Goodbye Ruby Tuesday (11 page)

Exhausted from the tears, the sleepless night and the constant worrying in her gut, Evie grabbed her easel and a blank canvas, looking at the plans and desperately trying to make something real. Whenever she’d felt like she was about to be swallowed up, she’d been told to channel it, to make something, to put every feeling into the paint, imbue it with sadness, destruction, guilt and loss. She felt her hands steady as she lost herself to the rhythm of the pastels on paper, the itch of graphite on canvas. She turned on the tinny radio, feeling herself bounce in the rhythms of her own creation, finally feeling that she was doing
something
, something worthy. And if worst came to worst, she could always sell it. That might keep them going a little longer. A month and a half. She couldn’t think about it, she could only make.

***

‘I’m so proud of you darling, it’s wonderful!’ Her mother placed the painting up against the wall, ‘I’m going to put it right here and everyone will ask me who made it, and I’ll say my talented daughter!’

Evie squeezed her mum’s shoulders, looking at the large canvas resting against the wall. She thought she’d have sold it by now, and she did have offers, but Evie was proud of it, she wasn’t ready to let it go just yet. She’d only just finished her second year and was home for the summer. Her work had been exhibited with some of the third years’ this time round. The university counsellor had encouraged her to put her feelings into her work, use it as a tool, and had spent a lot of time coaching her through it. She’d felt something unlock within her after that, as if she could breathe a bit easier, she wasn’t constantly waiting for the ceiling to cave in, she didn’t need to go and pick a fight with someone just to let those frazzled nerves exit through her fingertips.

It was dark, the painting, barely pretty – and she knew her mother was being polite, more proud of her for doing something than because she necessarily knew anything about art. A woman’s face sat in the middle of darkness, looming out from the centre of the canvas and looking out haughtily. It was surrounded by jagged shapes and strange lights, her body long and angular as she stood in the spotlight, not daring to look away. Evie had been offered £600 for it, and she knew she should have taken it, not been precious about it, but she wanted to hold on just a little longer.

‘I’m sure your dad will be so proud too,’ her mother smiled widely, cradling her cheek. Evie shook her hand away.

‘Is he here?’

‘He came back last night.’

‘Run out of money again?’

‘Evie!’

She squarely faced her mother, the feelings of pride and jubilation fizzing away; she shouldn’t have come home, she should have stayed in London, paid to store the painting somewhere. She just wanted her mother to see part of her new life. Trouble was, it was the old life that drove her to paint crazy shit in the first place.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, have the habits of a lifetime suddenly changed? Is he suddenly faithful and caring and wants to stay here forever?’ she spat out, watching as her mother’s face closed down, a sudden emotionless wall.

‘He’s here. I’m happy he’s here. Let me be happy.’

Evie shook her head, ‘I’m going to the pub for a few hours.’ She pulled on her jacket and paused by the door, looking at her mother, ‘You know what I called that painting? Doormat.’

She walked out of the house and as she walked along the road she searched her phone for the number of the person who had wanted to buy it a few nights ago. There was no point being precious, work was made to be sold. The woman was happy she’d agreed to sell and they arranged a drop-off time.

Evie smiled to herself, nursing a pint of Guinness in the pub, watching as all around her the people took part in the same rituals they always had. The same four old boys who always haunted the fruit machines with their pints of cider. The teenagers trying to blend in, laughing too loudly and looking around to see if they’d been noticed. The girls on a piss-up, looking for the next stand-in daddy.

She’d escaped, and she’d stay escaped. She’d made money from her work. She was a real artist now. Even the idea of having to face Bill when she got in could not put her down. That painting would pay her rent, keep her in London a month longer, keep her learning and improving. She finished her drink slowly, safe in the knowledge that she was better than Badgeley.

She slipped her key in the lock quietly, thinking she could slip into her room without being seen. She walked through the living room and noticed the painting wasn’t there.

‘Your dad took it,’ her mother said, her lips trembling even as she tried to put a brave face on. ‘He just thought you were so talented…’

‘That what, he’s going to put it up in his office? The man does fuck-all Mum! He’s taken it to sell it, hasn’t he?’ Evie roared, looking at her mother in disbelief. ‘Why didn’t you stop him?’

‘He’s your father! He said he knew someone who’d love it, who would pay well for it. You should be pleased he’s so committed to your career.’

Evie widened her eyes so hard she felt like she couldn’t even see straight. Her mother was standing her ground, proud and defensive. Because, of course, Bill could do no wrong.

‘You know, sometimes, it’s like you’re a fucking alien, you know that?’

Evie took her bags and got the train that night, waiting for four hours in the train station just so she didn’t have to be at home. Her mother texted her the next morning, proudly announcing that Bill had got ninety quid for the painting, and he’d given her forty pounds to pass on. Evie knew she’d never even be able to track down who Bill had sold it to. She threw her phone against the wall, hearing the sickening crunch as the screen cracked. And then she picked up her brush, and began again.

She awoke out of her creative trance about an hour later, feeling so much better. That lump in her chest had dislodged, and she felt like she could do things again. She stood back and looked at the twisting reds and purples on the canvas, like confusion personified. As long as it was out in the world, it wasn’t inside her.

Perhaps she needed to be honest with Mollie about their timeframe. Or maybe she needed to talk to Evelyn and see what their options were. Because they did have options. Sunlight streamed through the window, and everything seemed much easier somehow. She’d make lunch, and listen to Esme’s list, and everything would be better.

Evie knocked gently on Esme’s little door, listening closely for a ‘go away’ or anything else. She didn’t hear anything.

‘Ez? I’m sorry about everything hun, come out and we’ll look over your plans over some lunch,’ Evie said cajolingly, ‘I’ll even make jacket potato and baked beans? With extra cheese?’

Still no reply. What was the etiquette here? Did she respect the child’s privacy and leave her be? Maybe she was sleeping. Or did she barge in to make herself understood because she was the adult? God, all of this was difficult.

‘Ez?’ She opened the door slowly, peering around at the empty room. Esme wasn’t there.

Evie frowned, then padded along to the empty bathroom, and looked in the empty kitchen. She thundered down the stairs to the gallery, thinking that perhaps the little girl would be sitting in the conservatory, reading in the sun, or making lists on the chaise longue, looking at the books. But the gallery was empty, and she felt panic rise in her chest once again, looking around the empty room with wide eyes, not sure what to do.

She heard the rhythms of AC/DC coming from Killian’s workshop, and ran to the door, banging on it forcefully with her fist. Five times, six times, seven times…

‘What the hell?’ He was wearing a paper mask over his nose and mouth, and the smell of vanish was intense. He stepped out and closed the door behind him, pulling the mask off. He ran a hand through his dark hair and looked at her serious face, ‘Look, I’m sorry if I was harsh before, but
–
’

‘Esme’s missing. Is she in there with you?’

Killian’s eyes widened, ‘No. No, I wouldn’t let anyone in there, the fumes are too intense. When did you last see her?’

‘When you last did. She went to her room after I told her she had to stay upstairs and wasn’t allowed to help. I was working in my room, I don’t know how long it’s been, but she’s gone!’ Evie felt her voice break, and she clasped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh god, what am I going to tell Mollie? I don’t even know where she’d go…’

Killian nodded, his eyes serious, and then walked into his studio and closed the door behind him. Evie looked at the closed door in shock, ‘Well, I don’t know what I was expecting. Ignoring me is better than an “I told you so” I guess.’ She put a hand over her mouth to clamp down on the sob that was erupting, and stood there, shaking, unsure of what to do next. Call the police? Call Mollie? Go roaming the streets?

She heard the music switch off in the workshop, and Killian reappeared holding his phone, shoving his wallet into his back pocket. ‘Come on.’

He marched over to the front door of the gallery and held it open for her.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m helping you find her…’ he rolled his eyes, exasperated ‘… come on.’

‘Where has she been since you got here?’ he asked, carefully looking around the front of the building, as if Esme was a small cat who might have got stuck in a fence.

‘Nowhere! She doesn’t know this area at all!’ Evie gasped, feeling herself becoming more and more hysterical.

Killian looked at her, his hand briefly touching her arm as he looked into her eyes, ‘Evie, you’ve got to calm down, okay? She has been places. Didn’t you say you went to Evelyn’s the other day?’

Evie took a deep breath and nodded, ‘Right, yes. We’ve been to visit Evelyn, and we went to the market the other day. Otherwise, that’s it.’

‘All right,’ Killian grabbed his phone and made a call. ‘Evelyn, it’s Killian. Is Esme with you? The little girl who visited with Evie?’ He shook his head at Evie, ‘She’s gone wandering, we thought she might have come to you. Okay, thanks.’

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, ‘She said she’s going to have a look around the streets near her house, in case Esme tried to get there but got lost. Let’s walk down to the market. Which way did you walk together when you first went?’

Evie pointed, and they started trudging down the street, keeping their eyes peeled. She didn’t even notice the silence, her mind racing with every possibility. You heard about abductions every day in London, a little girl with blonde hair going missing? It would destroy Mollie. It would destroy her. She’d already put them at risk, and now this. This was all her fault. She clenched her fists to stop them shaking.

‘I’m sorry,’ Killian said, coughing, and she felt his eyes on her as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other. ‘This is all my fault.’

She turned to him, frowning, ‘How could this be your fault? I’m the one who’s irresponsible and should never have been left in charge of a child. You were right, I don’t know kids, and I don’t know London. Mollie and Ez are like my family, and I tricked them, and dragged them here, and now
–
’ she pressed her hand to her mouth, feeling herself gasp as she burst into tears.

‘How did you drag them here? It looks like they made a choice. They seem excited to be here,’ Killian’s eyes were tracing the streets, flicking back and forth for signs of the little girl.

‘They think we have six months left on the lease, but we don’t.’ Evie exhaled, relieved to tell someone, even him. ‘We have under two months to set this place up and make enough money to survive, and I knew that before we came, but I wanted to come. I lied and thought I could fix it before they found out. If I wasn’t so focused on that, I wouldn’t have lost Esme! I was so selfish that I put them at risk.’

Killian frowned, ‘You’re being melodramatic. Lots of people don’t make it in London. What’s the worst that could happen?’

‘I get a child’s hopes up about starting a new life and then she has to go back to live with her bitter, alcoholic grandmother whilst her mother works all hours to get them their own flat, because she just used up all her savings on her friend’s pipe dream?’ Evie felt her breathing constrict again.

‘Damn, you’re right, you
are
a horrible person,’ Killian said, and she turned to him in shock. He shook his head, ‘Sorry, not the right time for a joke. Look, let’s focus on finding Esme now. There’s time enough to worry about everything else.’

‘Time is exactly what I don’t have,’ Evie breathed out shakily, but turned her attention back to the streets. ‘I just… I need to grow up and not be so irresponsible.’

Killian looked at her in surprise, his head tilted, ‘God, you’re nothing like Ruby, are you?’

She just stared at him, and the moment passed.

‘You’re not irresponsible,’ Killian said awkwardly, patting her shoulder as they stood in the street and he looked around, desperately hoping that she would stop crying. ‘You acted like a parent
–
you told her she couldn’t do something, and she reacted like a kid and ignored you. You can’t help that.’

‘But… we don’t treat Ez like a kid! She’s more than a kid. Our deal was we respect each other and talk to each other. I broke that deal, so she did what she wanted.’ Evie shook her head, wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. People all around them were walking quickly, marching towards the station or queueing for the bus. The market was huge, how were they ever going to find her?

‘Come on, let’s keep going,’ Killian nudged her, ‘if we’re lucky, she’ll be on a main street, looking at one of the stalls.’

‘You said it’s already been an hour…’

‘She’s only got little legs though, she might be slower at walking. We should be able to catch up.’

Evie nodded, lengthening her stride, dodging in and out of tourists and locals, who were meandering along with no idea that she had lost a child on the streets of London. Evie felt irritation and anger taking over, replacing the fear. It was the only way to survive. They reached the high street, and she turned to Killian.