Goodbye Ruby Tuesday

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.