Three friends have become four. But that’s only the beginning.

Ruby, Evie, Mollie and Chelsea were the bad girls at school. But Ruby was the baddest. Evie fought her anger, Mollie fought her mother and Chelsea…well, Chelsea just fought. But Ruby set her sights on a bigger stage. And together, they dreamed of a future where Ruby could sing, Evie could make art, Mollie could bake, Chelsea could dance – and all of them could finally feel at home.

A decade later, the girls are reunited for the funeral of Ruby Tuesday, the girl who took the world – and the charts – by storm, before fading too soon. And Evie doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry when she learns that Ruby has left them a house on Camden Square – the perfect place for them to fulfil their dreams. But does she dare take the plunge, and risk it all for one last shot at the stars?

Goodbye Ruby Tuesday is Book One in A.L. Michael’s new series, ‘The House on Camden Square’

Praise for A.L. Michael

‘I know it’s a good book when I shut the Kindle cover and sigh with contentment. The Last Word totally did it for me.’ 4* from Angela*

‘This is a funny, funny book.’ 5* to The Last Word from Rosee**

‘Fresh, fast and … had that magical romance feeling and a bit of hotness that you just can’t help but love. Absolutely brilliant!’ 5* to The Last Word from The Book Geek Wears Pajamas

‘I LOVED THIS. I laughed, I cried, I fell in love. All of the emotions were felt in the reading of this book and it is definitely one of the best Christmas releases that I’ve read this year.’ 5* to Driving Home for Christmas from Erin’s Choice**

‘I laughed, I cried and I was left with that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you read something wonderful.’ 5* to Driving Home for Christmas from That Thing She Reads

‘The story put a huge smile on my face and it’s just a feel-good with a bit of spark, glimmer, friendship, heart, fun and love. I couldn’t put it down!!!’ 5* to My So-Called (Love) Life from Simona**

‘My So-Called (Love) Life was one of those books I just happened to read at the right time which completely lifted my mood and made me feel and smile and want to start reading again.’ 5* to My So-Called (Love) Life from Sophie*

*Review from Goodreads

**Review from Amazon

Also by A.L. Michael

Also by A.L. Michael

The Last Word

Driving Home for Christmas

My So-Called (Love) Life

If You Don’t Know Me By Now

Goodbye Ruby Tuesday

The House on Camden Square

A.L. Michael

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2016

Copyright © A.L. Michael 2016

A.L. Michael asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9781474054447

Version date: 2018-07-23

A.L. MICHAEL

is a twenty-something writer from North London, currently living in Watford. She has a BA in English Literature with Creative Writing, an MA in Creative Entrepreneurship (both from UEA) and is studying for an MSc in Creative Writing for Therapeutic Purposes. She is not at all dependent on her student discount card. She works as a creative writing workshop facilitator, and copywriter, and is currently working on her new series. She has an alarming penchant for puns, is often sarcastic when she means to be sincere, and can spend hours watching videos of corgis on Buzzfeed. But it’s all research, really.

Thank you to the wonderful network of supportive writers I have around me, constantly there with cake and commiseration or congratulations and bubbles.

To my lovely work friends in my first ever 9-5, thank you for allowing me to steal your hilarious one-liners.

And huge, sparkly, endless thank you’s to my excellent editor Clio Cornish, who is as talented at correcting a plotline as she is at cushioning my poor, writerly ego.

For my friends.

We have moved on from WKDs, school trips and parties at Abercorn.

But you guys are just as awesome.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Praise

Book List

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgement

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Extract

Endpages

About the Publisher

Chapter One

When Evie Rodriguez woke that morning and put on her smartest black dress and oversized dark sunglasses, she did not think she would end her day sitting in a damp deck chair with a four-pack of cheap lager hanging from her fingertips. That said, maybe she should have.

She had already wrestled another two chairs from the shed, the lock still broken after all this time. Droplets of sweat ran from her hairline down her neck and the bridge of her nose was burning in the sunshine, but she refused to move. It was a test, of sorts. And she had to believe that they’d come.

***

‘Did you know her? Did you know Ruby?’

The little town of Badgeley had never seen such a commotion. At least, not since the X Factor tour bus broke down on the way to Milton Keynes in 2007. The little stone church, which had stood in the middle of the town for centuries, was guarded by police for the first time in history. The paparazzi didn’t seem to care, snapping away, taking pictures of the mourners, and Evie twitched her lips as she noticed some of her old classmates playing it up for the cameras. The gossip queens daubing dramatically at their dry eyes, talking about what an inspiration Ruby was. The rugby boys playing it up, grinning at the cameras. They wanted the world to think that they knew the legend that was Ruby Tuesday. And it was all a lie.

Evie adjusted her sunglasses and ran a hand through her curly dark hair. She could not get angry today. She had lots to be angry about; these stupid people pretending they knew her friend, the journalists showing no respect… and the fact that Ruby was gone. She was pretty angry about that all by itself. But she had promised her mother that she wouldn’t be bad today. Evie would show up, mourn her old friend and go back to her life. That was it.

She walked quickly into the church, which was already heaving with strangers. Ruby had only had a handful of friends in Badgeley. She was a troublemaker. A firecracker. Whatever else they wanted to call a young girl with red hair who didn’t do what people expected. The rest were just there for the drama of it all, to say they were there on the day that the superstar Ruby Tuesday was buried. Evie closed her eyes briefly, feeling the cool air in the church soften her nerves just a little. She saw her mother up in a pew near the front, beckoning her, her dark hair shaking with the movement.

‘How are you, my darling?’ Maria Rodriguez stroked her daughter’s cheek, scanning her face for a trace of something. Instead all she found was a blank mask.

‘I’m fine.’

‘She was your friend, you’re not fine,’ her mother insisted.

Evie shrugged, ‘She was my friend ten years ago, and only for a little while.’ Her voice didn’t shake but she refused to take off her sunglasses.

‘I’m surprised your father didn’t make it,’ her mother said softly, a look of disappointment gracing her features briefly.

‘Why?’ Evie tried to keep the malice from her voice, hissing a little in the church.

‘Because he always liked Ruby. He thought she was talented. He always said she’d be famous.’

And he’d want to be here to cash in on the chump reporters offering a few hundred quid for a story about her when she was younger. Evie bit her lip and said nothing, shrugging. Thank goodness he hadn’t turned up. There were enough people making money out of Ruby’s memory today. She couldn’t handle Bill being one of them.

She heard people quieten, almost felt them as they turned around in their pews to look at whoever had walked in. Was it one of Ruby’s famous boyfriends? Someone off EastEnders or from a boyband? A few of them were dotted about the front rows, heads down, dark glasses on. Evie turned, hating herself for caring. Instead she saw Chelsea, and a wry smile appeared on her face against her will.

Chelsea Donolly had shocked them all. Growing up like Evie and Ruby on the estate, everyone was convinced she’d amount to nothing. Maybe because her mother was a nasty piece of work and her stepdad had some dodgy business dealings. Maybe because she used to pull back her striped blonde hair into a tight ponytail and wear huge hoop earrings. Chelsea had a way of raising an eyebrow and jutting her hip that made you want to shit yourself with fear. That much hadn’t changed at least.

She waltzed in. Her hair was beautiful, a razor sharp platinum bob, her expensive black shift dress fitted tightly, and the red soles of her Louboutins screamed ‘local girl done good’. Evie wasn’t sure if Chelsea was trying to compete with their dead friend in that way. Chelsea scanned the rows for a space; and zeroed in on Evie, a half smile gracing her lips as she nodded. The last time she’d seen Chelsea was just before they’d gone their separate ways – Evie had gone to art college, and Chelsea was off to Oxford, desperate to show the people in this town that she was better than they knew.

A little part of Evie wasn’t sure if she hated her for that. If it was jealousy or failure speaking, she didn’t know. All she knew was that the woman in the Louboutins was not the Chelsea Donolly she had grown up with.

Evie watched as Chelsea tilted her head, waiting for people to let her in to one of the pews. At least that action was recognisable. She slipped into a row with some of the older townspeople, most of whom had thought Ruby was a little shit. Chelsea’s eyes seemed to scan the crowd and Evie watched as her eyes settled on Mollie, who sat primly in her black smock, her long, golden hair tied neatly back in a ponytail. Her daughter Esme sat beside her, like a mini doll version of her mother. Chelsea widened her eyes and looked back at Evie, raising an eyebrow.

Evie nodded, yes, that’s her kid.

Shit, Chelsea’s eyes seemed to say, and Evie watched for signs of judgement. Chelsea simply put her dark glasses back on again and looked straight ahead.

So it began. The songs were slow and solemn. It was a perfect June day, and the light filtered in through the stained glass windows. The priest spoke about Ruby’s fire and her passion, which was funny because he’d called her the devil incarnate more than once. Especially that time Ruby had convinced them to sneak into the graveyard to look for ghosts, and he’d found them gathered around an old grave singing Led Zeppelin. Evie had thought the old man was going to have a coronary. They’d scattered, giggling and squealing, jumping the fence. Evie had faced the disappointed eyes of her very Catholic mother for that one.

Old Father Hypocrite droned on, even citing Ruby as a ‘lyrical genius’.

‘She made music that really said something, that reached out and touched people. I think we all sensed that when Ruby was a young girl here, she was reaching out. She always wanted to touch people.’

Evie tried not to snigger, biting her lip as she looked at Mollie, whose own mouth was twitching. Ruby had started her career as a burlesque dancer in London. The priest was making her sound like Mother Teresa. And as for the lyrics, well he’d obviously never heard her first number one hit: Atheist Sucker Punch.

The service went on, the heat of the day filtering in among the bodies, and Evie realised this really had nothing to do with her friend at all. Ruby’s foster parents, who she’d lived with for the two years she’d been in Badgeley, were obligated to do something. But they never really knew their charge. Then again, Evie thought, did she even know Ruby Tuesday? She knew Ruby Montgomery – the person who stole art supplies for her because she knew she couldn’t afford to go to the classes. The girl who flirted with every taken boy, just to see who was enough of an arsehole to forget about his girlfriend. The girl who brought together Evie, Mollie and Chelsea, three ‘bad girls from the estate’ who had never really been given a chance in their tiny town.

Evie remembered that they’d been sitting on the hill in the park, drinking cans of coke and chewing on pick’n’mix, doing their homework when Ruby pointed out ‘they’re always going to think you’re bad girls, no matter how good you are’. She’d gestured at the homework, ‘You may as well earn the title.’

They were never really that bad, Evie smirked, just a little… mischievous. Ruby was a terrible influence though. Those two years were the most fun they’d ever had. And then she was gone.

The music started, and the procession commenced. Evie’s eyes didn’t water, not even a little. Maybe because it didn’t feel real, or perhaps because already she could see the women around her adjusting their make-up, aware of the roar of the paparazzi outside. Ruby deserved more than this. If it was going to be a circus, it should at least be a splendid circus, one with drama and colour and craziness. Ruby would hate to think she was mourned without some sort of grandeur. She would have wanted girls wailing and boys shaking their heads, champagne corks popping and balloons being let off in her memory. Hilarious stories shared with loud, dirty laughter. She would have wanted to be celebrated.

They filed out quietly, emerging into the harsh sunlight, and immediately the cameras went off again – the journalists clamouring for a good story, desperately hoping for some pictures of tearful mourners. Evie would not give them the satisfaction.

‘Evelyn!’ a voice called out behind her, and she whipped round, unsure of who exactly had ever called her that name. It was Ruby’s foster mother. Evie had never learnt her name, she was just that sour-faced older woman who so often just sighed and shrugged as they carried on.

Her eyes were also dry, Evie noted, and her lips were a thin line. This was more about obligation than any real affection for Ruby. Ruby was dumped on them after the care system realised they existed. They never made her feel loved or appreciated, and at that moment Evie wanted to hate the stiff-lipped old woman with the deep frown lines.

She pushed a letter into Evie’s hands, ‘This was found with her things, I’m assuming it’s for you.’

Evie looked down at the letter, a pale pink envelope speckled with gold glitter, edged with Japanese style stickers of unicorns and crescent moons. In the middle, in bright blue ink, it simply said ‘For my girls’. It was heavy and lumpy, holding something far more than just words. She pressed her fingertips along the ridges.

‘Are you sure this is for us?’

The woman shrugged, ‘No one else claimed it. Plus, there’s initials on the back.’ She walked off without looking back, glaring at the camera men.

Evie flipped the envelope, and true enough, at the bottom right-hand corner, in tiny writing it said:

(E, C and M)

Well, that made it a bit more obvious.

Evie looked around for Mollie and Chelsea, but was being swarmed by people leaving the church, and the demands of the journalists were getting louder.

‘Did you know her? We’ll pay for a story!’

‘Bet all the boys swooned – any of you date her? Bet she was a saucy one, eh?’

Evie couldn’t stand it any longer, marching over to the loudest one, a cigarette hanging from his mouth as he looked at her eagerly.

‘Did you know Ruby, love? Wanna get in the papers?’

Evie pulled the cigarette from his mouth and stamped on it.

‘She was my friend. And now she’s dead. Show some fucking respect.’

She barged past him, ensuring he dropped his voice recorder on the ground. The swearing behind her was faint consolation.

Her mother looked over and raised an eyebrow. Evie lifted up her hands as if to say I didn’t touch him. Her mother shrugged. She had to get back to work anyway and Evie needed to move, get beyond the fakeness of all of this.

She walked intuitively, not even thinking about where she was going. She just got out of the churchyard, down the high street, and then she could breathe. She’d been working really hard on her anger issues; taking up kickboxing, mindfulness, anything to stop that flash of red when something happened. And today her friend was gone, and a stranger was being both idolised and crucified in the papers. She knew what they’d say – drug overdose, mysterious circumstances, money worries. A four-page spread on the latest member of the Twenty-Seven Club.

Evie walked into the corner shop, picked up the lager, threw down the cash and walked out, not up for the cashier’s comments about how ladies don’t drink beer. She trudged along the school fence until it turned into hedges, thick and overgrown. She counted three steps and turned left, poking an arm through a small gap in the hedge, sighing before she chucked the beers through and wiggled through after them.

‘No graceful way to do that,’ she said to herself, pulling twigs out of her hair and surveying the scratches down her arms.

The grass was dry and overgrown, a wasteland when it had once been an oasis.

She’d been sitting for about half an hour when the hedge rustled and Mollie fell through the gap in the bushes, ‘Ow! That was much harder than I remembered it being!’

She’d changed into her jeans and a black floaty top, her hair tied back into a loose blonde ponytail now. She had less of a Mother Teresa vibe now, but that could be the fact that she had twigs in her hair and was holding two bottles of pink Lambrini. Mollie rolled up into a seated position, arching like a cat, ‘Sorry about the bevvies but it’s all I could grab on my way out. Plus, it’s kind of fitting, right?’

That had been their drink of choice, when they first met Ruby and found The Oasis; Mollie would sneak out bottles of Lambrini, the only thing her mum was never bothered about. Later, Ruby would flutter her lashes and get some of the local boys to buy them stronger stuff, but Evie quite liked the innocence of those days. Four girls with oversized straws in a fizzy pink drink, spinning around and giggling about how the stars became shooting stars if you spun around long enough.

‘So, do you think she’ll come?’ Mollie asked, dumping the bottles next to the beer.

Evie shrugged, saying nothing.

‘She wouldn’t have bothered coming back if it didn’t mean something,’ Mollie said lightly, relaxing back into the ancient checked chair.

‘People change,’ was all that Evie said, her eyes focused on that gap in the hedge.

‘This place doesn’t though,’ Mollie shrugged. ‘You can’t be angry that she got out, Eves, that was always the plan, for all of us. She and Ruby did it, and we didn’t –’ Mollie made a face, ‘– just the way it is.’

There was another rustling from the hedge, but further down, not in the same space she and Mollie had entered through. A hand appeared, clasping a bottle of prosecco, a platinum blonde head arriving after. Chelsea squeezed through with difficulty, rolling her eyes.

‘That was more difficult than I remembered,’ she grinned up at them, continuing to wiggle.

‘Because it’s not the bloody entrance,’ Evie rolled her eyes, pointing, ‘it’s over there.’

‘Well, that makes sense,’ Chelsea shrugged, looking around. ‘You’re seriously telling me none of the kids in this town are curious enough to make this their hangout?’

‘You kidding? They’ve got a skate park and a pavilion, there is no need for our shitty fairy circle with an old shed,’ Mollie laughed, looking around with affection at their sanctuary. At the back there was the caretaker’s shed, which was mostly full of pointless tools that had been forgotten about, but they’d stored deck chairs there, and a little cheap gazebo from Argos that they’d put up to keep out of the rain. Chelsea looked on, unimpressed with the chairs, dusting them off with a tissue from her bag, but still had half a smirk in place as she looked at their little oasis, overgrown and somehow so much smaller now.

‘I brought booze,’ Chelsea held up the bottle of prosecco, her eyes drawn to the pile in between them, ‘… and so did you.’

Evie didn’t like the way her voice flattened as she looked at their offerings. She couldn’t work out what it was that was pissing her off about Chelsea, itching beneath the surface of her skin. Whether it was the designer clothes, the perfect hair or the fact that she’d really been hoping Chelsea was going to turn up, stick her tongue out and brandish a blue WKD. Instead, she talked like she’d swallowed a polo mallet and had turned up to toast their friend with middle class bubbles. Like she didn’t remember them at all.

‘God, this place doesn’t change, does it?’

Evie followed her gaze, ‘Nah. Nothing ever changes, and nothing ever happens. Except the funeral of the terribly famous Ruby Tuesday.’

Mollie frowned, ‘Some things change,’ she said pointedly, raising her eyebrows.

‘Well yes, sorry,’ Evie said coolly, ‘we got a skate park, the corner shop now stocks decent biscuits and Mollie made a pretty awesome human being.’

Chelsea nodded, her face pinched, ‘I saw. Congratulations.’

Mollie raised an eyebrow, ‘Judgy Wudgy was a bear.’

‘A bear that didn’t get stuck in this shitty place and forget all about his dreams, no doubt,’ Chelsea said primly, tucking her hair behind her ear. Mollie’s smile dropped a little, but she shook it off.

‘She’s a great kid.’

‘I’m sure she is,’ Chelsea reached for her hand and squeezed, ‘how old is she?’

Mollie went to answer but Evie got there first, her voice a little higher as she stared at Chelsea’s designer shoes and bag, ‘We didn’t forget about our dreams. Life happened. We had responsibilities.’

‘I know, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. It just seems like a waste. You were a talented artist. And Mollie was a great actress.’ Mollie nodded, holding up the Lambrini bottle in thanks.

Evie huffed, ‘I’m still a talented artist. I went to art school. I sell stuff, I have an Etsy shop and had a London exhibition.’ Four years ago, she added silently. ‘And Molls still does stuff, she acts and she’s an amazing baker, even better than she was at acting!’

Mollie looked at Evie in surprise, ‘Thanks, but I’m not ashamed that most of my acting is in the Christmas panto each year.’ She turned to Chelsea, ‘I get a few gigs here and there, but I don’t like leaving Esme with my mum. You remember what she’s like.’

Chelsea nodded, ‘But the baking is your new passion?’

Mollie rolled her eyes, ‘Evie’s good at spin, as always. I do some catering stuff. I always had this thing where I wanted to cater kids’ parties, creating healthy but really cool food,’ she twisted the cap off the Lambrini, ‘but the short answer is I work at Greggs. And I’m okay with that.’

Evie looked at her like she had betrayed her, ‘No you’re not.’

She looked back soberly, ‘No, I’m not. But I’ll be damned if I have to justify my life and try to make it sound better than it is.’

Evie felt that dig, and knew it sounded like she was making excuses, like she had something to prove. And maybe she did. Stuck in Badgeley, desperate to get out again. Art college had been a glimpse into the life she could have had, working with artistic people, making jewellery, experimenting with photography and illustration. Everything felt possible. Except jobs were hard to come by, and she had to pay rent, and her mum wanted the company. She went home to regroup and, somehow, years had passed.

Evie looked at Chelsea, took in the manicured nails, perfectly done hair, the clothes, the head held high. Somehow it was all too… right. It wasn’t personal, it was like she’d been designed by a personal shopper at Selfridges. She’d gone in with a list of demands: ‘make me a successful businesswoman’; ‘make me intimidating’; ‘make it fucking expensive’… and, like a genie, they’d created her. This strange, polished version of Chelsea who was so far from the girl who used to swig WKDs and stick out her blue tongue for photos that it wasn’t even funny.

‘It’s just a waste,’ Chelsea shrugged, ‘this place is… well, it’s Badgeley.’

‘You still dancing then? You bought that fancy dress with money from the ballet?’ Evie knew she should let it go.

‘No, I don’t really dance any more.’

‘What a waste,’ Evie bit back with meaning.

‘Judgy Wudgy,’ Chelsea sighed and shrugged, rustling in her handbag for a pack of cigarettes. She proffered the pack to Mollie, who shook her head.

‘Still a B and H girl. That’s comforting.’

‘I don’t really any more,’ Chelsea shrugged, ‘Kit hates it, he thinks it’s uncouth. But… I figured if there was ever a day I was going to need a smoke…’

Evie didn’t want to ask who Kit was. It didn’t really matter. He’d just be another part of this perfect life that Chelsea seemed to have carved, when they hadn’t managed to. Mollie nodded quietly, but didn’t ask either, perhaps because Chelsea hadn’t asked about her kid. Was there even a point trying to get to know each other now?

‘I guess we’re going to walk down memory lane, then?’ Chelsea said awkwardly.

Sure, they’d all been friends before and after Ruby, but… well, it had been a long time. They were not the same people. Plus, Mollie had a child. They’d never had that much in common when they were kids, but things are just different then. You’re friends because you both want Joey to end up with Pacey in Dawson’s Creek, or because you both prefer the bright blue flavoured Millions sweets. It’s not based on anything real.

‘What else can we do? Talk about how our lives haven’t gone according to plan and get depressed?’ Mollie shrugged.

‘Well, Chels won’t be saying that, will she? Everything’s clearly gone right for our resident boffin,’ Evie said, and Chelsea turned at the sharp tone.

‘Well then that’s wonderful!’ Mollie said warmly, reaching for Chelsea’s arm and giving Evie a very specific look. ‘Today of all days, it’s good to know someone made it.’

‘Yeah, well at least Ruby shone for a while. Burn bright and all that,’ Chelsea said uncomfortably, and from the daggers Evie was giving her, she realised it sounded like another judgement. ‘I mean, that was exactly how she would have wanted it. Nothing by halves, lots of drama.’

Mollie laughed gently, nodding. Evie shrugged and rolled her eyes, but nodded too.

‘Let’s just… let’s just drink this booze and deal with everything else after, right?’ Evie faltered, a little unsure as to what this ‘everything else’ was. Their entire history with a music star? Their history with each other, and the fact that they were pretty much strangers? She was happy for Chelsea, really, but even just looking at her made Evie feel like a failure. She’d been trapped in the town she wanted to escape, and time had passed and it was running out. Look at Ruby. Nothing lasted forever.

Mollie produced some plastic cups from her handbag and carefully poured out the lukewarm pink fizz, ignoring the prosecco completely, and they silently tapped cups together, solemn and thoughtful.

‘To Ruby Tuesday,’ Mollie said.

‘To Ruby Montgomery,’ Evie corrected, and her companions nodded.

‘The girl who shone,’ Chelsea added, drinking from the plastic cup and trying to hide a wince.

Evie grinned at that, a fitting moniker if ever there was one.

‘You know, I saw her once, at Glitter Cabaret when I first moved to London. Back when she was still a burlesque dancer who sang,’ Evie offered, feeling the tension ebb as she sipped again at the sickly pink drink. ‘It was exactly that – she shone. All these people in the audience looking at her in awe. Like she was a fallen star. The energy that night was crazy.’

‘You didn’t say hello?’

‘No,’ Evie shook her head, ‘I was… embarrassed. Scared it wouldn’t be the same. So I got trashed and went home with some guy.’

The two women didn’t say anything, just looked at her. She could feel Chelsea smoothing out the lines of judgement from her face. Mollie just smiled softly, completely open, as always.

‘I wish I’d said something. I bet it wouldn’t have been awkward at all.’

Evie bit her lip and looked up at them for confirmation, adjusting her sunglasses. She knew how to make it look as if she didn’t care, but these girls had seen her games for years. They weren’t taken in by the facade any more.

‘Nah, she was still Ruby. Even when I watched her performing at the VMAs, she was still laughing as she danced, pouting in that way she thought was sexy,’ Chelsea grinned.

‘Yeah, you remember when she tried to teach us that?’ Mollie laughed, trying to pout. ‘I still can’t do it.’

‘Probably a good thing, it looks ridiculous unless you’re covered in body glitter on a stage in front of thousands of people.’

‘I dunno, she always made it look good, even with a dodgy school uniform,’ said Evie softly.

She took a breath. She needed to tell them about the letter. She fingered the strap of her handbag, where the letter sat safely. The minute they opened it, well, who knew? Ruby’s death had been full of mystery, one of those suspected overdoses that no one ever named outright, but the whispers still permeated. The magazines noted her failed relationships, first the DJ and then the music producer, and the club manager. They talked about how thin she looked, grey in pallor. Not enough sleep, too many nights up shaking away on whatever substances they decided she was on that week. It was all gossip, of course. Perhaps they took the pictures from different times, before all her stress and greyness. Before the new album got delayed, and she didn’t turn up to her gigs. Ruby Tuesday was having a breakdown, according to the media. Evie was a little terrified, in case that turned out to be true. But it had to be done.

‘Okay, so I have to tell you guys something, before I chicken out…’ Evie produced the letter from her bag, ‘Apparently, Ruby left this for us.’

‘Oh god,’ Mollie sighed, ‘it’s going to be a shit storm. She’s going to tell us something horrible. Or it’ll be a Peter Pan adventure to discover her killer or something.’

Evie and Chelsea just looked at her, and she shrugged, ‘I’m sorry, but you know Ruby. Things are never as they seem.’

‘Maybe she just wanted to say goodbye,’ Chelsea frowned.

Evie raised her eyebrows, ‘It’s Ruby. If there’s no drama, there’s no point. There’s gonna be a love child by Liam Gallagher or a dead cousin under the floorboards that she needs us to dispose of.’ Evie breathed out, half laughing, ‘However, she’s already dead, so how much worse can it get?’

Mollie sighed, ‘What if it’s a cry for help, though? What if she needed us and we could have done something…’ She broke off and looked away, tearing at the grass beneath her fingers.

‘And what if she’s just saying goodbye?’ Chelsea said quietly, eyes full of tears. She snatched the envelope from Evie’s hand, ‘I’ll read it out.’

Her fingers trembled as she peeled back the sticky lining on the pink envelope and took a few deep breaths to steady herself. She felt the weight of the envelope and shook it, peering in and frowning. She turned her attention back to the letter.

‘To my darling girlies,’ Chelsea’s voice wobbled, and she coughed to cover it. ‘It’s been a while, I know. I’m not sure you’ll believe me when I say I’ve tried to find you guys over the years. I thought I’d find you in the big city eventually, that one day you’d just turn up and say “Hi, look at my fabulous life!” and I wouldn’t have been surprised. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. At least I know you three will be here for my funeral.

‘I am sorry. Sorry for running, then and now. Sorry for not coming back. We always talked about having those adventures together, setting up a little arts centre for outcasts like us. Having a special place to make magic happen. I wish I’d waited for you all. My adventures would have been much better if I had my lovely girls with me. I could have come to you and whined about stardom, about the pressure. You would have known how I threw up in fear before every show, and how much I cried. Mollie would have stroked my hair and soothed me. Chelsea would have flooded me with rational solutions. Evie would have told me to get the hell up.

‘I often hear you in my head, Evie.’ Here Chelsea looked at her with a wry smile. ‘Whenever a new tour date’s been added or a big public break-up has been arranged by the PR people, or one of the magazines has circled my cellulite on their cover, I hear Evie saying “Man the hell up! You are Ruby Goddamn Tuesday and you can do anything!” Sometimes it’s comforting. Sometimes it’s scary.

‘I really am sorry about all this, the fuss and the effort. But I was fading away, being whitewashed by the limelight. My star was dulling and you know it’s better to go with a bang. I hope you all look terribly glamorous at my funeral, big hats and sunglasses, stoic and tearless.’

Chelsea looked at them, taking in the grass stains on their dresses and the plastic cups of lukewarm cheap almost-wine. The girls laughed a little, rolling their eyes. Chelsea cleared her throat and continued.

‘I hate that I’m being so sentimental, but when else am I going to say this shit? So there – you’re all special. You were special then and I’m sure you’re special now. Chels, you’ll be running some big important company like the terrifying person you are. Molls, you’ll be on the stage, acting in something smart, like Shakespeare. You always had that innocent otherworldly thing going on. And Evie, you’ll be running the show, won’t you? I always picture you in a studio somewhere, making art from Barbie doll heads, yelling about symbolism and patriarchy.’

Chelsea paused to grin at Evie, who rolled her eyes, ‘Oh cheers Rubes, that’s lovely.’

‘You were a very angry teenager,’ Mollie justified, ‘and you did make weird art from random crap.’

‘Is there more?’ Evie asked Chelsea, who nodded.

‘I hope you guys are still friends, and still using your gifts and doing what makes you happy. Although, if you aren’t, I suppose there’s nothing I can do about that now. Well, almost nothing.

‘There’s one thing. You guys always called me the troublemaker, the ringleader. So I’m putting that bossiness to good use: I want you to achieve that dream we had, if you still want to… the little arts centre we always said we’d have. Where you could dance and sing and play and draw, and everyone would be welcome. Even “bad girls from the estate” like us. If you still want to do this (and I really hope you do – I’ve thought about it over the years) I’m going to help.

‘I had a little secret space, a special place that no one knew about. I would write my songs and sing and it was a haven for me. And I want you guys to have it. I’ve got six months left on the lease, you can make it into the arts centre we always dreamed of.’

Chelsea’s eyes were about to fall out of her head, and she kept reading, speeding up.

‘It’s for you to make that special space a reality. I mean, if you want. It’s not like I’m going to be there to stop you, am I? But I’d be disappointed. I might even haunt you, if I can figure out how to do that! Like Peter Pan says, to die will be an awfully big adventure. And that’s the only adventure left to me. But I think you guys have got another big one coming up! A lovely friend named Evelyn owns the art space (I know Evie, right, another Evelyn? It was fated!), and she knows I wanted you to use it. Her number’s at the bottom of this letter. I’ve included my key (just try making a copy of that sucker!).’

Chelsea’s eyes wavered to the bottom of the page, and she nodded to herself, and continued reading, ‘Have some big adventures for me girls. Love you. Ruby.’

The women sat there, waiting for the hurricane to pass. The silence lasted forever, as they each stared at their hands, unsure of how to proceed. Chelsea upended the envelope into her palm, and the heavy iron key fell out. It was dark and thick, the top curved into roses and vines. It looked like something from a fairytale. It was attached to a red ribbon, scuffed around the edges as if it had been worn as a necklace.

‘Well, that was definitely Ruby,’ Chelsea shrugged, ‘just when you think everything’s settled, she manages to bowl you over with a brand new surprise.’

‘That crazy bitch!’ Evie exhaled, lying back on the grass, ‘I can’t even…’

‘She wants to give us our teenage dreams,’ Mollie said simply, smiling. ‘We were her friends for a couple of years when we were teenagers, and we’re the ones she wants to leave her legacy to. Isn’t that sad?’

‘I think it’s sweet, actually.’ Chelsea said softly, ‘She still thought our dreams mattered. Ten years later and that’s what she was bothered about.’

‘We can’t take it,’ Evie said simply, not looking at them. ‘It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?’

What she really wanted to say was: okay, how about it? Want to run away and use our dead superstar friend’s studio to make our dreams come true? But somehow that not only seemed childish but… well, selfish.

‘Why not?’

‘We can’t just… live her dream for her.’

Mollie looked up sharply, ‘But we could sublet the studio space for six months and use the money. Ruby wanted a better life for all of us. Do you think I want to be stuck living with my mum? Think I want to raise my daughter around a woman like that, drunk and bitter and spiteful? If Ruby knew what our lives were like, maybe she’d want us to have that money. She’d want us to have a fresh start.’

Neither of them had ever seen Mollie angry. Sad, disappointed, biting her lip to keep quiet – sure, those were Mollie-type things to do. But Mollie never got angry, because that’s just who she was. Living with her mum must have been hell if she was going to get so worked up.

Evie said nothing, but her lips were a thin line. It wouldn’t be right. But maybe that was because she still wanted exactly what Ruby wanted to give them. The little art gallery where all would be welcome.

‘She must have known we might not have the same dreams we had at sixteen though, right?’ Chelsea rationalised, ‘People grow up.’

‘Is that something to be proud of?’ Evie said bitterly, leaning up on her elbows to look at Chelsea. Chelsea had been the most exquisite dancer she’d ever seen. Everything about how she moved could tell a story, whether there was music or not. Tap, ballet, hip-hop. Chelsea just loved to move, like her body didn’t just house her soul, but it was her soul. The only relic of that version of her was her excellent posture. It seemed wrong.

‘Why, was she right about you, Eves? Are you nailing Barbie heads to canvas?’ Chelsea’s voice was challenging, and Evie remembered every fight they’d ever had, the squabbles and the all-out screaming matches, usually a case of hurt pride. She was older and wiser now. She hoped.

‘I make jewellery that may or may not include plastic doll bits,’ she smiled, ‘and I was trying to make it happen here. But let’s be real – an arts centre in Badgeley? I tried to set up a life drawing class last month; four people turned up, laughed at the model’s dick and reported me to the Neighbourhood Watch. Art is never going to happen here.’

‘So you do have that same dream? The one Ruby wanted for us?’ Mollie smiled, her whole face soft and light in the sun.

Evie pursed her lips in embarrassment, ‘That’s stupid, isn’t it? Chelsea’s gone off and has a big important job, and you made a person, and I’m here wanting to do the same stupid thing I wanted to do when I was a teenager. It’s pathetic.’

‘It’s not… it’s just, well, we have lives,’ Mollie soothed. ‘I can’t just leave my kid and my job and start up a business that may not work. It’s not… realistic.’

‘Neither’s being left a studio space by a dead school friend,’ Chelsea shrugged. ‘And for the record, I don’t have a big important job.’

‘Can you explain it in less than three words?’ Evie asked.

Chelsea opened her mouth, paused, closed it again.

‘Lots of paperwork?’ she offered. ‘No wait, let me try again. Project Management Bullshit.’

‘Do I have to be polite and ask what that entails?’ Evie said.

‘Please spare us both. It’s not worth explaining.’

Chelsea sighed, looking at the two of them. They were both stuck here. She’d made it – at least, she’d made it out of their crappy town. She had a well-paid job and a lovely boyfriend, but… sure, she still wanted to dance. Back when they’d been hatching this plan, they’d decided Chelsea would teach dance. First, she’d be an international dancing superstar, and then she’d return, and they’d all get together again, and she’d teach all the little girls how to dance. They wouldn’t just be the posh little girls either, they’d be the ones off the estate, the same place as her. They’d get funding and teach anyone who wanted to learn. That was the dream. But it was silly. She didn’t even continue dancing at uni. Too much pressure.

The silence stretched on. ‘It’s a lovely dream though,’ Mollie sighed. ‘I could make cakes. I always wanted a place to create delicious things, play, make fun stuff. Me and Ez cook together all the time… when the old bat is out of the house, obviously.’

‘You were going to teach drama classes, remember? All those little kids who wanted to learn how to lie, and you were going to teach them,’ Evie smiled, remembering the day mild, sweet-mannered Mollie told them she wanted to be involved in that plan, that she wanted to share something that she could do.

Mollie’s face hardened a little, ‘It’s a beautiful dream, and a beautiful gesture, but… we can’t. We have lives, and we can’t just turn them upside down because Ruby–’

‘Died?’ Evie offered, eyebrow raised.

‘…wanted us to,’ Mollie finished stiffly. ‘Believe me, I’d love to just run away, but I’m a mum now. I’ve got to be responsible.’

Evie knew she was fighting a battle that wouldn’t be won, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to win, but she had to keep talking, keep trying. ‘Wouldn’t it be better for Esme to see her mum trying for her dreams? To see her be brave and take a risk? Surely anything is better than being with your mum?’

Mollie’s eyes flashed, ‘Really, have you seen the shared accommodation they offer to a single teenage mum? Just because you had to come back after art school, you think you know what it’s like to make a life here? At least you got those three years in London! I was meant to be an actress. I had that space on the stage waiting for me when I left here – Ophelia. I was going to be Ophelia and here I am, working in fucking Greggs! Baking cakes and pretending I’m a caterer! Don’t try to tell me what my child needs, because I am doing the fucking best I can.’

Evie and Chelsea looked at each other, and then back at Mollie. Mollie never said the f-word. She even called it ‘the f-word’. Even before Esme was born, that was just Mollie.

‘I… I am so, so sorry Molls. Really,’ Evie grabbed her hand, and could feel as her friend relented.

She blinked, ‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Just… don’t act like I haven’t dreamed about running away. More than once.’

‘Come on Chels, let’s hear your reasons. Why don’t you want to?’ Evie switched the focus, trying for playful in her tone, but feeling like a bully. That naughty girl, Evie Rodriguez, causing trouble in the playground again. When all she wanted was for them to play with her and join in the game.

Chelsea pursed her lips, blonde bob swinging as she thought about it, ‘Hmm,’ she ticked off the points on her fingers, ‘already have a job, live in London, have a boyfriend, didn’t carry on dancing so I can’t teach, don’t really know how I’d be of any bloody use and… well, I have my life now. It’s not amazing, but it’s pretty damn good. Good enough not to sacrifice.’

‘She didn’t even say where the studio space was.’ Mollie made a face. ‘What if it was abroad, or somewhere far away and impossible?’

‘It was Ruby, she would have thought it through,’ Chelsea admitted, not sure why she was suddenly fighting the cause. She had a life, one she couldn’t leave.

‘So I guess that’s that, then,’ Evie said, trying not to sound bitter about it all. It was just like the school trip to Devon. She was insistent they all go, but Chelsea didn’t want to sacrifice time studying, Mollie didn’t have the money, and Ruby never made a decision before it was clear what was already going to happen. Evie was the only one who saw the possibilities, when the rest were full of excuses and reasons why it wouldn’t work. In the end she’d forced them into it, and it hadn’t been easy. She’d applied for the financial aid for Mollie, talking to their teacher about how Mollie was too proud to admit she couldn’t afford to go, so please tell her she’d won a special prize. Then she discussed the dangers of Chelsea’s focused vision with the school guidance counsellor, labouring the amount of teenagers turning to amphetamines to stay up studying, especially when there was a university like Oxford on the line. Suddenly, both of them were on their way, and all Ruby and Evie had to do was look at each other like they were surprised, shrug and get packing. Evie was sure she couldn’t manipulate her friends out of their lives as easily as she’d manipulated them onto a surfboard, but there was a childish part of her that really wanted to try.

‘Let’s just finish the wine and remember our friend,’ Chelsea shrugged, reaching for the bottle.

‘Yeah, let’s not waste time trying to catch up on each other’s lives, there’s no point I suppose?’ Evie grumbled at her.

‘What do you want from me, Evie? You want to sit here and catch up on what we’ve done for the last ten years? When none of that has anything to do with Ruby? I’d rather remember her, instead of telling you about what I’ve done and watching you search for reasons to get pissed at me, because I left and you didn’t.’

Evie tugged at her hair, twisting a dark curl around her fingers. Chelsea had a point. She was jealous that Chelsea got to have that life, and she’d spend time attacking her. It wouldn’t even be on purpose, but jealousy and loss work that way.

‘I think maybe Evie would just like you to at least feign interest in what we’ve done in the last ten years,’ Mollie said kindly, patting her hand. ‘Just because we weren’t in a city doesn’t mean we didn’t do anything.’

‘I know,’ Chelsea grinned, ‘you created a human being.’

Mollie nodded, smiling, and even Evie chuckled a little.

‘I’m sorry,’ Chelsea sighed, inspecting her French manicure. ‘I know I sound like a cold hard bitch. I do care. It’s all just so… exhausting.’ She turned to them, hoping they’d see what she saw. The sun was setting; the day had been emotional, horrible, shocking and somehow, briefly, comforting too. ‘Look, I’m staying at the Banner Hotel on the high street. Why don’t you two come and have breakfast with me tomorrow before I go? We could catch up on us then. But tonight, I think tonight should be for Ruby, and for the past.’

Evie lifted her near-empty plastic glass, ‘I’ll drink to that… on one condition.’

‘Which is?’

‘We go and have a real drink in a real place, because as much as I love nostalgia, I’m pretty sure my arse is damp from the grass.’

‘Agreed.’

Seeing three grown women fall out of a hedge onto the high street – laughing and clutching a near-empty bottle of pink Lambrini – might have surprised some people, but to the residents of Badgeley it was strangely fitting for the day when their biggest troublemaker finally left for good.

***

‘Why are you always in here?’ Evie looked up from her sketchpad to see a pale girl with bright red hair grinning at her.

‘They realised it’s the only time I turn up for detention.’ Evie scowled, tucking her pink-tipped black curls behind her ears and returning to her drawing.

‘What did you get detention for?’ The redhead moved closer, leaning on the desk. No one usually hung around school after hours, especially not the art department. It was the emptiest part of the school, littered with broken pencils and sad excuses for paint pots. And yet, Evie always found it to be soothing, the emptiness. There was no one there to wind her up, to push her buttons and try and control her. No teachers telling her she could have a real future if she could just sort out her attitude. No mother looking disappointed, getting calls from the school and sighing at her. No Bill, telling her she was stupid and ungrateful. In the quiet of the room after hours, her blood didn’t suddenly start to boil the minute one more person told her she was worthless. School seemed pointless, and she could go through the motions as much as the next person, but there was no point hoping for anything else, everyone knew the truth – she was a troublemaker and she had no future.

‘This dickhead grabbed my tits in Chemistry, so I kneed him in the balls.’

‘How can they give you detention for self defence?’

‘It was probably that as he was hunched over in pain like a little baby, he knocked over a Bunsen burner and set fire to his trousers.’

The girl smirked and shrugged, pulling at the worn sleeve of her uniform, ‘His fault.’

‘Probably didn’t help that I was laughing my arse off,’ Evie sniggered. ‘I’ve noticed they like it a lot more if you seem contrite. And I don’t really do that.’

The red-haired girl nodded like she was considering it, ‘Fair enough. There’s no point being fake just to please them. They should have stuck him in detention for harassment anyway. But that’s just the way the world works.’

‘Maybe it is.’

The thought was depressing when you admitted it out loud, Evie realised. The girl moved forward and looked at Evie’s drawing, so she turned the book a little so she could see. It was comic book style, featuring a cartoon of big-eyed boy clutching his crotch as flames started to lick at his knees. On the blackboard behind him, written over and over again was the phrase “I shall not touch girls without their consent”.

The girl laughed, freckles on her nose twitching as she nodded at Evie with something that looked like respect. ‘I’m Ruby.’

‘The new girl,’ Evie nodded uncertainly, ‘I’m Evie.’

Ruby grinned like she’d known that all along.

Chapter Two

Evie didn’t sleep that night, her mind dancing with all the possibilities that Ruby had offered them. The evening had been long and drunken, and whilst the girls had promised themselves they wouldn’t talk about their new lives, inevitably they had bled through into their stories. Evie knew most of Mollie’s stories, at least when it came to Esme, being her godmother, but even she was surprised by some of the tidbits that emerged. Chelsea, well, she seemed embarrassed by how well she was doing, which wasn’t like the Chelsea they’d known at all. She had been painfully focused. All her energy went into proving people wrong, showing them she could do anything. Now she seemed… faded. Maybe that’s what happens when you have no one doubting you any more. You give up the fight.

Evie knew they could do this, and she wasn’t quite ready to give up the fight for Ruby’s dream. Yes, that was selfish, but there it was. She brushed her hair, covered up the dark circles under her eyes with some foundation and started walking into town. All around, the high street seemed to be back to normal, as if they hadn’t buried a superstar yesterday. Evie pounded down the street, noting the pound shops that seemed to have multiplied, the chicken shops and empty shop fronts. Badgeley was not a town that was improving any time soon, and the desperate need to escape was burning away inside her.

She marched into the Banner, the only decent hotel in town, and saw Mollie and Chelsea already sitting with coffees in the restaurant. Mollie’s eyes looked red, and Chelsea’s mouth was a thin line. Something had happened.

‘Anyone else’s heads pounding this morning?’ Evie asked as she slid into a seat next to Mollie.

‘You have no idea,’ Chelsea said carefully, looking at Mollie, ‘I haven’t eaten a fry up in about four years, and that’s exactly what I’m after today.’

She looked a little less intimidating today, Evie noted, her hair was softer, make-up was more natural and she was wearing jeans. If she’d put on some more eyeliner and some massive hoop earrings from Argos, she might have looked something like the girl they’d known.

‘How about you Molls, fry up?’ Evie tried to get Mollie to look up, but she tapped her fingers on the table.

‘Yeah, sure… whatever.’

‘What did she do now?’ Evie asked, straightforward. Mollie’s head whipped up. ‘Your mum?’

Mollie’s hands clenched on the table, her whole body tense. The waiter arrived to take their order, and they waited until he disappeared before talking.

‘I got home last night, and not only was she drunk as usual, but she was smoking weed in the living room. With my baby girl upstairs. Esme said she came downstairs because something smelled funny and she thought the flat was on fire.’

‘Is she okay?’ Chelsea asked.

‘Oh yeah, she’s fine,’ Mollie said bitterly, ‘it was only when this morning she mentioned that Nanny was dancing around and tried to make her smoke some of her funny cigarette that I lost my shit. I can’t stay there any more, I can’t! I’m out for one night, one night in years, and she can’t act like a normal human being.’

‘Oh Molls,’ Evie clasped her hand, and Mollie looked up.

‘I think I can do this. If you have a plan, if you think we can make Ruby’s dream work, we’ll come with you. Six months to make the place viable, make it make money. I can’t stay in Badgeley. I can’t live here and die here and know I never did anything with my life.’

‘For real?!’ Evie’s face threatened to crack with the power of her smile.

‘It’s got to be planned Evie, I’m talking military precision. I’m not leaving till we’ve got an income and a home lined up,’ Mollie said seriously. ‘At least it’s the summer so I’ll have ages to register Ez with a new school…’

Chelsea looked back and forth between them, silent as the food was put down in front of them. Suddenly her stomach numbed. They were going to do this? Without her?

‘Isn’t that a bit of a one-eighty from last night?’ Chelsea said. ‘Maybe you should think about it, there’s no rush, is there?’

Evie frowned at her, and Mollie shrugged, ‘It’s been ten years. Things happen when they’re meant to.’

Evie cleared her throat, finishing buttering her toast before she shared her latest realisation.

‘I may have done something… well, not bad, not really, but…’

‘Evie.’ She looked up to find her two old friends staring at her with exactly the same look they’d given her at seventeen when they found her sucking face with that guy who used to sell cigarettes in the pub.

She huffed, holding up her hands, ‘I called Evelyn on the way here. The woman who owns Ruby’s arts centre place.’

‘You did that without us?’ Chelsea frowned, ‘Way to be secretive, Eves.’

‘I was going to tell you this morning what I found out, that was always my intention. I was just… curious. You guys have lives and reasons to go back to them and, well, I don’t. I wanted to know if there were options.’

‘And?’ Mollie’s blue eyes radiated hope, as if smiling desperately could make it into good news, ‘Where is it?’

‘London,’ Evie grinned, ‘near Camden Market.’

Chelsea froze, not entirely sure what it meant but feeling as if suddenly she was standing at the end of a long tunnel. London. Home, her home.

Mollie tried not to look disappointed, ‘Well, it would be a great place for an arts centre. A shitty place to try and pay for rent while working for minimum wage though.’

Evie tried to hold back a smile, ‘Mollie, what if I told you that this nice lady Evelyn asked us if we’d be using the two-bedroomed flat that Ruby had also been renting? That is completely paid for along with the studio.’

Mollie’s eyes shone, and she broke out the huge white grin that got her the lead role in Annie with absolutely no audition, ‘For six months, like she said in the letter? Along with the studio?’

Evie paused, then nodded, her grin matching Mollie’s, ‘We can do this, Molls.’

Come on…. come on. Let’s do this. We’re meant to do this.

Mollie’s eyes bulged, ‘London. We can easily get the centre going in six months, and even if it’s struggling, six months to save would let us save up for rent. I’ll put in a transfer form at work today. They can send me to a London store, so I’ll still have an income.’

‘How long will that take?’ Evie bounced in her chair, grinning.

‘Two weeks, max.’

Chelsea looked between the two of them, ‘Seriously? That’s it?’

Mollie and Evie shrugged, looking at each other. ‘Ruby has decreed. We need to get out, and we’ve got a chance to make our dreams come true. Why not?’

Chelsea’s eyebrows skyrocketed, ‘You just used to be so… cautious, Moll.’

Mollie snorted, taking a sip of her coffee, ‘I think if I was cautious I probably wouldn’t have a ten-year-old daughter. This is our chance. The question is…’ she delicately put down her cup ‘… are you in or out?’

Chelsea’s mouth twitched briefly into a smile, shaking her head and rolling her eyes, ‘Sure, I’m in.’

Evie looked at her doubtfully, but smiled all the same. ‘Bucks Fizz with our breakfast then?’

‘Urgh, how can you even think that?’

‘Hair of the dog. Besides, Ruby would love it,’ Evie justified, and waved over a waiter.

A little niggle of doubt gnawed at her, a tiny bit of guilt at the white lie she’d told. Evelyn had been telling the truth, Ruby had paid up in advance for the space and the flat. But she’d written that letter months ago. They had three months left paid on the lease. Three months to make it a success and survive. They could do it, they could. It would be just like that school trip again. Evie would work out all the crap behind the scenes to make it happen, and in the end, they’d never even know there had been a chance of failure. Three months. It was barely a lie. She looked at Mollie’s face, almost splitting with happiness, and clinked her champagne glass in determination.

Chapter Three

Life went on in Badgeley. Evie went to her job at the call centre, but she dealt with customer complaints with finesse, even smiling when she hung up her headset for the day. She had an entire notebook filled with ideas for their gallery space, as well as lists: what to pack, what to leave, what to fix, things to remember. The two weeks waiting for Mollie’s transfer time was like torture, counting down the days until they could get it started, get it making money. Especially with the three-month deadline at the back of her mind. They all had less time than they thought.

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 interjected sternly.

Esme rolled her eyes, ‘Duh, Mum. Obviously.’

‘She did a bad thing, but she did it out of love for a friend,’ Evie shrugged. ‘That’s what Ruby was, a patchwork of good intentions, bad choices and terrible impulse control. She wanted people to achieve their dreams.’

‘And that’s why we’re going to London,’ Esme finished, cleaning her glasses on the bottom of her Fame t-shirt. ‘So you and Mum can start an arts place with yummy cakes and cool art and dancing and plays.’ She paused, frowning at her glasses, then putting them back on and meeting Evie’s eyes in the mirror. ‘I think there should be a book corner.’

‘That’s a great idea Ez!’

‘I know,’ the little girl shrugged, and went back to her book.

Evie raised her eyebrows at Mollie, who shrugged and threw up her hands.

‘Eves… what if we’re making a mistake?’ Mollie said quietly, staring out at the road ahead.

‘We’re not!’ She took her eyes off the road to glare at her friend, ‘Just think of this as another Streetcar situation. Ruby knows what she’s doing.’

‘Ruby didn’t know us as adults,’ Mollie shook her head, her blonde curls shaking sadly.

‘Lucky we weren’t smart enough to outgrow our dreams then, isn’t it?’ Evie said brightly, and turned on the radio, trying to ignore the tiny thud of guilt that jabbed her whenever she thought about how much they had to lose.

***

‘No need to thank me,’ Ruby said, dumping the plastic bag on the bed. Evie looked at her warily, and then went to open it. Inside were pencils, charcoal, colouring pencils. A sharpener in the shape of a teddy bear and a collection of rubbers in neon colours.

‘What is this?’

‘You shall go to the… art… drawing class thingy!’ Ruby said, as if waving an invisible wand. ‘I knew you couldn’t go to the class without art supplies. So there they are.’

Evie raised her eyebrows and felt her chest constrict a little, ‘Rubes…’

Ruby waved her hands in front of her, ‘Nope, no soppiness. You know I don’t do all that icky stuff.’

‘Oh shut up, dork!’ Evie pulled her into a hug, ‘How did you even afford this?’

Ruby’s hair tickled her nose, and smelled like a strange mixture of rosewater and Charlie body spray. She clutched at her delicate waist, rocking a little.

‘Best not to ask,’ came Ruby’s reply, and Evie pulled back, raising an eyebrow.

‘Rubes, a handful of pick‘n’mix at Woolies is one thing – did you steal this stuff?’

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.

‘When it comes to noise, if we… when we have events on… well, it won’t work to have drilling or banging or whatever it is you do.’

Killian’s lips quirked, and he learned on the doorframe. ‘Well, in that case, I’ll give you a list of my working hours and you can work around me.’

‘Um… excuse me?’ Esme put up her hand like she was in class, and stepped forward.

‘Yes?’ Killian answered, bemused.

‘I think you may need to look up compromise in the dictionary, because that’s not what it means.’

The carpenter’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at Evie, ‘Is she being funny?’

‘She’s ten,’ she rolled her eyes ‘her sense of sarcasm hasn’t been cultivated yet.’

‘She’s just pedantic, honest,’ Mollie supplied helplessly, putting her hands on Esme’s shoulders, as if she was afraid Killian was about to launch himself at her daughter.

‘I was using the word compromise ironically,’ he said stiffly, directing his answer to Esme.

‘Nope, that’s not what that means either.’ The ten-year-old crossed her arms after adjusting her glasses. ‘I think you’re just being grumpy so you can be grumpy. And that’s no fun at all.’

‘Kid’s got a point, Grumpy Pants. What did we ever do to you?’ Evie countered, arms crossed to match her goddaughter.

‘I don’t want things changing. I’ve got a good place to work and I intend to keep it. Evelyn’s a good woman, and I don’t want this place getting screwed, and her along with it, just because some dead diva with an attitude problem said her friends could use the space.’

Screw anger management. Evie felt her jaw drop this time. Usually in these situations she’d see red, and she had to admit there was a little ruby fuzz clouding the edge of her vision, but that may have been a blood vessel popping from the shock. Dead diva! What a bastard.

Evie breathed deeply, in through the nose, out through the mouth, listening for the rasp of air at the back of her throat. She clenched her eyes shut and imagined those words soaring away on a breeze.

‘What’s she doing?’ The arsehole’s voice permeated her calm.

‘Auntie Evie has rage blackouts. She’s working through them though, right Mum?’

Mollie grinned at Killian, eyes narrowing, ‘Right, baby.’

Killian threw up his hands, cried ‘Bloody lunatics!’ and stormed off, slamming his door behind him. Evie opened one eye to make sure he was gone.

‘You have to do that every time he says anything mean to you!’ Mollie laughed, clutching her stomach.

‘Which I imagine, from that charming interaction, is going to be a lot.’ Evie grinned, ‘What an arse!’

‘You might want to change your inflection – that sounded like a compliment,’ Mollie smirked.

‘That was a horrible thing that man said about Aunt Ruby,’ Esme said sternly, looking at the closed door with a furrowed brow ‘do you think he was in love with her?’

Mollie and Evie blinked and looked at each other, shocked at the little girl’s perceptive skills, but also scared about what that might mean. And just how possible it was.

‘Why would you say that, baby?’ Mollie asked, stroking a hand over Esme’s silky hair.

‘Boys are mean when they love you. That’s what the girls at school say. And all those movies.’ Esme shrugged, sighing at the terrible facts of life. Mollie looked horrified, and Evie made a face, ‘Hun, if someone’s horrible to you, it’s because they’re horrible. They can’t use love as an excuse. Maybe that man did love Aunt Ruby, but when you really love someone, you’re not horrible to them, okay?’

Esme shrugged, ‘Sure.’

‘I wish parenting would come with a bloody handbook about how to undo the sh–’ Mollie swerved, ‘silly things society teaches kids.’

‘Hey, we’ve fallen for it too.’ Evie shrugged, looking up at the narrow staircase, ‘So we’ve already met the troll under the bridge – how bad can it be?’

Two flights of winding, cramped stairs that seemed to get more uneven as you walked up, the threadbare carpet coming unstuck beneath their feet, and they were in the flat.

Apart from a faintly musty smell, it had a lot going for it. Light streamed through large bay windows, and there were skylights to enhance the effect. Whilst furniture was sparse, it was good quality. A solid coffee table and creamy sofa that Esme immediately sunk into. The kitchen had a breakfast bar, and each bedroom had beds with solid wooden bed frames. The bigger room had a four-poster bed with gauzy blue fabric floating from each corner, and Evie watched as Esme’s eyes widened with glee. The second room was even more sparse – a low bed set in a frame, close to the floor, that seemed to be made of pallets, sanded down until they seemed solid. Evie imagined the room with hanging canopies, and tea lights on the pallet edges, fairy lights beneath them. She could make this place magical.

‘So, what do we think? Can we make this home?’ she asked Esme and Mollie.

‘What do you think, Ez?’ Mollie directed the question at her daughter, anxious and unsure.

Esme beamed, ‘As long as we get the magical princess bed, this is going to be wonderful.’

***

The rest of the day passed quickly enough, lugging their furniture up the narrow staircase, unpacking and rearranging. Evie was shocked to find how few possessions she actually had. But there was her duvet cover on the bed, material draped from the huge bay window and, in the corner, a little table set up as her work station – her toolbox painted with purple glitter nail polish. It looked like a sixteen-year-old girl lived here; but she grinned, because that meant a trip to Camden Market for more pretty things. Esme would love it.

They found a stash of takeaway menus in the drawer and ordered pizza. Mollie had phoned Chelsea to invite her, but it went straight to voicemail. Evie stopped herself from commenting, just barely. It was starting to feel very much like Chelsea didn’t have time for them or Ruby. But that wasn’t much of a surprise, seeing as they hadn’t tried to get in contact with her for years. Maybe her life was exactly how she liked it.

Evie pounded down the stairs to get the pizza, and as she returned she paused outside Killian’s door, preparing herself for the treacherous climb up the stairs. Through the door she could hear the faint strum of Metallica. What was that guy’s problem? Usually people got to know her before she pissed them off. Like when a guy chases you for three years, knows you’re a selfish bitch, and then gets upset when you don’t want to marry him. That was usually how she upset people. Well, how she upset Nigel. Continuously. For many, many years. In general, she knew she was an ‘acquired taste’; she could be aggressively passionate about things, a little too focused, a little too desperate to get things done. She was not everybody’s cup of tea, she knew that. But damn, it wasn’t nice when someone disliked you for no reason. But maybe Killian was just a grouchy arsehole. Or maybe, it was about Ruby. Esme’s comment circled her brain – would Ruby have fallen for Killian? The connections listed by the tabloids usually included boyband members and reality TV celebrities. Could she have loved a carpenter from North London? Probably not. For Ruby, love was a stepping stone, not a place you stayed. But a man loving Ruby, and her enjoying the attention until she found something better? Well, that was Ruby all over.

Maybe she should be nice to Killian, maybe he was grieving and confused too. Or maybe, just maybe, he was an arsehole, and she had enough problems to deal with. She had to build this place in a couple of months, before Mollie could realise there was not quite as much money or time as she’d thought.

As she thundered up the stairs with the Veggie Supreme Esme had insisted on (she could now be a vegetarian as she was out of her grandma’s turkey twizzler clutches), Evie realised that everything she had ever wanted was completely possible. And as they sat on the floor of their new flat, making plans and laughing, Evie imagined Ruby with them, believing anything was possible.

Chapter Four

‘Don’t get used to it, and don’t tell your mum,’ Evie grinned at her goddaughter as she handed her cold pizza for breakfast. Esme shrugged and raised an eyebrow, taking a delicate bite as if to check there were no consequences. She chewed and nodded.

‘Once, when Mum had an audition in London, Nanny gave me Pop-Tarts for dinner and told me not to tell.’

‘That sounds great,’ Evie shrugged, ‘I’d love to have Pop-Tarts for dinner, but when you’re an adult you start to feel guilty about that kind of stuff.’

‘The worst one was definitely the tin of sweetcorn and half a Mars bar,’ Esme rolled her eyes. ‘I’d said to Nanny a Mars bar wasn’t nutritious so she gave me a tin of sweetcorn and told me to stop being such a belladonna.’

‘Prima donna,’ Evie corrected with a frown. ‘Why didn’t you tell your mum?’

‘Because she’d stop going to auditions and then we’d never leave Nanny’s.’ Esme looked uncomfortable for a brief moment, but took off her glasses to clean them on the bottom of her t-shirt, ‘Doesn’t matter anyway, we’re here now.’

Evie wasn’t really sure how to handle this information, and decided the best course of action was to make Esme love her new home. She’d known living with Linda had never been the best of times; the woman had always been a pushy, loud drunk. But she’d managed to raise Mollie, who was sweet and kind and loving. Whatever she’d done, Evie had assumed Esme felt loved at home. But maybe they’d all been waiting for an escape. Ruby included. She’d got her escape, and then she’d passed it on to them. And Evie wasn’t going to waste it.

‘Well, seeing as your mum’s got her first shift at the new branch, I think you and I should properly look at this place and see what it needs to make it a home. What do you think?’

An hour or so passed with them walking around, Esme intent with her little notebook and pen, scribbling down every idea. A patchwork bedspread, a beanbag, plates with sunflowers on them. Anything they could think of to make it ‘theirs’. Things they didn’t even know existed.

They walked into Mollie and Esme’s room, looking at the tatty brown wardrobe up against the wall in disappointment.

‘It’s really ugly,’ Esme twitched her nose.

‘Maybe we could paint it? Put some flowers on it?’ Even Evie was doubtful, unable to visualise the awful cupboard being anything other than old-fashioned and vile. ‘What if we moved it over by the window? It’ll be out of the way at least.’

Esme shrugged, and together they started to push the huge thing across the floor. It squeaked as it scratched the floorboards and Evie winced, worried about the state of the wood. There less than a day and they were damaging things.

‘Evie! Evie!’ The little girl pointed as she did a little hop of excitement, pausing to push her glasses up. ‘Look, look!’

Where the cupboard had been was a doorway, small with a wooden panelled door. It looked like something out of Alice in Wonderland, and Evie had to bend to reach the brass doorknob.

Please don’t be full of dead bodies, please, please, Evie closed her eyes briefly, then twisted the handle, pushing the door open firmly. The room was normal, apart from its low ceiling and small door. Esme walked through comfortably, her little face lit up in wonder. At the far end of the room was a long window, and Esme peered down to the courtyard where the car was parked.

‘A secret room!’ She clapped her hands.

‘Better than that, Ez – your secret room!’ Evie squeezed her little shoulders, ‘You don’t have to share with your mum any more, you’ve got a room of your own!’

Esme launched herself at Evie in a rare show of affection. So often Esme seemed otherworldly, strangely aware for a ten-year-old, like she was too smart for all these silly emotional adults. But now she was just a kid who had a real home.

‘Thank you for bringing us here,’ she mumbled, her hands clamped around Evie’s waist. ‘I’m sad Ruby died but I’m glad we get to be here. It’s like you’re my godmother and Ruby’s my fairy godmother.’

Evie didn’t like to point out that if Ruby had lived to be an honorary auntie, she would have been the one who gave Ez terrible advice about boys, taught her how to smoke without Mollie knowing, and generally would have caused trouble. But still, the idea made Evie smile – Ruby Tuesday in her sparkly green corset, red hair gleaming as she waved her wand and granted wishes. Glinda the Good Witch, and Ruby the Rebel Fairy. It was a nice picture.

She grabbed Esme’s hand, ‘Well I may only be your boring, regular godmother, but I think we should go down to Camden Market and buy lots of beautiful things to make your secret room truly special.’

Esme grinned, then faltered, ‘But that might be expensive and Mum says–’

Evie held up her hand, remembering her own fears when she was Esme’s age, that everything she wanted was always more than her mother could afford, and she’d never wanted to make her mum feel guilty. She was not going to see Esme do the same.

‘Yes, but what if your fairy godmother left a little Esme-stash of money? Ruby wanted everything beautiful and sparkling all the time. It seems only fitting.’ It was a lie, but it was a white lie. Just for once, she wanted to be able to give Esme everything she wanted, and Ruby was a way to do that.

Esme’s smile was a beautiful thing, the little dimples that puckered her cheeks, and the way she pulled at her ponytail when embarrassed. Unless she was being given books, Esme wasn’t really sure how to react when she received things. Evie was desperate to make sure the kid knew that you could own things that were pretty and absolutely pointless. She felt it her mission in Esme’s life – to ensure she was surrounded by beautiful, impractical things – although she wasn’t sure why.

They chattered as they clunked down the stairs, almost matching in their jeans and t-shirts, but Esme’s bright blonde curls and dark rimmed glasses meant no one could ever mistake her for Evie’s child. Evie was a double of her own mother, huge dark curly hair, skin that tanned at the barest kiss of the sun, and dark brown eyes that often turned black when you were a source of irritation.

‘You know what would be cool?’ Esme said as they walked through the gallery, ‘A little place to sit by the window, so I could read my books.’

‘A window seat!’ Evie agreed, her mind already sketching out the plans, ‘With some bookshelves underneath for storage, and a beautiful cushion on top in whatever colour you want! I’m sure I could make that for you, Ez!’ She patted her keys in her jeans pocket as they passed the kitchen.

‘You’re going to build a window seat?’ Killian’s voice from behind them was mocking, and when she turned he had his arms crossed, leaning back against the doorframe.

‘Oh so you do leave your hovel occasionally,’ she rolled her eyes ‘how lucky for us.’

‘Sorry, maybe I didn’t get the inflection right,’ Killian ignored her, ‘you’re going to build a window seat.’

‘So what?’ Evie shrugged, ‘I’m a designer, I make things.’

‘Jewellery. Evelyn said you made jewellery.’ His tone was really starting to piss her off, and that shit-eating grin wasn’t helping either. Like he knew he was getting to her.

‘Oh well, tiny intricate details, great honking bits of wood – there’s a difference?’ Evie lightened her voice, assuming an airhead persona.

‘Well, it’s hard work. Playing with some buttons and calling it art is hardly taxing, is it?’ Killian grinned at her, running a hand over his dark stubble. He was wearing a black t-shirt covered in dust, and jeans that had natural tears in them. Damn, but she enjoyed the bad boy thing. Give her a kind, loving man she could take home to her mother, and she’d still end up kissing the moody bartender who’d refused to give her a discount and would never call. There was something safe about having low expectations. Or none at all.

‘Talk to me in two weeks when we’ve completely turned this place around,’ she shrugged, smiling evenly, ‘I’m sure all that noise and action won’t disturb you.’

‘And what if it does?’

‘Well, it’s very, very lucky that I don’t care, isn’t it?’ she grinned, ushering Esme towards the door.

‘I can make your life very difficult, you know,’ Killian growled, and that just made Evie grin even more. No great comebacks from the so wise and powerful arsehole?

Esme blinked at him, ‘Why are you so mean to Auntie Evie?’ She tilted her glasses to look up at him severely, a move she must have picked up from a seventy-year-old school teacher. ‘You know, Danny in my class, Danny Simpson not Danny Cambio, well he was mean to me for a long time. He kept pulling my hair and calling me names and then his friend Freddie said it was because he wanted me to be his girlfriend!’ She fixed Killian with a steely glare, ‘Do you want Auntie Evie to be your girlfriend?’

The look of shock on Killian’s face was replaced, just for a millisecond, with a grin. His lips pulled up at the edges as he looked at Evie in disbelief, two adults witnessing this child’s unintentional hilarity. And then the moment passed; he coughed, physically shook the smile away and marched off back to his studio.

Esme frowned, ‘He’s a strange man.’

‘Yes, yes he is.’ Evie agreed, ‘Is there a reason you insist on believing that he’s in love with someone and that’s why he’s mean?’

‘Because no one’s just mean for no reason,’ Esme said, exasperated by having to explain the obvious things in life to her clueless aunt. ‘Except Nanny, but I think that’s the peach schnapps. It doesn’t love her back.’

Evie bit her lip, scanning the child’s face, ‘Esme…’

The little face grinned up at her, ‘I’m being cheeky, aren’t I?’

Evie laughed, ‘Yes, yes you are. And sadly, sometimes people are just mean.’

‘I don’t believe that; did you do something to make that man hate you?’

‘No! You’ve been here every time I’ve seen him!’ Evie laughed, ‘Besides, what could I have done?’

‘You told Uncle Nigel you didn’t want to marry him and that made him hate you. Maybe Killian wants to marry you?’

Evie closed her eyes briefly, trying to find the strength, or just something that made sense.

‘Nigel doesn’t hate me, he was just sad,’ she lied.

‘He told Mum you were a flaky bitch,’ Esme said, too innocently.

Evie raised an eyebrow, ‘Don’t think you can swear just because you’re being a gossip. Nigel was sad, and Killian doesn’t want us changing too much of his life. That’s all. Now, do you want to stay here discussing weird men, or go out so I can buy you pretty things?’

‘Pretty things,’ Esme said instantly.

‘Good, let’s go.’ Please let her always be at an age where I can bribe her out of having awkward conversations about boys.

The next few hours were spent in Camden Market, finding material, trinkets, paints, blankets and the odd piece of furniture. Evie watched her goddaughter as her eyes lit up, intrigued to know what things were, what they felt like, where they came from.

Evie’s final purchase of the day was a knee-high lantern with each window pane a different colour glass. Esme had ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ for so long that Evie had arched an eyebrow and asked if she was auditioning for something. But of course, she’d bought it for her anyway. She’d long since realised spoiling a kid was a lot more fun than spoiling herself. There was a lot less guilt attached too.

By the time Mollie came back to the flat that evening, eyes tired and smelling of yeast and butter, at least parts of the flat had been transformed. Three huge bowls of spaghetti bolognese sat on a newly erected dining table, along with a bottle of red and two glasses, and a glass of Ribena for Esme. Little tea lights warmed the still mostly empty flat, but it seemed a lot more homely somehow.

‘Mum, Mum!’ Esme grabbed Mollie’s hand and dragged her through the flat, ‘You’ve got to see what we found!’

‘What we made!’ Evie corrected, winking.

‘A secret room! My room!’

Mollie frowned, looked at Evie and then shrugged, letting herself be dragged through the flat. They stooped through the little door; the space inside was beautiful. There was a fluffy purple rug in the corner, next to an old bookcase they’d found in a second-hand shop and lugged back with considerable difficulty. The window had a bead curtain, parted in the middle, rustling purples and reds and pinks in the breeze, giving the room a warm glow. The lantern in the corner glowed too, highlighted by the purple fluffy fairy lights strung around the room, and a patchwork purple duvet on the floor where the bed would be.

‘Still a work in progress,’ Evie said, ‘we only found it this morning.’

‘It’s wonderful!’ Mollie said, looking with wonder at her daughter, who seemed to have gained four new facial expressions since she’d left her sleeping that morning. Pure joy and unadulterated excitement being two of them.

They blew out the candles and moved into the living room to eat, Esme still chattering away about all the things she was going to put in her room.

This could work, Evie realised. Her and Mollie and Esme, making Ruby’s legacy mean something. Making sure Ruby’s singing career was more than an empty party with some sparkle alongside the drama. They could build what she had always wanted: a safe space for people to create. Where no one was excluded. No one was too weird or too plain or too common; like they’d been when they were younger. Chelsea was missing, though, a necessary part of the trio. Evie had always been the ideas person, and Mollie was a grafter, but Chelsea got shit done. She handled people so well they barely noticed, and when she strong-armed them, they gave in through sheer exhaustion. Without her, Evie feared they wouldn’t make it at all. She’d try to see Chelsea, try to get her on board. Find some smidgen of something they had in common now that they were completely different people. If that was even possible.

***

‘Here,’ Ruby threw her a chocolate bar, a Wispa Gold, her favourite. Evie frowned at her.

‘What’s this for?’

‘I saw you beat the shit out of your locker this morning,’ Ruby shrugged, walking in step, ‘you going to the art rooms?’

Evie’s lips were a thin line, ‘It’s too wet to go out onto the field and scream.’

‘Can I tag along?’

‘Depends if you’re going to try and make me talk about my feelings and shit, because as much as that quack of a guidance counsellor – who, by the way, hasn’t even got a counselling degree, she’s just too emotionally damaged to bother working anywhere else, so got a job here as soon as she finished school –’ Evie took a breath, feeling the anger build up again. ‘… As much as she says I need to go to another workshop on anger management, I kind of think that’s bullshit.’

‘Total bullshit,’ Ruby nodded and Evie looked at her witheringly. ‘What?’

‘Stop agreeing with me just to show you’re on my side.’

Ruby held up her hands as if she was being held at gun point, ‘I am on your side. I also think that woman hasn’t got a clue. And I think anger’s useful.’

They pushed through the doors to the art room, letting them swing heavily behind them. Evie sat on the same stool as she had that first day she’d met Ruby, and Ruby sat on the windowsill – long legs hanging, the holes showing on her black dolly shoes, getting out a bottle of nail polish to dab on the ladder on her tights. She only had bright pink.

Evie was quiet, drawing frantically, and they sat like that for ten minutes. Ruby was silent as she tried to fix her tights, and then started blotting nail polish on a piece of paper, attempting to make a pattern. She knew Evie didn’t like to talk at times like this. Eventually she heard the rustle of a gold chocolate wrapper, and when she looked up Evie was delicately nibbling at the end of the chocolate bar, looking at her.

‘Sorry I’m such a bitch.’

‘Good thing you’re an artist – no one puts up with bullshit like this from accountants or people who work at Burger King.’ Ruby grinned, ‘Give me some of that?’

Evie broke off a chunk and chucked it at her.

‘So… your dad’s back?’

Evie stilled, then took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘Yup.’

‘And?’

‘And… that man really pisses me off.’

‘Shocking that the guidance counsellor hasn’t made the connection. It’s pretty damn obvious.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Evie snorted, ‘who doesn’t love a good cliché? She mumbled some bullshit about attachment theory and Freud and then asked me if I ever felt confused about my sexuality.’

Ruby made a ‘that was a mistake’ face, ‘Oh boy. And what did you say?’

‘I said I was confused about whether her degree was one of those images that already comes as a background to a frame in IKEA, and maybe she should think about actually cracking open a psychology book before slamming me with her mumbo jumbo.’

‘Detention?’

‘Nope,’ she grinned, ‘that’s the beauty of it. Anything said in there is “an authentic expression of my feelings”… can’t get in trouble for being authentic.’

‘Hmm, think I’m going to use that next time I want to slap Nicki Bridwell in the face.’

Evie tilted her head and Ruby shrugged. ‘Started going off about kids in care, and how we’re all fucked up.’

‘Want me to slam her head into a locker?’

‘Nah,’ Ruby twitched her nose, ‘I’m not that bothered about it. I think I might just tempt her boyfriend into leaving her and then let them sit in the wreckage of it all.’

‘You never do things the simple way, do you? It’s never just telling people how you feel.’

Ruby smiled, ‘Now where would be the fun in that?’

***

The next afternoon they were summoned to the Glass residence. Well, that’s how it felt. In reality, Evelyn Glass, their new landlady, wanted to invite them to afternoon tea to celebrate their arrival in London.

Evie was nervous for some reason, dawdling as she walked with Esme ten minutes down the road, hands swinging back and forth as the houses seemed to get bigger and more grand. Esme’s eyes got wider as she took in stained glass windows, huge metal gates fencing off properties bigger than she’d ever seen before. She gripped Evie’s hand tighter.

‘So why is this lady asking us to her house?’ Esme frowned, looking at the houses with suspicion.

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