Little Stars

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘You should never have risked it, not on a Saturday. We’ve got a sell-out audience, and half of them were here to see you two, the kiddies everyone’s talking about. There was uproar when you didn’t show up. I’m not having the show disrupted like that! They’re in an ugly mood now, and it will be the devil’s own job to calm them down. All my major third-act stars are very angry. It puts everyone in a bad light. I’m not having this. I’m getting shot of you two. Go on, out of here. You’re no longer part of the show,’ Mrs Ruby declared.

  ‘But that’s so unfair, Mrs Ruby. Hetty couldn’t help it—’ Bertie began.

  ‘And you can shut your mouth or you’re out too,’ she said curtly.

  ‘Hey, hey, maybe you’re being a bit hasty,’ said Samson, pouring her a glass of wine. ‘You saw for yourself – the little girls are a big draw. Why not pop them on at the beginning of the third act – which was due to start ten minutes ago, so we’d better get cracking. It’ll surprise the crowd and settle them down.’

  ‘Put them on as third-acters? Reward her for a no-show?’ exclaimed Mrs Ruby. ‘Never! They’d all start taking liberties then.’

  ‘They wouldn’t dare. But these girls are good – you know that. I’m not saying put them on as third-acters permanent, like. Just for tonight, as a crowd-pleaser.’

  Mrs Ruby’s eyes had narrowed suspiciously. ‘How come you’re sticking up for the kid, Samson?’ she said sharply. ‘What’s it to you if I get rid of her?’

  ‘She means nothing to me. Like you said, she’s just a kid. But we’re in this show to make money, aren’t we? You’re meant to be the shrewd businesswoman, aren’t you – Auntie?’

  She flushed when he said the word. She drained her glass, thinking. Then she dabbed her lips with an embroidered handkerchief and faced me. ‘All right. You’re on in one minute. Get your skinny little rump downstairs, and take the cry-baby with you. I’ll decide what to do with you after the show. Go on then, jump to it!’

  We jumped.

  ‘Stop crying, Diamond! Wipe your eyes, quick,’ I said as we hurtled down the stairs. There was no time for modesty. I stripped off my primrose dress and shrugged on my stage costume in full view of everyone. Samson was lurking around instead of going to his table to quieten everyone down.

  ‘Push off – give the girl some privacy,’ said Bertie angrily, trying to shield me. ‘Go and announce them!’

  ‘You button your lip, little goblin,’ said Samson, aiming a blow at him, but luckily he was too tipsy. He lurched off, though he turned round several times, leering at me.

  There were resentful mutterings in the wings as we seized the penny-farthing and Samson announced the beginning of the third act.

  ‘Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen – and others! I hope you’ve had a chance to imbibe sufficient liquid refreshment, my dears. And now you’re in for an unexpected treat. It’s been brought to our attention that some of you are a tad disgruntled because two special starry little ladies have failed to put in an appearance tonight . . .’

  There was a loud response from the audience.

  ‘Aha, I thought so! But do not despair, ladies and gentlemen. Perk up, all you others! The management understands your feelings. We love those little ladies too. That’s why we’ve decided, on this very special sell-out Saturday at the Cavalcade, to move our miniature misses to the start of the third act! And here they are, so give a big hand to our Little Stars!’

  As we went on stage, I couldn’t help marvelling at Samson’s ability to give us a fine introduction, even though he was clearly drunk. His voice was perhaps a little huskier than usual, but it wasn’t slurred, and he was completely articulate. I knew from my own experience that it was hard work getting the words to roll out so fluently.

  I was conscious of Samson peering at us intently throughout the act. I thought he was simply keeping an eye on us, making sure we wouldn’t let him down after he’d persuaded Mrs Ruby to give us a second chance.

  Somehow, though I was bone weary and heartsick, and poor little Diamond still had tear-stained cheeks and looked exhausted, we gave what was probably our very best performance. It seemed daisy-fresh, though we’d said the same lines so many times, and when Diamond made her flying leap up onto my shoulders, she did it with such finesse that there was a great gasp from the audience, and then a frenetic burst of applause.

  When we left the stage on the penny-farthing, they clapped even harder. Samson clapped too, actually standing up at his table. I still couldn’t bear him, but I was so grateful to have this chance that I smiled and blew him a kiss.

  BERTIE WALKED US home, telling me all about the shenanigans of the evening, the panic when I failed to arrive, and Mrs Ruby’s increasing rage.

  ‘Well, I never thought I’d say this, but good old Samson for saving us,’ I said, doing a little dance down the road because I was so happy.

  ‘You watch out, Hetty. I can’t bear the way that man looks at you. Keep away from him, do you hear me?’ Bertie took hold of my arm and gave me a little shake.

  I just giggled, feeling light-headed with tiredness. Of course I didn’t want to encourage Samson in any way – but he seemed to have taken a shine to me. He was considered a fine figure of a man. He wore foppish velvet jackets and big silk neck ties, but he was so tall and broad-shouldered, with such a pronounced cleft chin, that he didn’t look remotely effeminate. The showgirls thought him handsome because of his thick wavy hair, his shrewd dark eyes, his high colouring. It was astonishing that such a man could be interested in a small slight girl like me, sickly pale, with flaming red hair.

  ‘You don’t like him, do you?’ Bertie demanded.

  ‘Of course I don’t like him. I absolutely hate him. He gives me the shivers,’ I said, truthfully enough. ‘But thank goodness he spoke up for us.’

  ‘I spoke up for you too. I practically tore my tongue in two, making excuses,’ said Bertie. ‘Were you really simply held up by the train? Are you sure you didn’t stay too late celebrating at this wedding of yours? Were you having one last dance with the newly-wed?’

  ‘You do talk such nonsense, Bertie,’ I said, laughing at him.

  He waited outside the door while I took Diamond in to Miss Gibson, thanking her fervently – and then slipped out again. Bertie drew me away from the porch, where the gaslight was bright. We stood together in the dark alleyway beside the shop.

  He put his arm round me. ‘You’re a one, you are, Hetty Feather, whizzing about the country all by yourself, so devil-may-care. Doesn’t anything ever frighten you?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh my goodness, Bertie, I was desperate when the first train was cancelled, and then the second one stopped in the middle of nowhere and wouldn’t start again. I was all for jumping out and walking. This man had to hold me down. I still haven’t stopped shaking!’

  ‘There now. You’re safe with old Bertie – and you two absolutely stunned the audience. I bet Mrs Ruby makes you permanent third-acters. Then there’ll be some mutterings! Mine will be the loudest! How dare you jump higher up the bill from me when you’ve only been in the business five minutes!’

  ‘You are joking, aren’t you?’ I said uncertainly.

  ‘Course I am. I want you to do well, silly,’ said Bertie. ‘I’m proud of you, Hetty Feather. So how did the wedding go, then? Was it strange seeing your Jem wed this other girl?’

  I was glad he couldn’t see my face properly. ‘It was a lovely wedding,’ I said smoothly. ‘I’m so pleased for Jem and Janet. They make a lovely couple. They’ll be very happy together.’

  ‘And you didn’t have any second thoughts? You didn’t wish you could be his bride?’ Bertie persisted.

  ‘Of course not,’ I said.

  ‘Did you tell him you had your own sweetheart now? Did you show him your ring?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ I fibbed.

  ‘So you told him all about me?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  I paused. ‘I told
everyone that I had a very demanding, jealous sweetheart who flirts with any girl that takes his fancy but has a fit if I so much as smile at another man,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, ha ha. You don’t know how devastating that smile of yours can be. Don’t you go dimpling at that oaf Samson or he’ll get the wrong idea entirely.’

  ‘As if I would!’ I said. ‘But it’s good that he’s on our side.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Bertie. ‘And for pity’s sake, suck up to Mrs Ruby. She could still get rid of you, you know, and I couldn’t bear that.’

  Mrs Ruby didn’t get rid of Diamond and me, although she told us that we were on a ‘last warning’. If we were so much as a second late for any further performances, we’d be sacked on the spot. We couldn’t keep our place in the third act either.

  ‘I’m not having my other artistes upset by two little upstarts,’ she said severely. ‘You have to earn your place at the top of the bill. Let’s all bide our time and see how you progress.’

  For once there was no point arguing. I knew how ruthless Mrs Ruby could be. Apparently, at the end of Saturday’s show, she had summoned Vladimir and Véronique and every single girl in the corps de ballet, and told them they were all sacked.

  There had been an enormous outcry. Vladimir had made violent threats. Some of the artistes said he’d actually drawn a pistol, but I don’t know whether this was to shoot Mrs Ruby or himself. Véronique had gone as white as her tutu and walked off in that curious manner, feet turned out like a graceful goose. Then she had suddenly collapsed on the carpet, fainting dead away. All the ballet girls had cried, so there was a chorus of sobbing, the girls clutching each other and wailing.

  I was horrified on their behalf, but I wished I could have seen such an extraordinary spectacle.

  ‘All the lads think Mrs Ruby’s gone off her head,’ said Bertie. ‘First she tried to sack you and Diamond, and everyone knows what a big draw you are. And then she gets rid of the whole ballet caboodle!’

  ‘But they’re not a big draw,’ I said unkindly. ‘The girls are lovely, but their ballet does seem to go on and on. Véronique’s a brilliant dancer, but Vladimir is much too old now. And he definitely shouldn’t wear those skin-tight fleshings!’

  ‘It needs a fine figure of a man to carry them off properly.’ Bertie struck a ridiculous pose, his arms out, his leg raised, toe pointed. ‘How would I look?’

  ‘Extremely silly,’ I said, pushing him so that he lost his balance and very nearly fell over.

  He chased me then, and Diamond joined in, the three of us running round and round the kitchen table, while Miss Gibson threatened to beat us all about the head with her wooden spoon. But when we were all sitting down drinking cocoa, Bertie continued, ‘Seriously, Mrs Ruby’s losing her mind. Whether the dancers were a draw or not, they were a vital part of the evening. The ballet took up a good fifty minutes, and old Vladimir’s dance with Véronique was at least ten. What’s Mrs Ruby going to do on Monday with a whole hour to fill? The audience will start demanding their money back if they’re short-changed by a whole hour.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll have to dance!’ said Diamond. ‘Oh yes, I love dancing! Bertie, will you dance with me? You won’t mind, will you, Hetty?’

  ‘I won’t mind so long as he doesn’t wear fleshings,’ I said.

  Diamond spent the rest of Sunday trying to organize her dancing act. Bertie joined in good-naturedly at first, but then became unnerved.

  ‘You must take our act seriously, Bertie,’ said Diamond when he pranced about. ‘Do it properly!’

  ‘We’re not really going to be dancing, Twinkle,’ he told her.

  ‘Oh, we are, we are,’ she insisted. ‘Hetty, do you think you could make me a little ballet dress by tomorrow evening? And where can we get some of those soft ballet slippers? Bertie needs some – all he’s got are those shiny black shoes and they go clatter-clatter-clatter and distract me!’

  ‘They’re meant to clatter. They’ve got metal plates hammered onto the soles for my tap routine. That’s the only kind of dancing I can do, Diamond. Why don’t we work out a little tap-dance together? I can show you how to do the steps. I know you’re a quick learner.’

  ‘I don’t want to do tap – it’s too noisy and jumpy-about. I want to be elegant,’ she said, drifting around with an ethereal expression on her face.

  I’m afraid we all laughed at her and she got very cross and sat under the table with Adeline and Maybelle, all three of them sulking.

  But it turned out that no one had to do any dancing or extend their usual act on Monday night. Mrs Ruby already had a new act to cover both dancing spots.

  ‘We are lucky enough to be joined by Mr Gerald Parkinson and his theatrical company, starring the internationally famous actress Miss Marina Royal,’ Mrs Ruby announced to the assembled company. ‘They are joining our show for the next three months, before their autumn engagement in London.’

  We all stared, many muttering that the old girl must have worked a miracle to find a substitute act so quickly. But Bertie and I knew better. Mr Gerald Parkinson was a withered little old man, with fancy clothes, a thick gold watch chain and a very large cigar held between two fingers. Miss Marina Royal was clearly middle-aged, but still very striking, with abundant bright red hair and a loose green silk gown that emphasized her full figure, set off by a very long rope of amber beads.

  ‘They’re the couple we saw in the nightclub,’ I hissed to Bertie.

  ‘So Mrs Ruby was fixing the deal with them then,’ he said. ‘I didn’t recognize them, but they’re big stars. Well, I’ve heard they were, twenty or thirty years ago. He was one of the biggest actor-managers, and she was really famous, playing all the great parts, with many devoted followers. There were all sorts of posh nobs in love with her – Lord So-and-so, the Earl of What-not – and she played the field with half a dozen. They were all desperate to marry her, but she’s stayed fancy free all these years, saying she’s married to her art.’

  ‘My goodness, how splendid,’ I said without thinking.

  Bertie looked hurt. ‘Well, I dare say she’s regretting it now, when she’s too old to get any more suitors, past playing all the great parts and performing in provincial music halls to keep the wolf from the door,’ he snapped.

  I decided to end the discussion, but I brooded about it as I waited in the wings. Why did everyone assume that marriage was a girl’s true destiny? Spinsters were mocked and pitied. Even women with professions – Miss Gibson, dear Madame Adeline – were considered lesser mortals because they weren’t married. (Was Madame Adeline married to Mr Marvel now? No, surely she would have invited Diamond and me to their wedding. I thought about her recent letter. I’d written back immediately but had had no reply).

  Dear Mama hadn’t been married, though she had certainly longed to be my father’s wife. The matrons at the hospital weren’t married either, but then, who on earth would ever want to wed Matron Pigface or Matron Stinking Bottomly? Miss Sarah Smith wasn’t married either – though she seemed too engrossed in her story writing and charity work to feel the lack of a husband.

  I felt a pang when I thought of story writing. I had longed to be a writer, and had jotted down my daily life in the notebooks I grandly called my memoirs. If only writing were my profession, my art! I loved appearing on the stage at the Cavalcade, but it wasn’t really dignified pretending to be a little girl and riding a penny-farthing. I could make people laugh. Was that all I really wanted?

  ‘Diamond, what do you really, really want to do with your life?’ I whispered.

  ‘I want to be with you!’ she said.

  ‘Yes, and I want to be with you too. But what do you want to do? Have you got used to performing now? You’re very good at it. Is this what you want to do when you’re grown up? Or do you just want to get married?’

  ‘I don’t really want to be grown up.’

  ‘Are you sure? Don’t you want to marry Bertie?’ I teased.

  Diamond gave me a world-wear
y look. ‘Yes, but that’s just pretend,’ she said. ‘Bertie wants to marry you, not me. And if I stay small, I can be a little girl, your little girl, as well as your sister. And Madame Adeline and Mr Marvel can be our grandmama and grandpapa, and Miss Gibson can be our auntie. We’ll be a real family.’

  ‘Oh, Diamond! But you could go on performing even if we were one big happy family. You like it now, don’t you? How could you not like it, when everyone thinks you’re so sweet and wonderful?’ I said.

  ‘I do quite like it, but it gives me a knot in my tummy every night,’ said Diamond, rubbing it. ‘I like having fun with you and Bertie much more. And playing with Adeline and Maybelle. And making cakes with Miss Gibson.’

  ‘Well, you like being a Little Star with me more than being the Acrobatic Child Wonder?’ I persisted anxiously.

  Diamond gave me a poke in my own stomach. ‘You’re being silly now, Hetty. Of course I do!’

  Then it was time for our performance. For all Diamond’s reservations she did her doll act perfectly, moving her arms and legs mechanically, swivelling her head and staying expressionless as she opened and shut her mouth, uncannily like Little Pip. She leaped and landed with perfect grace, did a rock-steady handstand, and we waved our hands in unison as we pedalled off.

  Mr Parkinson, Miss Royal and a little bunch of actors were gathered in the wings now, waiting to go on. One of the ladies was very large, and rather plain, though she wore a great deal of greasepaint. She scratched her head in a rather unladylike way and her hair slipped sideways. I realized that she was wearing a wig like Madame Adeline! She saw me staring and pulled a funny face.

  ‘Whoopsie!’ she said, in a very deep voice. ‘Well done, you two. You’re a hard act to follow. Two fresh-faced little sweethearts outshine a tired troupe of old thespians any day of the week!’

  Mr Parkinson frowned and put his finger to his lips, listening intently to Samson’s introduction.

  The large woman made a big O with her painted lips and waggled her eyebrows at me. Or was it his eyebrows? Yes, he was a man dressed up as a lady!