LITMIR.BIZ

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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,

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