The Return of Ruby Rubber

3: Three Days Later

Ruth skipped down the last few stairs that led to the basement and paused outside the front door of the gym. She hadn’t been able to tell if it was a deliberate decision to store all the keep-fit equipment on a floor that couldn’t be reached by the lift. If anyone else was like her the only exercise they would receive would be from when they ran up the stairs to the canteen shortly after deciding that a chocolate eclair was more inviting than a rowing machine.

The gym didn’t usually open until after office hours so Ruth wasn’t entirely sure if Stuart would be here at lunch time. She was about to rattle the doors when she heard a noise from within. Several noises within, the shuffling of feet and what sounded like two or three people’s voices.

‘Hello! Stuart, is that you?’ called out Ruth.

There was a peculiar ‘schlep’ sound and then the gym fell silent. Ruth tried the door, tentatively touching the handle as if she was expecting a static shock. Unlocked, it swung open easily. She entered.

There was only one person in the gym’s reception, despite what Ruth had expected, and it wasn’t anybody she knew. There was no sign of Stuart – the doors to both the main gym and the treatment room where he had seen her yesterday were closed and the lights were off in both rooms. The only figure to be seen was a woman stood behind the counter where the receptionist usually sat. For a second Ruth considered that this young, athletic figure who seemed to wearing an all-in-one navy bodysuit under a practitioner’s clinical white coat might be a replacement for the woman who normally worked behind the desk. She certainly seemed to fit the health-conscious image of the gym better than the older, broader and frankly more bad-tempered receptionist who had greeted Ruth with scorn on her last visit. What made her reconsider her initial thoughts was the awkward way this new woman fidgeted when she saw Ruth enter, as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t be. Ruth noticed that a pile of opened envelopes lay on the counter, their contents screwed up on the floor. Suddenly alerted that something untoward was underway, Ruth scanned the rest of the small office. Cupboards on the far side of the room had been left open, their contents clearly rifled through and abandoned. The carpet in one corner had been lifted, ripped from the nailed down grips at the skirting board and, like the cupboards, left in this state. A sudden panic flooded her senses. Maybe there had been other people in here a moment ago. But where were they now?

‘Who are you?’ demanded the ‘new receptionist’. From her coat pocket she took out what appeared to be a small calculator. She pointed it at Ruth and thumbed a series of buttons. Perhaps she was expecting an answer from the device rather than Ruth.

Ruth summoned her limited resources of courage. ‘Who are you?’ she deathlessly retorted. ‘I mean, what are you doing here? Where’s Stuart?’

The intruder’s eyebrows raised at Ruth’s mention of the young masseur’s name. ‘You know him?’ she asked.

Oh dear. This was becoming more and more fraught and the only thing Ruth was certain of was that she didn’t want to get involved in whatever nonsense was unfolding before her. A neutral answer would be best.

‘I know that’s the name of the feller who does the massages. I was told that’s who I should ask for.’

This calmed the clearly nervous interloper. She began to speak, something irrelevant and chit-chatty probably, when the gizmo in her hand started to bleep noisily like the alarm of a cheap digital watch.

‘Wait a minute sister. You didn’t tell me you were packing powers. I think you’d better come along with me.’

Stuart stepped back into Ruth’s living room.

‘What made you change your mind?’

He was all smiles, looking for all the world as if he knew she’d come around. Ruth resisted the temptation to thump him - he was practically a boy; it didn’t seem fair. But she wasn’t going to let him get the upper hand.

‘Look, you can wipe that grin off your face. I’m curious, all right? Even though the common-sense department of my brain has rung through several times to say this is a bad idea I’ve got to know. What it’s like. What I could be.’

Stuart was still smiling, but now it was more out of sympathy than smugness. ‘I don’t blame you. The stories my Aunt Enid has told me. I wouldn’t be able to resist if I had the opportunity. I’ll hold my hands up - I’m hoping to experience some of what she and my Dad talked about through you.’

Ruth pouted. ‘Well, this isn’t any commitment to anything - ‘

‘No, no, I understand,’ interjected Stuart.

‘ - but let’s see what’s what.’

À SUIVRE...