Opal didn’t need to think about it. She trusted Gareth’s opinion on most things, especially when it came to spotting talent. He was not the sort of person whose judgement might be clouded by nepotism.
‘So Ruby and Adam … Any other potential recruits you can think of?’
‘No one comes to mind right at this moment. I think I’ve had one too many of these to come up with any more bright ideas.’ And then with that twinkle in his eye he added, ‘But leave it to me.’
Chapter 8
Ruby couldn’t help the compulsion. She was on her way home from the office, and had told herself she would stay on the bus all the way to Brixton. But then she found herself getting off around Vauxhall station. She had never been like this about Jude, or Pauly, or Ethan. But for the past week she had struggled to think of anything other than the smell of Cindy’s neck as she’d leant in to kiss her cheek.
At night, once she felt sure that Hortense was asleep, Ruby would snake her hand down under the covers and touch herself. Willing her brain to believe that it was Cindy’s fingers that were stroking her slick. She tried to picture the exact slope of her nose, the exact shade of her lips, the exact arch of her eyebrow, but even over the course of the six nights since she’d seen her, Ruby’s memory had begun to fade. Now she needed a refresher.
The moment she walked into the Thamesis Tavern, it struck her that her assumption that Cindy would be there was ludicrous. It was as though she couldn’t quite fathom Cindy as a real person of flesh and blood and mind and soul, able to make independent decisions about her whereabouts. For Ruby she had turned into something almost abstract, a figmentof her overactive imagination, one that could be summoned at will in this strange little bar. Ruby wondered if what she was doing was objectification. If Jude had said something like that, she’d have ranted at him. Now here she was, wishing Cindy into the kind of two-dimensional existence that only served to pleasure her.I’m a fucking hypocrite. I want to fuck my boyfriend’s girlfriend like he does, like a paper doll.It wasn’t a bad line, a bit clunky but workable.
‘Darlin’, are you ordering or what?’ The boy behind the bar looked like he wasn’t old enough to drink a pint himself. His chin was potted with acne. This one time she’d let the darling thing pass.
‘I’ll have whatever ale’s on tap, please.’
The boy raised an incredulous eyebrow. ‘Are you sure, sweetheart? It is quite bitter.’
She’d given him a chance and he’d squandered it.
‘I’m not your darling or your sweetheart. I’ve asked you nicely to do what you’re here to do, so please just pour me the fucking pint.’ His neck flushed scarlet but he managed to compose himself before it reached his face. He held up his hands in surrender.
The remainder of their exchange consisted of a curt nod from each as beer was exchanged for coins. Now Ruby had her drink, though, she wasn’t sure what to do with herself next. It was open mic night again, so maybe if she sat herself at one of the small tables in the corner she could pass as a solo drinker. It was certainly better than being identified as what she actually was: a stalker awaiting her prey.
Ruby was in a daze when the chair beside her was pulled out and occupied by a middle-aged white man. She expectedhim to scoot it away, and join someone at the next table, but he stayed put.
‘You all right, mate?’ Ruby hoped her tone came across as scathing and hostile but the man held out his hand.
For a split second Ruby played out a scene she had already imagined dozens of times in her head. It usually happened when she had an unexpected interaction with such a man – white, older, posher. It didn’t happen too often, but when it did it was disarming.
In the scene they would approach her out of the blue, as this man was doing now. They would hold out their hand as this man was doing now, or maybe even hug her. And then they would say something like. ‘I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Ruby. I’m your father.’ And then she would punch the man in the face until she could see only red.
It was stupid really, a hangover from her troubled, angsty teens she’d never managed to grow out of, this lingering hope that she would one day exact her revenge, for everything he had done to her mother, and had not done for her.
In this instance, a closer look at the man in front of her and Ruby dismissed the fantasy. He was clearly not old enough to be her bastard of a father.
‘My name is Gareth Burch. I’m a gallerist at Toad.’
Ruby looked down at his hand. It was large but soft, and his nails were perfectly shaped. Gareth pulled his hand back, but he didn’t seem embarrassed, or he was at least hiding it well. He was wearing a suit, somewhere between brown and tan. The material had the subtle lustre of wealth to it. A fine Italian wool. The words popped into Ruby’s head, the remnants of a memory in her mother’s ‘home workshop’. This man wasrich. It made Ruby even more suspicious. If it hadn’t been for the manicure she’d have suspected him of trying to ‘solicit her services’.
‘What do you want?’ Ruby looked him square in the eyes. When he smiled the brown grew deeper.
‘I’d like to make you an offer …’
Ruby leant back suddenly, shaking her head; maybe she’d been too sure of her judgement. Punters could own nail files too.
‘Not like that.’ Gareth looked as appalled as she felt. ‘Let me start that again.’ Gareth sat up straighter, and adjusted his pristine white collar. ‘I saw you perform here last week, and I’ve come back today in the hope that I might get the opportunity to see you again.’
It would seem she was not the only stalker here tonight.
‘You’re an artist, and in my humble opinion, a good one,’ Gareth continued. Ruby tried to follow along. She had no idea where this was going. ‘A friend of mine, she’s looking to … well to act as a sort of patron … or rather she’s running an artists’ residency …’ He was beginning to look flustered. Ruby got the sense that he was not used to feeling on the back foot.
He let out a big sigh and ran his hand through his greying hair. He leant forward. ‘Ruby Tongue, how would you like the chance to win seventy-five thousand pounds?’
This was definitely a con. What was that saying about things that glittered being crap rather than gold? Ruby let out a wry laugh.
‘Thanks for the offer, Gareth Burch, but as I said, I’m all right. If you want, though, you can buy me another pint?’ She’d expected him to take the hint, but instead his eyes lit up once again.
