Little Stars

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘My goodness, let’s stay in the wings and watch them,’ I whispered to Diamond. ‘I think they’re going to be interesting!’

  They were amazing. They performed the most astonishing play. It was all about a murder, with Mr Parkinson solving the mystery and saving Marina Royal from a similar fate – but it wasn’t a tragedy at all, it was wondrously comic.

  ‘It’s called a farce,’ said Bertie knowledgeably.

  Diamond was worried when so many things went wrong: the actors tripped or dropped things or hid behind doors and were discovered. ‘Will they get into trouble?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘No, no, it’s meant to go wrong,’ said Bertie. ‘That’s why it’s so funny.’

  The audience were in stitches, and half the Cavalcade artistes crowded into the wings, hands over their mouths, rocking with laughter too.

  ‘Bit of a change from all that dreary dancing!’ said Bertie. ‘Isn’t Marina Royal comical when she wants to be! I love her funny way of walking. She’s still a fine figure of a woman, isn’t she?’

  ‘Well, personally I think she’s a little past it, poor old dear,’ said Ivy Green, sniffing. ‘Bit of a come-down, isn’t it? I thought she used to be a serious actress?’

  ‘I think she’s doing splendidly now,’ I said fiercely. ‘Bertie’s right – she still looks marvellous.’

  ‘Yes, well . . .’ said Ivy, looking at me and not finishing her sentence. She clearly meant that a plain little thing like me would think Marina Royal marvellous.

  ‘She can still act all of us off the stage,’ I said sharply.

  Bertie looked amused. He always liked it when the two of us got into a spat. He especially liked acting as a referee, trying to calm us down.

  I wasn’t in the mood for that. ‘Come on, Diamond, let’s go home,’ I said.

  ‘But we always wait till after Bertie’s act, then he can walk us home,’ said Diamond.

  ‘Yes, but I think we’re both tired and need to go home now,’ I said firmly.

  However, when I’d dragged her away, I stowed the penny-farthing down with grumpy old Stan, and we slipped back into the Cavalcade. As it was a Monday, we weren’t sold out, so it was easy to find two seats in the back stalls. I watched the rest of Mr Parkinson’s comical farce, which continued at a glorious pace until the grand finale. The applause was tremendous.

  ‘Mrs Ruby knows what she’s doing! They’re so much better than the ballet,’ I said to Diamond. But she had already curled up on her plush seat and was fast asleep.

  I didn’t wake her up. I waited during the long interval, going over the play in my head, marvelling at their comic timing. They made it all look so easy, but I realized how much practice it took to get everything so spot-on perfect.

  I was tired myself, and knew I should take Diamond home to bed and go to sleep myself, but I was keen to see what the actors would do in their third-act spot.

  It was worth the wait. I was expecting another comedy, but this seemed to be a romance between two actors, Miss Royal and Mr Parkinson – Romeo and Juliet. I’d never seen or read the Shakespeare play, but I had a vague idea that it was about two young lovers. The audience knew this too, and when they saw a makeshift balcony being rolled on stage with Marina Royal standing on it and Mr Parkinson pacing below, there was a guffaw of laughter: it seemed ridiculous, two elderly people acting such parts.

  Perhaps that was the point . . . Were they going to ham it up and make it deliberately foolish? I wondered. But when Miss Royal gazed out into the auditorium in seeming frustration and said, ‘O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?’ I knew she was playing the scene with all due seriousness.

  Suddenly she became Juliet, everything about her young and lissom and eager. When Mr Parkinson answered, he seemed to become an ardent passionate youth. There were still a few titters from the rowdier elements, but these soon subsided. Marina Royal and Gerald Parkinson had managed to overcome an entire semi-drunken Cavalcade audience by the simple power of their acting.

  I sat bolt upright, tingling all over as their words reached me. I believed in them, I believed in their sudden overwhelming love, I hoped that somehow they could live happily ever after, even though I sensed there would be a tragic ending. The words themselves made complex patterns in my head. They were archaic, difficult to understand at first, and yet so beautiful that it was worth the effort. Marina Royal and Gerald Parkinson seemed aware of this, and spoke slowly and dramatically, emphasizing everything with gestures, but at the same time they managed to seem utterly natural, two young people longing for each other.

  I thought of my time in the wood with Jem, my dalliance with Bertie. My own romances seemed so small and stunted compared with Romeo and Juliet’s grand passion. Perhaps it was simply Shakespeare’s words that worked the magic. I tried to imagine straightforward Jem with his country burr proclaiming such passionate poetry, Bertie with his Cockney twang and constant teasing speaking with such ardour. It was impossible.

  I wanted the scene to go on for ever, but it was only minutes before the couple parted. There was a little silence after Juliet had disappeared from her balcony and Romeo had run off stage – and then everyone clapped furiously.

  I stood up and clapped too, so enthusiastically that Diamond jerked awake, startled. ‘What’s happened, Hetty? What is it?’ she muttered.

  ‘Oh, Diamond, I should have woken you. Never mind, we’ll watch tomorrow – and tomorrow and tomorrow! They’re so wonderful, especially Miss Royal! Oh, if only I could act like her!’ I burbled, completely overcome.

  ‘I’m sure you could, Hetty,’ said Diamond, loyal as ever. ‘In fact, I’m sure you could do it better!’

  She’d thoroughly woken up now, so we stayed right till the end of the show to watch Lily Lark, who was as saucy as ever, and sang her heart out – but suddenly her act seemed almost tawdry, compared with the style and passion of the two actors. Perhaps I didn’t want to top the music-hall bills any more. I wanted to be a real actress!

  At the end of the show Diamond and I went out with the crowd, but I lingered outside the stage door, wanting to see Marina Royal again. There was a crowd already gathering there. Most of them recognized Diamond and me, and several asked us to write our names on their programmes.

  It was the first time this had happened, and I must admit I found it thrilling. I wrote Emerald Star with a fancy flourish, and added a five-pointed star to set off my signature. Diamond had a little more difficulty: her ds were a little wobbly, with a tendency to slope in different directions, but she managed reasonably well, though she stuck out her tongue as she struggled to control her pen. She added Star to her name, and copied me with her own little star at the end.

  The crowd thought she was the sweetest child ever, but they forgot all about us when the stage door opened. There was Marina Royal, looking tired but splendid, with a sable fur wrapped round her gown. Mr Parkinson stood at her side protectively. They were immediately surrounded, everyone babbling, Oh, Miss Royal, you were splendid tonight; Please sign my programme for me!; I’ve been following your career for the last twenty years, you’re the best actress of your generation; Dear Miss Royal, please accept this little posy as a token of my appreciation . . .

  I found such adulation a little sickening, and I suspect Miss Royal did too, but she smiled and signed and said a few words to each person, while Mr Parkinson waited patiently at her side.

  ‘Are you going to speak to her, Hetty?’ Diamond asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. I wanted to, but for the first time in my life I couldn’t think of anything to say. I wanted to distinguish myself from all these other sycophantic people, to say something that would really interest her, but nothing came to me. Perhaps it would be better to go straight home. I would probably embarrass myself if I tried to speak to her.

  The stage door opened again. The crowd surged forward once more, hoping for Lily Lark, but this time it was Samson in his crimson cloak, an ivory cane in one hand. I ducked my head, bu
t I wasn’t quick enough.

  ‘The little star herself!’ he said.

  I grabbed Diamond’s hand and started pulling her away.

  ‘No, wait – don’t go!’ said Samson, pushing his way through the crush. He caught hold of us, one burly hand on Diamond, one grasping my shoulder. ‘There now, little girlies. My, you’re a skinny one,’ he said to me. ‘Skin and bones! You could do with a good meal inside you. Now there’s an idea! Let’s go and have supper right now.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Samson, but we have to go home straight away. It’s very late, past our bedtime,’ I said, as childishly as I could.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ said Samson, letting Diamond go to consult his pocket watch. ‘So why did you stay to the very end tonight?’

  ‘To see Miss Marina Royal,’ I said.

  ‘Oh yes, our illustrious new artiste. The old girl’s still got it, hasn’t she? But I like spotting talent when it’s new and fresh and just needs developing a little.’ Samson held me even tighter. I knew I’d have bruises on my shoulder the next day.

  ‘Please, sir, your hand’s digging into me uncomfortably,’ I said.

  ‘I’m just protecting you from the hurly-burly of the crowd, dear. So how do you two little ones get home, might I enquire? You don’t ride all the way home on that contraption of yours?’

  ‘Not tonight, sir. We’ll walk. It’s not far. Come along, Diamond!’ I said urgently.

  ‘Walk! I can’t let you two chickies walk off into the night, not when there are so many big bad wolves around,’ said Samson. He bared his teeth in his own very wolfish grin.

  ‘We’ll be fine, sir,’ I insisted.

  ‘Nonsense. I’ll call you a hansom cab. I’ll pay the fare, of course. In fact, I’ll accompany you all the way home, just to put my mind at rest.’ Samson leaned forward, his face close to mine, his breath hot and sour with wine fumes. ‘Got to keep an eye on my little girl.’

  I squirmed as far away from him as I could, searching frantically for some further excuse. But then I heard eager cries as the stage door opened again. I peered round. It was Lily Lark, arm in arm with Mrs Ruby.

  ‘Mrs Ruby!’ I called loudly. ‘It was a fantastic show tonight! Miss Lark, you were in fine voice!’

  They both turned towards me. Samson immediately let us go.

  ‘Quick!’ I hissed to Diamond, and we ducked away as he was forced to wave to Mrs Ruby.

  We ran hard, hand in hand.

  ‘Is he following?’ Diamond panted.

  ‘He won’t follow, not with Mrs Ruby’s beady eye on him,’ I gasped. ‘Hurry, though. Let’s get round the corner before we slow down, just to be on the safe side.’

  We leaned against the wall, trying to get our breath.

  ‘I don’t like Samson,’ said Diamond.

  ‘Neither do I,’ I said. I’d been such a fool to blow a kiss to him at the end of the performance.

  ‘He acts all funny. Especially with you.’

  ‘Well, we’re going to keep right away from him in future. I was very silly to keep us out so late. I should never, ever have gone round to the stage door. In future we’ll always wait for Bertie, and he’ll walk us home. How about that?’

  ‘Yes, then we’ll be absolutely safe,’ said Diamond happily.

  I very much hoped she was right.

  BERTIE WAS VERY happy to walk home with us every night. He seemed far more relaxed, perhaps because he knew that Jem was married now. I was happy too. I liked his company, I laughed at his jokes, I loved our snatched time together after Diamond went to bed. Sometimes in private I took my Mizpah ring off my right hand and tried it on my wedding-ring finger.

  I wondered what it would be like to be married to Bertie – not now, of course. I still felt far too young. But perhaps in a few years? We might both have progressed further up the bill by then. Lily Lark was getting older, and Marina Royal too, though she was only here on a temporary basis. Perhaps it was time someone much younger topped the bill. I was utterly determined it wasn’t going to be Ivy Green! She was a one-trick pony, singing her tiresome songs. She wasn’t an original novelty act like the Little Stars.

  Even so, I tried to think of a new and even better act for Diamond and me. Bertie shared his treasured Stage periodicals with me and I read about all the famous music-hall acts in London. One woman had caused a sensation by dressing entirely as a man – dress shirt, fitted suit, spats and top hat. I rather fancied this idea. I’d loved wearing my riding breeches in the circus. I could enlist Miss Gibson’s help and work up my own miniature man’s suit, plus one in an even smaller size for Diamond. Of course, we’d have to cut off our hair to really look the part, but it would be liberating to be free of my long tangled mane that was such a bore to brush and style.

  We could act as if we were a couple of little men out for a stroll at night. We could pretend to smoke cigars and swig a bottle of wine – there were all sorts of comical possibilities. I’d have to say most of the words, but that might be funny too, if Diamond just echoed me. I could sweet-talk the general handyman to make us a lamppost prop so that we could dance around it. Then maybe someone could play a few notes on a penny whistle off stage – Bertie, perhaps? We’d think it was a nightingale and go looking for it. Diamond could jump up on my shoulders and peer upwards, then propel herself right up on top of the lamppost? I’d have to make sure the post was very firm and steady, with a flat top so she could land safely, of course.

  I outlined my plan to Diamond. She looked appalled and shook her head determinedly.

  ‘But it wouldn’t be hard, Diamond. I’m sure you could land on the lamppost easily, you’re so clever. It needn’t be a real-sized lamppost. In fact, we don’t need a lamppost at all, we can think of another way to show off your acrobatic ability.’

  It turned out this wasn’t the problem.

  ‘I’m not being a little man. And I’m not, not, not cutting off my hair!’ said Diamond.

  As she protested so rarely, I felt I couldn’t press her on this, especially when Miss Gibson seemed utterly horrified too.

  ‘Sometimes I don’t know what gets into your head, Hetty! How could you possibly cut off your hair – and Diamond’s too! It’s your crowning glory. How could you ever look a little lady with short hair!’

  That was the trouble. I wasn’t a real lady at all. I wasn’t sure who was. Perhaps Marina Royal?

  I was thrilled when she sought me out in the dressing room.

  ‘Are you the little girl who’s so good at stitching?’ she asked.

  ‘I – I think so,’ I said foolishly. I felt so in awe of her. She was so stately, so imperious, with such a thrilling deep voice. The rich tones of her abundant hair made my own look childish and carroty. Her skin was white and clear without greasepaint, her eyes green and intense. She even smelled extraordinary, wearing a rich lily perfume with musky undertones that made my noise twitch.

  ‘I wonder if you could help me with my Juliet costume? The white muslin sleeves are all worn through. I’ve done my best to darn them, but they badly need replacing.’

  She showed me. She might be a wonderful actress but she was clearly pretty hopeless when it came to darning. A six-year-old foundling could have made a better job of those elbows.

  ‘If you give me the dress tonight, after your performance, I’ll take it home and work on it tomorrow. I’ll bring it back ready for the evening show,’ I offered.

  ‘Are you sure? It’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘I like your act, by the way. Very original.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  ‘And your little sister’s a real stunner with all that lovely long fair hair.’

  Perhaps Diamond had been right to resist the idea of cutting it off!

  ‘I’m going to have to stay behind this evening till after Miss Royal and Mr Parkinson have done their Romeo and Juliet scene,’ I told her.

  ‘But then Samson might start chasing after you again,’ said Diamond.

  ‘I’ll rush up to
Marina Royal’s dressing room and take her Juliet dress, and then I can be out of the Cavalcade while Samson’s still at his table, announcing Lily Lark,’ I said. ‘You can go home with Bertie, same as usual.’

  ‘No, I’ll wait,’ said Diamond.

  Bertie waited too. We watched the show from the back seats. I loved the comic murder mystery, impressed all over again by the immaculate timing and hilarious joshing, but it was still a lot of frothy nonsense compared to the Shakespeare in act three. I had planned to go backstage to Marina Royal’s dressing room while they were performing, but I couldn’t drag myself away. I shivered all over at the words, whispering Juliet’s speeches myself. I’d found an old volume of Romeo and Juliet on a penny stall and learned the balcony scene by heart, because it meant so much to me.

  Diamond dug me in the ribs with her elbow. ‘Um, you’re talking, and you always tell me off if I dare say anything during someone’s performance,’ she whispered.

  Bertie whispered in my other ear, making some silly comment about old Mr Parkinson being so old and arthritic that he’d never be able to climb on top of a brick, let alone a balcony.

  I took no notice of them. I just stared at the stage, enthralled. I made a dash for it while everyone applauded. I ran all the way out of the theatre, round the corner, in at the stage door, past grumpy Stan, up the stairs and along the corridor. I knocked timidly at the door with Miss Royal’s name on.

  ‘Enter!’ she called, in that thrilling voice.

  I went in timidly. She was sitting in front of the mirror in a silk wrapper, her hair up in a turban while she creamed her face to remove her greasepaint. She still somehow managed to look magnificent.

  ‘You were wonderful tonight, Miss Royal,’ I said. ‘So heartfelt! And the way you let out a sigh after asking Wherefore art thou Romeo! It was so moving.’

  She stared at me in the mirror, one eyebrow raised. ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said. Then she turned round and looked at me properly. ‘It didn’t seem too ridiculous, a woman of my years playing Juliet?’

  ‘You became Juliet! I don’t know how you did it,’ I said.