Chelsea didn’t say anything, and the line crackled slightly. Evie just waited.
‘They think I’m an Oxford graduate from a nice family just outside London. They don’t know about Ruby.’
‘So all your colleagues, your friends… they think you’re a nice middle class girl who’s never wanted for anything?’ Evie snorted, ‘So you don’t wince when anyone says “chav” any more? You don’t go on marches for the health service, or help at the foodbanks? You’ve made it, so the rest of us scum don’t matter any more?’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake Evie, stop playing the bloody martyr all right? I worked my fucking arse off! I’ve made a life! And it was hard and lonely and now I belong! I’ve got a good job, and a home, and friends and someone who loves me!’
‘Yeah? Does he love you, or does he love Chelsea Donovan?’ Evie said spitefully.
‘It’s just a name.’
‘It’s not! It’s not just a name! If it was, you’d still be willing to meet us, instead of shoving everything from your old life in a box and sticking it in the back of the cupboard!’
Evie heard a snort down the phone, and a softer tone, ‘I always hated it when you talked in metaphors.’
‘Well, come over for dinner one night, and I promise I won’t do it all evening,’ Evie offered quietly.
‘I don’t know, Eves… I think the studio idea is great and everything, but I don’t know if I can get involved just yet…’ Chelsea’s voice had softened, ‘It’s just… it’s still hard, you know?’
‘I know,’ Evie said, relaxed now she was sure the old Chelsea was still in there somewhere. ‘Look, forget about the gallery and our plans. Just come by for dinner. Let us get to know this new Chelsea. I’ll make cocktails. Or maybe you like posh wine now. I’ll get posh wine.’
‘I’ll bring the posh wine,’ Chelsea laughed. ‘Okay… let’s do this.’
‘Cool,’ Evie grinned, ‘text me with a date when you’re free. I’m sure you’ve got lots of exciting plans. We’re a lot more boring. Flexible, I mean flexible!’
They hung up, and Evie felt the weight on her chest dislodge a little. She decided to go for a run, changing into her workout clothes and plugging in her earphones. She had aggressive rap music blaring in her ears as she thundered down the stairs, grinning at Killian and winking as he glared at her, clearly irritated by the noise.
An hour later, Evie returned from pounding the streets of Camden, dodging in and out of the tourists and business people, getting completely lost and being okay with that. She was sweaty and exhilarated, rolling her head from side to side as she took out her earphones and slowly lifted one leg after the other as she crawled up the winding stairs. The smell at the top of the building was phenomenal.
‘I’m making banana chocolate chip muffins,’ Mollie said, turning back to the trays that lined the kitchen counter.
‘For an army?’
‘I’m playing with a recipe, leave me be. I’m happy.’ Evie always enjoyed it when she could=recognise Mollie’s quintessential ‘mum’ tone. She found it super hilarious when it was used on her.
She simply saluted and walked off to have a shower. Talking to Chelsea this morning had helped, she realised. There was so much already against them – and so much had come together to make something happen – that being angry and apart felt pointless. They were being given a chance here, a chance to start fresh, with low rent and backing and belief and favours. But they needed to get a move on with the planning stages. And they needed all the allies and good vibes they could get.
Evie towel dried her hair, pulled on some yoga pants and an oversized The Strokes t-shirt from a bazillion years ago that may or may not have been Nigel’s, and grabbed her notebook and pens. A few happy hours passed with Esme dancing around to music as Mollie baked. All three of them threw out ideas for their opening exhibition, or for introducing the locals to their brand new space, and Evie noted them down. The name of the arts centre was the main focus.
‘It should be something named after Ruby,’ Esme said with determination, hanging over the back of the sofa, pausing her dancing.
‘Well, the door is already red,’ Evie shrugged.
‘What was that fake company name you used on Chelsea this morning?’ Mollie asked.
‘Red Ruby Representation? I think?’
‘Well how about that? Red Ruby Gallery Space?’ Mollie ventured, poking her head out the kitchen.
Esme scrunched up her nose and shook her head.
‘The Red Gallery?’ the little girl offered. Mollie and Evie exchanged looks.
‘Honey, when you’re older this will make sense, but for now just trust that there is a lot of talk about this book with a “red room” and we don’t want that sort of attention,’ Mollie said simply.
Evie snorted, ‘Ruby Red Arts Centre? Or just The Ruby, like a pub name?’
‘What do we want this to actually be? I mean, that’s the question here, isn’t it? A gallery, an arts centre, a theatre?’
‘An oasis,’ Evie said without pause, ‘an escape from the urban, from the average. Where anyone can come in.’
‘Ruby’s Oasis.’ Esme said simply, then frowned, ‘What’s an oasis? Like the drink?’
‘It’s a place to get a drink, but it’s also somewhere perfect where you can feel safe,’ Mollie supplied, now long used to being a human thesaurus when needed.
‘Then it’s perfect!’ Esme clapped her hands together, her little face thrilled. ‘I’m going to make a poster! We should have a party inviting everyone!’
‘Who’s everyone?’ Evie chuckled, ‘There’s just us!’
‘And Chelsea, and Evelyn! And people round here who want to do things. We need to say hello!’ Esme was serious, so serious that she’d walked off halfway through her sentence to collect her coloured pens.
‘The kid’s not wrong,’ Evie shrugged at Mollie, ‘we should have an opening.’
‘Pick a date. I’ll book a week off to bake,’ Mollie shrugged and went back to the kitchen. Evie decided she quite wanted to do some drawing too, perhaps a logo to put on the poster. She also needed to make some more notes on what they could try and achieve, and jot down names of people she knew who could run classes or present their work. It was worth asking Evelyn too, considering her background and all the contacts she’d have in the art world. The evening passed by amicably, Mollie baking in a seemingly enjoyable frenzy whilst Evie took Esme’s ideas on board and together they crafted a concept for their little space. After that, it was a Disney movie and eating all the cake they could get through until it was time for bed.
Evie stretched, doing her yoga on the mat at the end of her bed, focusing on her breathing. She didn’t want to lose momentum; she wanted to keep working, to let that spinning wheel in her brain produce what it was capable of. Sleep seemed sort of pointless. A knot sat in her stomach, made up of the lies she’d told to Mollie and Esme. They thought they had months, that there wasn’t really a timeline, that they could survive no problem. But Evie had to make it work, she had to have them making money within the month, or she’d dragged her friend and her daughter to live in London, only for them all to be sent back to Badgeley because they couldn’t afford rent. She couldn’t do that to Esme. And Mollie would never trust her again.
No more time wasting, Evie decided, it was time to make it happen. Still, sleep didn’t come, and she wondered what Ruby would have done at times like this. Had a large drink of something expensive, and carried on regardless, Evie suspected. Instead, Evie got up, dragging her duvet with her, and sat at her desk, starting to create something, drawing and sketching over and over, a vague shape of something beautiful finally appearing on the page as the first rays of morning appeared.
Chapter Six
The day had been a busy one from the start. Evie was good with her goddaughter, but she’d forgotten how much cajoling and rushing about it took to get a child to do what you needed when you had a deadline. So far, their life in London had been at their ow
n pace, doing what they pleased, taking it easy. But with Mollie at work, and Esme wanting her attention, it was becoming hard to do what she needed to do. There was a never-ending list that she’d created that night, and she sat hunched over her laptop at the kitchen table, making a list of local printers, as well as calling all of her London contacts to see if they wanted to exhibit for the opening night. It seemed a mammoth task, and Evie could feel the folds of skin under her eyes, as if they were holding every doubt and fear about her choices.
‘Mum at work?’ Esme asked, walking into the kitchen and helping herself to some cereal that Evie had left out on the side.
‘Uhuh,’ Evie nodded, eyes still focused on the screen.
‘So what are we doing today?’ Esme placed her chin on her hand, apparently all ready for adventures. She was wearing her jeans with the sewn-on knee patches, a Ramones t-shirt that Evie had bought her to annoy Mollie, and a little leather jacket, with her Hello Kitty backpack. Evie wondered if the more time the little girl spent with her, the more she’d end up being like her, which was a terrifying thought.
‘We’re not doing anything I’m afraid, hun. I’ve got lots of work to do, and I don’t really have time to take a break. Are you happy to read your books or something until lunchtime?’ Evie pulled a hand across her tired face, reaching for her cup of coffee. She looked at her analysis of the money, and it seemed to be draining almost instantaneously. A sense of anxiety had risen up from her stomach and was sitting in her chest, and every time she looked at Esme, she thought about how she was putting her way of life at risk. She’d tricked Mollie into coming along, she’d misled her, just like Ruby always used to do to them – the Streetcar audition, the pens for art class, forcing them into doing what she wanted, even if it was for their own good. Ruby had had no right to do that to them, and now Evie had gone and done the same thing. And Esme would end up back with alcoholic Linda, dancing around with a joint and a gin bottle at midday, whilst Mollie went back to Gregg’s and the realisation that nothing ever changed. Esme frowned at her, and Evie couldn’t shake away the panic that she was letting her down, letting them all down.
‘I can help, you know! Give me a job to do,’ Esme insisted, her eyebrows drawn together as if Evie had suddenly betrayed her, ‘I’m part of this too.’
‘I don’t have time Ez, not now,’ Evie sighed, ‘I’m sorry. Later on, I’ll find you something to do. We should probably go and find some more stuff for downstairs from the market, make it look a bit better. And give it a fresh coat of paint.’ Evie quickly scribbled that down on her list.
‘But if you give me a job to do now, I can work on it.’
‘Ez, I– I just–’ Evie felt herself panicking, ‘Okay, why don’t you go and make a list of all the things you think we need? Go look around downstairs and analyse the space. What do we need for a good event?’
Esme nodded seriously, her blonde curls quivering as she saluted, ‘Aye aye captain!’ and trudged downstairs, grabbing a notebook and pencil out of her backpack.
As the time passed, Evie didn’t feel herself becoming more calm, or more at ease. The more things she did on her list, the more things seemed to appear. Her contacts didn’t need an art gig, or they were busy, or they couldn’t confirm. It was too short notice, or it was too far in advance. She priced up paint pots, and looked up events notices, and wondered about insurance, and sure enough, by the time lunchtime rolled around, and she’d had her fifth cup of coffee, she was pretty sure she was having a panic attack.
There was a sudden hammering on the door of the flat, and Evie jumped out of her skin, hands jittering a little as she opened it. There stood Killian, Esme standing next to him. Evie frowned at him, and Esme shrugged.
‘Want to tell me why there’s a little girl wandering around downstairs?’
Evie rolled her eyes, ‘That’s Esme, you’ve met her before. She’s downstairs because she’s helping me. Leave her be.’
‘You can’t just have her wandering around, by herself! She’s a kid!’ Killian half-shouted, pointing at Esme, who just rolled her eyes.
‘I made a list, Evie,’ she smiled hopefully, brandishing the notebook. ‘Do you want to see it?’
‘In a little while hun,’ Evie sighed, not taking her eyes away from Killian. ‘Why don’t you go to your room for a second whilst I make it clear to this pompous, judgmental… person where his priorities lie?’ She smiled widely at Esme, ‘Okay, hun?’
It clearly was not okay, but Esme shrugged and trudged down the corridor to her room, defiant but clearly waiting for her chance to complain.
‘Right,’ Evie turned to him, ‘let’s start again. You’ve dragged my goddaughter up here because she was bothering you downstairs. What exactly was she doing that was so damaging? Playing death metal? Throwing a crazy party? Yelling and screaming whilst she smashed everything in the kitchen?’
‘No, she was…’ Killian seemed to struggle to find something, ‘She’s a kid, she shouldn’t be left on her own!’
‘The front door was locked, Killian. We’re the only ones who have keys.’
‘I’m downstairs!’ he yelped, exasperated, ‘You know nothing about me! What if I was dangerous? You can’t just leave some little kid wandering around when there are people you don’t know!’
Any number of comebacks came into Evie’s mind, hovering at the edge so she could throw them back at him, but she felt all the energy leave her body. He was right. She didn’t know anything about him; she was responsible for Evie, what if something had happened?
‘This isn’t whatever backwards town you’re from, okay? This is the city, and it’s full of shitty people who take advantage and do shitty things. So just… sort it out.’ Killian seemed unsure of how to continue, probably because all of the blood had drained from Evie’s face and she was holding onto the doorframe. She nodded weakly at his retreating back, and closed the door behind him.
She couldn’t take risks. She couldn’t let Esme out whilst she was stuck indoors, and she had to find a way for them to survive and make money and make it all work without letting anyone down. And she had to do it all alone.
Esme poked her head out, around the doorframe, ‘Is he gone?’
‘Yes,’ Evie said weakly.
‘Can you look at my plan now?’
‘No, hun. I’m sorry. Not right now.’
‘But… you promised.’
‘I promised later,’ Evie felt herself getting irritated, ‘I didn’t say right now. I’ve got lots to do!’
‘Then let me help!
‘You can’t help!’ Evie yelled, ‘You just can’t right now! We have no time! None!’
Esme’s lip curled and she crossed her arms as she said ‘Fine!’ and flounced off, Evie hearing the slam of her door a few seconds later.
Evie slowly dragged herself from the kitchen and plodded wearily into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. And then she fell onto her bed, muffling the noise of her tears with the pillow. Everything was just too much, she thought, her hot breath surrounding her as she didn’t even try to choke back the sobs. She was going to let them all down, she was fighting a pointless battle. The numbers didn’t add up – this was not going to work. Being positive and happy-go-lucky was not her natural state, and she’d worked hard to believe this was her big break, her chance to save her friends and build a life, but the truth was, Ruby had probably felt the same way, and she’d still left them.
Exhausted from the tears, the sleepless night and the constant worrying in her gut, Evie grabbed her easel and a blank canvas, looking at the plans and desperately trying to make something real. Whenever she’d felt like she was about to be swallowed up, she’d been told to channel it, to make something, to put every feeling into the paint, imbue it with sadness, destruction, guilt and loss. She felt her hands steady as she lost herself to the rhythm of the pastels on paper, the itch of graphite on canvas. She turned on the tinny radio, feeling herself bounce in the rhythms of her own creation, finally feeling t
hat she was doing something, something worthy. And if worst came to worst, she could always sell it. That might keep them going a little longer. A month and a half. She couldn’t think about it, she could only make.
***
‘I’m so proud of you darling, it’s wonderful!’ Her mother placed the painting up against the wall, ‘I’m going to put it right here and everyone will ask me who made it, and I’ll say my talented daughter!’
Evie squeezed her mum’s shoulders, looking at the large canvas resting against the wall. She thought she’d have sold it by now, and she did have offers, but Evie was proud of it, she wasn’t ready to let it go just yet. She’d only just finished her second year and was home for the summer. Her work had been exhibited with some of the third years’ this time round. The university counsellor had encouraged her to put her feelings into her work, use it as a tool, and had spent a lot of time coaching her through it. She’d felt something unlock within her after that, as if she could breathe a bit easier, she wasn’t constantly waiting for the ceiling to cave in, she didn’t need to go and pick a fight with someone just to let those frazzled nerves exit through her fingertips.
It was dark, the painting, barely pretty – and she knew her mother was being polite, more proud of her for doing something than because she necessarily knew anything about art. A woman’s face sat in the middle of darkness, looming out from the centre of the canvas and looking out haughtily. It was surrounded by jagged shapes and strange lights, her body long and angular as she stood in the spotlight, not daring to look away. Evie had been offered £600 for it, and she knew she should have taken it, not been precious about it, but she wanted to hold on just a little longer.
‘I’m sure your dad will be so proud too,’ her mother smiled widely, cradling her cheek. Evie shook her hand away.
‘Is he here?’
‘He came back last night.’
‘Run out of money again?’
‘Evie!’
She squarely faced her mother, the feelings of pride and jubilation fizzing away; she shouldn’t have come home, she should have stayed in London, paid to store the painting somewhere. She just wanted her mother to see part of her new life. Trouble was, it was the old life that drove her to paint crazy shit in the first place.
Goodbye Ruby Tuesday Page 8