around Evie’s waist. ‘I’m sad Ruby died but I’m glad we get to be here. It’s like you’re my godmother and Ruby’s my fairy godmother.’
Evie didn’t like to point out that if Ruby had lived to be an honorary auntie, she would have been the one who gave Ez terrible advice about boys, taught her how to smoke without Mollie knowing, and generally would have caused trouble. But still, the idea made Evie smile – Ruby Tuesday in her sparkly green corset, red hair gleaming as she waved her wand and granted wishes. Glinda the Good Witch, and Ruby the Rebel Fairy. It was a nice picture.
She grabbed Esme’s hand, ‘Well I may only be your boring, regular godmother, but I think we should go down to Camden Market and buy lots of beautiful things to make your secret room truly special.’
Esme grinned, then faltered, ‘But that might be expensive and Mum says–’
Evie held up her hand, remembering her own fears when she was Esme’s age, that everything she wanted was always more than her mother could afford, and she’d never wanted to make her mum feel guilty. She was not going to see Esme do the same.
‘Yes, but what if your fairy godmother left a little Esme-stash of money? Ruby wanted everything beautiful and sparkling all the time. It seems only fitting.’ It was a lie, but it was a white lie. Just for once, she wanted to be able to give Esme everything she wanted, and Ruby was a way to do that.
Esme’s smile was a beautiful thing, the little dimples that puckered her cheeks, and the way she pulled at her ponytail when embarrassed. Unless she was being given books, Esme wasn’t really sure how to react when she received things. Evie was desperate to make sure the kid knew that you could own things that were pretty and absolutely pointless. She felt it her mission in Esme’s life – to ensure she was surrounded by beautiful, impractical things – although she wasn’t sure why.
They chattered as they clunked down the stairs, almost matching in their jeans and t-shirts, but Esme’s bright blonde curls and dark rimmed glasses meant no one could ever mistake her for Evie’s child. Evie was a double of her own mother, huge dark curly hair, skin that tanned at the barest kiss of the sun, and dark brown eyes that often turned black when you were a source of irritation.
‘You know what would be cool?’ Esme said as they walked through the gallery, ‘A little place to sit by the window, so I could read my books.’
‘A window seat!’ Evie agreed, her mind already sketching out the plans, ‘With some bookshelves underneath for storage, and a beautiful cushion on top in whatever colour you want! I’m sure I could make that for you, Ez!’ She patted her keys in her jeans pocket as they passed the kitchen.
‘You’re going to build a window seat?’ Killian’s voice from behind them was mocking, and when she turned he had his arms crossed, leaning back against the doorframe.
‘Oh so you do leave your hovel occasionally,’ she rolled her eyes ‘how lucky for us.’
‘Sorry, maybe I didn’t get the inflection right,’ Killian ignored her, ‘you’re going to build a window seat.’
‘So what?’ Evie shrugged, ‘I’m a designer, I make things.’
‘Jewellery. Evelyn said you made jewellery.’ His tone was really starting to piss her off, and that shit-eating grin wasn’t helping either. Like he knew he was getting to her.
‘Oh well, tiny intricate details, great honking bits of wood – there’s a difference?’ Evie lightened her voice, assuming an airhead persona.
‘Well, it’s hard work. Playing with some buttons and calling it art is hardly taxing, is it?’ Killian grinned at her, running a hand over his dark stubble. He was wearing a black t-shirt covered in dust, and jeans that had natural tears in them. Damn, but she enjoyed the bad boy thing. Give her a kind, loving man she could take home to her mother, and she’d still end up kissing the moody bartender who’d refused to give her a discount and would never call. There was something safe about having low expectations. Or none at all.
‘Talk to me in two weeks when we’ve completely turned this place around,’ she shrugged, smiling evenly, ‘I’m sure all that noise and action won’t disturb you.’
‘And what if it does?’
‘Well, it’s very, very lucky that I don’t care, isn’t it?’ she grinned, ushering Esme towards the door.
‘I can make your life very difficult, you know,’ Killian growled, and that just made Evie grin even more. No great comebacks from the so wise and powerful arsehole?
Esme blinked at him, ‘Why are you so mean to Auntie Evie?’ She tilted her glasses to look up at him severely, a move she must have picked up from a seventy-year-old school teacher. ‘You know, Danny in my class, Danny Simpson not Danny Cambio, well he was mean to me for a long time. He kept pulling my hair and calling me names and then his friend Freddie said it was because he wanted me to be his girlfriend!’ She fixed Killian with a steely glare, ‘Do you want Auntie Evie to be your girlfriend?’
The look of shock on Killian’s face was replaced, just for a millisecond, with a grin. His lips pulled up at the edges as he looked at Evie in disbelief, two adults witnessing this child’s unintentional hilarity. And then the moment passed; he coughed, physically shook the smile away and marched off back to his studio.
Esme frowned, ‘He’s a strange man.’
‘Yes, yes he is.’ Evie agreed, ‘Is there a reason you insist on believing that he’s in love with someone and that’s why he’s mean?’
‘Because no one’s just mean for no reason,’ Esme said, exasperated by having to explain the obvious things in life to her clueless aunt. ‘Except Nanny, but I think that’s the peach schnapps. It doesn’t love her back.’
Evie bit her lip, scanning the child’s face, ‘Esme…’
The little face grinned up at her, ‘I’m being cheeky, aren’t I?’
Evie laughed, ‘Yes, yes you are. And sadly, sometimes people are just mean.’
‘I don’t believe that; did you do something to make that man hate you?’
‘No! You’ve been here every time I’ve seen him!’ Evie laughed, ‘Besides, what could I have done?’
‘You told Uncle Nigel you didn’t want to marry him and that made him hate you. Maybe Killian wants to marry you?’
Evie closed her eyes briefly, trying to find the strength, or just something that made sense.
‘Nigel doesn’t hate me, he was just sad,’ she lied.
‘He told Mum you were a flaky bitch,’ Esme said, too innocently.
Evie raised an eyebrow, ‘Don’t think you can swear just because you’re being a gossip. Nigel was sad, and Killian doesn’t want us changing too much of his life. That’s all. Now, do you want to stay here discussing weird men, or go out so I can buy you pretty things?’
‘Pretty things,’ Esme said instantly.
‘Good, let’s go.’ Please let her always be at an age where I can bribe her out of having awkward conversations about boys.
The next few hours were spent in Camden Market, finding material, trinkets, paints, blankets and the odd piece of furniture. Evie watched her goddaughter as her eyes lit up, intrigued to know what things were, what they felt like, where they came from.
Evie’s final purchase of the day was a knee-high lantern with each window pane a different colour glass. Esme had ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ for so long that Evie had arched an eyebrow and asked if she was auditioning for something. But of course, she’d bought it for her anyway. She’d long since realised spoiling a kid was a lot more fun than spoiling herself. There was a lot less guilt attached too.
By the time Mollie came back to the flat that evening, eyes tired and