What would Angel do?
Love
Shamilla Choudary xx
Ruby Parker
Dear Shamilla,
I’m sorry that you’re feeling so lonely, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to answer your letter. Today I had a very tough scene at work and I really thought about what Angel would do if she were you. I think that sometimes when there’s a whole group of people doing something, it’s easier to do what they are than to be different. I think maybe that’s what your friend Becky is doing. I don’t think she has stopped being your friend—especially not if she was upset about what that nasty girl said to you. Maybe since it’s summer now you could ring her up and see her without her other friends around. Or maybe just send her a friendly text message. I bet once the pressure of school is off she’ll realize how much she has missed you, because a good friend is hard to find.
If she really has stopped being your friend, well, she really isn’t worth being upset about—although I know that’s easy to say. I talk to my mum when I’m really worried and I think you should try to talk to your mum again. Ask to her sit down for a minuteand really listen. I bet she will, and I bet when she properly understands how sad you are, you’ll feel better.
You sound like a lovely girl and I bet you’ll make new friends before you know it. If you don’t think you can talk to your mum, I have enclosed some leaflets and the number for ChildLine.
Good luck!
Ruby x
Chapter Four
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. We laugh and talk about Everest and the things he got up to at home that morning, 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 would notice a cat with a baguette. When we’d get in, I’d sit at the table and Mum would make me supper. 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 else, and he’d tell me a joke he’d heard on the radio. And I’d laugh really loud so Mum could hear us and she’d realize 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, and 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 still didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t want her to worry about anything else. I just wanted to keep on showing her that we are happy as a family.
The thing is, if I get dropped from the show, I don’t know if I’ll be able to go to Sylvia Lighthouse’s Academy for the Performing Arts anymore. I mean, I only got in there in the first place because I was on TV. 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 on EastEnders anymore. 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 yourself. 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 math and spelling. I’m rubbish at physics and math 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. In fact, she didn’t talk to me at all; she just turned up her Celine Dion CD really loud and pressed her lips together so hard they turned a bit white. She went for a bath before Dad got home, and when he came 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 anymore. And if he’s not proud of me—if he’s disappointed in me, if we don’t laugh at his jokes every day when he gets in—then what?
Then maybe they’ll stop trying for my sake, that’s what.
But at least I have Nydia for now. At least, unlike Shamilla, I still have one friend I can talk to. So I phoned Nydia and told her about my day.
“But it’s not true!” Nydia said. “There is a place for ugly actors on the telly!” And then she sort of coughed and said, “Which you aren’t one of anyway. You’re beautiful, Ruby, and I’m not just saying that because I’m your friend. I can see that you are beautiful.”
“On the inside, you mean?” I asked, 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. They’ve gone ever so quiet lately, 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’ve known her, which included hiding all of the hockey sticks in gym class so we didn’t have to play outside in the snow and “build ourselves up for the harsh realities of life in the real world” like our gym teacher, Miss Logan, said. 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! Listen, Ruby, I’ve got to go. Gran’s here. 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 you’re 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 one for this French girl I met on holiday last Easter, and for 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 she’d end up thinking I was asking her about the war or something.
Then I looked at Brett’s name. I remembered the day 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 from 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 an autobiography 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 our problems have been written out for us. I don’t have to worry that anything I say or do might make things worse
or more difficult. I don’t have to worry because I know it all will be OK in the end. Brett is very good at being Angel’s mum. She always makes Angel feel loved and better, and when Angel feels better, then 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 is always hounding Brett; she’s always giving interviews about it.
“Brett? Hello, it’s me.” There was a 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 felt my insides shrivel up. I couldn’t face having to go back to work 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. 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 that. It comes as a total shock! It must have been terrible for you. What monsters! What do they know, crushing a young girl’s spirits like that? And it’s simply not true, darling! I’ve always said you have wonderful bones. And I used to be a model, so I know.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what use it was having wonderful bones that no one could see, but when Brett said it, then it felt important. So I started to tell her about how worried I was about school, and about my mum and dad. 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 the 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! I don’t know how much influence I’ll have, Ruby, but I’ll talk to Liz first thing and try to make her understand. I promise.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you, Brett,” I told her. “It’s just that I don’t want to worry Mum and—”
“Of course not, dear.” Then Brett paused, as if she’d just thought of something. “Ruby, are you on the set tomorrow?”
“No, I’m off,” I said.
“Well then, leave it to me, dear. Leave it to me. Kisses!”
And then she was 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 were actually there going through it.
At least Nydia called me back, just before I went to sleep.
And she did have a plan.
And it was a mad one.
Chapter Five
"It’s very simple,” Nydia said the next afternoon as she unpacked the contents of her bag onto my bed. “They don’t think you’re pretty enough, right?”
“Right.” I rolled my eyes.
“Sooooo …” Nydia held up a packet of Blonde Beauty permanent hair dye. “We’ll show them. We’ll make you over today! When you go in there tomorrow, you’ll knock their socks off and they won’t kill you. OK?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no! You aren’t getting anywhere near me with that. My hair will go all green and fall out! Haven’t you ever seen Hollyoaks, Neighbours, or Family Affairs? It always goes wrong—especially when you’re thirteen. No. No way.”
I crossed my arms and tried to look stern, which is hard with Nydia because she always makes me laugh by rolling her eyes and crossing them.
“I knew you’d say that,” she said with a sigh. “You’re the one who tells me off for believing in happy endings and yet you believe all the bad stuff that happens on the telly. You’re the same as me, just in reverse. It’s only a soap, love! Anyway, knowing how terrible you are at rebelling, I brought you this instead.” She held up a lemon. “I read about it in a magazine. We squeeze it in your hair, sit in the garden for the whole afternoon, and the sun will turn your hair blonde again. Good thing there’s global warming. It’s really hot out there. And then when we’ve done that, we’ll pluck your eyebrows. Don’t look at me like that! It’s easy; I’ve got a magazine article about it. Then we’ll do your makeup and find something cool in your wardrobe. It’s just a shame you don’t wear glasses, because then we could get you some contact lenses and everyone would be like, ‘Wow!’”
I took the lemon from her and slumped down on my bed.
“I don’t think your plan is going to work, Nydia,” I said.
“Yes it will! And if not, it could still make you feel better; at least it will take your mind off things for a bit.” She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a big hug. “I’m sorry, Ruby. I did try to think of a plan that would really help, but the only other thing I could think of was storming the ten o’clock news and holding an on-air protest, which I think just might make things worse. Obviously one day I’ll be a mega-superstar and everyone will do what I say, but, until then, this was the best I could come up with. Don’t you think lemon in your hair might make you feel better?”
I hugged her and looked at the lemon. “You make me feel better,” I said, smiling at her. “Come on, let’s go and squeeze this and I’ll try not to worry anymore.”
We walked out onto the landing and Mum was there, just standing there holding her hands together really tightly. She sort of jumped when she saw us.
“Oh,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “Um, do you want anything, girls? A drink or a snack or something?”
I looked at Nydia, who shook her head.
“No thanks, Mrs. Parker,” she said with her best parents’ smile.
Mum nodded while knitting and unknitting her fingers. “Um, Nydia, were you planning to stay for dinner?” she asked. “It’s just that, well, today’s not the best day …”
“Mum!” I protested. It wasn’t like her not to let Nydia stay for as long as she liked, and I really needed Nydia to help me keep my mind off everything. And besides, I felt like while she was here nothing else could happen. “Why not?”
Mum looked at me anxiously, and then looked back at Nydia.
“Because your father and I want to talk to you,” she said, and I knew it was something bad. Whenever she refers to my dad as “your father,” it’s bad—like when Granddad died or when Dad went away last year and stayed in a hotel for a week to “think about things.”
“What about?” I asked her. “What’s happened, Mum?”
Mum shook her head and pressed her lips together again. “We’ll talk later, OK? Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of other times for Nydia to come to dinner.” She was blinking a lot as she said it. “You don’t mind, do you, Nydia?”
Nydia shook her head; her smile had faded. “No. I don’t mind, Mrs. Parker. No worries!” She looked at me and bit her lip.
“Right, well, I’ll bring you some biscuits, then?”
“Will you squeeze this for us?” I held out the lemon. I felt stupid asking, but Mum nodded and took it, turning her back to me as we headed to the kitchen.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” I said after we had squeezed the lemon in my hair. “It has to be. Their marriage is over.”
Nydia took my hand and led me down the stairs and into the garden. “Maybe not,” she said as we sat down on the grass. “Maybe it’s the trial separation again, or maybe they’re going to sell the house because your dad’s got a secret gambling addiction or something …”
“That’s from the show!” I said with half a smile. I looked around the garden and listened to the bees in the grass and the sound of the neighbors’ toddler in the paddling pool, and I shut my eyes tightly for a second and waited for the tears to go back inside my head.
“I know,” I said to
Nydia. “Let’s talk about the film we’re writing; we still haven’t thought of a really good ending. So far we’ve only got up to the bit where Justin and I are in the jungle lair of the evil alien who’s about to take over the world …”
And for the next couple of hours we acted like nothing bad was going to happen. Luckily for me, we’re really good at acting.
3 Briar Walk
Berkhamsted
Herts HP4 3BL
Dear Angel,
You are so brave. I wish I was as brave as you were when you tripped up that trained assassin trying to kill your uncle and bashed him over the head with a priceless antique vase. You saved your uncle’s life! I really think he should have been more grateful and worried less about the vase.
I am not brave. I am scared of most things. Dogs, spiders, the dark, thunder, and cheese. But I can’t say I am because all my friends would laugh and call me a baby. So if I see a dog or a spider, I just pretend not to be scared and try to be brave like Angel, even though I’m not really.
Lots of love,
Lucy James (age 11)
Ruby Parker
Dear Lucy,
Thank you for your letter, but I think you are a bit wrong actually. I think you are very brave indeed.I know grown-ups (my mum) who are so scared of spiders they can’t even stay in the same room with them!
It’s easy to be brave when I’m playing Angel because she isn’t afraid of anything. In real life I’m afraid of a lot of things, just like you, and I bet your friends are too. Why don’t you ask them the next time you have a sleepover? Anyway, from now on, if I’m worried and scared, I’m going to think about you and try to be just as brave as you are!
Best wishes,
Ruby x
Chapter Six
I knew when I went down to dinner that I was going to have to be as brave as Lucy, maybe even braver. It was bound to be bad because Mum made chicken risotto, and she only makes that when we have guests or if I’m sick or something, because it takes her hours and she has to stir it until her wrists go funny.
Ruby Parker Hits the Small Time Page 3