Goodbye Ruby Tuesday. A. L. Michael

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ