‘We’re going to lose Chelsea,’ she sighed, ‘and I can’t blame her. That shit about the assault case… that was a low blow and she’s… she was upset at the idea that they’d mention her by name, let alone…’
‘What happened?’ Killian perched on a stool, still holding Evie’s hand as he pulled her closer.
‘I never knew, only Ruby knew. Something happened, something bad. Chelsea changed, almost overnight. Decided she was going to get out and never come back. She was going to pick the biggest dream, one that everyone told her was out of reach, and she was going to prove them wrong,’ Evie let out a tired laugh. ‘That’s Chels, that’s how she functions. I get angry, she gets competitive. I found out later there was some sort of case, something that she could have given evidence in, but didn’t… god, she’s gonna freak out.’
‘Do they mention her by name?’
‘No… but she’s told her clients she’s involved in this, she’s invited investors, she’s put her neck out at her company for us. Hopefully, the fact that she changed her surname will protect her. Because I sure as hell didn’t.’ Evie rubbed her eyes, letting go of Killian’s hand to massage her temples. ‘I dragged her back into this. She wanted to keep her distance, protect her life, and I didn’t let her.’
Killian pulled her closer to him, lifting her chin so that she was faced with those kind blue eyes as he smiled at her. ‘Evie, we’re all responsible for our own choices. Chelsea is not the sort of person who does something she doesn’t want to. Mollie wouldn’t have moved if it wasn’t her dream. Ruby wouldn’t have gone out with a bang if she wasn’t tired of this world, if she didn’t want you to remember her fondly. You are not responsible for everyone else. You can’t be.’
‘I need to protect them.’
Killian let out an exclamation, a huff of air, half-exasperation, half-surprise, ‘You can’t. What are you going to protect them from? Ruby’s memory? London? The big bad newspapers?’
‘From him,’ Evie growled, ‘He’s after them because of me.’
‘What’s he punishing you for?’
Evie looked at the soft light entering through the smudged glass, how the workshop was warm with it, the soft sanded surfaces looking full of potential, ready to be finished and made whole, sent off to new homes with people who would adore them, display them proudly.
‘Maybe for being the only woman who’s never fallen for his bullshit. The man couldn’t even tell me a bedtime story without me knowing he was lying,’ Evie snorted. ‘But I don’t think he even has the capacity for that understanding. I’m a mark. Daughter or not, a con’s a con. And Bill doesn’t turn down a chance for a free ride.’
‘Even if it destroys his daughter’s chances?’ Killian frowned, and Evie smiled, shaking her head.
‘God, you have no idea where we’re from, do you?’ She stroked his face, ‘I love that you have the ability to be surprised that a man will put money over his family.’
Killian looked at her with sympathy, his eyes softening as he pulled her into him, his arms encircling her waist, ‘I’m sorry that you’re not surprised at all.’
She closed her eyes, resting her head against his, feeling his warmth against her, surrounding her. She felt the flutter of his eyelashes against her cheek, then his lips on hers, soft and still, pressed against her as she felt her own tears run down her cheeks.
Evie didn’t know how long they stayed like that, holding each other in the quiet of the workshop, the warmth from Killian’s skin seeping through to hers, somehow making her feel like it was okay to fall apart – because for the first time, someone might be there to catch her and hold her tight enough to put her back together.
Her phone rang, a sudden buzzing squawk that made them both jump and move away.
Evie looked at the screen and winced, pulling herself away from Killian and creeping quietly back inside the cat bed, her eyes shielded from the daylight as she stared at the curved hood over her.
‘Chels, I’m… I’m so sorry.’
‘You should be sorry, you lazy cow! It’s the day of the exhibition, and you’re not here! Time is money, Eves,’ Chelsea’s voice boomed energetically, and Evie sank back a little further into the darkness. She didn’t know.
‘You haven’t seen…’
‘That piss-poor excuse for an article, that was basically a slanderous, hateful piece of clickbait bullshit?’ Chelsea asked, her voice cutting through Evie’s foggy thoughts, ‘Yep. Seen it.’
‘And… you’re calling to tell me I’ve endangered your life and your relationship and you should have never been in touch with us?’
Chelsea laughed, a hard, rattling that sounded like machine gun bullets. ‘Nope. I called the paper, told them it was filth, but instead of dragging them through the courts, they had a front line ticket to the show at the opening tonight, where the man who stole Ruby Tuesday away from her foster family would be talking to us.’
‘Chels–’
‘We do know it,’ Chelsea said firmly, ‘don’t even try to pretend. But it doesn’t matter. He turns up, makes a fool of himself, and we get the publicity.’
Evie took a deep breath, ‘What about the… the thing in the paper, about the assault case?’
She heard Chelsea make a gruff ‘harrumph’ noise, ‘It’s all bullshit. And bullshit can’t hurt me. I told Kit about the surname thing. He doesn’t know everything, but he has an idea. And luckily, when you’ve created a kick-arse, bad motha persona, no one tries to doubt you. I suggest you try it.’
‘Right,’ Evie sat up, feeling like she was waiting for the punchline, ‘so you’re going to be here tonight?’
‘Babe, I’m here now. Kit’s making bacon sandwiches in the kitchen downstairs. I suggest you collect your clothes from wherever that naughty carpenter threw them, and get your cute behind down here. We’ve got a bastard to beat.’
***
Just as Ruby had always known to find her in the art rooms, Evie knew Ruby’s hiding place too. There was a small, dark room, almost a cupboard, out the back of the music department. If they had been able to afford equipment, it might have been a decent recording studio, or practice room. Instead, it held three keyboards, a couple of broken xylophones and some bongos that said ‘Greetings from Turkey!’ on the side. Students were hardly capable of making musical magic happen with that sad offering.
Evie waited outside, and the minute she heard the singing, she knew. Her voice was powerful, from another era, smoky and smooth and just as it got strong, it became vulnerable, lost into sighs. She switched from song to song, settling on a gentle rhythm that she tapped out on the table as she sang, ‘Don’t worry about a thing… every little thing is gonna be all right.’
Evie heard the catch in her voice and didn’t want to open the door any further, didn’t want to see Ruby in pain. She knew the social worker’s visit was coming. She knew Ruby’s foster parents had been less than pleased with her behaviour living with them. They were older, cold, had already dismissed her as just another problem child. Already broken. They were eager for her to leave so their lives could go back to normal, Ruby said, and she couldn’t blame them.
‘Don’t worry… about a thing…’ the voice mumbled away into soft sobs, and Evie was frozen between comforting her friend, and knowing Ruby would be outraged if anyone saw her fall apart. Even her best friends. The singing continued, despite the tears. Evie heard that little voice wavering over and over as she fell into a troubled sleep that night, knowing that she’d made the wrong decision. That she should have stormed into that music room and told Ruby everything was going to be all right, just like the song said. Instead, she’d walked away, with a painful feeling in her stomach. Three days later, Ruby was gone.
Chapter Fourteen
After trying to tidy herself up, realising that there was no way she could sneak back up to the flat without the congregation that had gathered downstairs noticing, Evie decided to just throw on her clothes from last night and strut into the kitchen like nothing was wrong. A
s she walked through the gallery space, taking in the work they’d done in the last few weeks, Killian took her hand, interlacing their fingers and squeezing briefly.
She quirked her lips at him, following the sounds of the music through to the kitchen, where they each grabbed a bacon sandwich before heading out into the conservatory. Jack was playing the guitar, an old bluesy number that he hummed along with, whilst Petunia stood next to him, tapping her toes beneath her floaty lilac dress. Chelsea and Kit stood together, chatting to Mollie, gesturing at the flowers which were now delicately growing up some of the poles Mollie had placed around the edges, meaning the pink petals caught the light through the glass and shone. Evelyn was sat at one of the little tables, now clean, with a cup of tea while Esme leaned against her, showing her something from a book. Evie felt her lip tremble a little with gratitude for the strange little family that had gathered around them and for some reason refused to leave.
‘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.’
‘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.
Goodbye Ruby Tuesday Page 22