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