Goodbye Ruby Tuesday (28 page)

‘Hey, you’re finally up, lazy bones!’ Esme waved, and suddenly all eyes in the room were taking in Evie’s crumpled clothes and unbrushed hair and looking at her a little too knowingly. Except that she was Evie Rodriguez, and every day was messy hair and crumpled clothing, so what they were really looking at was the hand she was holding, and possibly the unholy red mark just above her collar bone.

‘Good morning!’ she saluted, ‘Kudos on the bacon Kit, sound move.’

He grinned at her, ‘Nothing that can’t be solved by bacon.’

‘Including throwing an epic opening night, shocking the tabloids, building community connections, making money and destroying my scumbag father. All in Ruby’s memory. Who’s in?’ She grinned, raising a bottle of water she’d picked up from the side.

‘Hear hear!’ Mollie yelled, grinning, ‘Let’s do this thing!’

After that, it was like some sort of unreal energy had been unleashed – the entire place was a hub of activity, with the local press doing interviews with Evie, Mollie and Chelsea, as well as Jack and Petunia, and realising there was a story in the local celebrity, ‘the ethereal beauty, Evelyn Glass’. There was history to the building, and they talked about Mayweather, about the magic tricks and tricking the audience. Arts charities called to say they were sending representatives, local painters said they were ‘dropping in’. Everything seemed to be on track. The walls were full, Killian’s furniture dotted around like the art that it was. He’d even built plinths to display Petunia’s ceramic work, and Esme had painting them in ruby red hues, adding on harlequin diamonds in darker and lighter shades. Evie had argued that it took away from the focus of the ceramics, but Petunia hushed her and told Esme she was proud to display her work on something so beautiful.

So everything had been going according to plan. In fact, it was going beyond plan – everything on the whiteboard had been ticked off and confirmed, people were calling every five minutes wanting to know whether they could come to the opening – it was like riding a wave, rolling on something she couldn’t control, could only respond to.

When the afternoon rolled around, the time slipping too quickly through her fingers, Evie realised there was one thing she hadn’t done, the one thing everyone had been telling her to do all along. Give something of herself. Make art that mattered to her, and show it to someone. And it was time to take that chance.

‘Can you help me with something?’ she asked Killian, pulling him away from some sort of intensely male conversation about how level one of the paintings was.

He grinned at her, a hand on the small of her back. ‘I
absolutely
can.’

‘Not like that, perv, I actually need help.’

Killian widened his eyes and put his hand on his neck, pretending to count his pulse, ‘I’m sorry, did you… did you just ask for help? I may have died from shock.’

‘Not making me any less likely to continue being painfully stubborn.’ She rolled her eyes, ‘Come on, it’s upstairs.’

‘
Sure it is
,’ Killian laughed, following her up the narrow staircase.

Evie walked into her room and paused, ‘Can you wait outside for just a second? I’ll tell you when it’s ready.’

She walked over to her cupboard and pulled out a box, starting to slowly assemble all the pieces of the thing she’d been quietly creating ever since they got there.

It had started one evening, when Evie sat down on the floor of her room, surrounded by glass, twisted metal and more wires than she could deal with. Gentle music had played in the background, stuff that was barely there, twinkling keyboard over soft rhythms. She’d started off with Ruby’s album, the first one she’d released, all soulful sad songs about men who did her wrong and women who lost their dreams along the way. It was beautiful, but demanding, in the same way Ruby always had been. This whole endeavour had been about Ruby. About Ruby getting the gang back together, about sharing a dream and a life and their memories. But the smallest kernel of irritation had grown within Evie, because she knew that she needed to do something that was hers, something about
her
memories and
her
thoughts. All those years, their focus had been on Ruby. Ruby was their leader, the bad girl who wasn’t afraid of consequences, who didn’t care if she got in trouble or made people’s lives difficult. The others followed in her footsteps, safe in her decisions.

But Evie wasn’t a follower any more. She had a life, people who cared. A purpose, beyond surviving and paying rent and being an auntie. That was what this was all about, and that was what she had decided to create – something… something grateful.

By the time she’d assembled the separate pieces, feeling by memory and intuition, she wasn’t sure if she’d made something beautiful or ridiculous. But maybe he’d be able to see what she saw.

‘You can come in now,’ she called out softly.

When Killian stepped into the room, he saw Evie standing below a red glass light fitting, which was haphazardly suspended from her bedroom ceiling. The glass glowed softly, only reflecting the light of her room and he looked at her, then back at the installation.

‘You told me about a man who decided to make things that he loved, make things that stopped him hurting,’ she shrugged. ‘I’ve been doing the same thing all along.’

It was various shades of ruby red, coloured glass refracting the light around the room, giving everything a naughty feel, as if they were somewhere secret and forbidden. The metal spokes falling from the centre were twisted into tendrils, curving up so that more red jars could be hung on clear wire, with little tea lights sitting within them. Beads and glass fragments hung suspended in the air, jingling when Evie ran a hand through them.

‘It’ll look better when it’s properly hung up, obviously, but… you can see it, can’t you? You can see how it can be?’

He nodded, his eyes wide as he smiled, taking in all the elements.

‘It’s… it’s
you
,’ Killian breathed, looking at the piece in amazement, then back to Evie, ‘I mean, it’s ruby red, but it’s not Ruby, it’s actually
you.’

‘I wanted it to be for her, but not about her,’ she shrugged.

‘It’s… it’s beautiful and warped and twisted and fragile and strong. It’s, well, it’s completely you.’

Evie wanted to wrap that moment up in bubble wrap and keep it safe with her, keep it folded in her pocket and bring it out whenever she felt lost or alone. To have a beautiful, smiling man tell you he knew exactly who you were. And to believe him.

Killian stepped forward, almost hypnotised by her creation, walking around it, moving in closer to analyse. ‘I don’t even know how you…’ he traced the glass with a finger, ‘… is this a jam jar? Do we need an electrician to fit this?’

‘Guess who did an evening class in electrics?’ Evie pointed her thumbs in, ‘This gal.’

‘I don’t know whether to be confused or turned on by that.’

Evie snorted, moving towards him, ‘I shall always be a mystery.’

‘So… what did you need me for?’

Evie grinned, ‘Heavy lifting. Obviously.’

The light fitting was perfect. They had almost shorted the ancient fuse a couple of times, but as it was ceremoniously turned on, her friends and the random student reporters and photographers who had come down to ‘help’ clapped and cheered, with Esme throwing herself at her with such force that she almost tripped over backwards.

‘What’s that for?’ She stroked the little girl’s hair.

‘Just… you did really good.’

‘We haven’t had the opening yet.’ she reminded her, and Esme smiled, shaking her head.

‘Doesn’t matter. Look what we did!’ She gestured at the room, looking beautiful, full of curiosities and treasures to explore. She was inclined to agree. They had achieved what they set out to do. The exhibition had already been featured in a variety of local papers and magazines, Evelyn’s art contacts had confirmed they’d be attending, as well as a local writer working on a biography about Mayweather. They’d started being contacted by local facilitators, people who wanted to run classes and use the space. They didn’t have to do everything themselves, Evie was starting to realise, they just had to share their passion and talk to people, and things would happen.

Evie had rented fold-up tables, and put them in the corner for Mollie’s delicious creations. Esme had taken great delight in decorating and setting the table, picking deep red silks and heavy purple fabrics, practising origami swans (and eventually settling for fans), arranging cutlery and flower arrangements. Thick wax candles stood on round mirrors, and tea lights were placed in teacups. The room was lit dimly, Evie’s red jar light fitting giving an ambience elevated by the candles. The smells coming from the kitchen were divine, where Mollie had been slow roasting lamb, creating filo pastry parcels, various salads, dips and breads to share.

They had made a home here, Evie realised, smiling as she looked at the beautiful space they had created, and though her fingers twitched and her pulse raced at the thought of all the ways in which her father could try to destroy them, she was determined. This was the one fight he wasn’t going to win.

A few hours later, they were nicely coiffed, drinking cheap cava from plastic cups and eating the last of a pizza that Kit had ordered – insisting that Mollie’s delicious creations had to be tasted by the public and their guests, so that she could start a catering business at the gallery and get super famous. Evie wasn’t sure she’d seen Mollie blush so bright since they were teenagers.

Evie had wriggled into a slightly smarter outfit, a black, floaty dress with brass beads sewn into the front, pinning her wild curls back at the sides with a big clip. She put on some huge beaded earrings, outlined her eyes, and pretty much did everything but write ‘Look, I’m a hippie bohemian, not an angry thug from the estate’ across her forehead.

‘You look… wow. You look wow,’ Killian said softly, placing his arms around her waist, resting his bristled cheek against hers as they looked out across the room.

Esme, a few steps away, turned and looked at her, grinning ear to ear, ‘See? Wow moment. Good job!’ She held out her hand for a high five, and Evie acquiesced, laughing awkwardly as the little girl skipped off.

‘So, you ready to schmooze the public?’ Killian asked her softly, a smile in his voice. Evie looked out at the slowly building crowds. She saw Evelyn, looking lovely with a bold pink pashmina flung over her shoulder, smiling over at her warmly, her hand held up. She saw the kids from the youth centre that she’d talked to, and the guy from the Arts Council, and Martha across the street who used to be a painter and had introduced herself when she read about them in the local paper. She saw faces she didn’t recognise, and noted how they took in the space, looking at the walls, perusing the bookshelf, reaching out to touch her light fitting and then standing back to admire it. They draped themselves over Killian’s furniture, tasted Mollie’s canapes in delight. No one looked like they were arriving with pitchforks, ready to exorcise the corrupted ghost of Ruby Tuesday from their hallowed musical halls.

But Evie couldn’t take that in right now, because she was only looking for one face. The one she didn’t want to see.

Chelsea strode over, handing Evie a glass of cava, ‘I know you’re serving those cocktails in jam jars or whatever, but I just can’t.’ She rolled her eyes, her frosted blonde hair falling more softly around her face as she clinked her glass against Evie’s. ‘To defeating old demons.’

She chucked the whole glass back and grinned, suddenly looking so much like her sixteen-year-old self that Evie widened her eyes.

‘Where’s Kit?’

‘Introducing some poor investment banker to a very confused Mollie,’ Chelsea snorted. ‘Both of them are just looking at Kit in confusion, like they have no idea that he’s trying to set them up.’

‘Poor Molls,’ Evie shook her head and Killian laughed, withdrawing his arms from around her.

‘Poor Mollie? Poor hapless banker. Between Kit’s sales-pitch and Mollie’s doe eyes, he doesn’t stand a chance.’

‘The doe eyes aren’t a play, you know,’ Chelsea said seriously, ‘she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.’

‘I never thought she did,’ Killian shook his head, ‘but she’s a sweetheart who bakes, abandoned by the father of her adorable child. Some guy’s gonna wanna save her.’

‘Yeah, but… not someone named Earl.’ Chelsea wrinkled her nose, looking over as the awkward scene unfolded – Mollie and Earl looking at each other anxiously whilst Kit talked.

Evie nodded, ‘Afraid I have to agree. No matter what the size of his tax-free bonus, doesn’t make up for a bad name.’

Killian raised an eyebrow, ‘Is that a euphemism or…’

Chelsea and Evie looked at him, matching grins and silence, until he shook his head, laughing. He kissed Evie’s cheek, ‘I’ll be drinking one of those pretentious hipster cocktails over there,’ he pointed towards Evelyn, walking over and waving.

‘He’s good for you, you know,’ Chelsea smiled, her eyes bright and sparkling.

‘I know.’

‘First smart choice you’ve made in a while.’

Evie frowned, sipping her drink, ‘Don’t push it. Speaking of shitty decisions, what kind of fireworks did you promise the tabloids tonight?’

Chelsea rolled her eyes, jutting her hip and crossing her arms, channelling the teenager she once was. She widened her eyes, her voice innocent, ‘I simply
suggested
that Bill Davis would be here, and it would be nice to hear from the man who stole Ruby Tuesday away from her foster home when she was still a child, and put her to work in dive bars and burlesque bars. I suggested he
might
have something to say about how responsible he was for some of that destructive behaviour,
if
he did become her manager and get her performing half-naked in burlesque clubs at seventeen, that is.’

‘Chels…’

‘I only used his words, babe. I was really careful.’

Evie sighed, feeling that seasick sensation in the pit of her stomach, like she wasn’t standing on solid ground.

‘What did Kit say about the newspaper article?’ Evie watched the man across the room, smiling and laughing, his hand on people’s arms. Chelsea admired him, looking at him with soft eyes and a gentle smile.