Читать книгу Goodbye Ruby Tuesday - Jenny Oliver, A. Michael L. - Страница 13
ОглавлениеLife went on in Badgeley. Evie went to her job at the call centre, but she dealt with customer complaints with finesse, even smiling when she hung up her headset for the day. She had an entire notebook filled with ideas for their gallery space, as well as lists: what to pack, what to leave, what to fix, things to remember. The two weeks waiting for Mollie’s transfer time was like torture, counting down the days until they could get it started, get it making money. Especially with the three-month deadline at the back of her mind. They all had less time than they thought.
Every time she saw Mollie, talking about how different Esme’s life was going to be, how she was building something for her daughter, a tight sick feeling held her stomach, clenching like a fist. She was putting them in jeopardy. She was taking a risk with their lives and it wasn’t her place. But… but they could do this. She was the only one who ever had faith, and hadn’t Ruby always known that?
She was constantly on the phone to Evelyn, the sweet older lady who owned the studio, talking location, figuring out logistics and permits and everything else.
‘Darling girl, the place is yours for as long as you want it. I’m very pleased.’ Evelyn sounded very well-to-do, and whenever they spoke Evie imagined her sitting holding a teacup with her pinkie finger sticking out, an ancient ceramic-handled telephone in her other hand. There was something immediately relaxing about her.
‘Just remember to be nice to Killian,’ Evelyn had said pointedly.
‘Killian?’
‘The carpenter who rents the little workshop space in the studio? I mentioned him. He’s a lovely boy, but obviously his work can be noisy sometimes… I’m sure you can work together to figure something out, a compromise?’ Evelyn’s voice could do stern, surprisingly.
‘Of course, we’ll get along great!’ Evie was constantly chipper. Things were happening. Stuff was coming together. ‘Did Ruby know him?’
‘Ruby didn’t use the space much the last year or so. They may have crossed paths, who knows. She had her secrets.’
She banged him, Evie thought to herself, obviously. She was surprised the press hadn’t gotten hold of that one: Ruby’s secret tryst with woodworker lover. Evie shook her head, the title would have been better than that: Ruby likes Wood.
She put it out of her mind, hoping desperately that maybe he’d just be some hapless dork working away in his studio like a hermit, and they could all get on with their lives. She checked her bank account every day, looking at the money she’d transferred, the money she’d scraped together as an escape fund over the years. She liked seeing it sitting here, a nice round number. It was going to pay for her future. There was something bone-tremblingly exciting about that.
Finally the day came, where she pulled up outside Mollie’s flat to find Esme sitting on a suitcase, surrounded by three black bin bags.
‘Hey munchkin, ready for adventures?’ Evie scooped her goddaughter up into her arms and swung her round. Esme regarded her seriously, pulling down her dark rimmed glasses to the end of her nose for effect.
‘Don’t you think I’m getting a little old for that now? I am ten!’
Evie grinned and squeezed her, ‘I know, but adults keep doing embarrassing things so they can pretend you’re not growing up. Just go with it. It stops me feeling old.’
‘You are old,’ Esme said mercilessly, attempting to help drag a bag to the car, ‘but that’s okay, you’re still pretty.’
‘Well, gee, thanks. Didn’t your mama teach you looks aren’t the most important thing?’ Evie heaved the case into the car boot, suddenly realising an epic game of luggage Tetris was going to be necessary to get everything into her little Ford Fiesta.
‘Yes, but Nanny says if you’re not pretty, no one marries you, and you die alone eaten by cats who try to steal your peach schnapps.’
Evie felt her head hurt, and looked over at Esme, whose little face curled into a mischievous grin, her blue eyes wide and innocent. ‘You’re going to give your mother a heart attack one of these days.’
‘Yeah, but we’re not staying with Nanny any more, so I figure it’s important to get one more in for the road.’
‘You have seriously been hanging out with me too much, kid.’ Evie ruffled Esme’s hair, to her irritation, and opened the back door for her, ‘Your chariot, m’lady. Anyway, where’s your mum?’
‘They’re having one final argument. I think it’s how they say goodbye,’ Esme shrugged and pulled a book from her Frozen backpack, ignoring Evie instantly.
Evie ventured closer to the front entrance of the flat, and heard the telltale signs of screaming and shouting. Pretty typical with Mollie’s mother.
‘I’ll see you at Christmas – try not to drink yourself to death before then, you selfish cow!’ Mollie’s voice echoed, followed by the thump of feet thundering down the staircase.
She appeared before Evie, frazzled, her hair in a messy bun and her eyes red.
‘It’s good to see you,’ She tried for a smile, and watched as Evie raised an eyebrow. ‘No, I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s get going.’
She slid into the passenger seat, turning around to talk to her daughter and then, seeing she was engrossed, turned back. ‘So here’s a very important question… can we stop and get pancakes on the way?’
Esme looked up, suddenly completely alert, focused on Evie as she pretended to mull it over.
‘Depends if anyone knows any good road trip songs to speed us on the way to the pancake place,’ she said, starting the engine.
***
‘Tell me about Ruby,’ Esme demanded from the backseat, apparently bored after their pancake stop. ‘Was she always so… sparkly?’
Evie and Mollie exchanged a look. If ten-year-olds knew who Ruby Tuesday was, it was from the drinking and drama and bad language. By the end she’d looked like Rock’n’Roll Heroin Barbie, existing through sheer force of will. And yet everyone loved her brokenness, how it slipped through into her songs.
‘Well, yeah…’ Evie thought about it, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. ‘She always seemed to sparkle. It was the leftover fairy dust from all the mischief she caused.’
Evie winked at Esme in the mirror, but Mollie frowned.
‘She wasn’t some sort of benevolent Peter Pan character, she was a real person.’ She turned in her seat to face her daughter, ‘Once, she told me we were going to study in the library because she wanted help in History, and we ended up auditioning for A Streetcar Named Desire.’
‘You were Blanche in that, weren’t you?’ Evie exclaimed.
‘Yep, and Ruby was purposefully bad, ended up doing props instead.’ Mollie shook her head, ‘She knew I’d been too scared. She wanted me to have the light on me, be the centre of attention. Forced me into it.’
‘So she taught you to be brave and go after your dreams?’ Esme surmised, fingers interlocked beneath her chin like a tiny amateur psychologist, ‘Interesting.’
‘She more… tricked me into it. For my own good.’
Esme frowned, ‘Does that make her good or bad?’
‘That makes her Ruby,’ Evie laughed. ‘It was the same with me, I couldn’t afford the art supplies to do a drawing class in Northampton. You needed your own tools, and I needed the class for my uni applications…’
‘You did go to that, I remember meeting you for coffee afterwards,’ Mollie interrupted.
‘Yep, Ruby got me all the supplies. I was so embarrassed. So grateful. Until I realised she’d shoplifted them.’
‘She stole!?’ Esme said, aghast, hand to her mouth in a way that Evie was sure she had spent time perfecting in a mirror.
‘She did!’ Evie laughed.
‘Which is really, really bad!’ Mollie interjected sternly.
Esme rolled her eyes, ‘Duh, Mum. Obviously.’
‘She did a bad thing, but she did it out of love for a friend,’ Evie shrugged. ‘That’s what Ruby was, a patchwork of good intentions, bad choices and terrible impulse control. She wanted people to achieve their dreams.’
‘And that’s why we’re going to London,’ Esme finished, cleaning her glasses on the bottom of her Fame t-shirt. ‘So you and Mum can start an arts place with yummy cakes and cool art and dancing and plays.’ She paused, frowning at her glasses, then putting them back on and meeting Evie’s eyes in the mirror. ‘I think there should be a book corner.’
‘That’s a great idea Ez!’
‘I know,’ the little girl shrugged, and went back to her book.
Evie raised her eyebrows at Mollie, who shrugged and threw up her hands.
‘Eves… what if we’re making a mistake?’ Mollie said quietly, staring out at the road ahead.
‘We’re not!’ She took her eyes off the road to glare at her friend, ‘Just think of this as another Streetcar situation. Ruby knows what she’s doing.’
‘Ruby didn’t know us as adults,’ Mollie shook her head, her blonde curls shaking sadly.
‘Lucky we weren’t smart enough to outgrow our dreams then, isn’t it?’ Evie said brightly, and turned on the radio, trying to ignore the tiny thud of guilt that jabbed her whenever she thought about how much they had to lose.
***
‘No need to thank me,’ Ruby said, dumping the plastic bag on the bed. Evie looked at her warily, and then went to open it. Inside were pencils, charcoal, colouring pencils. A sharpener in the shape of a teddy bear and a collection of rubbers in neon colours.
‘What is this?’
‘You shall go to the… art… drawing class thingy!’ Ruby said, as if waving an invisible wand. ‘I knew you couldn’t go to the class without art supplies. So there they are.’
Evie raised her eyebrows and felt her chest constrict a little, ‘Rubes…’
Ruby waved her hands in front of her, ‘Nope, no soppiness. You know I don’t do all that icky stuff.’
‘Oh shut up, dork!’ Evie pulled her into a hug, ‘How did you even afford this?’
Ruby’s hair tickled her nose, and smelled like a strange mixture of rosewater and Charlie body spray. She clutched at her delicate waist, rocking a little.
‘Best not to ask,’ came Ruby’s reply, and Evie pulled back, raising an eyebrow.
‘Rubes, a handful of pick‘n’mix at Woolies is one thing – did you steal this stuff?’
Ruby twirled a strand of hair, ‘Steal is such a strong word…’
‘Do you have a softer one that means “took stuff that wasn’t yours”?’
‘I’m working on it…’ Ruby smiled, then threw her arm around Evie. ‘Look, babe, none of this comes back on you. It’s not like I stole from one of the three shops in Badgeley. I’m not an idiot. And it’s for the greater good! It’s not like I’m a hoodie stealing Eminem CDs to sell on.’
‘You are so full of crap,’ Evie growled, but didn’t shrug off her arm.
‘Look, you need to do this art class. It’s your gift. Consider me an agent of fate, making sure you end up on the right path.’
‘And what if keeping me on the right path means you end up in prison?’ Evie looked at her friend, unimpressed.
Ruby looked at her with a self-satisfied look of pity, ‘Babe, one day my luck is gonna run out. I’ve got no doubt about that. But when it does, it’s not gonna be stealing pencils for my talented friend. It’ll be robbing a bank, or hitting a police officer at a sit in, or accidentally overdosing. Don’t sweat the small shit.’
‘I guess I don’t have a choice,’ Evie said with irritation.
‘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.
