Little Stars

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Do you really think so? I got one of the girls to teach me. I love sewing – though they laugh at me in the village when they see me at my fancy work, sitting beside Mother on the garden bench. They call me a great big lass,’ Gideon said calmly.

  ‘Tell me who says that and I’ll give them a piece of my mind!’ I said.

  ‘Oh dear, Hetty! You’ve always looked after me,’ said Gideon. ‘They don’t bother me. They’re only teasing. And it’s true – I love sewing, so I suppose I am like a girl.’

  ‘Men sew too,’ I said. ‘In Monksby where my real father lives, all the big burly fishermen spend their days mending nets, whistling as they sew. And what about tailors? Who do you think made that fine suit of yours?’ I picked up the patchwork. ‘You’re really good at sewing, Gideon. Your stitches are very tiny and even. Perhaps you could train to be a tailor?’

  ‘I don’t want to sew dull dark material. I like quilting with light soft stuffs,’ he said.

  ‘Then next time I come home I shall bring you a big bag of silk and satin scraps, that’s a promise,’ I said. ‘I know Jem and Janet will love your quilt.’

  ‘They’ll love your pillowcases more.’ Gideon’s finger traced the embroidery. ‘Will you show me how to do this stitch, Hetty?’

  At the wedding breakfast I sat next to Gideon and talked sewing, while Mother nodded at us both happily.

  ‘I have a notion Mother is fonder of us than of her real flesh-and-blood children,’ I whispered.

  ‘Apart from Jem,’ said Gideon.

  ‘Will you miss him when he goes to live in his new cottage with Janet?’

  ‘I shall miss him, but I still have Mother for company, and Jem and Janet say we must come and dine with them every Sunday.’

  ‘Perhaps one day you will want to marry too,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t think so!’ he replied. ‘What about you, Hetty?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I can’t make up my mind. Maybe foundling children are so starved of love they don’t know how to want to marry,’ I said, wondering if this were really true.

  I wasn’t worrying for Gideon. He seemed truly happy living his peaceful village life. I was worrying for me.

  I was tempted to have some of the cowslip wine being generously poured for everyone, but I remembered how terrible I’d felt after I drank too much at my foster father’s funeral. Besides, I had to make the long journey back to Fenstone and then perform my act. I sipped lemonade instead – and held this childish glass in my hand to drink the health of Janet and Jem at the end of the feast.

  ‘Make a speech, make a speech!’ folk clamoured. ‘Come on, Jem, say something, lad.’

  Jem shook his head, going scarlet. ‘You know I’m not one for making speeches,’ he mumbled.

  ‘You do it, Hetty!’ Gideon cried. ‘You said such lovely things at Father’s funeral.’

  My foster family frowned, but many of the villagers clapped and cheered in encouragement.

  So I stood up, my fists clenched. A hundred thoughts tumbled through my head. I had no idea how to organize any of them. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth.

  ‘We’re gathered together today, family and friends, to celebrate the wedding of dear Jem and his Janet. We were children together. I worshipped my big foster brother and followed him everywhere, plaguing the life out of him. But he was always so kind and patient with me. He even indulged me in our own mock wedding. I ran around in a tattered white nightgown with daisies in my hair, a little five-year-old bride. But today Jem has his real true beautiful bride, my dear friend Janet, who will make him wonderfully happy. This is like a wedding in a fairy tale, and we’re all sure that the two of you will live happily ever after. Please raise your glasses and drink a toast to Jem and Janet!’

  We all drank to them – and for the first time Jem looked me straight in the eye. I knew he was saying goodbye. He was an honourable man. He would never speak words of love to me again.

  I left almost straight away. There was no point staying and I daren’t risk missing my train. I didn’t say a proper goodbye to anyone. I just picked up my suitcase and slipped away.

  I didn’t know how I was going to get all the way back to Gillford, but I trusted to luck – and a farm lad fetching his mother from market gave me a lift in his cart all the way to the station. I caught the train in plenty of time, and had a whole carriage to myself. It was just as well, because I did a lot of crying.

  By the time I got to Waterloo I knew I must be very red-eyed, but I’d managed to compose myself. I went to the station indicator board to find the platform for the next train to Fenstone – and saw the gold arrow pointing to one terrible word: Cancelled! I kept blinking and rubbing my eyes, hoping that when I looked again, the word would vanish. It stayed there, clear and ominous.

  I searched for a porter. ‘Please can you tell me, why is the Fenstone train cancelled?’ I asked desperately.

  ‘Some trouble on the line, miss. The one before was cancelled too,’ he said, setting down his load of cases and having a stretch.

  ‘So when is the next train?’

  He shrugged. ‘Couple of hours. If it’s running.’

  ‘But – but I have to get to Fenstone as soon as possible. Don’t any of the other trains go near there?’

  ‘Not unless they’ve put in another line overnight – which ain’t very likely, is it, miss?’ He guffawed and seemed to expect me to join in.

  I was nearly crying again. ‘Please, can’t you help me? There must be some other way of getting to Fenstone.’

  ‘Well, I dare say you could hire a hansom – if you was a millionaire.’

  ‘How much do you reckon it would be?’

  He chewed his teeth. ‘At least a tenner. No, fifteen. Maybe more. And I doubt they’d take you all that way as they wouldn’t get a fare back. You could try asking, though.’

  There was no point. I had two shillings in my purse. I wished I hadn’t been so extravagant with my wages, but it had been so wonderful to treat Diamond and take trips. I stared at the useless train ticket in my hand.

  ‘Can I get my money back on this?’ I asked. Maybe I could take a cab part of the way, and then walk, or even hitch a lift . . . I had to be back in time for the second act. I knew what would happen if I didn’t turn up. Mrs Ruby was ruthless. If you didn’t show up on time, it was instant dismissal – no arguing or excuses. Artistes performed with hangovers and head colds. I’d seen Peter Perkins throw up in a bucket at the side of the stage. One of the showgirls had danced an energetic routine when she was white as a sheet and bleeding badly, but she’d still managed to kick up her legs and smile.

  ‘Not sure about that, missy. If the cancellations are due to unforeseen circumstances, then I don’t see how the company can be held responsible,’ said the porter.

  ‘Well, what are these unforeseen circumstances, for pity’s sake?’

  ‘Most likely some poor wretch threw him- or herself on the line to end their misery. So they’re all right now, but they’re causing endless misery to the poor lads who have to clear up the mess, to their loved ones, and to you too, missy, and all your fellow travellers. Think on if you ever feel like ending it all in the same fashion. It’s a rotten selfish act, if you ask me.’

  I didn’t feel quite like jumping in front of a train – but pretty near. I couldn’t believe how unfair it all was. I’d tried so hard to work out the train times. It had all been entirely possible, and yet now here I was at Waterloo, completely stuck.

  The next hour and a half were the longest of my life. I prowled round and round the station, conspicuous in my primrose dress. Several young men followed me for a while, calling me duckling and going quack-quack-quack, but I managed to send them packing with a few withering comments. It helped to vent a little of my anger – though I was mostly angry at myself.

  Going to Jem’s wedding had been a terrible mistake. I had unsettled him, made him admit things that would torment him now. I had nearly wrecked the entire wedding and r
uined Janet’s life, when she had always been so kind to me. I had irritated all my foster sisters, who seemed to hate me.

  At least Mother and Gideon still cared for me. Perhaps poor Gideon, leading his quiet little life, was the cleverest of us all. What use was it pursuing fame and fortune and falling in and out of love? It looked as if my music-hall career was over before it had begun. And I was no nearer understanding my true feelings about Jem or Bertie.

  I twisted the Mizpah ring round and round on my finger. The Lord keep us safe . . . I was still absent from nearly all my loved ones, no nearer finding a true home. And Mama was absent for ever.

  I tried to talk to her now, but the station hubbub was loud and I couldn’t hear her dear voice inside me. I wished there were some way I could get in touch with Bertie so he could help me think of some plausible excuse for Mrs Ruby. I wondered about sending a telegram, but I didn’t know his exact address, only that it was shared digs in one of the roads behind the theatre.

  I tried sending a thought message by sheer will-power. It had worked for Jem and me. He had been waiting by our squirrel tree, willing me to come and find him – and I’d done just that. So were we truly soulmates? Had I lost all chance of happiness now that he was married to my friend?

  I gave myself a shake. No, we’d simply met up at our childhood meeting place. And I didn’t need any man to make me happy. I had spent so many happy times with Mama, with Diamond, with Madame Adeline; happy times writing my memoirs, sewing all my creations, performing in the circus ring and the music hall.

  Though my chances of remaining a music-hall star receded as the great clock suspended from the station ceiling ticked slowly onwards. Then there was a click from the notice board above my head. A new train was announced – on the line that went through Fenstone! I opened my eyes wide, but there was no yellow arrow with its terse message.

  I searched the station for the porter and seized hold of him. ‘Does this mean the train is actually running? Oh, please say it does!’

  He sucked his teeth again. ‘Well, miss, I wouldn’t like to say.’

  ‘It doesn’t say cancelled, does it?’

  ‘Not as yet. But then the train before was due to run, wasn’t it? We’ll just have to wait and see.’ He said it slowly, shaking his head.

  I wanted to shake him, but I just had to stand there, staring up at the board, willing the arrow not to appear. I kept doing feverish calculations in my head. If I changed in the facilities on the train and then ran full tilt from Fenstone station, there was a chance I might just make it in time, before the end of the second act. Diamond and I would have to go on after the ballet, but I didn’t think that would matter too much. The audience started to grow restless during their long performance, and some left as soon as the second act was over – which didn’t please the programme-toppers, especially Lily Lark. Maybe this could be our chance to close the second act permanently? This might actually prove a blessing in disguise, so long as Mrs Ruby didn’t get too angry.

  I waited and waited, not daring to look away from the board for a single second in case the arrow appeared. I willed that wretched board to stay arrow-free – and at last a platform number was indicated. I ran to the right one and saw a train steaming into the station.

  I breathed in the sooty air as if it were the purest oxygen, rejoicing that the train was actually there, in front of my eyes. As soon as it stopped I leaped aboard, terrified that it might leave without me. When other people got into my carriage, I asked them if they were sure this train was really going to Fenstone in case I’d boarded the wrong train in my panic.

  All seemed well, and right on time the train hooted, puffing out yet more steam, and we were off. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I tried to read David Copperfield but I still couldn’t concentrate. The words waved up and down, as if David and Little Em’ly had been sucked out to sea and were in danger of drowning like half Em’ly’s relations.

  I put the book back in the suitcase, fingered each of my precious possessions for luck, and then snapped it shut, laying it on my lap and drumming my fingers on it in time to the thrum of the train.

  Let me be in time, let me be in time, let me be in time, I chanted feverishly to the rhythm inside my head.

  But when, by my reckoning, we were only a few miles outside Fenstone, the train slowed and then drew to a complete halt.

  ‘Oh no!’ I said.

  I wrestled with the leather window sash and peered out into the dusk. I saw other heads leaning out too, up and down the line. I called to them, asking if they knew why we’d stopped, but they shook their heads.

  ‘Calm down, dearie, I’m sure we’ll get started again soon,’ said a middle-aged woman, placidly continuing her knitting, her needles going clicketty-clack, clicketty-clack.

  ‘I’ve heard there’s trouble on the line,’ said a man in a striped city suit.

  ‘Someone did away with themselves. Dreadful, isn’t it?’ said another woman.

  The knitting woman tutted in agreement.

  I felt as if I were going to go mad locked up in the carriage with them. We waited five minutes. Then another five. Once the train jolted, as if we were about to start, but then it subsided again. We were fifteen minutes late now.

  I had no chance of making my proper performance time. I just had to hope that Mrs Ruby would let us end the second act. But time ticked on, and after another quarter of an hour I was in despair. A railway guard came through the train: he explained that they were still clearing the track and we might be here for quite a while.

  ‘Do you know exactly how far away we are from Fenstone? I think I’d better start walking,’ I said, and I tried to open the carriage door.

  ‘Stop that! Are you mad? You’ll tumble down and kill yourself!’ said the guard, seizing me by the arm and yanking me back. ‘No passenger is allowed to leave the train! It’s strictly against the rules.’

  ‘I’m sure I could jump down quite safely,’ I argued, though actually it did look a long way down.

  ‘If you try that again, I shall have you arrested.’ The guard forced me to sit down beside the man in the city suit. ‘Keep an eye on this young person, sir, and keep her trapped if necessary. We’re not having another death on this line!’

  So I was well and truly stuck. I wasn’t even allowed to go and change into my stage outfit. I sat there shaking with frustration – and then, ten minutes later, the train suddenly jerked into action again.

  ‘There, dearie, off we go now!’ said the knitting woman.

  ‘See – you’d only have gone half a mile at most if you’d leaped off the train, and you’d probably have broken your legs into the bargain,’ said the city gent.

  I ignored them, wondering what I could say to Mrs Ruby. I invented ludicrous excuses for my absence: street accidents, kidnappings, dramatic seizures. As if she’d believe a word! The second act would have ended by now, and they’d be having the long drinks interval. Poor little Diamond would have suffered the worst of Mrs Ruby’s rage, though I knew Bertie would have done his best to protect her.

  I felt sick at the thought that I’d let Diamond down. I’d trained her so hard, I’d lost sight of the fact that she was still only a small girl. I’d been almost as fierce with her as Beppo – all to make us music-hall stars. Now that we’d actually made it at the Cavalcade I’d totally wrecked our chances. I’d been a fool to risk such a long journey all in one day, a pointless journey that had stirred up all the wrong emotions in Jem and threatened what should have been the happiest day of his life.

  I didn’t want to go to the theatre now. I wanted to slink back to Miss Gibson’s, pull the bedcovers over my head in our little attic room, and hide from everyone. But I had to go and rescue Diamond and face the Ruby wrath.

  When we reached Fenstone station at last, the city gent released me and the knitting lady gave me a little pat and said sweetly, ‘Here we are! There was no need to get in such a panic, was there?’

  I could barely smile at her. I h
urried to the Cavalcade, my suitcase banging against my calves, and went in through the stage door.

  Stan raised his eyebrows at me. ‘Looks like you’re in big trouble,’ he said. ‘That contraption of yours was waiting in the wings, but I doubt it was able to ride itself all over the stage. Mrs Ruby wants a word with you.’

  ‘I dare say she does,’ I said grimly, and set off up to her room. I heard raised voices inside, and then the sound of a child crying. Diamond! I ran the last few paces and rushed into the room without even knocking.

  Mrs Ruby was standing with her arms akimbo, looking furious. Samson was there too, downing a very large glass of red wine. Bertie had his arm round Diamond, trying to comfort her. The moment she saw me she ran over and seized me by the waist, sobbing.

  ‘How dare you shout at her! She’s only a little girl. It’s not her fault we missed our spot. It’s mine. Shout at me all you want, but leave her alone, you pair of bullies!’ I yelled furiously, hugging Diamond hard.

  Mrs Ruby looked taken aback. Perhaps no one had ever dared shout back at her before.

  Samson roared with laughter. ‘There’s a fiery spirit!’ he said. ‘A temper to match her red hair. Go on, little ’un, give the old lady another mouthful.’

  ‘Can it, Hetty,’ said Bertie. ‘Listen, I did my best to explain to Mrs Ruby that you were called away because your mother’s very ill, but somehow she wouldn’t believe me. Tell her!’

  He was trying to help me out, offering me an excuse that was far more plausible than any of my own made-up nonsense. But his hasty words suddenly brought back those terrible days in Bignor when my lovely little mama was dying in the consumption ward. That time was so searingly sad, so sacred, that I couldn’t use it as a paltry excuse.

  ‘Thanks, Bertie. I know you’re trying to save me, but I won’t lie, not about Mama,’ I said, holding my head high. I looked straight at Mrs Ruby. ‘I went to my brother’s wedding. It’s a long journey, way out in the country. Even so, I left plenty of time to get back, but the train was cancelled. That’s God’s honest truth.’