Читать книгу Ruby Parker: Soap Star - Rowan Coleman - Страница 8

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.