Goodbye Ruby Tuesday

‘Nope, you don’t,’ Ruby kissed her cheek and squeezed her close, ‘so shut up and go with it.’

***

The studio sat on a little courtyard off a main street in Camden. They’d driven down the high street a few times, getting lost, but Evie didn’t mind because she could feel Esme’s excitement. The little girl was glued to the window, nose pushed up against the glass, her mouth in a little ‘o’.

‘Mummy! Look! Their hair is purple! Look!’

‘Ez, don’t point!’ Mollie hissed.

‘But can you see?!’

‘Yes, I can see!’ she grumbled, ‘Very cool.’

‘Why are the holes in their ears so big? I can see right through to their necks!’ Esme said in awe, with a hint of disgust.

‘It’s done on purpose,’ Evie supplied, thinking of a boy she’d kissed at a party at uni, and an unfortunate incident where her rings had got caught in his piercings. She’d stopped dating arty boys after that. Too much mess.

‘Do they use a hole punch?’ Esme asked, ‘To make the earring hole?’

‘I doubt it,’ Mollie sighed, looking for a distraction from the conversation, ‘Look Ez, the market!’

Eventually, they found the little side street that led to the courtyard, the street sign reading ‘Camden Square’. They pulled up on the pavement, taking in the large houses surrounding the trees clustered in a little square, edging the bedraggled lawn in the centre. It was pretty but unkempt, which Evie found comforting.

The building was Victorian, whitewashed with purple flowers arching across it. The main feature was a huge red door with delicate gold filigree flower patterns repeating over and over. It had a faintly Chinese look, and stood out next to the pretty, but very proper, houses that surrounded it.

Esme let out a low whistle, her eyes wide. ‘Is this it? This is where we’re going to live?’

‘Doesn’t look dingy,’ Evie shrugged, reaching for the key.

‘Let’s get inside before we assess that,’ Mollie said, pursing her lips.

Evie got out the huge, ancient key that had been sitting in the envelope Ruby gave them, a red satin ribbon threaded through the top. It was almost a joke – the key looked like it belonged to a secret garden somewhere, not an old studio.

The lock clicked heavily, and Evie pushed on the door, which was lighter than expected and squeaked slightly. The room was cool and dark, and the sight that greeted them wasn’t unpleasant. The room was large, painted white with dark hardwood floors. Evelyn had said it used to be a photography studio, and Ruby apparently hadn’t done much to change it. Photographs from the original owner were still hung up, marginally dusty but beautiful nonetheless – black and white prints of classy women, the glitz and glamour of martini glasses and cigarette smoke; the men with hair slicked back, raising a knowing eyebrow at the camera. It made Evie a little homesick for a time before her own.

The room was bare, except for a maroon chaise longue in the corner on top of a black, fluffy rug. It had very little natural light, only two windows, but it was bright and friendly enough.

To Evie, it hummed with possibility. If she squinted, she could see people lounging with books, sitting up intently during workshops, making things. She could visualise yoga mats on the floor, or a row of little sour-faced ballerinas reacting to Chelsea’s stern guidance. If Chelsea even wanted to be involved; it hadn’t really been clear. Evie had the distinct feeling that Chelsea didn’t want them here, like her London life was separate and special, and there wasn’t enough room for everyone to achieve their dreams in the capital. Evie shook the thoughts away and turned to Esme, who was frowning at a picture of a pouting blonde with smoke escaping from between dark, luscious lips.

‘What do you think, kid?’

‘It’s… okay.’

Evie frowned, and Mollie shrugged.

‘I think the books should go by the funny sofa,’ Esme said soberly, before launching herself across the room and jumping on the chaise longue. She let out a squeak as she bounced. ‘Not as soft as it looks!’

They wandered into the kitchen, which led through to a conservatory, sunlight streaming in through the old vines that twisted up against the glass like a desperate lover. The heat was stifling, but the bright fuchsia flowers in the overgrown garden made the whole thing feel like a glass orb slowly being reclaimed by nature.

‘Can’t you see people having afternoon tea in here?’ Evie grinned at Mollie, ‘Or wine, maybe listening to some poetry or live music?’

She could see it, clear as anything, but somehow the dream felt a little too vivid, almost scary in its possibility. But this was for Ruby, and they weren’t going to run.

‘It’s like a greenhouse.’ Mollie pulled at the neck of her t-shirt, ‘But yes, if we get some fans, or find a way to ventilate it, I can’t see why not. The kitchen is pretty workable too.’

They walked back through to the main studio, wondering where the entrance to the flat even was. Evie crossed the room, found a door, and behind that, a narrow, steep staircase and another door. Which opened.

‘Holy shit!’ Evie said as the doorknob twisted, and felt her heartbeat slow with the sounds of someone unlocking the door from the other side. Of course, the carpenter guy Evelyn had mentioned. Calm the hell down.

The door swung open to reveal a man frowning at her. He was mid-thirties, or thereabouts, his dark hair peppered with the tiniest hint of grey. His stubble remained dark, however, and his eyes were a shocking light blue, looking at her with disdain. He was muscular, but Evie berated herself – obviously, he was a carpenter. His black t-shirt fit too well, and his jeans hung low on his hips. It was a good thing he wasn’t smiling, Evie thought to herself. He looked like a bad boy. Just her type. Well, her type since she’d finished with the art school hippie boys, all angular elbows and hips, living in clothes made of hemp, not bathing for weeks in the name of ‘authenticity’. This man was…. well, a man. Ruby had definitely slept with him.

‘Hi, we’re –’ Evie put out her hand, assuming his frown would soften in response to her smile. It didn’t.

‘The cavalry, I know. You’re the creative genius who’s going to save this place and make it into a special magical space for everyone.’

His mouth was a thin line, and his voice mocked her.

‘Most days I go by Evie. It’s shorter.’ She rolled her eyes, ‘And you are?’

‘Killian.’

‘The grumpy carpenter. Got it,’ her eyes sparkled as his frown deepened. ‘This is Mollie and her daughter Esme.’

Killian grunted and nodded, his lips briefly quirking up at the sight of Esme squinting at him like he was a unicorn. But just as quickly, his eyes returned to Evie, and that glare returned.

‘So listen, just so no one gets confused – this door…’ he tapped the frame ‘… goes to my workshop. I don’t do distractions. I don’t want to be involved in what you’re doing here, I don’t want tea, I don’t want to get my kumbayas out with whatever ridiculousness you’re doing in the space. I’m here to work.’

Evie could feel her blood boil as Mollie’s mouth dropped into an ‘o’, but she just smiled. Keeping her cool. She’d been to enough of those anger management classes – something had to eventually stick. And the manly carpenter was not going to piss her off. She had a dream and a goal, and Ruby had given her this place.

‘Evelyn said she was sure we’d get along just fine… learn to compromise.’

‘Compromise?’ His dark brow furrowed, and in her head, ridiculously, Evie imagined him playing Hamlet, all broody and outraged, stalking across a stage dressed in black.

‘When it comes to noise, if we… when we have events on… well, it won’t work to have drilling or banging or whatever it is you do.’

Killian’s lips quirked, and he learned on the doorframe. ‘Well, in that case, I’ll give you a list of my working hours and you can work around me.’

‘Um… excuse me?’ Esme put up her hand like she was in class, and stepped forward.

‘Yes?’ Killian answered, bemused.

‘I think you may need to look up compromise in the dictionary, because that’s not what it means.’

The carpenter’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at Evie, ‘Is she being funny?’

‘She’s ten,’ she rolled her eyes ‘her sense of sarcasm hasn’t been cultivated yet.’

‘She’s just pedantic, honest,’ Mollie supplied helplessly, putting her hands on Esme’s shoulders, as if she was afraid Killian was about to launch himself at her daughter.

‘I was using the word compromise ironically,’ he said stiffly, directing his answer to Esme.

‘Nope, that’s not what that means either.’ The ten-year-old crossed her arms after adjusting her glasses. ‘I think you’re just being grumpy so you can be grumpy. And that’s no fun at all.’

‘Kid’s got a point, Grumpy Pants. What did we ever do to you?’ Evie countered, arms crossed to match her goddaughter.

‘I don’t want things changing. I’ve got a good place to work and I intend to keep it. Evelyn’s a good woman, and I don’t want this place getting screwed, and her along with it, just because some dead diva with an attitude problem said her friends could use the space.’

Screw anger management. Evie felt her jaw drop this time. Usually in these situations she’d see red, and she had to admit there was a little ruby fuzz clouding the edge of her vision, but that may have been a blood vessel popping from the shock. Dead diva! What a bastard.

Evie breathed deeply, in through the nose, out through the mouth, listening for the rasp of air at the back of her throat. She clenched her eyes shut and imagined those words soaring away on a breeze.

‘What’s she doing?’ The arsehole’s voice permeated her calm.

‘Auntie Evie has rage blackouts. She’s working through them though, right Mum?’

Mollie grinned at Killian, eyes narrowing, ‘Right, baby.’

Killian threw up his hands, cried ‘Bloody lunatics!’ and stormed off, slamming his door behind him. Evie opened one eye to make sure he was gone.

‘You have to do that every time he says anything mean to you!’ Mollie laughed, clutching her stomach.

‘Which I imagine, from that charming interaction, is going to be a lot.’ Evie grinned, ‘What an arse!’

‘You might want to change your inflection – that sounded like a compliment,’ Mollie smirked.

‘That was a horrible thing that man said about Aunt Ruby,’ Esme said sternly, looking at the closed door with a furrowed brow ‘do you think he was in love with her?’

Mollie and Evie blinked and looked at each other, shocked at the little girl’s perceptive skills, but also scared about what that might mean. And just how possible it was.

‘Why would you say that, baby?’ Mollie asked, stroking a hand over Esme’s silky hair.

‘Boys are mean when they love you. That’s what the girls at school say. And all those movies.’ Esme shrugged, sighing at the terrible facts of life. Mollie looked horrified, and Evie made a face, ‘Hun, if someone’s horrible to you, it’s because they’re horrible. They can’t use love as an excuse. Maybe that man did love Aunt Ruby, but when you really love someone, you’re not horrible to them, okay?’

Esme shrugged, ‘Sure.’

‘I wish parenting would come with a bloody handbook about how to undo the sh–’ Mollie swerved, ‘silly things society teaches kids.’

‘Hey, we’ve fallen for it too.’ Evie shrugged, looking up at the narrow staircase, ‘So we’ve already met the troll under the bridge – how bad can it be?’

Two flights of winding, cramped stairs that seemed to get more uneven as you walked up, the threadbare carpet coming unstuck beneath their feet, and they were in the flat.

Apart from a faintly musty smell, it had a lot going for it. Light streamed through large bay windows, and there were skylights to enhance the effect. Whilst furniture was sparse, it was good quality. A solid coffee table and creamy sofa that Esme immediately sunk into. The kitchen had a breakfast bar, and each bedroom had beds with solid wooden bed frames. The bigger room had a four-poster bed with gauzy blue fabric floating from each corner, and Evie watched as Esme’s eyes widened with glee. The second room was even more sparse – a low bed set in a frame, close to the floor, that seemed to be made of pallets, sanded down until they seemed solid. Evie imagined the room with hanging canopies, and tea lights on the pallet edges, fairy lights beneath them. She could make this place magical.

‘So, what do we think? Can we make this home?’ she asked Esme and Mollie.

‘What do you think, Ez?’ Mollie directed the question at her daughter, anxious and unsure.

Esme beamed, ‘As long as we get the magical princess bed, this is going to be wonderful.’

***

The rest of the day passed quickly enough, lugging their furniture up the narrow staircase, unpacking and rearranging. Evie was shocked to find how few possessions she actually had. But there was her duvet cover on the bed, material draped from the huge bay window and, in the corner, a little table set up as her work station – her toolbox painted with purple glitter nail polish. It looked like a sixteen-year-old girl lived here; but she grinned, because that meant a trip to Camden Market for more pretty things. Esme would love it.

They found a stash of takeaway menus in the drawer and ordered pizza. Mollie had phoned Chelsea to invite her, but it went straight to voicemail. Evie stopped herself from commenting, just barely. It was starting to feel very much like Chelsea didn’t have time for them or Ruby. But that wasn’t much of a surprise, seeing as they hadn’t tried to get in contact with her for years. Maybe her life was exactly how she liked it.

Evie pounded down the stairs to get the pizza, and as she returned she paused outside Killian’s door, preparing herself for the treacherous climb up the stairs. Through the door she could hear the faint strum of Metallica. What was that guy’s problem? Usually people got to know her before she pissed them off. Like when a guy chases you for three years, knows you’re a selfish bitch, and then gets upset when you don’t want to marry him. That was usually how she upset people. Well, how she upset Nigel. Continuously. For many, many years. In general, she knew she was an ‘acquired taste’; she could be aggressively passionate about things, a little too focused, a little too desperate to get things done. She was not everybody’s cup of tea, she knew that. But damn, it wasn’t nice when someone disliked you for no reason. But maybe Killian was just a grouchy arsehole. Or maybe, it was about Ruby. Esme’s comment circled her brain – would Ruby have fallen for Killian? The connections listed by the tabloids usually included boyband members and reality TV celebrities. Could she have loved a carpenter from North London? Probably not. For Ruby, love was a stepping stone, not a place you stayed. But a man loving Ruby, and her enjoying the attention until she found something better? Well, that was Ruby all over.

Maybe she should be nice to Killian, maybe he was grieving and confused too. Or maybe, just maybe, he was an arsehole, and she had enough problems to deal with. She had to build this place in a couple of months, before Mollie could realise there was not quite as much money or time as she’d thought.

As she thundered up the stairs with the Veggie Supreme Esme had insisted on (she could now be a vegetarian as she was out of her grandma’s turkey twizzler clutches), Evie realised that everything she had ever wanted was completely possible. And as they sat on the floor of their new flat, making plans and laughing, Evie imagined Ruby with them, believing anything was possible.

Chapter Four

‘Don’t get used to it, and don’t tell your mum,’ Evie grinned at her goddaughter as she handed her cold pizza for breakfast. Esme shrugged and raised an eyebrow, taking a delicate bite as if to check there were no consequences. She chewed and nodded.

‘Once, when Mum had an audition in London, Nanny gave me Pop-Tarts for dinner and told me not to tell.’

‘That sounds great,’ Evie shrugged, ‘I’d love to have Pop-Tarts for dinner, but when you’re an adult you start to feel guilty about that kind of stuff.’

‘The worst one was definitely the tin of sweetcorn and half a Mars bar,’ Esme rolled her eyes. ‘I’d said to Nanny a Mars bar wasn’t nutritious so she gave me a tin of sweetcorn and told me to stop being such a belladonna.’

‘Prima donna,’ Evie corrected with a frown. ‘Why didn’t you tell your mum?’

‘Because she’d stop going to auditions and then we’d never leave Nanny’s.’ Esme looked uncomfortable for a brief moment, but took off her glasses to clean them on the bottom of her t-shirt, ‘Doesn’t matter anyway, we’re here now.’

Evie wasn’t really sure how to handle this information, and decided the best course of action was to make Esme love her new home. She’d known living with Linda had never been the best of times; the woman had always been a pushy, loud drunk. But she’d managed to raise Mollie, who was sweet and kind and loving. Whatever she’d done, Evie had assumed Esme felt loved at home. But maybe they’d all been waiting for an escape. Ruby included. She’d got her escape, and then she’d passed it on to them. And Evie wasn’t going to waste it.

‘Well, seeing as your mum’s got her first shift at the new branch, I think you and I should properly look at this place and see what it needs to make it a home. What do you think?’

An hour or so passed with them walking around, Esme intent with her little notebook and pen, scribbling down every idea. A patchwork bedspread, a beanbag, plates with sunflowers on them. Anything they could think of to make it ‘theirs’. Things they didn’t even know existed.

They walked into Mollie and Esme’s room, looking at the tatty brown wardrobe up against the wall in disappointment.

‘It’s really ugly,’ Esme twitched her nose.

‘Maybe we could paint it? Put some flowers on it?’ Even Evie was doubtful, unable to visualise the awful cupboard being anything other than old-fashioned and vile. ‘What if we moved it over by the window? It’ll be out of the way at least.’

Esme shrugged, and together they started to push the huge thing across the floor. It squeaked as it scratched the floorboards and Evie winced, worried about the state of the wood. There less than a day and they were damaging things.

‘Evie! Evie!’ The little girl pointed as she did a little hop of excitement, pausing to push her glasses up. ‘Look, look!’

Where the cupboard had been was a doorway, small with a wooden panelled door. It looked like something out of Alice in Wonderland, and Evie had to bend to reach the brass doorknob.

Please don’t be full of dead bodies, please, please, Evie closed her eyes briefly, then twisted the handle, pushing the door open firmly. The room was normal, apart from its low ceiling and small door. Esme walked through comfortably, her little face lit up in wonder. At the far end of the room was a long window, and Esme peered down to the courtyard where the car was parked.

‘A secret room!’ She clapped her hands.

‘Better than that, Ez – your secret room!’ Evie squeezed her little shoulders, ‘You don’t have to share with your mum any more, you’ve got a room of your own!’

Esme launched herself at Evie in a rare show of affection. So often Esme seemed otherworldly, strangely aware for a ten-year-old, like she was too smart for all these silly emotional adults. But now she was just a kid who had a real home.

‘Thank you for bringing us here,’ she mumbled, her hands clamped around Evie’s waist. ‘I’m sad Ruby died but I’m glad we get to be here. It’s like you’re my godmother and Ruby’s my fairy godmother.’

Evie didn’t like to point out that if Ruby had lived to be an honorary auntie, she would have been the one who gave Ez terrible advice about boys, taught her how to smoke without Mollie knowing, and generally would have caused trouble. But still, the idea made Evie smile – Ruby Tuesday in her sparkly green corset, red hair gleaming as she waved her wand and granted wishes. Glinda the Good Witch, and Ruby the Rebel Fairy. It was a nice picture.

She grabbed Esme’s hand, ‘Well I may only be your boring, regular godmother, but I think we should go down to Camden Market and buy lots of beautiful things to make your secret room truly special.’

Esme grinned, then faltered, ‘But that might be expensive and Mum says–’

Evie held up her hand, remembering her own fears when she was Esme’s age, that everything she wanted was always more than her mother could afford, and she’d never wanted to make her mum feel guilty. She was not going to see Esme do the same.

‘Yes, but what if your fairy godmother left a little Esme-stash of money? Ruby wanted everything beautiful and sparkling all the time. It seems only fitting.’ It was a lie, but it was a white lie. Just for once, she wanted to be able to give Esme everything she wanted, and Ruby was a way to do that.

Esme’s smile was a beautiful thing, the little dimples that puckered her cheeks, and the way she pulled at her ponytail when embarrassed. Unless she was being given books, Esme wasn’t really sure how to react when she received things. Evie was desperate to make sure the kid knew that you could own things that were pretty and absolutely pointless. She felt it her mission in Esme’s life – to ensure she was surrounded by beautiful, impractical things – although she wasn’t sure why.

They chattered as they clunked down the stairs, almost matching in their jeans and t-shirts, but Esme’s bright blonde curls and dark rimmed glasses meant no one could ever mistake her for Evie’s child. Evie was a double of her own mother, huge dark curly hair, skin that tanned at the barest kiss of the sun, and dark brown eyes that often turned black when you were a source of irritation.

‘You know what would be cool?’ Esme said as they walked through the gallery, ‘A little place to sit by the window, so I could read my books.’

‘A window seat!’ Evie agreed, her mind already sketching out the plans, ‘With some bookshelves underneath for storage, and a beautiful cushion on top in whatever colour you want! I’m sure I could make that for you, Ez!’ She patted her keys in her jeans pocket as they passed the kitchen.

‘You’re going to build a window seat?’ Killian’s voice from behind them was mocking, and when she turned he had his arms crossed, leaning back against the doorframe.

‘Oh so you do leave your hovel occasionally,’ she rolled her eyes ‘how lucky for us.’

‘Sorry, maybe I didn’t get the inflection right,’ Killian ignored her, ‘you’re going to build a window seat.’

‘So what?’ Evie shrugged, ‘I’m a designer, I make things.’

‘Jewellery. Evelyn said you made jewellery.’ His tone was really starting to piss her off, and that shit-eating grin wasn’t helping either. Like he knew he was getting to her.

‘Oh well, tiny intricate details, great honking bits of wood – there’s a difference?’ Evie lightened her voice, assuming an airhead persona.

‘Well, it’s hard work. Playing with some buttons and calling it art is hardly taxing, is it?’ Killian grinned at her, running a hand over his dark stubble. He was wearing a black t-shirt covered in dust, and jeans that had natural tears in them. Damn, but she enjoyed the bad boy thing. Give her a kind, loving man she could take home to her mother, and she’d still end up kissing the moody bartender who’d refused to give her a discount and would never call. There was something safe about having low expectations. Or none at all.

‘Talk to me in two weeks when we’ve completely turned this place around,’ she shrugged, smiling evenly, ‘I’m sure all that noise and action won’t disturb you.’

‘And what if it does?’

‘Well, it’s very, very lucky that I don’t care, isn’t it?’ she grinned, ushering Esme towards the door.

‘I can make your life very difficult, you know,’ Killian growled, and that just made Evie grin even more. No great comebacks from the so wise and powerful arsehole?