Goodbye Ruby Tuesday. A. Michael L.
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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