This Is Home

Ch4: This Is Home

Ruth stands, greying black hair tucked into her jumper, and rests against the counter. She's about as threatening as a ball of wool; her slowed actions and papery wrinkled skin around her eyes is reminiscent of his late grandmother. Ethan is hesitant around her though - not out of fear of her herself, but fear of what she could tell him.

"Tricky business, being a doctor."

It's one of the first statements Ruth has made. He takes it as a cue to start the ball rolling of this conversation, ceasing to fidget underneath her table.

He sits on the wooden chair in her kitchen, half-watching the birds in the teeny yet overgrown garden. "I suppose so, yes," he says, glad of the light subject. "It's definitely something that one can't do without dedication." 

"You must really like helping people."

He smiles. "It's not quite that simple." He'd love for his motives simply to be helping people; it'd make it simple. Always keep you motivated. It's far deeper rooted than that; and he doesn't think now is the best time to delve into that mess. "What is it you do?"

"Nowadays, I freelance. I used to waitress at the local cafe until my arthritis kept me from holding trays. Dee's Diner."

"Afraid I don't know it - not local."

"Right, of course. Cal said you both lived in Holby together."

Excitement leaps into his chest, and he can't squash it down. "He mentioned me?"

"Not in great detail. Only that you both took care of Matilda together, when she was abandoned by that... awful woman." Her face flashes with angry annoyance, and he's taken aback. Evidently, nowadays, he wears his emotions on his sleeves when faced with surprises, and she backtracks. "Sorry. Defensive. Even when someone is gone, you still find yourself being all lioness and protective over them."

"I understand that."

"I suppose you want to ask why I let her go, don't you?"

He knew it'd be her who got the difficult part of the conversation going before him. "It's... definitely something I wondered. Esecially as you still seem to care so deeply about her, I did suppose what happened," He clasps his hands. "But there's a lot of questions. I wasn't sure when it was a good time."

"Please. Don't let me stop you."

"Right, well. There's not a fantastic place to start." He chuckles nervously - comes out like a puff of air. "But, the main one, I supopose. Why did Cal want to see Matilda? When was it, exactly?"

"It was sometime in March of 2017. Over a year ago... And unfortunately, I have no idea. He just popped up out of the blue, saying he knew her, and it started from there, really."

Ethan hides his disappointment by laughing. "Great start."

"Sorry. I do know that he wanted to check on her. His motives were unclear." Genuinely apologetic, she pulls out a chair and sits oppositely to him. "Though sometimes, I do wonder if anyone truly understands why they do what they do."

"Well, why did you adopt Matilda?"

"My husband and I, we temporarily foster children. Or we did. In our old house, our old life. She was one of them. Quite a challenge, actually, in all her beauty."

"Oh. I always got the impression she'd grow to be quiet. Stubborn, but... quiet."

"She was. Quiet, I mean. That was the problem. Usually, she was so outgoing, according to the care home. It was our job to get her back to her old self - bubbly and excitable."

Ruth continues. "She was in a home with an older couple and their child. The Winters. They adopted her, but she was getting nightmares being there. So they sent her back to the care home. My husband and I occasionally fostered her just to get her used to being in a family again. Care homes, their goals are, obviously, to get them into families."

Ethan's forehead creased in confusion, so much he can feel it. "Why the nightmares?"

"The problem was the mother. We think that Matilda got worried around her, hence the bad dreams."

Confusion takes a hasty turn into indignance. "If she was worried about the mother, surely that's an issue? What if she was being abused by the mother?"

"She had no bruises."

"Bruises aren't the only evidence of abuse."

"Don't think we didn't consider it or look into it," she says. "There's no chance that we'd have let her go back to them - when she was ready, just recently - if that was the case."

"W-what? Surely, you didn't?"

"The Winters didn't do anything!" She laughs, but he can tell she's getting frustrated. "Listen. My husband got sick. It costs too much, far too much. We couldn't temporarily provide foster homes anymore - look at this new place, it's a mess. The paint is coming off because it's so wet in this room from the mould. The windows have a nasty draught. Our neighbour bangs nails into the fence. It's not safe. We knew we had to let her go. And the care home isn't a proper home for anybody."