Page 12 of Christmas in Mistletoe
This was the Ruby that Fran remembered. Professional Ruby. Far from the one who’d scowled at her most of the night in Mistletoe. Shit on a Twig town. They were the same people, but somehow, Fran couldn’t make the connection to the smiley, happy singer before her.
Was Fran the same? Confident and cool at work, snappy at her parents? Maybe. Perhaps it affected everyone when they returned to their childhood home: they reverted to what used to be.
But right now, in front of Fran, Ruby was totally in the moment. If there was anyone more born to sing and perform than her, Fran hadn’t seen it in a while. Even Tom Darby was put in the shade, and Fran had been impressed by him.
When Ruby sang, time stopped, as did everyone in the crowd. When Ruby drew a breath, the audience leaned in, desperate to get closer.
Ruby’s new song, ‘Pieces Of You’, was immense, with a sweeping chorus that roused the whole room. Violins twanged and the double bass boomed.
She hadn’t had fiddles at the jazz club. Fran swayed to their sound.
Tom Darby provided soft backing vocals, but it was Ruby who opened her mouth and created stardust, her voice mesmerising the room. She was incredible.
It was a crime she didn’t want to be signed. How could Fran persuade her? Not with the cold sell. That hadn’t worked the first time, or in Mistletoe. Fran had to come up with another way. Because if she could promote this single, they could have a worldwide hit on their hands. They could bring cool folk music to the masses.
“Fuck me, that was better than my dreams.” If Damian’s mouth could have hung open, it would. He put a hand on Fran’s arm as Ruby got down from the stage, the crowd now cheering with gusto. “But it’s not Ruby I’m here to see. I’m going to talk to Tom. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck.” However, Fran’s glance wasn’t on Damian. It was totally on Ruby as their gazes met. A frisson ran through Fran: a whole crowd of people, but Ruby had spotted her.
A question crossed Ruby’s face, before she frowned, then walked towards Fran.
Fran pulled herself upright and wriggled her hips. She just had to try to be friendly. Get Ruby on-side. That was the first thing to get done. Part one of the charm offensive: flattery. It helped that it was genuine.
“Bravo.” Fran gave Ruby a broad smile. “That was insane. That song has smash-hit written all over it.”
Ruby nodded, her neck pink from exertion. She was wearing a low-cut brown and cream top with a silk scarf, and tweed trousers with big boots. It would have looked ridiculous on Fran. On Ruby, it was perfect. She was every inch the star.
Fran’s scalp prickled as warmth oozed through her. She gritted her teeth. She wanted to sign Ruby, not shag her. However, the way her whole body had just heated up when Ruby got close, it apparently had other ideas.
“I didn’t expect to see you here. Now I really do think you might be stalking me.”
Fran held up both palms. “In my defence, you weren’t on the bill tonight. We came to see Tom, but you were an added bonus. My colleague Damian was just saying earlier what a great match you two would make. Then, up you popped, and now he thinks he can predict the future. Between you and me, I might never hear the end of it now.”
“Sounds like he has good taste.”
There was an awkward pause as Ruby stared at her, and Fran grappled for something else to say. Dammit, she schmoozed for a living. Why did she find it so difficult to speak to Ruby O’Connell? The one person she really needed to impress and gain the trust of. She couldn’t even spit out two sentences without her brain flatlining.
“How are your dads settling into the village?”
Ruby could do small talk.
Fran could conquer it, too.
“They’re doing well. They’re just settling into their lives, and their art studio. They’re going to give Sue a run for her money.”
“Sue will love having someone to talk art with.”
“I spoke to them last night. Pop – that’s Dale by the way, Michael is Dad. Anyway, Pop was talking about designing some gay greetings cards because he can never find good ones. So I’m expecting a ‘Happy Christmas To Our Lesbian Daughter From Your Two Gay Dads’ this year. Although I think that might be a bit niche, but isn’t niche and indie where it’s all at these days?”
Shit, she’d just come out in the most awkward, clumsy way, hadn’t she?
However, Ruby’s face relaxed as she took in Fran’s words. “You’re gay, too? I hadn’t picked you up on my radar.” She gave Fran her warmest smile yet. “If they make one that says ‘Happy Christmas To Our Lesbian Daughter From Your Farming Family’, let me know. Perhaps they could really embrace niche. I mean, it works for me.”
Hang on, had Ruby just come out, too? Fran wasn’t that surprised, but the confirmation of what she’d suspected sent a wave of triumph from her brain to her heart. She always loved it when cool, attractive, talented people were part of her crowd. It made Fran feel all those things by association.
“I wouldn’t say you’re niche,” Fran told her. “In fact, I’d say having one of the most pure and natural folk voices in the country was anythingbutniche. You deserve to go mainstream.”
Ruby laughed. “Are you trying to butter me up again, then slip a contract into my drink when I’m not looking?”
