by Chloe Rayban
‘Mum?’
‘And how did the dance lesson go? I wish I’d had a teacher like Stella at your age –’
‘It was fine but –’
‘Stella’s brilliant, isn’t she? She turned down Festival Ballet, you know, to do workouts with me –’
‘That’s not what she –’
‘You are just so-oo lucky, Hollywood. Most girls would give their –’
‘Mum, would you listen to me? PLEASE …?’
Mum’s eyes widened. ‘OK, I’m listening.’
‘Mum, I can’t go through life only knowing how to sing and dance.’
‘Oh, well, I know that. We’ll find someone to do all that boring school stuff with you in the afternoons.’
‘When? I’m already missing loads.’
‘Vix is on to it. She’s got a pile of CVs and she’s lined up interviews with some agency, starting from tomorrow. So we’ll have a tutor for you in no time, don’t worry.’
‘Good. And they better be smart at maths and chemistry ’cos those are my weak subjects. And maybe biology.’
Mum frowned at me and said in a baby voice, ‘I don’t want my treasure doing all those nasty old dull subjects.’
‘Well, you better get used to it because …’ That’s when I came right out with it without even thinking. ‘I’ve decided. I want to be a vet.’ Somewhere deep down I knew this was what I had always wanted to do.
‘A vet?’ Mum nearly shot out of the tub.
I faltered. I mean, the idea had just come to me and it was pretty new.
‘Yes, a vet.’
Mum was staring at me in horror as if I’d said that I wanted to become a mortician or a prostitute or something.
‘But you can’t possibly want to be a vet. All that mopping up after sick animals. And cutting out stuff. Yuck.’
‘I won’t mind if it helps the animals.’
‘Hollywood. Any other girl would give their … their … I don’t know what they’d give, to have the opportunity I’m giving you. It’s the chance to really make something of yourself.’
‘But, Mum. You don’t understand. It’s not what I want to do. It’s what you want.’
‘How can you possibly know what you want to do at your age?’
‘Didn’t you?’
Mum was somewhat taken aback by this.
‘Well, sure. I felt I had like a mission. You have to be pretty focused to get to the top.’
‘I just don’t want to be a singer, that’s all.’
‘You’ll thank me for it in the long run.’
‘Oh no, I won’t.’
‘Hollywood, you are beyond me. I simply don’t understand you.’
‘No, you don’t. You never will.’
‘I do so much for you and you’re so ungrateful.’
‘Ungrateful! You expect gratitude for ruining my life. All you do is interfere.’
Mum’s eyes narrowed. Two hard frown lines appeared on her brow. I knew this look. It spelt danger.
‘Well, I suggest, Hollywood,’ she said between clenched lips, ‘that you get on with your singing and your dancing and think how lucky you are. And you give this wild career idea of yours a little bit more thought. Now I’m getting out of the tub. Pass me my robe.’
I was being dismissed. Mum was really wild at me. I hadn’t seen her this angry since …? Yep. Since she flung the seafood platter.
She snatched her robe and swept out of the bathroom.
I was left staring at the hole in the bath foam where Mum had been. How is it that your mother, the person you’re meant to be closest to in the world, can turn your life into hell? I watched as, caught in the up-draughts of the air con, the bath foam floated off in great slabs … What did it remind me of?
Like detergent off a polluted river.
Saturday 1st February
through to Monday morning
I spent the whole weekend at Gi-Gi’s in order to avoid Mum.
Gi-Gi thinks me being a vet is a brilliant idea – so there! Thumper is not so sure as I have been practising on him. One thing I’ve learned so far is that rabbits do not like having their temperature taken, even if it’s only under the forepaw.
Monday 3rd February, 9.30 a.m.
The Penthouse Suite
Mum is having a lie-in. She is seriously not to be disturbed for any reason. So I’m having a sneak preview of those CVs. Vix is busy on the phone booking Mum’s lunch appointment and making sure her tickets for some gala dinner are near enough the front to get her within range of the TV cameras.
I make three piles out of the CVs. ‘Too old’, ‘Too dull’ and ‘To interview’.
I notice that a couple of my ‘To interview’ candidates have also been ticked by Vix. In fact, according to her scrawled biro notation at the top, they are due in this morning.
The first is Harvey Dare – hmm, sounds cool. His CV has all the right subjects too. He majored in maths, I note, so he shouldn’t have any trouble sorting out my D minus problem. The other is Rupert Smithers – yucky name. I check his birth date again. Could that be right?
‘Vix?’
‘(Can you hold a minute?) What?’
‘This Rupert Smithers, he’s only like five years older than me!’
‘So? Look on the bright side. It’s all still fresh in his mind. (No, the third row won’t do. You’ll have to move Ambrosia round. Look! She’s only a frigging model.)’
I read further down the page. Accepted English Oxon. A levels: Classical civilisation A. English AA. Latin A. Greek B. Not a single science subject. And he’d only got a D in maths GCSE. This simply wasn’t on.
‘Vix?’
‘(Can you hold again?) YES.’
‘You better cancel Rupert Smithers. He’s rubbish.’
‘Too late, I’ve told the agency he’s on the to-see list. (Look, if you can’t seat Kandhi in the first or second row she’s not coming. Umm. You’ll see what you can do? Good.)’
Mum wanders in at that point, still not dressed. ‘Did you sort the seating out?’ she asks Vix. ‘And did you book my table at the Ivy?’
‘They’re on to it, don’t worry. And yes, your usual table.’
‘Mum, in case you’ve forgotten, this is a very important morning. Like, you’ve got people to interview?’
‘Oh, them, that. Yes. Umm. Vix can deal with them.’
‘Mum, this is my future.’ ‘I’m sure Vix will manage. I’ve got so much on this morning. I’ll just pop in and give a nod or a headshake at the end of the interview, OK?’ She swans off. I hear her on the phone in her bedroom asking Daffyd and June to come up.
Oh well, I guess with Mum’s attitude to education her non-interference could be a good thing.
10.30 a.m.
Harvey Dare is not the tall bronzed fit guy suggested by his name. He is short and, I can’t help noticing, mainly nose. He has so much nose that it makes you wonder why he doesn’t overbalance forwards. My eyes keep resting on it. I can’t stop myself.
Vix is asking all the usual questions about what he’s been doing lately and when he’s available etc. But she has noticed it too. She keeps her eyes down studiously on his CV and I can tell she doesn’t dare catch my eye.
Mum wanders in towards the end of the interview, takes one look at Harvey’s most prominent feature and I can positively feel her from behind me mouthing at Vix, ‘No way!’
After that Vix races through the last questions and tells him, ‘We’ll let you know.’
I feel sorry for Harvey as he leaves.
‘It’s not his fault,’ I protest as the door closes after him.
Mum looks at me pityingly. ‘Typical of you, Hollywood. I remember when I took you to The Hunchback of Notre Dame – you wanted to marry the Hunchback.’
11.30 a.m.
We are waiting for Rupert Smithers. He’s late, twenty minutes late. And anyway, he sounds so lame.
‘Well, that’s it,’ says Vix. ‘I’ll ring the agency. If he can’t even turn up on time. A
nd as you say he’s too young.’
She lifts the phone and at the same moment there’s a buzz on the door buzzer.
I raise my eyebrows at Vix and go and open the door.
There are moments when time does a little whirry thing all of its own and then stops. The lights in the hallway brightened by several megawatts and the vases of flowers sent out tidal waves of yummy perfume. The hotel muzac switched to a symphony of strings and even that sounded kind of OK. Because standing before me was the most perfect human being I have ever seen.
I stood glued to the spot in the doorway and said, ‘Hi!’
‘Hi!’ said RUPERT SMITHERS. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Oh, yeah, sure,’ I said, taking a step or two back.
‘Errm, I hope I’ve got the right suite. Umm, you must be Hollywood. And you must be Mrs Winterman?’ he said, taking a lunge towards Vix to shake her by the hand.
‘No,’ said Vix, virtually bristling. ‘In actual fact her mother is Kandhi.’
‘Kandhi?’
‘Kandhi. The singer?’
‘Oh, Kandhi! They didn’t mention it at the agency.’
‘A job tutoring at the Trocadero? They probably didn’t think they needed to,’ said Vix dryly. I could tell she thought Rupert was a total waste of space.
‘Please sit down. Would you like a coffee?’ I asked, realising that I was going to have to take things into my own hands. ‘Vix, do you think you could get some coffee sent up?’
Vix glared at me and snatched up the phone.
Then in my best interview manner I asked, ‘So tell me all about yourself.’
Rupert started telling us how he was filling in time before going up to Oxford. Doing a gap year, as he put it. I could hardly listen. I was too busy watching his perfect teeth and the way those little smile lines played around his mouth. And how he kind of squeezed up his eyes in such a cute way when he laughed.
‘So what is it you actually need me to do?’ he asked as the coffee arrived.
‘Errm, yes. Right,’ I said as I came back to my senses. ‘Now, it’s really easy. I’m meant to be doing my GCSE’s in like two years, so we’ve got loads of time. (Two whole years together!) And I’ve got all my books. I just need someone to kind of take me through bits I don’t understand and set essays and mark stuff. Which I’m sure you can do, easily.’
‘Well, English is really my –’
‘But you can do maths and science and stuff, I mean, ’cos I can see on your CV that you passed them at GCSE.’ (I mean, who really cares about a D grade in maths?)
‘Well, I suppose –’
‘And you’re free to start right away. Which is really important, because I’m missing loads –’
Vix was giving me warning glances.
‘And let’s face it,’ I glared back. ‘You have a big advantage because it’s all still fresh in your mind.’ I stared at her meaningfully.
‘Of course, the final decision is up to Hollywood’s mother,’ interrupted Vix.
‘Did somebody mention me?’ came Mum’s voice. She appeared out of the bedroom, dressed for lunch. She was looking stunning, wearing what I call her ‘Marilyn look’, very pale with thick lashes and bright red lips. She was dressed in a tight white suit and scarlet strappy stilettos.
Rupert instantly leapt to his feet.
Mum looked him slowly up and down.
‘Hi, I’m Kandhi,’ she said. ‘When can you start?’
Mum is a STAR yet again. I’ve totally forgiven her for her cruelty over me wanting to be a vet. She’s hired Rupert. All of a sudden I can see how, deep down, she is kind, concerned, insightful and above all a brilliant judge of tutors. I rush down to my room – I have to text Becky.
I am totally in L.O.V.E.
Holly Rupert
He’s my tutor
He’s per-fect.
I’m so-oo happy
HBWxxxxx
Tuesday 4th February, 8.30 a.m.
Suite 6002
I wake up with this soft fluffy feeling as if my brain has turned into candyfloss. And I try to identify why. And then I remember what happened yesterday. I can’t believe it. I’ve got a tutor. I have the most gorgeous delectable tutor anyone has ever had. And he’s starting this afternoon.
Rupert Smithers. Who was it who said: ‘What’s in a name?’ I mean, Rupert Smithers, it’s kind of musical, it scans, it’s got a rhythm. I could sing it over and over again. Ru-pert Smith-ers. Ru-pert Smith-ers.
I’ve even had to revise my U.W.L.
It now reads:
1) A dream date with Rupert Smithers
2) Boobs (any size beyond AA)
3) A trip to Ranthambhore National Park in Rajasthan to visit what’s left of the Royal Bengal Tigers
4) Dad to record a hit – or maybe sell more than 100 white labels
5) Teeth that fit for Sister Marie-Agnes
6) Hair that doesn’t frizz when damp
7) To pass maths GCSE with a grade C or above
8) That Gi-Gi lives for ever and ever – or a very long time at any rate
9) That beetroot had never been invented
10) That caged birds are banned (So now they’ve all moved down one place, I’ll have to delete Smaller Feet.)
9.30 a.m., Suite 6003
Jasper had turned up for my singing lesson.
‘Hey. You’re looking happy. What happened? Something good?’
‘I’ve sorted my life out. That’s all.’
‘Well, I sure wish you could sort mine out for me.’
I looked at Jasper seriously.
‘It sounds to me as if your problems are merely financial.’
‘Yes, well. But “merely” doesn’t come near to describing them.’
‘How did you get so broke?’
‘Long story.’
‘Go on.’
‘I did something stupid. I wrote this musical. And then I needed loads of finance to put it on. And the guys who were backing me pulled out. So I mortgaged my house to workshop it. Small time, like in the provinces. And it bombed. End of story.’
‘What’s it like? Your musical?’
‘My musical, Hollywood Bliss Winterman, is brilliant.’
‘So why did it bomb?’
‘Lots of reasons. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong contacts. Wrong publicity. Or not enough of it, at any rate.’
I thought about that for a moment. I mean, living as I was with Mum, it was hard to imagine having the problem of not enough publicity.
‘I’d like to hear some of it.’
‘You would?’
‘Go on. Play me something.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure.’
‘OK, I’ll take you from the top. So the overture starts and it sounds like this …’ He began to play strumming notes.
‘Sounds like a train.’
‘You’ve got it! It’s an old old train. An old old train in the States. ’Forties time. You can hear it wailing here. That’s meant to be played on a sax. Then the curtain goes up and we’re in a train station. Big one, could be Grand Central. But it’s night and it’s creepy and there’s this girl all alone centre-stage and she’s homeless – she’s got nowhere to go. There’s a single eerie spotlight on her. She starts singing …’
At this point Jasper started humming in a funny highpitched imitation of a girl. He added some words and then hummed on again. It was a really sad song but with a beat to it. As the last notes faded I could really feel what it was like – being all alone at night in a big empty space like that girl.
‘But it’s really great! That song’s brilliant. Do you think I could sing it?’
‘Do we have some interest here? From that person who doesn’t want to be a singer?’
‘OK, so I don’t want to be a professional singer. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to sing, ever. Like in the shower, maybe.’
‘Well, I’ve never coached anyone to perform in the shower before. But here’s a first. You�
��re going to have to work hard to get those top notes, though.’
The song was called ‘Home is Where Your Heart is’. We worked on it for an hour. Then after that I couldn’t get the tune out of my brain. I was even humming it when I went up to see Mum.
‘What’s that?’ she asked. ‘Catchy.’
‘Just something Jasper’s teaching me.’
‘Uh-huh,’ she said. ‘Glad to see you taking an interest.’
Friday 7th February, 1.00 p.m.
Suite 6002
I’ve had a text back from Becky. She can be SO unfeeling sometimes.
r u really in love?
a) how long have you known him?
b) is he in love with you?
c) am I wrong or r u still only 13?
However, Rupert – R.U.P.E.R.T. – is due at two thirty, so I have a whole hour to prepare. I decide to wash my hair to try and tame it down some. I give it three shampoos and gloop on loads of conditioner, then I set to drying it. But it doesn’t dry like my hair does when it’s all the same length. And it doesn’t dry all smooth and shiny like when Daffyd did it. It’s fluffy and sticking out. I am going hot all over when I look in the mirror. This is SO NOT the moment to have a bad hair day.
There’s nothing else for it. I have to call Daffyd on his mobile.
‘Hi, Holly. What’s up?’
‘Daffyd. What are you doing right now?’
There is a chewing and swallowing noise. ‘I’m halfway through a tuna mayo baguette.’
‘Please, please, Daffyd. You’ve got to do something about my hair. This is an emergency.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘I washed it and it’s taken on a life of its own.’
‘Uh-huh. Bit unruly, eh?’ There’s more chewing. ‘OK, I’ll be over soon as.’
‘How soon is that?’
‘By the end of the day.’
‘End of the day! Daffyd, you don’t realise how much depends on this. You’ve got to come now.’
‘I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.’
‘Daffyd. You must. You don’t understand. You’ve got to.’