Brett, she’s always giving interviews about it.
“Brett? Hello, it’s me.” There was 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 asked her, and felt my insides curl up and shrivel. I couldn’t face having to go back in 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; straightaway, 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 at all – it comes as a total shock! It must have been terrible for you. What monsters! What do they know, crushing a young girl like that? And it’s simply not true, darling! I’ve always said you have wonderful bones. And I used to be a model, I know.” I wasn’t exactly sure what use it was having wonderful bones that no one could see, but when she said it it felt important. So I started to tell her about how worried I was about school.
“And my mum and dad are—” 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 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! You know, I don’t know how much influence I’ll have, Ruby, but I’ll talk to Liz first thing and try and make her see sense. I promise.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you, Brett,” I told her. “It’s just I don’t want to worry Mum and—”
“Of course not, dear. Ruby, are you on set tomorrow?” Brett asked me as if she’d just thought of something.
“No, day off tomorrow,” I said.
“Well then, leave it to me, dear. Leave it to me. Kisses!”
And she’d 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 was actually there going through it.
And Nydia did call me back, just before I went to sleep.
And she did have a plan.
And it was a mad one.
“It’s very simple,” Nydia said the next afternoon as she unpacked the contents of her bag on to my bed. “They don’t think you’re pretty enough, right?”
“Right.” I rolled my eyes. It was obvious Nydia thought we were in a film when this sort of thing actually happens and actually works.
“Sooooo…” Nydia held up a packet of Blonde Beauty permanent hair dye. “So, we show them! We 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 in the middle.
“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 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.” She peered out of my bedroom window. “Good job 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 make-up 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 the bed.
“I don’t think your plan is going to work, Nydia,” I said.
“Yes it is!” Nydia sat next to me. “I mean, it might do, a bit. And if not, it might still make you feel better, and at least it will take your mind off things for a bit.” She put 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 might just 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 to try and help you feel better. Don’t you think lemon in your hair might make you feel better?” I hugged her back 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 any more.” We walked out on to 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 and knitted and unknitted her fingers.
“Um, Nydia, were you planning to stay for tea?” she asked. “It’s just that, well, um, today’s not the best day…”
“Mum!” I protested. It wasn’t like her not to let Nydia stay 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 back at Nydia.
“Because your father and I want to talk to you,” she said, and I knew it was bad. Whenever she refers to my dad as “your father” it’s bad: like when Granddad died, or when, last year, Dad went away and stayed in a hotel for a week to “think about things”.
“What about?” I asked her. “What do you want to talk to me about? What’s happened, Mum?” Mum shook her head and pressed her lips together again.
“We’ll talk again later, OK? Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of other times for Nydia to come to tea, OK?” She was blinking a lot as she said it. “You don’t mind, do you, Nydia?” Nydia shook her head; her parents’ 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, shall I?”
“Will you squeeze this for us?” I held out the lemon. I felt stupid asking, but Mum nodded and took it, turning her back on me as we headed to the kitchen.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” I said. “It has to be.” Nydia took my hand and led me down the stairs and out into the garden.
“Maybe not,” she said as we sat down on the grass.