The Boundless Sublime (8 page)

‘I know you’re trying to look out for me,’ I said. ‘But believe me when I tell you that I’m okay. I’m in control. In fact, I feel more in control than I have in ages. I’m eating healthier and I
feel
lighter
and
clearer
. I think I’m becoming a better communicator. A better person.’

Minah shook her head in disbelief. ‘Who even
are
you? What do they put in those water bottles?’

I laughed. ‘Just water,’ I said, then wondered if that was true.

Minah’s resolute scowl faltered a little. ‘There’ll be weird sex stuff,’ she said darkly. ‘There’s always weird sex stuff.’

She was joking now, and I knew I’d won her over a little.

‘I promise I won’t do any weird sex stuff,’ I said with mock seriousness.

‘And it’s never
good
weird sex stuff,’ Minah went on, ignoring me. ‘It’s always creepy old dudes trying to control women’s bodies. Or worse.’ She made a face. ‘Like stuff with kids.’

‘You know me,’ I said. ‘You know I’d never get involved in anything that messed up. You have to trust me.’

Minah ripped open a sugar packet and poured white granules onto the linoleum table, drawing it into swirls with a finger. ‘Look, Ruby, I know we don’t talk about it much. About what happened and everything. I figured you didn’t want to, that you need space. But I am seriously worried about you. Since you started seeing this Fox guy, you’ve totally changed. You’re
glowing
. You’re all shiny-eyed and hopeful and—’

‘Isn’t that a good thing? Aren’t you glad I’m happy?’

Minah tore open another packet of sugar, frowning. ‘Ruby, Anton
died
. And joining some cult
or whatever you want to call it
’ – she held up a hand to cut off my protest – ‘it’s not going to bring him back.’

The black tide rose around me at the mention of Anton. But I didn’t let myself sink into it. I didn’t want to drown anymore.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I think it’s time I moved on.’

Minah poured out a third packet of sugar and carefully pressed her fingernail into each of the swirls she’d made, forming spikes and thorns. I raised my glass of mineral water to my lips but didn’t allow any into my mouth. The bubbles popped against my lips, hard and bright.

Eventually Minah nodded. ‘Just be careful, okay? It may seem benign now, all peace and love and harmony. But that’s how brainwashing begins. It starts with meditation and yoga, but before you know it, you’re drinking cordial laced with arsenic in order to ascend to the fifth dimension.’

‘I promise I’ll be careful,’ I said. ‘And … you could always come with me. Come to the Red House and meet everyone.’

Minah made a face. ‘No way am I coming to your cult headquarters,’ she said with a grimace. ‘Even if there
is
no weird sex stuff, I don’t want any of these mystic crystal revelations you’ve been ODing on. I have
art
to make.’

I laughed. ‘Suit yourself.’

‘But I want to meet him.’

Fox? She wanted to meet Fox? Would they understand each other? Fox was so open and happy, and Minah was dark and closed. But Fox could charm anyone, I was sure of it.

‘Bring him to the Wasteland,’ said Minah. ‘We’ll be there all afternoon.’

I tried to imagine Fox sitting on a milk crate surrounded by rubbish, listening to Minah talk about her latest art project. It was like trying to imagine a wild bird at a heavy metal concert. But I was certain that once Minah got to know Fox, she’d come to love him as much as I did.

I found Fox in our usual spot in the park by the pond, and settled myself beside him on the grass. It was one of those
crisp early spring days where everything seemed full of possibility. The bare branches of the trees around the pond had broken out into a delicate green fuzz, and some were swelling with pink blossom. The crocuses and daffodils had unfurled into splashes of yellow and purple. Birds twittered everywhere, as though the whole world was waking up.

Fox was watching a duck lead a cohort of fuzzy ducklings across the muddy bank and into the pond. One tiny duckling kept falling over, and the mother duck kept having to stop the parade and nudge it back onto its feet again.

‘If people did not love one another,’ said Fox, his voice low and dreamy, ‘I really don’t see what use there would be in having any spring.’

Was Fox saying he loved me? I reached out and took his hand. ‘That’s beautiful.’

‘It’s from
Les Miserables
,’ he told me. He pronounced it without the French accent:
Less Mizzer-ubbles
.

‘The film?’

‘The book. There’s a film?’

I nodded. ‘Of the musical, though. Not the book.’

‘There’s a musical?’

I laughed. ‘How can you not know there’s a musical of
Les Mis
?’

Fox shrugged, and a wistful expression passed over his face. ‘There are lots of things I don’t know.’

‘But you’ve read the book,’ I said. ‘They say the book is always better than the film.’

‘Do they?’

A thought occurred to me. ‘Fox, have you … have you ever seen a film?’

Fox shook his head. ‘Sometimes I can see a television through the window of a shop, when I’m handing out the water bottles. Daddy says television poisons the mind.’ His
expression grew distant, and a faint smile stole over his face. ‘But when I read
Les Miserables
, I imagine the story playing out in my head. That’s like a film, isn’t it?’

‘Sort of,’ I agreed.

‘It must be sad, when the pictures in the film don’t match the pictures in your head.’

‘It is,’ I said. ‘Some people get very upset.’

Fox nodded. ‘Then I’m glad I haven’t seen the film, because there’s no way it could be as good as the book. The book is the most wonderful thing. I’ve read it hundreds of times.’

I didn’t think he was exaggerating. ‘Did your dad teach you to read?’

‘It was Lib,’ Fox replied. ‘She read me stories when I was very small, and once I could read she brought me books of my own.
Paddington Bear
.
The BFG
.
Love That Dog
. I couldn’t get enough. But Daddy took them all away when I became a Monkey.’

I frowned. ‘A monkey? You mean, you were naughty and he took your books away as a punishment?’

Fox looked away, his forehead creasing in a frown. ‘Books are wonderful, but … There are so many different worlds. If you read too many books, you get confused about which is the real world. You have … doubts. It’s dangerous.’

‘Did your dad tell you that?’ I asked. ‘That books are dangerous?’

Fox didn’t reply. His face was etched with sadness, and I wondered what he was grieving for. His lost books, and the worlds they contained? Or was it something else?

‘But you have
Les Miserables
, right?’ I asked. ‘Your dad didn’t take that one away?’

‘Val gave it to me years ago,’ said Fox. ‘He knew I missed my books. It was very difficult to understand at first – so many words I didn’t know. But I kept trying, and after a
while I realised how beautiful it is. Don’t tell anyone I have it. I wouldn’t want to get Val in trouble.’

I pictured Val’s vast frame, his pale scarred face. Maggie had said that he was dangerous, an ex-criminal. But that didn’t sound like the kind of man who would secretly find a book for a sad little boy.

‘Once I read
Les Miserables
upside down,’ Fox said. ‘To see if it would be different.’

‘Was it?’

He tilted his head to one side. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It felt … more delicate. As if every word were placed so carefully, and a strong gust of wind could blow them all off the page.’

The mother duck successfully got her ducklings into the pond, and began a triumphant victory lap. I let the sun soak into my face. It warmed me all the way through, even the dark, secret places that I’d thought would never be warm again. Fox’s hand was solid and real in mine. It was as though I had finally woken up, after sleepwalking for months.

‘Which books have you read?’

Fox was always full of questions. He was intensely curious about the world and everything in it. He wanted to know every last detail about my life. He asked about school, about my teachers and the subjects and the desks we sat at and what school bells sounded like. He asked about my childhood birthday parties, made me describe each one and got frustrated when I couldn’t remember what kind of cake I’d had, or what gifts I’d received. He asked me about camping holidays, about beaches and the feeling of sand between my toes. Every question filled a little gap in my knowledge about him. I realised he’d never been in a school. Never been to a birthday party. Never been to the beach. He talked often about how great his childhood had been, how wonderful his father was. But
his hunger for knowledge of everyday life told a different story.

I told Fox about my favourite childhood books. About trips to the library, and reading stories to Anton.

‘Don’t you think it’s weird?’ I asked him. ‘That your dad took your books away?’

Fox’s shoulders hunched in a shrug. ‘I think lots of things are weird,’ he said. ‘I think it’s weird that our bodies are born knowing how to breathe, and they don’t forget to keep our hearts beating. I think it’s weird that you come here every day instead of going to school. But not all weird things are bad.’

He seemed oddly defensive, so I didn’t press it. We watched the ducks.

‘What do you want?’ asked Fox, after we’d been silent for a long while.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Out of life.’

I closed my eyes and let the sun turn the inside of my eyelids golden. ‘I want … I want my family back. I want my mum to get better. I want Dad to come home.’

Fox stroked my hand with his thumb. ‘That’s what you want for other people,’ he said gently. ‘What do you want for
you
?’

I opened my eyes and was surprised all over again to see how much colour there was in the world. The blue of the sky, reflected back in the pond. The green of the grass and the fresher green of the new growth on the trees. The pale pink blossom. The vibrant yellows and purples of the flowers. Had the world always contained so much colour? Had I just not noticed? Had I forgotten how to see it?

‘I want to feel whole again,’ I said. ‘I’ve lost so many pieces of myself. Anton. Dad. Mum. Sometimes I think I’m only flesh and bone, without anything real inside, you know? Just
fragments, like the pieces of a broken china plate that don’t get swept up and thrown out with the others.’

Fox leaned sideways into my shoulder, and the warmth of him spread through me, even more than the warmth of the sun had.

‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘What do you want out of life?’ Fox didn’t reply for a long time. It was clear he was struggling with something, his brows drawn together and his jaw set. Finally he sighed, as if he was letting a heavy weight drop. ‘I know what I’m supposed to say,’ he said at last. ‘But I can’t lie to you, Ruby. What do I want? I want to never forget how beautiful the world is, and how lucky I am to be a part of it. I want to feel everything, see everything, experience every sensation that this world offers. I want to help people to see how extraordinary we all are.’

I wondered why that had been so difficult for him to say.

‘My friends want to meet you,’ I told him. ‘Do you think that would be okay?’

Fox’s expression cleared, and he grinned at me. ‘Really? I’d
love
to meet your friends. Can we go now?’

‘Are you sure?’

He grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. ‘I want to know everything about you. And your friends are a piece of you. If we’re going to put your china plate back together, we have to find all the pieces.’

The Wasteland was an empty car park behind a long-abandoned pub. Minah liked it because she said it reminded her of the permanence of concrete in stark contrast to the entropy of humanity. Harrison had dubbed it the Wasteland after the TS Eliot poem, because it was full of disillusionment and despair. I decided not to share any of this with Fox.

‘So,’ I said to him as we made our way down the hill towards the dodgy end of town. ‘You might not like this place very much. Or these people.’

‘I like everyone,’ said Fox. ‘And everywhere.’