Goodbye Ruby Tuesday by A. L. Michael Page B

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