Ruby McGuire

You’ve always been there, ever since I was a baby. You’ve been with me through it all. From London to France to Wales to Suffolk to Cambridge to Hastings, all these places I’ve lived, you’ve never missed a moment. When Grandad and I took that ferry across the Mersey, my grubby hand in his, I wonder if he knew that I’d never forget it. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt – and now the t-shirt sits on you, filthy but fitting perfectly. I’ve cried salty tears into your rough fur. If I licked you I think I could still taste them. I’ve even kissed you, my inexperienced teen mouth practicing on yours. I’ve showed you off – do you know how old he is? I’d boast loudly. He’s 27!

I want to say that you feel soft, but you don’t, not really, not anymore. I’m sure you did once, but the years have worn you down and you feel rough to the touch. It just means you’ve been doing your job. You smell of my childhood. You’ve never been washed – at least not to my knowledge. Maybe mum took you while I was sleeping and stuck you in the washing machine. I wonder if I’d be able to tell. We’re a team, you and me. And now you have a new job to do, a new baby to comfort, a new childhood to fill. I just know he’s gonna love you.