Читать книгу Goodbye Ruby Tuesday - A. L. Michael - Страница 11

Chapter One

When Evie Rodriguez woke that morning and put on her smartest black dress and oversized dark sunglasses, she did not think she would end her day sitting in a damp deck chair with a four-pack of cheap lager hanging from her fingertips. That said, maybe she should have.

She had already wrestled another two chairs from the shed, the lock still broken after all this time. Droplets of sweat ran from her hairline down her neck and the bridge of her nose was burning in the sunshine, but she refused to move. It was a test, of sorts. And she had to believe that they’d come.

***

‘Did you know her? Did you know Ruby?’

The little town of Badgeley had never seen such a commotion. At least, not since the X Factor tour bus broke down on the way to Milton Keynes in 2007. The little stone church, which had stood in the middle of the town for centuries, was guarded by police for the first time in history. The paparazzi didn’t seem to care, snapping away, taking pictures of the mourners, and Evie twitched her lips as she noticed some of her old classmates playing it up for the cameras. The gossip queens daubing dramatically at their dry eyes, talking about what an inspiration Ruby was. The rugby boys playing it up, grinning at the cameras. They wanted the world to think that they knew the legend that was Ruby Tuesday. And it was all a lie.

Evie adjusted her sunglasses and ran a hand through her curly dark hair. She could not get angry today. She had lots to be angry about; these stupid people pretending they knew her friend, the journalists showing no respect… and the fact that Ruby was gone. She was pretty angry about that all by itself. But she had promised her mother that she wouldn’t be bad today. Evie would show up, mourn her old friend and go back to her life. That was it.

She walked quickly into the church, which was already heaving with strangers. Ruby had only had a handful of friends in Badgeley. She was a troublemaker. A firecracker. Whatever else they wanted to call a young girl with red hair who didn’t do what people expected. The rest were just there for the drama of it all, to say they were there on the day that the superstar Ruby Tuesday was buried. Evie closed her eyes briefly, feeling the cool air in the church soften her nerves just a little. She saw her mother up in a pew near the front, beckoning her, her dark hair shaking with the movement.

‘How are you, my darling?’ Maria Rodriguez stroked her daughter’s cheek, scanning her face for a trace of something. Instead all she found was a blank mask.

‘I’m fine.’

‘She was your friend, you’re not fine,’ her mother insisted.

Evie shrugged, ‘She was my friend ten years ago, and only for a little while.’ Her voice didn’t shake but she refused to take off her sunglasses.

‘I’m surprised your father didn’t make it,’ her mother said softly, a look of disappointment gracing her features briefly.

‘Why?’ Evie tried to keep the malice from her voice, hissing a little in the church.

‘Because he always liked Ruby. He thought she was talented. He always said she’d be famous.’

And he’d want to be here to cash in on the chump reporters offering a few hundred quid for a story about her when she was younger. Evie bit her lip and said nothing, shrugging. Thank goodness he hadn’t turned up. There were enough people making money out of Ruby’s memory today. She couldn’t handle Bill being one of them.

She heard people quieten, almost felt them as they turned around in their pews to look at whoever had walked in. Was it one of Ruby’s famous boyfriends? Someone off EastEnders or from a boyband? A few of them were dotted about the front rows, heads down, dark glasses on. Evie turned, hating herself for caring. Instead she saw Chelsea, and a wry smile appeared on her face against her will.

Chelsea Donolly had shocked them all. Growing up like Evie and Ruby on the estate, everyone was convinced she’d amount to nothing. Maybe because her mother was a nasty piece of work and her stepdad had some dodgy business dealings. Maybe because she used to pull back her striped blonde hair into a tight ponytail and wear huge hoop earrings. Chelsea had a way of raising an eyebrow and jutting her hip that made you want to shit yourself with fear. That much hadn’t changed at least.

She waltzed in. Her hair was beautiful, a razor sharp platinum bob, her expensive black shift dress fitted tightly, and the red soles of her Louboutins screamed ‘local girl done good’. Evie wasn’t sure if Chelsea was trying to compete with their dead friend in that way. Chelsea scanned the rows for a space; and zeroed in on Evie, a half smile gracing her lips as she nodded. The last time she’d seen Chelsea was just before they’d gone their separate ways – Evie had gone to art college, and Chelsea was off to Oxford, desperate to show the people in this town that she was better than they knew.

A little part of Evie wasn’t sure if she hated her for that. If it was jealousy or failure speaking, she didn’t know. All she knew was that the woman in the Louboutins was not the Chelsea Donolly she had grown up with.

Evie watched as Chelsea tilted her head, waiting for people to let her in to one of the pews. At least that action was recognisable. She slipped into a row with some of the older townspeople, most of whom had thought Ruby was a little shit. Chelsea’s eyes seemed to scan the crowd and Evie watched as her eyes settled on Mollie, who sat primly in her black smock, her long, golden hair tied neatly back in a ponytail. Her daughter Esme sat beside her, like a mini doll version of her mother. Chelsea widened her eyes and looked back at Evie, raising an eyebrow.

Evie nodded, yes, that’s her kid.

Shit, Chelsea’s eyes seemed to say, and Evie watched for signs of judgement. Chelsea simply put her dark glasses back on again and looked straight ahead.

So it began. The songs were slow and solemn. It was a perfect June day, and the light filtered in through the stained glass windows. The priest spoke about Ruby’s fire and her passion, which was funny because he’d called her the devil incarnate more than once. Especially that time Ruby had convinced them to sneak into the graveyard to look for ghosts, and he’d found them gathered around an old grave singing Led Zeppelin. Evie had thought the old man was going to have a coronary. They’d scattered, giggling and squealing, jumping the fence. Evie had faced the disappointed eyes of her very Catholic mother for that one.

Old Father Hypocrite droned on, even citing Ruby as a ‘lyrical genius’.

‘She made music that really said something, that reached out and touched people. I think we all sensed that when Ruby was a young girl here, she was reaching out. She always wanted to touch people.’

Evie tried not to snigger, biting her lip as she looked at Mollie, whose own mouth was twitching. Ruby had started her career as a burlesque dancer in London. The priest was making her sound like Mother Teresa. And as for the lyrics, well he’d obviously never heard her first number one hit: Atheist Sucker Punch.

The service went on, the heat of the day filtering in among the bodies, and Evie realised this really had nothing to do with her friend at all. Ruby’s foster parents, who she’d lived with for the two years she’d been in Badgeley, were obligated to do something. But they never really knew their charge. Then again, Evie thought, did she even know Ruby Tuesday? She knew Ruby Montgomery – the person who stole art supplies for her because she knew she couldn’t afford to go to the classes. The girl who flirted with every taken boy, just to see who was enough of an arsehole to forget about his girlfriend. The girl who brought together Evie, Mollie and Chelsea, three ‘bad girls from the estate’ who had never really been given a chance in their tiny town.

Evie remembered that they’d been sitting on the hill in the park, drinking cans of coke and chewing on pick’n’mix, doing their homework when Ruby pointed out ‘they’re always going to think you’re bad girls, no matter how good you are’. She’d gestured at the homework, ‘You may as well earn the title.’

They were never really that bad, Evie smirked, just a little… mischievous. Ruby was a terrible influence though. Those two years were the most fun they’d ever had. And then she was gone.

The music started, and the procession commenced. Evie’s eyes didn’t water, not even a little. Maybe because it didn’t feel real, or perhaps because already she could see the women around her adjusting their make-up, aware of the roar of the paparazzi outside. Ruby deserved more than this. If it was going to be a circus, it should at least be a splendid circus, one with drama and colour and craziness. Ruby would hate to think she was mourned without some sort of grandeur. She would have wanted girls wailing and boys shaking their heads, champagne corks popping and balloons being let off in her memory. Hilarious stories shared with loud, dirty laughter. She would have wanted to be celebrated.

They filed out quietly, emerging into the harsh sunlight, and immediately the cameras went off again – the journalists clamouring for a good story, desperately hoping for some pictures of tearful mourners. Evie would not give them the satisfaction.

‘Evelyn!’ a voice called out behind her, and she whipped round, unsure of who exactly had ever called her that name. It was Ruby’s foster mother. Evie had never learnt her name, she was just that sour-faced older woman who so often just sighed and shrugged as they carried on.

Her eyes were also dry, Evie noted, and her lips were a thin line. This was more about obligation than any real affection for Ruby. Ruby was dumped on them after the care system realised they existed. They never made her feel loved or appreciated, and at that moment Evie wanted to hate the stiff-lipped old woman with the deep frown lines.

She pushed a letter into Evie’s hands, ‘This was found with her things, I’m assuming it’s for you.’

Evie looked down at the letter, a pale pink envelope speckled with gold glitter, edged with Japanese style stickers of unicorns and crescent moons. In the middle, in bright blue ink, it simply said ‘For my girls’. It was heavy and lumpy, holding something far more than just words. She pressed her fingertips along the ridges.

‘Are you sure this is for us?’

The woman shrugged, ‘No one else claimed it. Plus, there’s initials on the back.’ She walked off without looking back, glaring at the camera men.

Evie flipped the envelope, and true enough, at the bottom right-hand corner, in tiny writing it said:

(E, C and M)

Well, that made it a bit more obvious.

Evie looked around for Mollie and Chelsea, but was being swarmed by people leaving the church, and the demands of the journalists were getting louder.

‘Did you know her? We’ll pay for a story!’

‘Bet all the boys swooned – any of you date her? Bet she was a saucy one, eh?’

Evie couldn’t stand it any longer, marching over to the loudest one, a cigarette hanging from his mouth as he looked at her eagerly.

‘Did you know Ruby, love? Wanna get in the papers?’

Evie pulled the cigarette from his mouth and stamped on it.

‘She was my friend. And now she’s dead. Show some fucking respect.’

She barged past him, ensuring he dropped his voice recorder on the ground. The swearing behind her was faint consolation.

Her mother looked over and raised an eyebrow. Evie lifted up her hands as if to say I didn’t touch him. Her mother shrugged. She had to get back to work anyway and Evie needed to move, get beyond the fakeness of all of this.

She walked intuitively, not even thinking about where she was going. She just got out of the churchyard, down the high street, and then she could breathe. She’d been working really hard on her anger issues; taking up kickboxing, mindfulness, anything to stop that flash of red when something happened. And today her friend was gone, and a stranger was being both idolised and crucified in the papers. She knew what they’d say – drug overdose, mysterious circumstances, money worries. A four-page spread on the latest member of the Twenty-Seven Club.

Evie walked into the corner shop, picked up the lager, threw down the cash and walked out, not up for the cashier’s comments about how ladies don’t drink beer. She trudged along the school fence until it turned into hedges, thick and overgrown. She counted three steps and turned left, poking an arm through a small gap in the hedge, sighing before she chucked the beers through and wiggled through after them.

‘No graceful way to do that,’ she said to herself, pulling twigs out of her hair and surveying the scratches down her arms.

The grass was dry and overgrown, a wasteland when it had once been an oasis.

She’d been sitting for about half an hour when the hedge rustled and Mollie fell through the gap in the bushes, ‘Ow! That was much harder than I remembered it being!’

She’d changed into her jeans and a black floaty top, her hair tied back into a loose blonde ponytail now. She had less of a Mother Teresa vibe now, but that could be the fact that she had twigs in her hair and was holding two bottles of pink Lambrini. Mollie rolled up into a seated position, arching like a cat, ‘Sorry about the bevvies but it’s all I could grab on my way out. Plus, it’s kind of fitting, right?’

That had been their drink of choice, when they first met Ruby and found The Oasis; Mollie would sneak out bottles of Lambrini, the only thing her mum was never bothered about. Later, Ruby would flutter her lashes and get some of the local boys to buy them stronger stuff, but Evie quite liked the innocence of those days. Four girls with oversized straws in a fizzy pink drink, spinning around and giggling about how the stars became shooting stars if you spun around long enough.

‘So, do you think she’ll come?’ Mollie asked, dumping the bottles next to the beer.

Evie shrugged, saying nothing.

‘She wouldn’t have bothered coming back if it didn’t mean something,’ Mollie said lightly, relaxing back into the ancient checked chair.

‘People change,’ was all that Evie said, her eyes focused on that gap in the hedge.

‘This place doesn’t though,’ Mollie shrugged. ‘You can’t be angry that she got out, Eves, that was always the plan, for all of us. She and Ruby did it, and we didn’t –’ Mollie made a face, ‘– just the way it is.’

There was another rustling from the hedge, but further down, not in the same space she and Mollie had entered through. A hand appeared, clasping a bottle of prosecco, a platinum blonde head arriving after. Chelsea squeezed through with difficulty, rolling her eyes.

‘That was more difficult than I remembered,’ she grinned up at them, continuing to wiggle.

‘Because it’s not the bloody entrance,’ Evie rolled her eyes, pointing, ‘it’s over there.’

‘Well, that makes sense,’ Chelsea shrugged, looking around. ‘You’re seriously telling me none of the kids in this town are curious enough to make this their hangout?’

‘You kidding? They’ve got a skate park and a pavilion, there is no need for our shitty fairy circle with an old shed,’ Mollie laughed, looking around with affection at their sanctuary. At the back there was the caretaker’s shed, which was mostly full of pointless tools that had been forgotten about, but they’d stored deck chairs there, and a little cheap gazebo from Argos that they’d put up to keep out of the rain. Chelsea looked on, unimpressed with the chairs, dusting them off with a tissue from her bag, but still had half a smirk in place as she looked at their little oasis, overgrown and somehow so much smaller now.

‘I brought booze,’ Chelsea held up the bottle of prosecco, her eyes drawn to the pile in between them, ‘… and so did you.’

Evie didn’t like the way her voice flattened as she looked at their offerings. She couldn’t work out what it was that was pissing her off about Chelsea, itching beneath the surface of her skin. Whether it was the designer clothes, the perfect hair or the fact that she’d really been hoping Chelsea was going to turn up, stick her tongue out and brandish a blue WKD. Instead, she talked like she’d swallowed a polo mallet and had turned up to toast their friend with middle class bubbles. Like she didn’t remember them at all.

‘God, this place doesn’t change, does it?’

Evie followed her gaze, ‘Nah. Nothing ever changes, and nothing ever happens. Except the funeral of the terribly famous Ruby Tuesday.’

Mollie frowned, ‘Some things change,’ she said pointedly, raising her eyebrows.

‘Well yes, sorry,’ Evie said coolly, ‘we got a skate park, the corner shop now stocks decent biscuits and Mollie made a pretty awesome human being.’

Chelsea nodded, her face pinched, ‘I saw. Congratulations.’

Mollie raised an eyebrow, ‘Judgy Wudgy was a bear.’

‘A bear that didn’t get stuck in this shitty place and forget all about his dreams, no doubt,’ Chelsea said primly, tucking her hair behind her ear. Mollie’s smile dropped a little, but she shook it off.

‘She’s a great kid.’

‘I’m sure she is,’ Chelsea reached for her hand and squeezed, ‘how old is she?’

Mollie went to answer but Evie got there first, her voice a little higher as she stared at Chelsea’s designer shoes and bag, ‘We didn’t forget about our dreams. Life happened. We had responsibilities.’

‘I know, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. It just seems like a waste. You were a talented artist. And Mollie was a great actress.’ Mollie nodded, holding up the Lambrini bottle in thanks.

Evie huffed, ‘I’m still a talented artist. I went to art school. I sell stuff, I have an Etsy shop and had a London exhibition.’ Four years ago, she added silently. ‘And Molls still does stuff, she acts and she’s an amazing baker, even better than she was at acting!’

Mollie looked at Evie in surprise, ‘Thanks, but I’m not ashamed that most of my acting is in the Christmas panto each year.’ She turned to Chelsea, ‘I get a few gigs here and there, but I don’t like leaving Esme with my mum. You remember what she’s like.’

Chelsea nodded, ‘But the baking is your new passion?’

Mollie rolled her eyes, ‘Evie’s good at spin, as always. I do some catering stuff. I always had this thing where I wanted to cater kids’ parties, creating healthy but really cool food,’ she twisted the cap off the Lambrini, ‘but the short answer is I work at Greggs. And I’m okay with that.’

Evie looked at her like she had betrayed her, ‘No you’re not.’

She looked back soberly, ‘No, I’m not. But I’ll be damned if I have to justify my life and try to make it sound better than it is.’

Evie felt that dig, and knew it sounded like she was making excuses, like she had something to prove. And maybe she did. Stuck in Badgeley, desperate to get out again. Art college had been a glimpse into the life she could have had, working with artistic people, making jewellery, experimenting with photography and illustration. Everything felt possible. Except jobs were hard to come by, and she had to pay rent, and her mum wanted the company. She went home to regroup and, somehow, years had passed.

Evie looked at Chelsea, took in the manicured nails, perfectly done hair, the clothes, the head held high. Somehow it was all too… right. It wasn’t personal, it was like she’d been designed by a personal shopper at Selfridges. She’d gone in with a list of demands: ‘make me a successful businesswoman’; ‘make me intimidating’; ‘make it fucking expensive’… and, like a genie, they’d created her. This strange, polished version of Chelsea who was so far from the girl who used to swig WKDs and stick out her blue tongue for photos that it wasn’t even funny.

‘It’s just a waste,’ Chelsea shrugged, ‘this place is… well, it’s Badgeley.’

‘You still dancing then? You bought that fancy dress with money from the ballet?’ Evie knew she should let it go.

‘No, I don’t really dance any more.’

‘What a waste,’ Evie bit back with meaning.

‘Judgy Wudgy,’ Chelsea sighed and shrugged, rustling in her handbag for a pack of cigarettes. She proffered the pack to Mollie, who shook her head.

‘Still a B and H girl. That’s comforting.’

‘I don’t really any more,’ Chelsea shrugged, ‘Kit hates it, he thinks it’s uncouth. But… I figured if there was ever a day I was going to need a smoke…’

Evie didn’t want to ask who Kit was. It didn’t really matter. He’d just be another part of this perfect life that Chelsea seemed to have carved, when they hadn’t managed to. Mollie nodded quietly, but didn’t ask either, perhaps because Chelsea hadn’t asked about her kid. Was there even a point trying to get to know each other now?

‘I guess we’re going to walk down memory lane, then?’ Chelsea said awkwardly.

Sure, they’d all been friends before and after Ruby, but… well, it had been a long time. They were not the same people. Plus, Mollie had a child. They’d never had that much in common when they were kids, but things are just different then. You’re friends because you both want Joey to end up with Pacey in Dawson’s Creek, or because you both prefer the bright blue flavoured Millions sweets. It’s not based on anything real.

‘What else can we do? Talk about how our lives haven’t gone according to plan and get depressed?’ Mollie shrugged.

‘Well, Chels won’t be saying that, will she? Everything’s clearly gone right for our resident boffin,’ Evie said, and Chelsea turned at the sharp tone.

‘Well then that’s wonderful!’ Mollie said warmly, reaching for Chelsea’s arm and giving Evie a very specific look. ‘Today of all days, it’s good to know someone made it.’

‘Yeah, well at least Ruby shone for a while. Burn bright and all that,’ Chelsea said uncomfortably, and from the daggers Evie was giving her, she realised it sounded like another judgement. ‘I mean, that was exactly how she would have wanted it. Nothing by halves, lots of drama.’

Mollie laughed gently, nodding. Evie shrugged and rolled her eyes, but nodded too.

‘Let’s just… let’s just drink this booze and deal with everything else after, right?’ Evie faltered, a little unsure as to what this ‘everything else’ was. Their entire history with a music star? Their history with each other, and the fact that they were pretty much strangers? She was happy for Chelsea, really, but even just looking at her made Evie feel like a failure. She’d been trapped in the town she wanted to escape, and time had passed and it was running out. Look at Ruby. Nothing lasted forever.

Mollie produced some plastic cups from her handbag and carefully poured out the lukewarm pink fizz, ignoring the prosecco completely, and they silently tapped cups together, solemn and thoughtful.

‘To Ruby Tuesday,’ Mollie said.

‘To Ruby Montgomery,’ Evie corrected, and her companions nodded.

‘The girl who shone,’ Chelsea added, drinking from the plastic cup and trying to hide a wince.

Evie grinned at that, a fitting moniker if ever there was one.

‘You know, I saw her once, at Glitter Cabaret when I first moved to London. Back when she was still a burlesque dancer who sang,’ Evie offered, feeling the tension ebb as she sipped again at the sickly pink drink. ‘It was exactly that – she shone. All these people in the audience looking at her in awe. Like she was a fallen star. The energy that night was crazy.’

‘You didn’t say hello?’

‘No,’ Evie shook her head, ‘I was… embarrassed. Scared it wouldn’t be the same. So I got trashed and went home with some guy.’

The two women didn’t say anything, just looked at her. She could feel Chelsea smoothing out the lines of judgement from her face. Mollie just smiled softly, completely open, as always.

‘I wish I’d said something. I bet it wouldn’t have been awkward at all.’

Evie bit her lip and looked up at them for confirmation, adjusting her sunglasses. She knew how to make it look as if she didn’t care, but these girls had seen her games for years. They weren’t taken in by the facade any more.

‘Nah, she was still Ruby. Even when I watched her performing at the VMAs, she was still laughing as she danced, pouting in that way she thought was sexy,’ Chelsea grinned.

‘Yeah, you remember when she tried to teach us that?’ Mollie laughed, trying to pout. ‘I still can’t do it.’

‘Probably a good thing, it looks ridiculous unless you’re covered in body glitter on a stage in front of thousands of people.’

‘I dunno, she always made it look good, even with a dodgy school uniform,’ said Evie softly.

She took a breath. She needed to tell them about the letter. She fingered the strap of her handbag, where the letter sat safely. The minute they opened it, well, who knew? Ruby’s death had been full of mystery, one of those suspected overdoses that no one ever named outright, but the whispers still permeated. The magazines noted her failed relationships, first the DJ and then the music producer, and the club manager. They talked about how thin she looked, grey in pallor. Not enough sleep, too many nights up shaking away on whatever substances they decided she was on that week. It was all gossip, of course. Perhaps they took the pictures from different times, before all her stress and greyness. Before the new album got delayed, and she didn’t turn up to her gigs. Ruby Tuesday was having a breakdown, according to the media. Evie was a little terrified, in case that turned out to be true. But it had to be done.

‘Okay, so I have to tell you guys something, before I chicken out…’ Evie produced the letter from her bag, ‘Apparently, Ruby left this for us.’

‘Oh god,’ Mollie sighed, ‘it’s going to be a shit storm. She’s going to tell us something horrible. Or it’ll be a Peter Pan adventure to discover her killer or something.’

Evie and Chelsea just looked at her, and she shrugged, ‘I’m sorry, but you know Ruby. Things are never as they seem.’

‘Maybe she just wanted to say goodbye,’ Chelsea frowned.

Evie raised her eyebrows, ‘It’s Ruby. If there’s no drama, there’s no point. There’s gonna be a love child by Liam Gallagher or a dead cousin under the floorboards that she needs us to dispose of.’ Evie breathed out, half laughing, ‘However, she’s already dead, so how much worse can it get?’

Mollie sighed, ‘What if it’s a cry for help, though? What if she needed us and we could have done something…’ She broke off and looked away, tearing at the grass beneath her fingers.

‘And what if she’s just saying goodbye?’ Chelsea said quietly, eyes full of tears. She snatched the envelope from Evie’s hand, ‘I’ll read it out.’

Her fingers trembled as she peeled back the sticky lining on the pink envelope and took a few deep breaths to steady herself. She felt the weight of the envelope and shook it, peering in and frowning. She turned her attention back to the letter.

‘To my darling girlies,’ Chelsea’s voice wobbled, and she coughed to cover it. ‘It’s been a while, I know. I’m not sure you’ll believe me when I say I’ve tried to find you guys over the years. I thought I’d find you in the big city eventually, that one day you’d just turn up and say “Hi, look at my fabulous life!” and I wouldn’t have been surprised. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. At least I know you three will be here for my funeral.

‘I am sorry. Sorry for running, then and now. Sorry for not coming back. We always talked about having those adventures together, setting up a little arts centre for outcasts like us. Having a special place to make magic happen. I wish I’d waited for you all. My adventures would have been much better if I had my lovely girls with me. I could have come to you and whined about stardom, about the pressure. You would have known how I threw up in fear before every show, and how much I cried. Mollie would have stroked my hair and soothed me. Chelsea would have flooded me with rational solutions. Evie would have told me to get the hell up.

‘I often hear you in my head, Evie.’ Here Chelsea looked at her with a wry smile. ‘Whenever a new tour date’s been added or a big public break-up has been arranged by the PR people, or one of the magazines has circled my cellulite on their cover, I hear Evie saying “Man the hell up! You are Ruby Goddamn Tuesday and you can do anything!” Sometimes it’s comforting. Sometimes it’s scary.

‘I really am sorry about all this, the fuss and the effort. But I was fading away, being whitewashed by the limelight. My star was dulling and you know it’s better to go with a bang. I hope you all look terribly glamorous at my funeral, big hats and sunglasses, stoic and tearless.’

Chelsea looked at them, taking in the grass stains on their dresses and the plastic cups of lukewarm cheap almost-wine. The girls laughed a little, rolling their eyes. Chelsea cleared her throat and continued.

‘I hate that I’m being so sentimental, but when else am I going to say this shit? So there – you’re all special. You were special then and I’m sure you’re special now. Chels, you’ll be running some big important company like the terrifying person you are. Molls, you’ll be on the stage, acting in something smart, like Shakespeare. You always had that innocent otherworldly thing going on. And Evie, you’ll be running the show, won’t you? I always picture you in a studio somewhere, making art from Barbie doll heads, yelling about symbolism and patriarchy.’

Chelsea paused to grin at Evie, who rolled her eyes, ‘Oh cheers Rubes, that’s lovely.’

‘You were a very angry teenager,’ Mollie justified, ‘and you did make weird art from random crap.’

‘Is there more?’ Evie asked Chelsea, who nodded.

‘I hope you guys are still friends, and still using your gifts and doing what makes you happy. Although, if you aren’t, I suppose there’s nothing I can do about that now. Well, almost nothing.

‘There’s one thing. You guys always called me the troublemaker, the ringleader. So I’m putting that bossiness to good use: I want you to achieve that dream we had, if you still want to… the little arts centre we always said we’d have. Where you could dance and sing and play and draw, and everyone would be welcome. Even “bad girls from the estate” like us. If you still want to do this (and I really hope you do – I’ve thought about it over the years) I’m going to help.

‘I had a little secret space, a special place that no one knew about. I would write my songs and sing and it was a haven for me. And I want you guys to have it. I’ve got six months left on the lease, you can make it into the arts centre we always dreamed of.’

Chelsea’s eyes were about to fall out of her head, and she kept reading, speeding up.

‘It’s for you to make that special space a reality. I mean, if you want. It’s not like I’m going to be there to stop you, am I? But I’d be disappointed. I might even haunt you, if I can figure out how to do that! Like Peter Pan says, to die will be an awfully big adventure. And that’s the only adventure left to me. But I think you guys have got another big one coming up! A lovely friend named Evelyn owns the art space (I know Evie, right, another Evelyn? It was fated!), and she knows I wanted you to use it. Her number’s at the bottom of this letter. I’ve included my key (just try making a copy of that sucker!).’

Chelsea’s eyes wavered to the bottom of the page, and she nodded to herself, and continued reading, ‘Have some big adventures for me girls. Love you. Ruby.’

The women sat there, waiting for the hurricane to pass. The silence lasted forever, as they each stared at their hands, unsure of how to proceed. Chelsea upended the envelope into her palm, and the heavy iron key fell out. It was dark and thick, the top curved into roses and vines. It looked like something from a fairytale. It was attached to a red ribbon, scuffed around the edges as if it had been worn as a necklace.

‘Well, that was definitely Ruby,’ Chelsea shrugged, ‘just when you think everything’s settled, she manages to bowl you over with a brand new surprise.’

‘That crazy bitch!’ Evie exhaled, lying back on the grass, ‘I can’t even…’

‘She wants to give us our teenage dreams,’ Mollie said simply, smiling. ‘We were her friends for a couple of years when we were teenagers, and we’re the ones she wants to leave her legacy to. Isn’t that sad?’

‘I think it’s sweet, actually.’ Chelsea said softly, ‘She still thought our dreams mattered. Ten years later and that’s what she was bothered about.’

‘We can’t take it,’ Evie said simply, not looking at them. ‘It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?’

What she really wanted to say was: okay, how about it? Want to run away and use our dead superstar friend’s studio to make our dreams come true? But somehow that not only seemed childish but… well, selfish.

‘Why not?’

‘We can’t just… live her dream for her.’

Mollie looked up sharply, ‘But we could sublet the studio space for six months and use the money. Ruby wanted a better life for all of us. Do you think I want to be stuck living with my mum? Think I want to raise my daughter around a woman like that, drunk and bitter and spiteful? If Ruby knew what our lives were like, maybe she’d want us to have that money. She’d want us to have a fresh start.’

Neither of them had ever seen Mollie angry. Sad, disappointed, biting her lip to keep quiet – sure, those were Mollie-type things to do. But Mollie never got angry, because that’s just who she was. Living with her mum must have been hell if she was going to get so worked up.

Evie said nothing, but her lips were a thin line. It wouldn’t be right. But maybe that was because she still wanted exactly what Ruby wanted to give them. The little art gallery where all would be welcome.

‘She must have known we might not have the same dreams we had at sixteen though, right?’ Chelsea rationalised, ‘People grow up.’

‘Is that something to be proud of?’ Evie said bitterly, leaning up on her elbows to look at Chelsea. Chelsea had been the most exquisite dancer she’d ever seen. Everything about how she moved could tell a story, whether there was music or not. Tap, ballet, hip-hop. Chelsea just loved to move, like her body didn’t just house her soul, but it was her soul. The only relic of that version of her was her excellent posture. It seemed wrong.

‘Why, was she right about you, Eves? Are you nailing Barbie heads to canvas?’ Chelsea’s voice was challenging, and Evie remembered every fight they’d ever had, the squabbles and the all-out screaming matches, usually a case of hurt pride. She was older and wiser now. She hoped.

‘I make jewellery that may or may not include plastic doll bits,’ she smiled, ‘and I was trying to make it happen here. But let’s be real – an arts centre in Badgeley? I tried to set up a life drawing class last month; four people turned up, laughed at the model’s dick and reported me to the Neighbourhood Watch. Art is never going to happen here.’

‘So you do have that same dream? The one Ruby wanted for us?’ Mollie smiled, her whole face soft and light in the sun.

Evie pursed her lips in embarrassment, ‘That’s stupid, isn’t it? Chelsea’s gone off and has a big important job, and you made a person, and I’m here wanting to do the same stupid thing I wanted to do when I was a teenager. It’s pathetic.’

‘It’s not… it’s just, well, we have lives,’ Mollie soothed. ‘I can’t just leave my kid and my job and start up a business that may not work. It’s not… realistic.’

‘Neither’s being left a studio space by a dead school friend,’ Chelsea shrugged. ‘And for the record, I don’t have a big important job.’

‘Can you explain it in less than three words?’ Evie asked.

Chelsea opened her mouth, paused, closed it again.

‘Lots of paperwork?’ she offered. ‘No wait, let me try again. Project Management Bullshit.’

‘Do I have to be polite and ask what that entails?’ Evie said.

‘Please spare us both. It’s not worth explaining.’

Chelsea sighed, looking at the two of them. They were both stuck here. She’d made it – at least, she’d made it out of their crappy town. She had a well-paid job and a lovely boyfriend, but… sure, she still wanted to dance. Back when they’d been hatching this plan, they’d decided Chelsea would teach dance. First, she’d be an international dancing superstar, and then she’d return, and they’d all get together again, and she’d teach all the little girls how to dance. They wouldn’t just be the posh little girls either, they’d be the ones off the estate, the same place as her. They’d get funding and teach anyone who wanted to learn. That was the dream. But it was silly. She didn’t even continue dancing at uni. Too much pressure.

The silence stretched on. ‘It’s a lovely dream though,’ Mollie sighed. ‘I could make cakes. I always wanted a place to create delicious things, play, make fun stuff. Me and Ez cook together all the time… when the old bat is out of the house, obviously.’

‘You were going to teach drama classes, remember? All those little kids who wanted to learn how to lie, and you were going to teach them,’ Evie smiled, remembering the day mild, sweet-mannered Mollie told them she wanted to be involved in that plan, that she wanted to share something that she could do.

Mollie’s face hardened a little, ‘It’s a beautiful dream, and a beautiful gesture, but… we can’t. We have lives, and we can’t just turn them upside down because Ruby–’

‘Died?’ Evie offered, eyebrow raised.

‘…wanted us to,’ Mollie finished stiffly. ‘Believe me, I’d love to just run away, but I’m a mum now. I’ve got to be responsible.’

Evie knew she was fighting a battle that wouldn’t be won, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to win, but she had to keep talking, keep trying. ‘Wouldn’t it be better for Esme to see her mum trying for her dreams? To see her be brave and take a risk? Surely anything is better than being with your mum?’

Mollie’s eyes flashed, ‘Really, have you seen the shared accommodation they offer to a single teenage mum? Just because you had to come back after art school, you think you know what it’s like to make a life here? At least you got those three years in London! I was meant to be an actress. I had that space on the stage waiting for me when I left here – Ophelia. I was going to be Ophelia and here I am, working in fucking Greggs! Baking cakes and pretending I’m a caterer! Don’t try to tell me what my child needs, because I am doing the fucking best I can.’

Evie and Chelsea looked at each other, and then back at Mollie. Mollie never said the f-word. She even called it ‘the f-word’. Even before Esme was born, that was just Mollie.

‘I… I am so, so sorry Molls. Really,’ Evie grabbed her hand, and could feel as her friend relented.

She blinked, ‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Just… don’t act like I haven’t dreamed about running away. More than once.’

‘Come on Chels, let’s hear your reasons. Why don’t you want to?’ Evie switched the focus, trying for playful in her tone, but feeling like a bully. That naughty girl, Evie Rodriguez, causing trouble in the playground again. When all she wanted was for them to play with her and join in the game.

Chelsea pursed her lips, blonde bob swinging as she thought about it, ‘Hmm,’ she ticked off the points on her fingers, ‘already have a job, live in London, have a boyfriend, didn’t carry on dancing so I can’t teach, don’t really know how I’d be of any bloody use and… well, I have my life now. It’s not amazing, but it’s pretty damn good. Good enough not to sacrifice.’

‘She didn’t even say where the studio space was.’ Mollie made a face. ‘What if it was abroad, or somewhere far away and impossible?’

‘It was Ruby, she would have thought it through,’ Chelsea admitted, not sure why she was suddenly fighting the cause. She had a life, one she couldn’t leave.

‘So I guess that’s that, then,’ Evie said, trying not to sound bitter about it all. It was just like the school trip to Devon. She was insistent they all go, but Chelsea didn’t want to sacrifice time studying, Mollie didn’t have the money, and Ruby never made a decision before it was clear what was already going to happen. Evie was the only one who saw the possibilities, when the rest were full of excuses and reasons why it wouldn’t work. In the end she’d forced them into it, and it hadn’t been easy. She’d applied for the financial aid for Mollie, talking to their teacher about how Mollie was too proud to admit she couldn’t afford to go, so please tell her she’d won a special prize. Then she discussed the dangers of Chelsea’s focused vision with the school guidance counsellor, labouring the amount of teenagers turning to amphetamines to stay up studying, especially when there was a university like Oxford on the line. Suddenly, both of them were on their way, and all Ruby and Evie had to do was look at each other like they were surprised, shrug and get packing. Evie was sure she couldn’t manipulate her friends out of their lives as easily as she’d manipulated them onto a surfboard, but there was a childish part of her that really wanted to try.

‘Let’s just finish the wine and remember our friend,’ Chelsea shrugged, reaching for the bottle.

‘Yeah, let’s not waste time trying to catch up on each other’s lives, there’s no point I suppose?’ Evie grumbled at her.

‘What do you want from me, Evie? You want to sit here and catch up on what we’ve done for the last ten years? When none of that has anything to do with Ruby? I’d rather remember her, instead of telling you about what I’ve done and watching you search for reasons to get pissed at me, because I left and you didn’t.’

Evie tugged at her hair, twisting a dark curl around her fingers. Chelsea had a point. She was jealous that Chelsea got to have that life, and she’d spend time attacking her. It wouldn’t even be on purpose, but jealousy and loss work that way.

‘I think maybe Evie would just like you to at least feign interest in what we’ve done in the last ten years,’ Mollie said kindly, patting her hand. ‘Just because we weren’t in a city doesn’t mean we didn’t do anything.’

‘I know,’ Chelsea grinned, ‘you created a human being.’

Mollie nodded, smiling, and even Evie chuckled a little.

‘I’m sorry,’ Chelsea sighed, inspecting her French manicure. ‘I know I sound like a cold hard bitch. I do care. It’s all just so… exhausting.’ She turned to them, hoping they’d see what she saw. The sun was setting; the day had been emotional, horrible, shocking and somehow, briefly, comforting too. ‘Look, I’m staying at the Banner Hotel on the high street. Why don’t you two come and have breakfast with me tomorrow before I go? We could catch up on us then. But tonight, I think tonight should be for Ruby, and for the past.’

Evie lifted her near-empty plastic glass, ‘I’ll drink to that… on one condition.’

‘Which is?’

‘We go and have a real drink in a real place, because as much as I love nostalgia, I’m pretty sure my arse is damp from the grass.’

‘Agreed.’

Seeing three grown women fall out of a hedge onto the high street – laughing and clutching a near-empty bottle of pink Lambrini – might have surprised some people, but to the residents of Badgeley it was strangely fitting for the day when their biggest troublemaker finally left for good.

***

‘Why are you always in here?’ Evie looked up from her sketchpad to see a pale girl with bright red hair grinning at her.

‘They realised it’s the only time I turn up for detention.’ Evie scowled, tucking her pink-tipped black curls behind her ears and returning to her drawing.

‘What did you get detention for?’ The redhead moved closer, leaning on the desk. No one usually hung around school after hours, especially not the art department. It was the emptiest part of the school, littered with broken pencils and sad excuses for paint pots. And yet, Evie always found it to be soothing, the emptiness. There was no one there to wind her up, to push her buttons and try and control her. No teachers telling her she could have a real future if she could just sort out her attitude. No mother looking disappointed, getting calls from the school and sighing at her. No Bill, telling her she was stupid and ungrateful. In the quiet of the room after hours, her blood didn’t suddenly start to boil the minute one more person told her she was worthless. School seemed pointless, and she could go through the motions as much as the next person, but there was no point hoping for anything else, everyone knew the truth – she was a troublemaker and she had no future.

‘This dickhead grabbed my tits in Chemistry, so I kneed him in the balls.’

‘How can they give you detention for self defence?’

‘It was probably that as he was hunched over in pain like a little baby, he knocked over a Bunsen burner and set fire to his trousers.’

The girl smirked and shrugged, pulling at the worn sleeve of her uniform, ‘His fault.’

‘Probably didn’t help that I was laughing my arse off,’ Evie sniggered. ‘I’ve noticed they like it a lot more if you seem contrite. And I don’t really do that.’

The red-haired girl nodded like she was considering it, ‘Fair enough. There’s no point being fake just to please them. They should have stuck him in detention for harassment anyway. But that’s just the way the world works.’

‘Maybe it is.’

The thought was depressing when you admitted it out loud, Evie realised. The girl moved forward and looked at Evie’s drawing, so she turned the book a little so she could see. It was comic book style, featuring a cartoon of big-eyed boy clutching his crotch as flames started to lick at his knees. On the blackboard behind him, written over and over again was the phrase “I shall not touch girls without their consent”.

The girl laughed, freckles on her nose twitching as she nodded at Evie with something that looked like respect. ‘I’m Ruby.’

‘The new girl,’ Evie nodded uncertainly, ‘I’m Evie.’

Ruby grinned like she’d known that all along.