Soap Star Page 3

  I tried to talk to her before English yesterday and one of the other girls said, “Don’t you realise she hates you?” I didn’t know what to say after that. Becky looked sort of upset but she still didn’t talk to me. I know that when Angel and Julia fell out, Angel felt like that too for a while, but then she found out just in time that Julia was going to be kidnapped by Armenians and they made up. I don’t think anything like that will happen to me. On Sunday nights I feel so terrible that I’m sick. It’s the holidays soon and that’s good, but even then I know that I won’t have anyone to talk to and that I’ll have to go out on my own so my mum doesn’t worry about me being lonely.

  What would Angel do?

  Love

  Shamilla Choudary

  xx

  Ruby Parker

  Dear Shamilla,

  I’m so sorry that you’re feeling so lonely, and I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to answer your letter. Today I had a very tough scene at work and I have really thought about what Angel would do if she was going through what you were. I think that sometimes when there’s a whole group of people doing something, it’s easier to do what they are than to be different. I think maybe that’s what your friend Becky is doing. I don’t think she’s stopped being your friend, not really, not if she was upset about what that nasty girl said to you. Maybe as it’s now the summer holidays you could ring her up and ask to speak to her on her own. Or maybe just send her a friendly text. I bet once the pressure of school is off she’ll realise how much she’s missed you, because a good friend is hard to find.

  If she really has stopped being your friend then, well, she really isn’t worth being upset about – although I know that’s easy to say. I talk to my mum when I’m really worried and I think you should try and talk to your mum again. Ask her to sit down for a minute and really listen. I bet she will and I bet when she properly understands how sad you are you’ll feel better.

  You sound like a lovely girl and I bet you’ll make new friends before you know it. If you really don’t think you can talk to your mum I have enclosed some leaflets and the number for ChildLine.

  Good luck!

  Ruby x

  Chapter Four

  I usually do tell my mum everything. Usually she picks me up from school or the set and we go home together and I tell her all about my day: if I’d had a good scene or if Liz said that I’d had a good day. We laugh and talk about Everest and the things he got up to at home that day, like trying to kill Mum’s fleece, or getting stuck in the cat flap again carrying a whole baguette in his mouth, all nonchalant like nobody’d notice a cat with a baguette. When we’d get in, I’d sit at the table and Mum would make me tea; then after an hour or so Dad would come in and Mum would say she was off for a bath, and Dad would sit at the table and I’d tell him all about Everest and the baguette, or something, and he’d tell me a joke he’d heard on the radio. And I’d laugh really loud so Mum could hear us in the bath and she’d realise that we are happy and that nothing had to change.

  When Mum picked me up this afternoon I really needed to talk to her, but I didn’t, because like Shamilla I didn’t want her to worry about me. I knew if I told her she’d be lovely. I knew that if I told her she’d give me a big hug and we’d sit on the bed and eat chocolate biscuits and somehow she’d make it all right, but I didn’t want to tell her. I don’t want her to worry about anything else. I just want to keep on showing her that we are happy.

  The thing is, if I get dropped from the show I don’t know if I’ll be able to go to Silvia Lighthouse’s Academy for the Performing Arts any more. I mean, I only ever got in there because I was on the TV in the first place. I didn’t even have to audition. If I get dropped from the show then maybe I’ll get dropped from the school; maybe everyone, including Sylvia Lighthouse, will see that I haven’t got what it takes to make it after all. That maybe I never did…

  And it’s not as if I’d get another job. I don’t think there’s work for ugly teenagers anywhere. Not even EastEnders any more. And then I’d lose Nydia and I’d be at a school where everyone would know I was a failure and I wouldn’t have any friends and…

  It’s easy to tell other people to be brave and to cheer up, but it’s not so easy to do it. I know I sometimes moan about the school and about starting so early and finishing so late, but I love it. I really, really love it and I don’t want to go to a school where everyone has to be good at physics and pass five hundred GSCEs at grade A*. I’m rubbish at physics and maths and spelling.

  So I didn’t tell Mum because of all that, and also because on the way home she wasn’t laughing or smiling and she didn’t talk about Everest – she didn’t talk to me at all. She turned up her Celine Dion CD really loud and pressed her lips together really hard so they went a bit blue. She went for a bath before Dad got in, and when he did come in I asked him what his joke of the day was, but he just sat at the table and asked me to give him a big hug.

  “I’m so proud of you, Ruby,” he said. “You do know that, don’t you?” And I said that I did, but then I went to bed before it was even eight o’clock, because I know that once he finds out about the show he won’t be proud of me any more. And if he’s not proud of me, if he’s disappointed in me, if we don’t loud-laugh at his jokes every day when he gets in, then what then? Then maybe they’ll stop trying for my sake, that’s what then.

  But I thought, At least I have Nydia for now. At least, unlike Shamilla, I still have one friend I can talk to. So I phoned her and told her.

  “But it’s not true!” was the first thing Nydia said. “There is a place for ugly actors on telly!” And then she sort of coughed and said, “Which you aren’t one of anyway. You are beautiful, Ruby, and I’m not just saying that because I love you. I can see that you are beautiful.”

  “On the inside, you mean?” I asked her glumly.

  “Well, yes, but on the outside too. Definitely.” And I loved her for saying it, but I knew it wasn’t true, not really. On the outside I’m just almost-average at best – and average isn’t good enough.

  “The thing is,” I told her, “I can’t tell Mum and Dad because well – you know. They’ll go all bonkers and I can’t give them something else to fight about and, I don’t know, they’ve gone ever so quiet, Nydia, and they keep hugging me. I think something’s going to happen. Something bad.” I felt my tummy go cold with fear at the thought of it.

  “No, it’s not, because we won’t let it. I’ll think of something, I promise you. I always do, don’t I?” I thought of Nydia’s various plans to fix things since I’d known her (including stealing all of the hockey sticks from the sports locker and hiding them in the basement so we didn’t have to go and play outside in the snow and “build ourselves up for the harsh realities of life in the real world” like our sports teacher, Miss Logan, said) and I bit my lip. Nydia’s plans usually get us into lunchtime detention for four weeks in a row. Who knows what she might dream up? Some mad plan, I was certain. But I knew she was trying to make me feel better, and just knowing that she cared did make me feel better.

  I heard a muffled voice on the other end of the line and Nydia shouted right in my ear, “All right, Mum, I’m coming!” so my ears rang for a second. “I’ve got to go, Gran’s here. Look, I’ll ring you back after dinner, OK? Even if it’s ten or something, and we’ll talk then. But don’t worry, Ruby, you’re a really great actress and pretty, and I’m not just saying it, OK?”

  After she’d gone I flicked through the numbers on my mobile looking for someone else to talk to, but I don’t have very many numbers on it, just this French girl I met on holiday last Easter, and Nydia, Mum, Dad and Gran. I thought about calling my gran, but she’s a bit deaf and she’d probably ask me to repeat everything twice, really loudly, and end up thinking I was asking her about the war or something.

  Then I looked at Brett’s name. I remembered the day when she put her number in my mobile. It was the first day I got it and I was showing it to everyone and feeling really cool.
Brett took it off me and put in her home number and she said, right in front of the journalist who was interviewing her, “You know you’re like a daughter to me, don’t you, darling? Any time you need to talk, you just call me. Any time, sweetie.” So I did.

  I was a bit nervous about calling her because she’s such a big star, the real star of the show. The one who goes on all the chat shows and the only one who’s published a biography about her affair with a footballer. When I’m being Angel and she’s being my mum, sometimes it’s like having a little holiday from my life. It’s not that I don’t love my mum or my dad, it’s just that, when Brett’s being my mum and I’m being Angel, all of the things we say and all of the problems we have, have been written out for us. I don’t have to worry because I know it will be OK in the end. I don’t have to worry that anything I say or do might make things worse or more difficult. Brett is very good at being Angel’s mum. She always makes Angel feel loved and better, and when Angel feels better, then, well, so do I. So I called her.

  “Yes?” Brett said. She sounded a bit cross as if she thought I was someone else. The press probably, the press are always hounding Brett, she’s always giving interviews about it.

  “Brett? Hello, it’s me.” There was long pause. “It’s Ruby – er, from the show?” There was another pause and I thought I heard the clatter of a glass or something.

  “Now, Ruby, I don’t know what you’ve heard but…”

  “Oh. You know, then? Does everyone?” I asked her, and felt my insides curl up and shrivel. I couldn’t face having to go back in and see Justin, knowing that he knew and everything.

  “Er, know what, exactly, darling?” Brett asked me.

  “About me being dropped from the show. Being killed for being ugly.” I explained what I’d overheard, and the minute I finished speaking Brett’s voice changed completely; straightaway, once she understood how bad I felt, she was just like Angel’s mum, soft and understanding.

  “Oh, darling, how ghastly,” she said. “I hadn’t heard at all – it comes as a total shock! It must have been terrible for you. What monsters! What do they know, crushing a young girl like that? And it’s simply not true, darling! I’ve always said you have wonderful bones. And I used to be a model, I know.” I wasn’t exactly sure what use it was having wonderful bones that no one could see, but when she said it it felt important. So I started to tell her about how worried I was about school.

  “And my mum and dad are—” I found that once I started to tell her one thing, I wanted to tell her everything, just like Angel would have.

  “The thing is, darling,” she interrupted me, “I’ve got a really early shoot tomorrow and I have to be on set at four a.m.! God knows what they expect me to look like at that hour! But don’t you worry, OK? Brett won’t let this happen without having her say! You know, I don’t know how much influence I’ll have, Ruby, but I’ll talk to Liz first thing and try and make her see sense. I promise.”

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you, Brett,” I told her. “It’s just I don’t want to worry Mum and—”

  “Of course not, dear. Ruby, are you on set tomorrow?” Brett asked me as if she’d just thought of something.

  “No, day off tomorrow,” I said.

  “Well then, leave it to me, dear. Leave it to me. Kisses!”

  And she’d gone.

  It took me a long time to get to sleep, even knowing that Brett was going to help me. Somehow being away from the set when something so important was being decided about me seemed worse than if I was actually there going through it.

  And Nydia did call me back, just before I went to sleep.

  And she did have a plan.

  And it was a mad one.

  Chapter Five

  “It’s very simple,” Nydia said the next afternoon as she unpacked the contents of her bag on to my bed. “They don’t think you’re pretty enough, right?”

  “Right.” I rolled my eyes. It was obvious Nydia thought we were in a film when this sort of thing actually happens and actually works.

  “Sooooo…” Nydia held up a packet of Blonde Beauty permanent hair dye. “So, we show them! We make you over today! When you go in there tomorrow you’ll knock their socks off and they won’t kill you. OK?”

  I shook my head in disbelief! “Oh no. No, no, no, no! You aren’t getting anywhere near me with that! My hair will go all green and fall out! Haven’t you ever seen Hollyoaks, Neighbours or Family Affairs? It always goes wrong – especially when you’re thirteen. No. No way.” I crossed my arms and tried to look stern, which is hard with Nydia because she always makes me laugh by rolling her eyes and crossing them in the middle.

  “I knew you’d say that,” she said with a sigh. “You’re the one who tells me off for believing in happy endings and yet you believe all the bad stuff that happens on telly. You’re the same as me, just in reverse. It’s only a soap, love! Anyway, knowing how terrible you are at rebelling, I brought you this instead.” She held up a lemon. “I read about it in a magazine. We squeeze it in your hair, sit in the garden for the whole afternoon, and the sun will turn your hair blonde again.” She peered out of my bedroom window. “Good job there’s global warming: it’s really hot out there. And then when we’ve done that, we’ll pluck your eyebrows. Don’t look at me like that! It’s easy – I’ve got a magazine article about it. Then we’ll do your make-up and find something cool in your wardrobe. It’s just a shame you don’t wear glasses, because then we could get you some contact lenses and everyone would be like, ‘Wow!’”

  I took the lemon from her and slumped down on the bed.

  “I don’t think your plan is going to work, Nydia,” I said.

  “Yes it is!” Nydia sat next to me. “I mean, it might do, a bit. And if not, it might still make you feel better, and at least it will take your mind off things for a bit.” She put her arms around me and gave me a big hug. “I’m sorry, Ruby. I did try to think of a plan that would really help, but the only other thing I could think of was storming the ten o’clock news and holding an on-air protest, which I think might just make things worse. Obviously one day I’ll be a mega superstar and everyone will do what I say, but until then this was the best I could come up with to try and help you feel better. Don’t you think lemon in your hair might make you feel better?” I hugged her back and looked at the lemon.

  “You make me feel better,” I said, smiling at her. “Come on, let’s go and squeeze this and I’ll try not to worry any more.” We walked out on to the landing and Mum was there, just standing there holding her hands together really tightly. She sort of jumped when she saw us.

  “Oh,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “Um, do you want anything, girls? A drink or a snack or something?” I looked at Nydia, who shook her head.

  “No thanks, Mrs Parker,” she said with her best parents’ smile. Mum nodded and knitted and unknitted her fingers.

  “Um, Nydia, were you planning to stay for tea?” she asked. “It’s just that, well, um, today’s not the best day…”

  “Mum!” I protested. It wasn’t like her not to let Nydia stay as long as she liked, and I really needed Nydia to help me keep my mind off everything. And besides, I felt like while she was here nothing else could happen. “Why not?” Mum looked at me anxiously, and back at Nydia.

  “Because your father and I want to talk to you,” she said, and I knew it was bad. Whenever she refers to my dad as “your father” it’s bad: like when Granddad died, or when, last year, Dad went away and stayed in a hotel for a week to “think about things”.

  “What about?” I asked her. “What do you want to talk to me about? What’s happened, Mum?” Mum shook her head and pressed her lips together again.

  “We’ll talk again later, OK? Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of other times for Nydia to come to tea, OK?” She was blinking a lot as she said it. “You don’t mind, do you, Nydia?” Nydia shook her head; her parents’ smile had faded.

  “No, I don’t mind, Mrs Parker. No worries!�
� She looked at me and bit her lip.

  “Right, well. I’ll bring you some biscuits then, shall I?”

  “Will you squeeze this for us?” I held out the lemon. I felt stupid asking, but Mum nodded and took it, turning her back on me as we headed to the kitchen.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” I said. “It has to be.” Nydia took my hand and led me down the stairs and out into the garden.

  “Maybe not,” she said as we sat down on the grass. “Maybe it’s the trial separation again, or maybe they’re going to sell the house because your dad’s got a secret gambling addiction or something…”

  “That’s from the show!” I said with half a smile. I looked around the garden and listened to the bees in the grass and the sound of the neighbours’ toddler in the paddling pool, and I shut my eyes tightly for a second and waited for the tears to go back inside my head. “I know,” I said to Nydia. “Let’s talk about our film; we still haven’t thought of a really good ending. So far we’ve only got up to the bit where Justin and I are in the jungle lair of the evil alien who’s about to take over the world…”

  And for the next couple of hours we acted like nothing was going to happen. Luckily for me, we’re really good at acting.

  3 Briar Walk

  Berkhamsted

  Herts HP4 3BL

  Dear Angel,

  You are so brave. I wish I was as brave as you were when you tripped up that trained assassin trying to kill your uncle and bashed him over the head with a priceless antique vase. You saved his life! I really think he should have been more grateful and worried less about the vase.