A. Michael - Goodbye Ruby Tuesday

‘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?

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.’