Little Stars

by Jacqueline Wilson

  Diamond sat up and laughed delightedly.

  ‘Here I go!’ I shouted, and ‘galloped’ round and round the little room, jumping over my discarded boots. I patted the mop head and cried ‘Hup hup hup!’, making the mop rear up in the air as if it were standing on its back legs.

  Diamond clapped and cheered, and I took a bow and made the mop bow too, and then accept a pretend sugar lump from Diamond’s proffered hand.

  ‘There now,’ I said in my own voice. ‘Show’s over for today – but Madame Adeline will come back tonight if you’re very good. Let’s get your hands and face washed, you’re all sticky sugar. Good Lord, you’ve even got it in your hair. Watch out – people will mistake you for a stick of spun sugar and gollop you up before you know it.’

  It was easy enough to jolly her back into a good mood, and she was very keen to scrub herself clean and brush her hair and put on her newly washed and ironed pinafore because she wanted to impress Bertie. I rather wanted to do likewise. I wished I had more clothes. My dress was looking so tired and limp.

  My only other outfit was my red riding jacket and breeches, and they were of no use to me now. I might as well throw them away. I couldn’t wear my wonderful glossy riding boots with frocks, but I was determined to keep them for ever, even if I never wore them again. Madame Adeline had given them to me and so they were doubly precious. I wished I still had the green dress I’d made out of curtains and gold braid. I had loved that dress so much – and Bertie had admired it too. But I’d had to cut it up to turn it into the mermaid’s costume. Thank goodness I need never wear that again!

  I put my grey sprigged dress on again and sighed at myself in the looking glass. ‘It looks so plain,’ I said. ‘I look so plain.’

  I felt worse when I saw Miss Gibson. She still wore her usual black satin, but with a different black jacket, cut like a blazer with very dashing red stripes.

  ‘Oh, Miss Gibson, you look a picture,’ I said. ‘I love the jacket!’

  ‘You don’t think it’s too bold a look, do you?’ she asked anxiously. ‘I’ve had it years, but scarcely had the courage to wear it. Still, I do think a picnic is the perfect occasion for a blazer.’

  ‘Absolutely. I wish I had one.’

  ‘Then perhaps you’d like to borrow one of mine,’ Miss Gibson offered generously.

  I hesitated. I didn’t like to point out that all her jackets would be vastly too big for me.

  ‘I’ve got a sample somewhere,’ she said. ‘I made it for a schoolgirl daughter of one of my clients, but for some reason it didn’t suit. Aha!’ She brought out a dashing green blazer with a silver-grey stripe. ‘Try it on, Hetty.’

  It looked wonderful. The green contrasted with my red hair, and the silvery stripe toned with the grey of my dress. It made all the difference in the world!

  ‘Thank you so much, Miss Gibson!’ I said.

  ‘You look lovely, Hetty,’ said Diamond. She sounded a little wistful.

  ‘Oh dear, I don’t think I’ve got any jackets small enough for you,’ said Miss Gibson. ‘But I know what will look very pretty in your hair.’ She rummaged in one of the long drawers in her cabinet and came out with a handful of satin ribbons. ‘Which would you like, Diamond? You choose.’

  Diamond looked at them all solemnly. She hesitated over a tartan ribbon, stroked a pink one with rosebud embroidery, but then picked out a shining sky-blue satin one. ‘They’re all beautiful, but I think I will choose the blue one. It will go with my dress perfectly,’ she said, like a little fashion-conscious lady.

  ‘It will go with your eyes too,’ I said, tying it for her.

  ‘My pa once gave me a blue ribbon,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘That was when I was his pet. But then he stopped liking me.’

  ‘Well, I’ll always, always, always like you, Diamond,’ I said quickly.

  ‘And I will too,’ said Miss Gibson.

  ‘Will Bertie always like me?’ Diamond asked.

  ‘Of course he will, silly,’ I said.

  Bertie certainly made a huge fuss of Diamond, picking her up and cradling her as if she really were a little doll. ‘How’s my little sweetheart, then? All ready to come on a picnic with Bertie? My, don’t you look a picture. Good enough to eat. We’ll be hard pressed to choose at the picnic – a slice of pie or a slice of scrumptious Diamond!’

  ‘I’ve made you a special pie, Bertie. A really juicy one,’ she said.

  ‘Aren’t I the lucky one! And I’ll provide a juicy plate of meat fit for a little princess,’ he said. There was a big canvas bag over his shoulder, with the handle of a black frying pan sticking out.

  ‘You’re going to cook?’ I exclaimed.

  ‘That’s the general idea. Unless you’d like your meat raw. I must say, you two ladies are a sight for sore eyes too. You look splendid in those stripes, Miss Gibson. And you look quite the ticket too, Miss Hetty. That’s a very saucy jacket.’

  ‘And you’re a very saucy boy, Mr Bertie,’ I said. He’d made an effort with his own appearance, wearing his stage straw boater and blazer and white flannels. His newly-washed hair was as fluffy as a dandelion clock, and his fingernails were clipped and clean. He used to wear far too much pomade to disguise the stink of meat, but now he just smelled pleasantly of soap. I was touched that he’d made such an effort.

  I was worried too. Here we were, the four of us, all dressed up like dogs’ dinners, with elaborate bags and boxes of food, setting off expectantly, as if we were about to step onto a magic carpet and picnic in an Arabian palace garden, with fountains flowing and servants proffering silver trays of exotic delicacies. We were probably going to some dismal municipal park where we’d squat uncomfortably and spill our picnic all down our finery.

  ‘Where exactly are we going, Bertie?’ I asked.

  ‘Aha! This is a special mystery trip. Have faith, little feathery one. I’m taking us somewhere special,’ said Bertie.

  ‘This way, ladies,’ he instructed when we got to the end of the road.

  There were shops and then houses as far as the eye could see. I peered hard, but couldn’t see a patch of green anywhere. I looked doubtfully at Miss Gibson’s tight little boots. They’d have to work very hard to support the rest of her.

  ‘I don’t think we can walk terribly far,’ I murmured.

  ‘We’re not walking all the way,’ Bertie told me. ‘I’ve laid on my own select charabanc to transport us.’

  For a moment I thought he’d actually hired his own carriage, but then I spotted the bus stop a few yards away.

  Bertie looked at his pocket watch. ‘It should be here any minute,’ he said cheerily.

  He must have consulted the omnibus timetables, because within seconds we saw the vehicle at the end of the street. Bertie had a pocketful of change and paid for all of us. We sat upstairs, the wind blowing in our hair as the omnibus gathered pace. I had to tie Diamond’s blue ribbon extra tightly, and Bertie had to cram his boater down on his head to stop it sailing away.

  ‘Oh, this is such fun! I’ve never been on an omnibus before!’ said Diamond, her cheeks pink.

  ‘You’re so sweet, Diamond,’ I said – though I’d only been on a bus a handful of times myself and found it equally exciting to bowl along looking into people’s top windows and peering down into their gardens.

  Then the houses gradually petered out and we were in the countryside. At first I thought we might be going back to the little market town where I’d first seen the Cavalcade poster, but I didn’t recognize the route. We must be going in the opposite direction. Soon there were woods on either side of us, and high hills far away.

  ‘I came this way on a Sunday school picnic long ago when I was a little girl,’ said Miss Gibson. Her cheeks were pink too, her ringlets escaping their rigid curl. ‘Bertie, might you be taking us to Ledbury Hill?’

  ‘There, you’ve spoiled my little surprise, Miss G!’

  ‘But it’s the most tremendous surprise! I’ve wanted to go back there all these years, and yet so
mehow never had the gumption to do so. Oh, I do hope it hasn’t changed.’

  When we got off the omnibus and started walking into the woods, Miss Gibson declared it hadn’t changed at all. There were sandy paths to make walking easier, and gorse and heather coloured the heath in dazzling yellow and pinky purple. We started climbing steadily, Bertie gallantly offering Miss Gibson a hand. We were all gasping by the time we got to the top, but it was worth it. We could see for miles across a great green sweep of countryside to the hazy blue hills on the horizon.

  There was a convenient wooden bench where Miss Gibson could sit and catch her breath, while Bertie, Diamond and I searched for suitable twigs and branches to make a decent fire. Bertie had brought Bryant and May matches with him, but even so had difficulty in getting the twigs to catch.

  ‘Let me have a go,’ I said, rolling up my sleeves.

  I laid the twigs in a different pattern, and used the paper wrapping my apple pie, crumpling it into little balls which I wedged in carefully. I lit a match, and within seconds the fire had taken hold.

  ‘My goodness, you clever little witch!’ exclaimed Bertie.

  I was simply practised. At the circus I’d made similar fires every day. Then it was Bertie’s turn to show off his expertise. He took out his frying pan, melted a large dollop of lard, and set four large steaks a-sizzling.

  ‘Prime cuts,’ he said triumphantly. ‘Hetty, will you butter the loaf in my bag? We’ll have steak sandwiches.’

  Diamond was peering at the pan doubtfully. ‘It’s not horsemeat, is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Horsemeat! These are the finest Angus fillet steaks, child, ordered specially from the best butcher in Fenstone,’ said Bertie, pretending to be indignant.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to vex you,’ she said anxiously.

  ‘You couldn’t possibly vex me, Twinkle,’ said Bertie.

  The steaks were wonderful, ultra-succulent and so tender they scarcely needed biting. Diamond declared that she liked Angus fillet better than any other food in the world. We washed them down with draughts of lemonade. Then it was pie time!

  I’d brought a knife so I could cut everyone a neat slice from both pies, and Miss Gibson had provided a jar of cream to go with them. Bertie rolled his eyes and kissed his fingers when he ate my slice, but was tactful enough to mime even more excessively when he ate Diamond’s shrivelled pastry and overcooked apple.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Hetty. You make a splendid apple pie, but young Diamond here has utterly surpassed you. What an utterly frabjous pie!’

  We finished the last of the lemonade with Miss Gibson’s Battenberg cake. Neither Diamond nor I wanted to acknowledge it, but it was even better than Madame Adeline’s, so light and fresh, with extra jam between the squares of colour, and the marzipan especially almondy.

  ‘My, what a feast,’ said Bertie, patting his stomach.

  The food and the warmth of the little fire made Miss Gibson so sleepy she lay down on the mossy bank and was gently snoring in seconds.

  ‘Fancy going to sleep in the daytime!’ Diamond giggled.

  She started gathering little sticks and stones and leaves to make a tiny house for a mouse, but ten minutes later she’d curled up too, eyes closed, thumb in her mouth.

  Bertie smiled at me. ‘Are you going to sleep too, Hetty?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Shall we go for a little walk and leave these two slumber-ladies?’

  ‘If you like,’ I said, though my heart had started thumping hard under my borrowed blazer.

  He took hold of my hand to help me up, and then kept hold of it as we started off. We walked down the other side of the hill, heading into the woods, where it was darker and cooler.

  ‘Not too cold, are you?’ Bertie said softly. ‘That’s quite a skimpy little blazer, for all it’s so fetching. Come here.’

  He put his arm round me, looking sideways at me to see if I objected. I didn’t know what to do. I felt I should flounce away and put him in his place. But his arm felt so warm and strong around me. Then he drew me closer, still looking into my eyes.

  ‘Oh, Hetty,’ he whispered, and then he kissed me.

  We stopped being Hetty and Bertie. We felt like a fairytale couple in an enchanted wood, and this was the kiss that would bind us together for ever.

  Yet when we came out into the sunlight again, I chatted determinedly to Miss Gibson about the latest fashions while Bertie played tag with Diamond, as if nothing momentous had happened at all.

  OH, THE NERVES on Monday night, before our first performance! I parked the penny-farthing in the wings, and then we went to sign our contracts with Mrs Ruby. She wished us luck, and then sent us off to our dressing room. I’d hoped we’d have our own special room like Lily Lark, but we had to squeeze into the girls’ dressing room.

  It was a very shabby room on the first floor, with flyblown mirrors, racks of clothes, a jumble of make-up on the rickety tables, and a box of resin on the floor. At first it seemed like a big room, because we were extremely early, but once all the showgirls had crowded in, we were crammed elbow to elbow.

  There weren’t any curtains to change behind. We were astonished when the girls stripped off in front of each other, right down to their drawers. In fact, they removed their everyday drawers altogether, wiggling into short red satin ones with a frill.

  ‘Don’t stare so, Diamond!’ I whispered, but I couldn’t help looking too.

  I watched as they all smeared blue on their eyelids, pink on their cheeks and carmine on their lips. The showgirls were all so tall, so loud, so confident, calling out to each other and telling silly jokes. They ignored Diamond and me altogether. Some of them didn’t look that much older than me when they first came into the room, and several were naturally flat-chested. They stuffed rolled-up stockings down their bodices, fashioning reasonably authentic bosoms. I wondered if this was a trick I should try.

  They looked amazing when they were all in their scarlet costumes. I couldn’t help feeling a little scared of them. One of them saw me staring and gave me a wink.

  ‘Are you two kids dancers as well?’ she asked, casually adjusting the frill on her drawers.

  ‘No, we’re a novelty act,’ I told her.

  ‘Is it your first time on stage? You look very nervous,’ she said.

  ‘Oh no, Diamond and I are seasoned performers,’ I said, trying to sound confident. ‘She used to be an acrobatic child wonder at Tanglefield’s Travelling Circus.’

  The moment I said the word circus she shook her head. ‘The circus!’ she said pityingly, and went to join her friends.

  ‘Hetty, I think I’m a bit nervous,’ Diamond whispered.

  I saw that she was trembling and put my arm round her. ‘Don’t worry. I’m nervous too, but I didn’t want that dancing girl to scoff at us,’ I said.

  I was looking around for Ivy Green, but she was clearly enough of a star to have her own dressing room.

  ‘Beginning acts!’ someone called, knocking on the door.

  The showgirls groaned and then started to leave the dressing room, arms round each other, joshing and joking.

  ‘You’ll be a beginning act too,’ said the last girl, peering over her shoulder at us. ‘Come on, follow us.’

  So Diamond and I went down the maze of corridors and narrow steps till we arrived back in the wings. There were several artistes already waiting there – Peter Perkins the comic, Signor Olivelli the Italian opera singer, and Araminta the contortionist. She was wearing an even briefer costume than the dancing girls, exposing a startling amount of muscled flesh, but Peter Perkins and Signor Olivelli didn’t give her a second glance.

  She was looking indignant, flouncing about with her hands on her hips. ‘Who put that ridiculous machine in the wings? I nearly tripped over it in the dark. If I so much as pull a muscle I’ll be out of the show for weeks! It’s ludicrous to use the wings as a rubbish dump,’ she declared.

  ‘Well, let’s get rid of it,’ said Signor Olivelli, who
spoke with a London accent, for all his Italian singing. He seized hold of the penny-farthing’s handlebars as if he intended to tip it over.

  ‘Stop it! Leave that alone! It’s a very valuable penny-farthing and it’s part of our act!’ I said, rushing over and grabbing it from him.

  ‘Don’t talk to me like that, kid! Who the hell are you anyway? I’ve never seen you in the show,’ he said, not letting go of the penny-farthing. ‘And why are you dragging this heap of old iron around?’ He gave the front wheel a contemptuous kick with his black patent boot.

  ‘Don’t you dare do that! You’ll buckle the wheel. I’ll kick you if you don’t watch out!’ I said.

  ‘You cheeky little devil!’ Signor Olivelli raised his hand as if to cuff me, but someone seized his wrist and spun him round, jerking the penny-farthing free at the same time.

  ‘You leave her alone!’ said Bertie. He only came up to the man’s shoulder, but he was very strong and half Olivelli’s age. It was clear who would win in a tussle.

  Olivelli came out with a mouthful of abuse.

  ‘Hey, hey – language, gentlemen!’ Mrs Ruby herself swept up in her new purple gown. She had a string of large blue gems about her white throat – maybe cut glass, maybe real amethysts. ‘What’s all the argy-bargy?’

  ‘These silly little kids are cluttering up the wings with this bally great bicycle, and when I tried to move it, the redhead kicked out at me!’ said Olivelli.

  ‘I didn’t kick him, I just threatened him,’ I said indignantly.

  ‘And he tried to punch her head in – I saw him!’ added Bertie.

  ‘I very nearly tripped,’ Araminta declared. ‘I’m telling you, if I so much as pull a muscle, I can’t work for—’

  ‘Weeks – yes, dear, so you keep telling us,’ said Mrs Ruby. ‘Now, my darlings, I suggest you all calm down and wait quietly for the show to begin, or none of you will work for weeks. Hetty, child – or Sapphire or Emerald, whoever you want to be – I suggest you pop your penny-farthing right back in the furthest corner, out of everyone’s way. There’s a good girl. Now, let’s all smile and behave like one big happy family. Let me see those pearly-whites, dears.’