Ruby & The Rose (lesbian stories)

Chapter 4

4

A bus arrived just outside the hospital within the next hour or so. Rose dropped the remains of her second fag onto the pavement, and stamped it into the dirty grey concrete with the toe of her boot. They found two empty seats near the back- behind a rather large middle-aged lady and her rather large dog, and in front of a teenage boy with his headphones emitting loud and very profane noises that Rose supposed might be considered music, by some.

No one spoke. The only sounds were the gentle thrum of traffic passing outside, and the bus' own engine rattling in a way that wasn't exactly reassuring. Rose found her temple pressed against the glass, and she watched the sickly trees and terrace houses pass. Beside her, Ruby had already settled down for the journey. Her tired eyes had fallen closed, and her head rested gently on Rose's shoulder. Rose gave a yawn. It was going to be a long night.

She opened her eyes to find the bus almost empty. They had pulled up at a stop, and the remaining passengers began to leave.

"Last stop, Miss," the bus driver called back. Rose checked her watch. Half past one.

"Ruby," she whispered into the ear not pressed against her jacket. "Ruby, wake up."

Ruby shifted a little, and gave a murmur.

"Where are we?" she asked, eyes still half-closed, giving a small stretch.

"Just outside Carlisle," Rose replied. "If we're lucky we might

get a room tonight. Come on."

As she stepped out of the bus- narrowly missing a muddy puddle- Rose was hit with a wall of icy numbness. Her eyes and cheeks stung. But Ruby, meanwhile, had turned practically blue, and her teeth began to chatter. Rose hurriedly pulled off her jacket and wrapped it around her companion’s trembling shoulders.

“Let’s go,” she insisted. “Before you catch your death. Look, there’s a B&B over there.”

The young man behind the reception desk, his eyes hardly holding themselves open, looked up from his battered novel as they walked in.

“Just the one room left,” he remarked. “Twin, up on the second floor. Like it or lump it.”

Rose didn’t bat an eyelid at his abruptness, nor his lack of manners.

“That will do fine, thank you,” she said.  

“Name.”

“Rose Smith.”

The man scrawled it down in the open notebook in front of him, then revolved his office chair 180 degrees to take a set of keys from their hook on the wall. He dumped them unceremoniously onto the desk, and picked his book back up.

The room was a tiny one- wallpapered with a nauseating shade of lemon, home to two slim beds pressed against opposite walls and a small sink between them. Ruby let Rose’s jacket fall from her shoulders and onto one of them, then paced over the fuzzy pink carpet to the window. She held the thin curtain to one side, and watched the outside world silently. Rose, meanwhile, shoved her duffle bag under the other bed, and sat down. The mattress dipped deeply beneath her, and she found that it had a texture not unlike watery porridge.

“Carlisle.”

Rose looked up. A few moments had passed in comfortably quiet before Ruby made her remark.

“It looks so different here. How far have we travelled?”

“About 300 miles,” Rose replied. “Why?”

“I’ve never left my home town before. It feels odd.”

For a moment, Rose remembered the first time she left central London. She remembered that feeling of dysphoria that erupted between the heavy pounds of her heartbeat. But then the rest of the memories of that day began to seep slowly through, and she felt her breathing constrict for half a moment. She slammed the mental door shut quickly, and composed herself again.

“You get used to it,” she said, and silence returned. Within a few moments, Rose was fast asleep once more.