Repressed, Depressed and Possessed - (Ruth Harris Series)

Chapter 8

The next thing I remember is looking back at Mama's kitchen with a sense of pride. The dishes were clean, every counter and tile was scrubbed spotless and the floor was shining like the sun. I walked through into the conservatory, which was just as organised. The living room too, then the dining room, and lastly the toilet beneath the stairs. Who did this? My mother may have been rich, but she was definitely not tidy and didn't have a housemaid.
'Thanks again for doing all this cleaning.' Mama said, smiling at me warmly from out of nowhere. I supposed my little makeover mishap was forgiven and forgotten.
'I-I did this?'
'Ha ha, very funny. You must have had a lot of energy after last night!'
'Last night?'
'Yeah! You slept like a baby. Snored away from 9 until 6 this morning.' Mama stroked some hair behind my ear. 'You look rested.'
'Oh. Thanks.'
               A night and half a day had passed and I had no memory of it whatsoever, although I did feel slightly less irritable.
'You must have been having a nice dream. And that reminds me,' Mama pattered into the kitchen, but I could hear the sly smile in her voice as she finished, 'Mike left a message for you.'
               I almost choked on my tea. When did I make - or pick up - or sip - a cup of tea?
'Mike?'
'Yeah! He seems quite taken with you. Why didn't you tell me you had a date tomorrow? He said he can't wait to see you! I have to say, he sounds like a lovely bloke.'
'What?' I charged into the kitchen.
'Your date! Duh?' Mama laughed and began stacking the dishwasher. 'He called when you were at Sarah's for that little therapy meeting. I just told him you were out. I don't think he's expecting a call back. Oh, and he said he'd pick you up around seven.'
               My breathing started to escape me and I couldn't see my tea through all my thoughts.
'Since when were we going on a date with Mike?'
'Is it the first one? What day is it!?'
'We don't date.'
'He's such a heartthrob. Last night I dreamt -'
'Mike? Is that the bloke from the support group? Eh, he's alright looking I guess.'

'We don't date.'
'Is no one else freaking out? I have a date with a man I barely know! This is insane! What's his number so I can cancel -'
'Don't even think about, sweetheart. God might be bringing you two together for a reason.'
'Oh shut it Charity. I don't even remember agreeing to the date, why the hell would I go on it!?'
'We. Don't. Date.'
'Who was hosting yesterday? Who made this mess in the first place?'
               'Ruth? Are you listening to me?'
'What, Mama?'
'I said, what colour do you want?'
               I looked at her blankly.
'Sorry?'
'Ruth! For the last time, you can have blonde or brown, but I'm not letting you get another ridiculous colour that you'll regret by next week.'
'Oh. Are we talking about hair now?'
'Yes! Where have you been for the last two minutes?' Mama came and sat down at the island, right next to me. I guess I was sitting now. My mug was gone. 'Look, Ruth, don't worry about the cost. I'm happy to pay. But right now this turquoise colour is fading to the shade of vomit and you've got stripy roots! You've got to change it. I think an ombre blonde sort of thing would look nice, what do you think? You'd look just like me and Andy!'
               Emilia was pushing for a say in the style, but after last time, she was on a forced hiatus of decision-making.
'I don't know.' I said, still slightly lost. 'I, I don't want to -'
'Well, you'd better make your mind up soon. Our appointment is at 11 o'clock tomorrow - that way we can get you sorted before your date!'
'Right. My date. My fricking date.'

I lay awake all night, petrified at the idea of being stuck in a hard chair for hours, surrounded by strangers with scissors and hot stylist equipment and bleach and mindless gossip that was bound to bore me into dissociation. What if Emilia came out and embarrassed Mama and my selves? What if Hailey came out and got me banished from the building? I couldn't trust myself in such a confined environment. No, I couldn't do it.

*

'I have to say Ruth, you did great in there!' Mama smiled as she tossed her bag onto the sofa. I looked up, into a mirror. It was huge, with a gold frame with little flowers carved into it. I straightened my reflection's collar and fixed the stray hairs that the wind had blown into my face.
'The turquoise looked silly, I agree with you now.' I said. 'Natural brown is a much better match for my skin. And I won't have to deal with those pesky roots any more!' We turned to Mama and laughed along with her. 'And I like these layers, although...' I trailed off when I saw a hair that was very obviously too long. I pulled it out. 'That's better. Now it's all even.'
'Oh please, since when did you get so particular?' Mama smirked at me in the big hallway mirror.
               I looked back at her. She had tossed her jacket onto the sofa now too, and her shoes were left abandoned on the carpet beneath them. I tidied them up, but there was still a nagging feeling at the back of my brain. Something wasn't perfect.
               'Ah, just as I suspected.' I thought. There, on the floor where Mama's shoes had been, was a tiny splash of mud squashed into the rug.
'What are you doing down there, Ruth?'
'Just cleaning the rug. It got a bit dirty again, and we can't be having that!' I could feel the vein in my forehead obtruding.
'Just leave it! No one will notice. The house is still sparkling after all your work yesterday.'
'It's not. Everything's moved. Your slippers are at the bottom of the stairs, there are mugs on the side and I can see a loose thread on the armchair!' Mama smiled uneasily.
'So what? You've never cared before.'
'Excuse me? My flat is spotless!'
'What? You lost your flat Ruth - and it was a dump!' She gave up and sauntered back into the kitchen to get us a snack. I bent down to pull the thread out of the armchair. I don't remember the rest of that afternoon.

'Do you want some help?' Mama asked timidly from my bedroom doorway. It was six o'clock now. Ruth had only lived a few hours of that day and done nothing productive with them, so after my OCD-fuelled alter, January, retreated, I sat down at my desk and attempted to make myself look presentable. In an hour I was going to have to face Mike, and reject him.
'I'm fine on my own.' I replied, though my hands were shaking on my hairbrush.
'Please, Ruth.'
'...Alright.'
                Mama came over and took the hairbrush from me. She started brushing out my soft curls in long, gentle strokes. Soon my muscles untensed and I actually relaxed into the chair a little bit.
'I've never been able to do anything like this with you before.' Mama said quietly. I saw her smile sadly in the mirror. 'I guess this is the first time we've lived together since you got to dating age.'
'Yeah.'

Silence.

'Can I do your makeup?'
'I-I don't normally wear much...or any.'
'But this is a special evening for you, Ruth.' Mama laid down the brush and kissed the top of my head. It was unexpected. Should I smile? I didn't want to kiss her back. Or hug her.
'It's not that special.' I said, nibbling my lip. 'I barely know the man. I have to cancel. It's not fair on him to go through with a date that I don't want to be on.'
'Nonsense!' Mama studied my face in the mirror. 'Mike's very fond of you. I'm sure you two will have a wonderful time together! But...I would be careful with someone you met in that group. You don't know what his mental state is like. I'm sure he's lovely, just, be cautious.'
               I sighed.
'Is that what you think of me?' Mama paused.
'No.' Another pause. Then, she glanced at my few makeup belongings placed neatly in a cup in the corner of my dressing table. There was an eyebrow pencil, the stub of a turquoise eyeliner and a dried out mascara. 'Wait here.' she sighed, before pattering off to her bedroom and back. She was carrying a makeup bag. 'You can use my things.'

Twenty minutes later, I looked like a completely different person than I did this morning. My hair was no longer patchy and matted, nor was my face pale and brooding. I looked, well,
'Beautiful.' Charity said in my ear. I wouldn't have been quite so complimentary, but there was definitely an improvement.
'Thanks, Mama.' I half-whispered, facing my lap and playing with my finger nails, which were now a genial shade of pink. Mama said that my usual black polish was 'dark and slightly disturbing'. Duh, hasn't she met me? I was not the most optimistic person, nor was I bright and bubbly like my mother's ideal daughter. She wanted a prim and proper pet, but that's not me at all.
'Ruth, look at me.' she said. I did, however briefly. 'No, Ruth, look at me.' Mama lifted my chin with her hands. 'You've done so well today. I know I haven't always been there for you, but today you've made me realise that I have every reason to be proud -'

The doorbell rang.