Carmel Harrington - A Thousand Roads Home

She was in The Silver Sands Lodge.

‘DJ?’ she called out to the darkness. Silence.

Once her mind had again caught up to her new normal, Ruth reached over to locate the light switch. Bright lights filled the room, eliminating the darkness. She looked at her watch. It was nearly 4 p.m. She had been asleep for over three hours. She could not remember the last time she had slept during the day. She was not a good sleeper at the best of times but she supposed this was new territory.

While she slept, DJ had made efforts to make their room look more like home. He had placed her favourite soft green chenille throw over her. At the end of the bed was her green velvet cushion. DJ had also placed his Liverpool FC throw and cushion on the bed beside hers. Oh, DJ. She was wrong earlier. This room could be their home. Because home was wherever DJ was.

She needed to see him, to tell him that. She picked up her phone, knowing he would have sent her a text message, letting her know where he was.

Going out to explore. Back soon, DJ.

Where are you?

Her stomach reminded her that she had not eaten since breakfast. It appeared she had lost her appetite around the same time she lost her home. Her jeans felt looser this morning when she slipped them on. She could not afford to get ill. She had to be strong in mind and in body if she was going to get them both through this.

Back in five, DJ pinged back to her. She would have to talk to him about taking off like that. He was streetwise, but he did not know this part of Dublin.

He would be hungry, too. She scanned through the list of rules on the laminate sheet until she got to the one regarding the kitchen.

There is a small kitchen at the end of the second floor, beside the fire exit, available for use for all residents, who are part of the emergency housing scheme. The kitchen consists of a small fridge, a cooker, oven, toaster and microwave. All cups, plates and utencils must be washed up after use and kitchen MUST be cleaned after use.

Please note that no microwaves, toasters or hobs are allowed in your hotel room or bathroom.

Ruth walked over to her handbag and took out a Sharpie, then circled the word ‘Utensils’. If you are going to the trouble of laminating rules, at least make sure they are correctly spelled! And who on earth would put an electrical item in a bathroom? Sometimes the stupidity of people amazed Ruth. She hoped the kitchen was clean. Not having her own kitchen was going to cause her a lot of problems and was perhaps the hardest challenge she would have to face.

While she waited for DJ to return she scanned the other rules once again.

No running in the hallway.

No guests in your room.

A communal room is available on the ground floor. Guests ask reception for the key.

No hanging laundry on the balcony.

No smoking in the room.

No hanging of pictures on the walls.

Parents must look after their own children. No babysitting of other guests’ children allowed in hotel.

A thump in the corridor outside made her jump. She got off the bed and walked to the door, peeping out the small glass hole.

‘Hey, Jason, hey, Barry,’ DJ said, high-fiving the two boys from earlier, who were still running up and down the hall.

Ruth marvelled at how quickly he had made friends in the space of a few hours.

‘Where have you been?’ Ruth asked, when he walked into their hotel room.

‘Nowhere,’ he answered, flopping down onto his bed.

‘Well, that’s impossible. You must have been somewhere,’ Ruth said.

‘Exploring,’ he mumbled. ‘You OK again?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’ Ruth looked at her son and tried to gauge how he was doing. She was not good at reading people’s emotions. ‘Are you OK?’

He shrugged.

‘Does that mean you are OK?’ Ruth asked.

‘I’m OK. But hungry. Can I watch TV?’

‘I will go to the shop, buy some groceries and make us something to eat,’ Ruth said.

‘What are we eating, and please don’t say mashed potatoes?’ DJ said.

‘Depends what choice there is in the shop down the road. But noted on the potatoes.’

DJ turned back to the football match that had just started. As Ruth reached the door, he called out, ‘Just remember to say hello if anyone speaks to you. And take the sunglasses off when you are inside. You’re not one of the Kardashians.’

‘I could think of nothing worse. No potatoes. Speak. Sunglasses. Got it,’ Ruth replied, with more confidence than she felt. She threw the sunglasses onto the bed to avoid temptation.

It was her brother, Mark, who gave Ruth her first pair of sunglasses when they were kids. Her classmates had begun to call her a weirdo. Mark did not like other kids making fun of her. Not because he was worried about Ruth, but because he was worried about how it would reflect on him.

‘People think you are being shifty, hiding something, if you don’t look at them. And then they think that you don’t like them,’ Mark explained.

‘I am not hiding anything,’ Ruth said. ‘And I like them all. Except for Mary Lawlor and Tadgh D’arcy, who laugh at me a lot.’

‘Just try eye-balling them when you are in conversation with them. Look at them for five seconds, then you can be all weird and look at the ground again.’

‘But I do not like eyeballs,’ Ruth said.

‘Don’t look at their eyes then. Jeez, Ruth, help a guy out here! Cheat. Look in that general direction. It will be grand,’ Mark said.

‘I can do that. I will try it,’ Ruth said.

And try it she did. It went spectacularly wrong. When Mary Lawlor asked her for help with page 190 of their maths homework, it was the perfect opportunity to try out her new skill. People often asked her for help at maths and she was happy to do so. She liked solving problems. Ruth looked up at Mary, who was a few inches taller than she. She lowered her gaze to avoid eye contact and hoped for the best.

‘You big fat lesbian!’ Mary Lawlor screamed. ‘Did you see that? Ruth Wilde is looking at my breasts!’ She covered her chest with her arms, delighted to see that she held the class’s attention.

Ruth did not know what a lesbian was. She suspected it was not said as a compliment.

Mark was not happy when they walked home together after school. ‘How on earth did you manage to make them all think you were a lesbian in the space of only a few hours? I can’t leave you on your own at all, can I?’

‘What’s a lesbian?’ Ruth asked.

‘Ask Mam,’ Mark replied, making a face.

So when she walked into their kitchen, she asked Marian, ‘Mary Lawlor said I was a lesbian. Am I a lesbian?’

Marian’s face told Ruth that she’d done something wrong again. ‘In the name of all that’s good in this world, what is wrong with you, child? Are you trying to kill me? That’s all I need on top of everything else.’ Then Marian sighed again.

And that was why Mark bought Ruth a pair of sunglasses. That was the thing about her brother. He spent most of their childhood ignoring her or making fun of her. But every now and then he surprised her with a random act of kindness.

Twenty minutes later, armed with a small bagful of groceries, she made her way to the kitchen for the first time. She crossed her fingers that it would be empty. Her hopes disappeared when muffled sounds of fellow residents creeped out into the corridor as she approached. She braced herself for interactions and hoped that the people in the room were friendly. She reminded herself that she was actually a good communicator. She could enjoy a conversation for an hour or two at a time. Unless it was boring, of course.