard, but in fact the opposite was true. The words flowed right out of me. I wonder if this comes as a huge surprise to you, or if it kind of makes sense. With hindsight, you see, I think I’ve probably had a latent form of it for most of my life, which developed into full-blown OCD when I had my breakdown.
I’ve always liked things ‘just so’. I used to keep items on my desk at work in certain positions, for instance, and I’d get annoyed if someone moved them. I suppose I did it at home too, insisting on things being neat and tidy around the house. But it rarely got in the way of my everyday life and I never thought of it as anything more than fussiness or perfectionism. Even at school I remember tearing pages out of my workbooks and starting again because what I’d written the first time wasn’t neat enough. But it was only little things like that, every now and again.
Rosie, my counsellor, has been teaching me how to use cognitive behavioural techniques to overcome my OCD. It’s a self-help method and, although it’s not easy or a quick fix, I’ve been doing my best and I have been seeing good results. It’s not all plain sailing, though. I said earlier that I got myself into a state after Dan left. What I meant was that I had an OCD episode and ended up back at square one.
It’s a condition that affects people differently. For some it’s all about hygiene: obsessive cleaning due to fear of contamination. Others can’t stop themselves hoarding junk. In my case, there are two main obsessions. The first is a fear of harm occurring to me or my family, which leads to me repeatedly checking things like door locks and smoke alarms. The second is an excessive concern with exactness or order. This can emerge in a variety of situations, from tidying the house to writing a letter, but it’s basically a kind of extreme perfectionism. It could mean, for example, taking an hour to do a job that should only take minutes. It’s an obsession with getting small tasks ‘just right’ as if by doing that you’ll make everything else in your life perfect too.
Sounds absurd? No doubt. Even I know it’s ridiculous, but when I’m trapped in the middle of an episode, I just can’t stop. Not without following the steps Rosie’s been teaching me.
I hope I’ve not lost you, Sam, prattling on about all of this. It must be a lot to take in. Believe me when I say that I’m tempted to scrub out this whole page, screw up the paper and start over. It’s like there’s a voice in my head urging me to do so – begging me – with the false promise that I’ll do a better job next time. But I’m fighting it. I’m fighting so hard.
You know how in cartoons a character sometimes has an angel and a devil pop up on each shoulder, one urging them to do good and the other to do evil? It feels a bit like that. The angel, in this case, is the part of me that wants to beat the OCD. But fighting it is always the harder choice. And sometimes the devil won’t stop. He goes on and on and on and on and on and on. His voice bounces around my head like a rubber ball, demanding to be heard.
That’s what happened after Dan left the other night, and I didn’t have the strength to resist. I locked the door after him, but five minutes later I felt the urge to go and check it. Even though I knew it was locked. I tried to resist, to stay put where I was, but eventually I gave in. I checked it once and then dozens of times. I couldn’t tear myself away from that bloody door. And then when I finally did, I found myself at the bottom of the stairs, worrying that the carpet wasn’t properly fixed down; that Ruby could have another fall. I went up and down the stairs, over and over again on my hands and knees, checking every inch. And then I was at the back door, twisting the key in the lock like a mad woman.
It went on for hours. Somehow I managed to pull myself together before Ruby woke up. I had to. I couldn’t let her see me like that, although I’d hardly slept and was shattered. In the cold light of morning, I felt ridiculous. I felt ashamed, as I always do after tearing myself free of its clutches. If only that was enough to stop it happening again.
Gosh, I’m really starting to wonder if I’ve gone too far with this, telling you too much in one go. Maybe I ought to start over.
Maybe.
No!
No starting over!
Move forward.
Keep moving forward.
You see? I’m fighting it right now.
You must think I’m …
Sorry about that, Sam. I needed a few minutes to compose myself. I made a cup of tea.
It’s time to move on and tell you about something else. Lighten things up.
So Rick phoned me yesterday.
‘How are you?’ he asked. ‘How’s Ruby? Anna said she wasn’t at school today. She was worried about her. Me too, of course.’
He sounded nervous. Embarrassed. Not the self-assured, relaxed person I’d first met. No doubt he felt bad about the way he’d reacted to Ruby’s injury. He’d not exactly been supportive. Useless more like.
‘Well, she has a broken arm,’ I replied.
‘Right. Oh dear. Everything went well at the hospital?’
‘Yes. It took a while, but we got there in the end.’
‘Ruby’s arm’s in plaster now?’
‘That’s right.’
There was a long pause. He was waiting for me to expand, but I didn’t feel like making things easy, so I stayed silent; waited for him to say something else.
‘Right. That’s good. The plaster, I mean. Well, not good exactly, but it’ll help it to heal.’
‘Yes,’ I said, enjoying feeling in control for once. I almost mentioned that my husband had joined us at the hospital but thought better of it. Why risk blowing things when they’d reached such an interesting phase?
‘How long is Ruby likely to be off school?’ he asked.
‘Not long. She should be back next week.’
‘Oh, good. I’ll tell Anna that. She’ll be pleased.’
Rick went on to apologise for ‘being a little squeamish’, as he put it, asking for the chance to make it up to us.
‘I’m not a bad cook,’ he said. ‘I wondered if the two of you might like to come over for some food this weekend. Only if Ruby’s up to it, of course.’
I said yes. I’m not a big fan of apologies, as I’m sure you remember, but he is gorgeous and I couldn’t resist.
We’re visiting their place tomorrow afternoon. I’ll let you know how it goes in my next letter, which I promise will be more upbeat.
Love as always,
M
Xx
CHAPTER 10
BEFORE
Friday, 3 March 2017
‘One for the road?’ Maurice mimed smoking a cigarette at Dan, holding out his two fingers and gesturing towards the door of the newsroom.
‘Go on then.’
‘Can I be cheeky?’
‘Sure.’
‘I’ll buy you a pack next week. I must owe you at least twenty by now.’
‘Cool.’
‘What are you working on?’ Dan asked his friend as they waited for the lift.
‘I’m trying to nail a good headline but not getting very far. I think my brain’s fried.’
‘What’s the story?’
‘It’s about a United fan who flew to Holland alone for the match in Eindhoven this week but had his ticket stolen and ended up watching it on TV in an Indian takeaway near the stadium.’
‘What? Couldn’t he get another one off a tout?’
‘His wallet was stolen too. It was a pickpocket job, apparently. Luckily he’d left a couple of notes back at his hotel room, but he needed those for food and the journey home.’
‘Bummer,’ Dan replied as the lift finally arrived and they stepped inside. ‘Funny story, though.’
‘I know. It just needs a nice pun as a headline.’
‘What do you have so far?’
‘Not much. I looked up the meaning of the name Eindhoven on the Internet, hoping for some inspiration, but that wasn’t a lot of help. Roughly translated from the Dutch, as best as I understand, it means “End Lands” or something like that.’
‘End Lands? That sounds a bit ominous, like somewhere you go to die.’
‘I know, right?’ Maurice said. They stepped out of the lift into reception, which was already closed for the day, and headed for the door. ‘I mean, I could probably do something like “Eind of the road” but it’s not great. All suggestions welcome.’
‘Hmm. I’ll have a think. I visited Eindhoven once, years ago. Nice place.’
When they got outside, Dan produced his Marlboro Lights. He’d always think of them as such, despite the term light long since being outlawed as an official brand for cancer sticks. It made them sound too safe, apparently, while of course they still killed you. He wondered if the youngsters called them Marlboro Gold, as they were supposed to. Mind you, not many of them smoked these days. You were more likely to see the young ones with those e-cigarettes, which seemed like a waste of time to Dan. He had puffed on one at the pub once, at the insistence of a bloke he was chatting to, but he hadn’t been impressed.
No, he was happy to stick with the devil he knew and Maurice felt the same. Idiots of habit, the pair of them, hooked long ago and too weak-willed to knock it on the head. Dan had actually managed to stop for several years after Ruby was born. And yet the desire had never truly left him. Once he’d started again – probably the stupidest move of all – that was it. Especially now he lived alone, with no one nagging him to stop on a daily basis. His only incentive to quit was the ridiculous price tag. But even that was avoidable if you knew the right people and bought in bulk, no questions asked.
‘You’d never catch any of that lot working even a minute after five, would you?’ he said, nodding at the empty reception desk as Maurice held the door open.
‘No chance. I don’t know why we do it. It must be ingrained in us. I remember my first editor giving me a lecture about not being a clock-watcher. “Journalists work long hours,” he told me. “It’s part of the job. That’s why they pay us so well.” He always fancied himself as a comedian.’
Dan laughed, stuck a cigarette in his mouth and handed Maurice another.
‘Thanks. It was him who got me smoking,’ Maurice went on. ‘Bastard. And drinking. We might have worked long hours, but there was always time for a couple in the pub. He never seemed to find much time for washing, though. People used to joke that he looked and smelled more like a tramp than a newspaper editor.’
‘The good old days,’ Dan replied. ‘There was this guy, Clive, I used to work with when I first started out. He’d been a reporter forever and was a total old soak. Anyway, the girls in the office were forever complaining about his lack of hygiene. One day my editor at the time – Alan Fitchie, if you remember him – took him to one side to have a word. He was a straight talker, Alan, and legend has it that he told Clive he ought to put all his clothes in a heap and burn them before taking a long shower.’
Maurice laughed. ‘Yes, I remember Alan. That definitely sounds like the sort of thing he’d say. What happened? Did it work?’
Dan shook his head. ‘Nope. Clive stormed out of the office in a huff, stayed away for the rest of the day and then reappeared the next morning, whiffy as ever, pretending like nothing had happened.’
‘Did Alan say anything else to him?’
‘I don’t think so. No point.’
Dan grinned.
‘What?’ Maurice asked.
‘Oh, I was remembering this time I gave Clive a lift to some meeting or another. He got in the car with this fancy leather briefcase, which was totally not his style, and I wondered what on earth he had in there. Then he opened it up and the only thing inside was a can of Red Bull. I guess he needed it to get through the day.’
‘Hah. I think every old newspaper office used to have a reporter like him. Clive? No, I don’t think I ever had the pleasure. He wouldn’t like it much here, would he? I swear the lack of pubs nearby was one of the main reasons they chose to move to this bloody office. They’ve done all they can to knock the journalists out of us. Turn us into robots.’
‘There’s the Red Lion,’ Dan said with a grin. ‘It’s only a quick drive.’
‘Yeah, right. That place should have its licence revoked. I’ve nothing against kids’ play areas, but they don’t belong in pubs.’ He shuddered. ‘Honestly, I’d rather have a can in the park with the teenagers than drink a pint of the piss they serve there.’
‘How about “naan too happy”?’
‘Sorry?’
‘For your United headline. It just popped into my head. You know, like naan bread.’
Maurice laughed. ‘Yes, I like it. Short and snappy. Ideal. Thanks, mate. I can go home now. Where did that come from?’
‘The big pun cloud in the sky, I guess. What are you up to this weekend?’
‘This and that. I’ve got decorators fixing up my lounge and kitchen at the moment. The place is like a building site, so I’ll probably steer clear.’
‘Yeah, you said you were having some work done.’
‘It’s costing me a fortune, Dan. I wish I’d not bothered.’
‘Why didn’t you do it yourself?’
‘You’re joking, right? I’m useless at that kind of thing. I don’t do DIY. I do BIY: break it yourself.’
Dan laughed. ‘I’m the opposite. I hate paying someone to do something I can fix myself.’
‘You mean you’re tight.’
‘That too. But no, I actually enjoy it – especially jobs I’ve not attempted before. It’s like solving a puzzle.’
‘If you say so. What’s the biggest job you’ve done?’
‘I refitted our upstairs bathroom.’
‘By yourself?’
‘Pretty much, apart from some wiring. I used an electrician for that.’
‘Impressive.’
Dan shrugged. ‘So what are your plans if you’re avoiding the house? Visiting one of your lady friends?’
‘Maybe. What about you?’
‘The only date I’ve got is with Ruby.’
‘That’s nice. Is she spending the weekend?’
‘Yes.’
‘What have you got lined up?’
‘I’m not sure yet. Depends on the weather.’
‘Nothing like a bit of father-daughter time.’
‘Hmm. She’s a bit awkward at the moment, to be honest. I think she blames me for the split.’
‘I wouldn’t worry. Kids go through phases. Spoil her rotten. That’s always worked for me.’
Later Dan drove to pick up Ruby. It still felt odd going there as a visitor; knocking on his own front door. A large 1960s detached property with four big bedrooms, two bathrooms and a good garden, it was a home he loved. The location was great too: a quiet spot in a nice small town surrounded by countryside, plus decent schools and good transport links to the city. Despite the awful thing that had happened there and the period of constant arguments that had preceded his split from Maria, Dan’s affection for the house had never waned. It had been tired and unloved when they moved in. But after a lot of hard work, mainly on his part, it had ended up perfect. There was even a downstairs study: something he’d always wanted. He knew every inch of the place. It couldn’t be more different from the grotty flat where he currently spent his nights.
Maria answered the door. ‘You’re late.’
‘Hello to you too.’
‘Well, you are.’
‘Only by twenty-five minutes, Maria. I was busy at work. Is it such a problem?’
‘She needs to be able to rely on you. That’s more important than ever now she doesn’t see you every day.’
And whose fault is that? Dan thought. Maria was the one who’d asked him to move out. He’d wanted to work on repairing the relationship.
‘Is she ready?’ he asked.
‘She was ready half an hour ago.’
Dan sighed. ‘Do you really want to do this now, Maria? For goodness’ sake. Sorry I’m late, okay?’
‘You can keep your apology. I hope you’ve got some tea sorted for her. She’s normally eaten by this time.’
‘I’m not an idiot, Maria.’
‘I didn’t say you were. It would just be nice if you were punctual for once.’
Dan didn’t have the energy to argue. ‘Whatever,’ he said. ‘I’m going to wait in the car.’
After a few minutes, he was glad to see Ruby come out of the front door with her coat on and a rucksack over her shoulder. She opened the rear door of the Focus and climbed in. ‘Hi, Dad.’
She’d started calling him that, as opposed to Daddy, soon after he moved out. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. Especially since Maria was still Mummy. He’d never said anything to Ruby about it and had no intention of doing so. But despite telling himself it was a natural sign of her growing up, he knew it meant more than that. Whether she was doing it consciously or not, he had no idea. But it conveyed a change in their relationship – a distancing – and as inevitable as that might be, he didn’t like it one bit.
‘Hi, darling,’ he said, leaning back to give her a kiss. ‘How are you?’
‘Good. I was doing a poo when you arrived.’
He smiled to himself. ‘Oh, right. Sorry I’m a bit late. I got held up at work.’
‘That’s okay. When are you going to fix your car door? It looks weird with that hole in it.’
‘It’s not a hole, it’s a dent. I haven’t got around to it yet. I’ll do it soon.’
‘Good.’
Dan looked at his daughter in the rear-view mirror. Her emerald eyes twinkled back at him. Her long blonde curls were tied into a neat side ponytail with a red and white clip holding back loose strands. ‘Your hair looks nice. Did your mum style it for you?’
‘No,’ she replied, as if the question was a crazy one. ‘I did it myself.’
‘Wow. I’m impressed.’
Ruby shrugged. ‘It’s easy.’
‘How’s school?’ he asked her after a few minutes of driving.
‘Good.’
‘Have you got much homework to do this weekend?’
‘A bit. I’ve already started it with Mummy.’
‘What’s it about?’
‘Well, there’s spellings and maths, like every week, but we also have to do some research about mountains.’
‘What kind of research?’
‘Oh, you know, on the Internet. We have to find ten facts about famous mountains. I’ve already done six. Mummy said I could do the rest when I get home.’
‘I see. What did you learn so far? What were your six facts?’
She frowned. ‘I don’t know. I can’t remember.’
This was a typical Ruby answer. She wasn’t big on sharing, especially about school. He was surprised she’d even told him what she had.
Sam had been the opposite at that age. She used to tell them everything: the whole day, from start to finish, as soon as she got home. If only it had lasted. If only she’d continued confiding in them as she’d grown older. Things could have been so different.
Was it good, then, that Ruby wasn’t the same? Did that mean she’d go the other way as she grew up, sharing more, rather than less? Dan hoped so. Sometimes he wanted to beg Ruby to tell him everything. To implore her never to follow in her older sister’s footsteps. But he and Maria had discussed this matter at length and they’d decided – yes, they could still agree on some things – not to put that pressure on her, for fear of pushing her the other way.
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