Goodbye Ruby Tuesday

Esme blinked at him, ‘Why are you so mean to Auntie Evie?’ She tilted her glasses to look up at him severely, a move she must have picked up from a seventy-year-old school teacher. ‘You know, Danny in my class, Danny Simpson not Danny Cambio, well he was mean to me for a long time. He kept pulling my hair and calling me names and then his friend Freddie said it was because he wanted me to be his girlfriend!’ She fixed Killian with a steely glare, ‘Do you want Auntie Evie to be your girlfriend?’

The look of shock on Killian’s face was replaced, just for a millisecond, with a grin. His lips pulled up at the edges as he looked at Evie in disbelief, two adults witnessing this child’s unintentional hilarity. And then the moment passed; he coughed, physically shook the smile away and marched off back to his studio.

Esme frowned, ‘He’s a strange man.’

‘Yes, yes he is.’ Evie agreed, ‘Is there a reason you insist on believing that he’s in love with someone and that’s why he’s mean?’

‘Because no one’s just mean for no reason,’ Esme said, exasperated by having to explain the obvious things in life to her clueless aunt. ‘Except Nanny, but I think that’s the peach schnapps. It doesn’t love her back.’

Evie bit her lip, scanning the child’s face, ‘Esme…’

The little face grinned up at her, ‘I’m being cheeky, aren’t I?’

Evie laughed, ‘Yes, yes you are. And sadly, sometimes people are just mean.’

‘I don’t believe that; did you do something to make that man hate you?’

‘No! You’ve been here every time I’ve seen him!’ Evie laughed, ‘Besides, what could I have done?’

‘You told Uncle Nigel you didn’t want to marry him and that made him hate you. Maybe Killian wants to marry you?’

Evie closed her eyes briefly, trying to find the strength, or just something that made sense.

‘Nigel doesn’t hate me, he was just sad,’ she lied.

‘He told Mum you were a flaky bitch,’ Esme said, too innocently.

Evie raised an eyebrow, ‘Don’t think you can swear just because you’re being a gossip. Nigel was sad, and Killian doesn’t want us changing too much of his life. That’s all. Now, do you want to stay here discussing weird men, or go out so I can buy you pretty things?’

‘Pretty things,’ Esme said instantly.

‘Good, let’s go.’ Please let her always be at an age where I can bribe her out of having awkward conversations about boys.

The next few hours were spent in Camden Market, finding material, trinkets, paints, blankets and the odd piece of furniture. Evie watched her goddaughter as her eyes lit up, intrigued to know what things were, what they felt like, where they came from.

Evie’s final purchase of the day was a knee-high lantern with each window pane a different colour glass. Esme had ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ for so long that Evie had arched an eyebrow and asked if she was auditioning for something. But of course, she’d bought it for her anyway. She’d long since realised spoiling a kid was a lot more fun than spoiling herself. There was a lot less guilt attached too.

By the time Mollie came back to the flat that evening, eyes tired and smelling of yeast and butter, at least parts of the flat had been transformed. Three huge bowls of spaghetti bolognese sat on a newly erected dining table, along with a bottle of red and two glasses, and a glass of Ribena for Esme. Little tea lights warmed the still mostly empty flat, but it seemed a lot more homely somehow.

‘Mum, Mum!’ Esme grabbed Mollie’s hand and dragged her through the flat, ‘You’ve got to see what we found!’

‘What we made!’ Evie corrected, winking.

‘A secret room! My room!’

Mollie frowned, looked at Evie and then shrugged, letting herself be dragged through the flat. They stooped through the little door; the space inside was beautiful. There was a fluffy purple rug in the corner, next to an old bookcase they’d found in a second-hand shop and lugged back with considerable difficulty. The window had a bead curtain, parted in the middle, rustling purples and reds and pinks in the breeze, giving the room a warm glow. The lantern in the corner glowed too, highlighted by the purple fluffy fairy lights strung around the room, and a patchwork purple duvet on the floor where the bed would be.

‘Still a work in progress,’ Evie said, ‘we only found it this morning.’

‘It’s wonderful!’ Mollie said, looking with wonder at her daughter, who seemed to have gained four new facial expressions since she’d left her sleeping that morning. Pure joy and unadulterated excitement being two of them.

They blew out the candles and moved into the living room to eat, Esme still chattering away about all the things she was going to put in her room.

This could work, Evie realised. Her and Mollie and Esme, making Ruby’s legacy mean something. Making sure Ruby’s singing career was more than an empty party with some sparkle alongside the drama. They could build what she had always wanted: a safe space for people to create. Where no one was excluded. No one was too weird or too plain or too common; like they’d been when they were younger. Chelsea was missing, though, a necessary part of the trio. Evie had always been the ideas person, and Mollie was a grafter, but Chelsea got shit done. She handled people so well they barely noticed, and when she strong-armed them, they gave in through sheer exhaustion. Without her, Evie feared they wouldn’t make it at all. She’d try to see Chelsea, try to get her on board. Find some smidgen of something they had in common now that they were completely different people. If that was even possible.

***

‘Here,’ Ruby threw her a chocolate bar, a Wispa Gold, her favourite. Evie frowned at her.

‘What’s this for?’

‘I saw you beat the shit out of your locker this morning,’ Ruby shrugged, walking in step, ‘you going to the art rooms?’

Evie’s lips were a thin line, ‘It’s too wet to go out onto the field and scream.’

‘Can I tag along?’

‘Depends if you’re going to try and make me talk about my feelings and shit, because as much as that quack of a guidance counsellor – who, by the way, hasn’t even got a counselling degree, she’s just too emotionally damaged to bother working anywhere else, so got a job here as soon as she finished school –’ Evie took a breath, feeling the anger build up again. ‘… As much as she says I need to go to another workshop on anger management, I kind of think that’s bullshit.’

‘Total bullshit,’ Ruby nodded and Evie looked at her witheringly. ‘What?’

‘Stop agreeing with me just to show you’re on my side.’

Ruby held up her hands as if she was being held at gun point, ‘I am on your side. I also think that woman hasn’t got a clue. And I think anger’s useful.’

They pushed through the doors to the art room, letting them swing heavily behind them. Evie sat on the same stool as she had that first day she’d met Ruby, and Ruby sat on the windowsill – long legs hanging, the holes showing on her black dolly shoes, getting out a bottle of nail polish to dab on the ladder on her tights. She only had bright pink.

Evie was quiet, drawing frantically, and they sat like that for ten minutes. Ruby was silent as she tried to fix her tights, and then started blotting nail polish on a piece of paper, attempting to make a pattern. She knew Evie didn’t like to talk at times like this. Eventually she heard the rustle of a gold chocolate wrapper, and when she looked up Evie was delicately nibbling at the end of the chocolate bar, looking at her.

‘Sorry I’m such a bitch.’

‘Good thing you’re an artist – no one puts up with bullshit like this from accountants or people who work at Burger King.’ Ruby grinned, ‘Give me some of that?’

Evie broke off a chunk and chucked it at her.

‘So… your dad’s back?’

Evie stilled, then took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘Yup.’

‘And?’

‘And… that man really pisses me off.’

‘Shocking that the guidance counsellor hasn’t made the connection. It’s pretty damn obvious.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Evie snorted, ‘who doesn’t love a good cliché? She mumbled some bullshit about attachment theory and Freud and then asked me if I ever felt confused about my sexuality.’

Ruby made a ‘that was a mistake’ face, ‘Oh boy. And what did you say?’

‘I said I was confused about whether her degree was one of those images that already comes as a background to a frame in IKEA, and maybe she should think about actually cracking open a psychology book before slamming me with her mumbo jumbo.’

‘Detention?’

‘Nope,’ she grinned, ‘that’s the beauty of it. Anything said in there is “an authentic expression of my feelings”… can’t get in trouble for being authentic.’

‘Hmm, think I’m going to use that next time I want to slap Nicki Bridwell in the face.’

Evie tilted her head and Ruby shrugged. ‘Started going off about kids in care, and how we’re all fucked up.’

‘Want me to slam her head into a locker?’

‘Nah,’ Ruby twitched her nose, ‘I’m not that bothered about it. I think I might just tempt her boyfriend into leaving her and then let them sit in the wreckage of it all.’

‘You never do things the simple way, do you? It’s never just telling people how you feel.’

Ruby smiled, ‘Now where would be the fun in that?’

***

The next afternoon they were summoned to the Glass residence. Well, that’s how it felt. In reality, Evelyn Glass, their new landlady, wanted to invite them to afternoon tea to celebrate their arrival in London.

Evie was nervous for some reason, dawdling as she walked with Esme ten minutes down the road, hands swinging back and forth as the houses seemed to get bigger and more grand. Esme’s eyes got wider as she took in stained glass windows, huge metal gates fencing off properties bigger than she’d ever seen before. She gripped Evie’s hand tighter.

‘So why is this lady asking us to her house?’ Esme frowned, looking at the houses with suspicion.

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