LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter Five

       Ruth

       Seven Days before Christmas

      ‘Ah no! I knew this would happen! I’m so late! Shit!’

      Bob jumps from his sleeping position on the armchair across from me, gathers his jacket, phone and wallet and races to the front door, the stench of stale smoke and alcohol wafting past me from my place on the sofa and my head throbs from lack of sleep from the night before. In a blink Bob is gone and here I am once again, left to pick myself up and get on with things, so I go stand in the shower, determined to wash away any traces of sadness and find the strength to face the day at my home office where I’ll read through letter after letter, email after email and choose which lucky members of the human race I’m going to share my worldly advice with in my next column or radio slot.

      I hear the door slam as Bob leaves and it echoes into a skin-prickling silence, a sound that I should be used to by now, but I’m not. It’s suffocating, it’s overwhelming – and it’s a dark reminder that I am not moving on, not in the way my sister has or the way I’m pretending to be to the people who write to me with their problems.

      The clock ticks and I drift off to sleep again, then wake in a cold sweat and sit up straight, so quickly that my head spins. I’ve had the dream again. Oh no, I’ve had that same dream and I can barely breathe because, as always, it’s so clear. She is standing at the top of the stairs, calling my name to come and help her with the Christmas tree. I try and find the stairs, but no matter what room I go into in this big, cold, empty house I can’t find her. I can’t find her and I can’t find the stairs. She keeps calling me, telling me she has been there the whole time; that she never really went away at all, that she’s still here somewhere and I just have to find her.

      But I never do.

      The house is silent. She is not here. There is no one here, except for me now and a solitary For Sale sign that stands like a stiff flag at the bottom of the front garden. I need to move away from this house, but until I get a sale, I need to do some work.

      Twenty minutes later after a hot shower and with a very strong coffee in my hand, I squint at my computer and the list of emails that await my attention. Despite doing this job for years, every day until recently I’d always get a flutter of anticipation when I’d delve into the lives of others and contemplate which ones to publish on my blog, which to choose for the weekly news column and which to save for the once-a-week radio slot. It used to be exciting, it used to be challenging; sometimes it would be downright heartbreaking too, but it’s always something that I knew I could do so well after all these years.

      Yet today I don’t know where to start.

      I open the first one, knowing already who it is from, but I decide it’s best to have an easy start.

       Dear Ruth,

       I have a big problem and this is what it is . . .

       You’re in my dreams every night. Are you still single? Please say yes. Love M

      I lean my head on my left hand and roll my eyes. Yes, I am still single. No, I am still not interested.

      ‘M’ is my anonymous regular ego massage, my number one fan, and even though I have no idea who he (or she?) is, I know that I’ll hear from M at least once a week with a compliment on my physical appearance, my soothing voice of reason, my words of wisdom. There are a few like M who write me regularly just to give me empty faraway compliments, but if they knew how miserable I really am in real life right now they wouldn’t be so praising I’m sure.

      I click on to the next one.

       Dear Ruth,

       My new partner says it’s him or the dog – what should I do? He’s allergic to animals but I don’t want us to break up, nor do I want to give up Henry! He has been my most loyal and best friend for eight long lonely years now. Please help. Nicky

      I used to have a Henry, I smirk to myself. He wasn’t a dog though. He was a six-foot-two fireman who couldn’t remember my name the morning after. Next!

       Dear Ruth

       I never waste my time to write into silly newspaper columnists but on this occasion I can’t stop myself. Just who do you think you are, advising someone to leave his steady job to start up his own business when he has young kids and a crippling mortgage? Follow your dreams, my arse! We aren’t all rich like you in your designer clothes and fancy restaurants! You wouldn’t know an honest day’s work if it stared you in the face!

       Anonymous

      I move along and try to digest some of them but today’s inbox goes from the sublime to the ridiculous, even more than usual. The typical affair dilemmas, minor money problems and a host of unrequited love dilemmas go in one ear and out the other, as well as the normal criticisms from people like ‘Anonymous’ who have no idea of what I’m like in real life. Rich? Asset rich now that I’ve inherited this crumbling four-storey terraced townhouse that has seen better days, but which is costing me a fortune to run on my own. Hardworking? You bet I am. I worked my ass off to get where I am today and no one can ever say it was easy. I feel my skin prickle with anxiety at the ignorance of the world sometimes. Why can’t we just be nicer to each other? Is it really that difficult? No wonder I try and shut real people out when they get under my skin.

      I open one more.

       Dear Ruth,

       I’m not even sure you can help me, but I’ll give it a go and just say what I want to say to someone, to anyone who will listen. I’m married, I have a two-year-old son, we have a happy home and to the outside world I have everything, so why do I feel like there is something missing?

       Everything I do is for them and there are days when I just want to run away from it all and do something just for me. I talk to myself; I actually talk to myself because most of the time I don’t feel like my husband is listening to me. We converse, but I know my words and thoughts are going in through one ear and out the other as he is always so tired and irritable these days or else blankly scrolling through his phone! At work, I don’t seem to fit in and everyone is so busy with their own lives that I am too afraid to rock the boat and suggest a drink or a coffee or to share lunch someday.

       My husband has been made redundant and financially we don’t know if we can afford to have a Christmas at all as my wages only scrape the surface of our bills. I am so afraid, but I guess deep down, what I’m really feeling is that I’m very lonely in all this. What on earth can I do? How on earth can I get through Christmas with no money, no one to talk to and no support from anyone?

       I just feel so alone and nobody knows. Please help me.

       Yours,

       Molly Flowers

      I blink back tears as I read Molly’s words and almost choke on my attempt to reply, because I totally understand where she is in her mind right now. Isn’t it funny how we can be surrounded by people and look like we have it all, yet behind closed doors we feel like we are trapped on a desert island where no one can hear you scream? I totally understand, Molly.

      I’ll get back to those I have marked for responses later . . . But for now I close down the laptop and rub my weary eyes. Today is going to be a tough one and I just can’t face other people’s problems at the moment. In fact, I don’t know if I will ever be

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