Ruby Parker Hits the Small Time (3 page)

And anyway, I'm sure it's because of the Breasts that I heard what I heard today. I'm sure it's mainly because of them—and a bit because my hair always looks greasy and my skin always looks shiny—that the producers are going to axe me from the show!

Oh, yes, and because I'm ugly.

KENSINGTON HEIGHTS
SERIES EIGHT, EPISODE EIGHT
“REVELATIONS”
WRITTEN BY:TRUDY SIMMONS

INT. AUCTION HOUSE: EARLY EVENING

CASPIAN and JULIA lean against a lateVictorian dresser in each other's arms.

CASPIAN

It doesn't matter what they think, Julia. They can't stop us. I'm fifteen now and you will be too in a few months. I love you, and if you're ready, then, so am I.

JULIA

Oh, Caspian, I don't know. I just don't know. What would Mummy say if she found out …?

The door opens. ANGEL comes in looking for a book she has left behind.

ANGEL

What are you two up to? You'd better not be doing anything in here. If Dad finds out, he'll go ballistic. You know that Uncle Henry says he'll ground you for good if he catches you with her again!

JULIA

Oh, please don't tell anyone, Angel. Please. They don't know what they're doing, keeping us apart. We love each other, don't we, Caspian?

CASPIAN looks a bit uncertain, but he holds JULIA even tighter.

CASPIAN

Yes, yes we do. You won't tell anyone, will you, Angel?

ANGEL shakes her head. CASPIAN and JULIA exit, leaving ANGEL looking forlorn and sad. It is clear that ANGEL has a crush on CASPIAN and would do anything for him.

Chapter Three

A
nyway, this is how it happened. I didn't have much to do on the set today—no crying or anything hard. Just Angel finding out that her cousin Caspian, who she's in love with, and her father's archrival's daughter Julia are still seeing each other—despite being totally forbidden to do so by both of their parents. Also, Caspian is trying to get Julia to have sex with him, but she's not sure she wants to. She probably won't in the end though because
Kensington Heights
in no way condones underage sex; we leave that sort of thing up to
EastEnders
. Or possibly she will say yes, but they'll get found out and stopped in the nick of time—probably by Angel. Angel's main thing is finding out stuff and stopping it in the nick of time.

So, I didn't have much to do, but I couldn't go home because I had to do some reaction shots at the end of the day. That's when you look just off-camera and have to pretend you're reacting to a line another actor has said. Sometimes the actor's not even there! Sometimes it's just one of the runners or something, saying it all deadpan like they're ordering a Big Mac and fries and you have to gasp or cry or something. I used to be terrible at reaction shots; I always wanted to laugh instead. But then Liz, our producer, would say time is money. So I'd put a tear stick under my eye and think about what it would be like if Everest ever died, and usually it turned out all right in the end.

Brett and Martin had this big scene to do, and Brett said I was putting her off just hanging around watching and that I should go for a walk or something, so I thought I'd go and see Liz because she's really nice normally. I knew that Liz was upstairs in some kind of emergency script meeting, and because one day I want to write my own screenplay with Nydia (we've already started writing one) and direct my own film (an independent one with Justin in it because we'd be married by then), I thought they'd let me sit in on the meeting. They have before.

I got there and the door was open a bit, and so I thought I'd just wait for a lull in the conversation before going in, but then I heard my name! I heard Liz talking about
me
, Ruby. So I thought,
Excellent—new story lines!
I crept up a bit closer and put my ear next to the crack in the doorway, and that's when I found out.

“It's just that Ruby seems to be going through a bit of a …a difficult stage right now,” Liz said sort of sadly.

“Yes, she is a bit. She's just sort of stuck between being a girl and being a woman. She does look a bit awkward, poor thing,” Simon Jenkins, the script editor (who I now know to be evil), said.

“I don't think it's that big of a deal,” said Trudy, the show's main writer. “She's just a normal girl. She gets loads of fan mail from girls just like her. She appeals to her demographic. I know that
KH
is partially about glamour, but not everyone can be glamorous all the time, and I thought we wanted a balance. Otherwise we'll end up like
Crossroads
, and look what happened to that! It's not as if she's the star of the show. I think we should let her grow a bit and then decide.”

At first it felt sort of strange listening to them talk about me, like they were talking about some other girl. Like it wasn't about me at all.

“I agree with you up to a point, Trudy,” Simon said. “But, say what you like, it
does
matter what people look like on TV. The public likes looking at pretty faces. It
is
important and, well, if you-know-who is worried about it, then we have to be too. That's just the way it is: for a lot of people out there, she
is
the show.”

I heard Trudy sigh and someone shuffled some papers. It felt like a dream, like one of those nightmares when you walk into class in your knickers and nothing else and everyone laughs and you think it's real. And just for a second when you wake up you feel sick and terrible. Except this wasn't a dream. And I wasn't going to wake up. I wanted to run away, but I couldn't. I was sort of glued there.

“So,” Liz said after a pause, “what are our options?”

“Well,” Trudy said crossly, “bearing in mind that we're talking about a child here, we have a few options. Option one: We send Angel away to America or something and she comes back as a different actress—a more photogenic one.”

I felt my stomach turn over and my mouth go dry. And there was a wave of panic in my tummy just like when a roller coaster starts going down really fast.

“Option two,” Trudy continued, “and my favorite—a bit of a cliché, but always a hit—we give Angel a makeover. Maybe put a few highlights in her hair, get her some colored contacts, and let her wear a bit of lip gloss.”

I remembered wearing lip gloss at the British Soap Awards and feeling like I had raspberry pudding glued to my lips. Yet before I could get used to the idea, Simon chimed in: “But do you think Ruby's got anything to work with? I'm not sure a makeover will cut it.”

There was a short silence and it was like I was watching a live link on satellite telly—like there was a two-second delay between him talking and me hearing what he was saying.

“Option three is that we kill her,” Trudy said.

Bang. Just like that. My knees went weak and I had to grab on to the wall to stop myself from falling off the world. It was just like someone really had told me I was going to die. In that second it all caught up with me and I realized that if I went from the show, everything else that was just about holding things together in my life would go too.

I'd never get to see Justin again, which meant he'd never get to know me properly and realize one day that it was me he loved and not his stupid girlfriend. And, worst of all, Mum and Dad would be so disappointed in me, so angry with me that they might stop trying altogether, and then …

And then I had to stop thinking about it. I had to stop before I started crying and they heard me or something.

“Oh, yes,” Simon said. “I like that option. Let's kill her. She could have some sort of disease. We could tie it in with National Kids Dying Week or something like that.”

Trudy moaned. “Oh, Simon, you are such a—” I think Trudy was going to swear, but Liz stepped in before she could.

“Ruby is such a great little actress,” Liz interrupted.

“I know she'd give that story line everything, but, well …”

I couldn't listen to any more after that because suddenly I felt sick. My head was throbbing and my cheeks were burning. I ran out of the building and onto the lot and tried to get as far away from everyone as I could. I ran into one of the Portaloos and locked the door. My face was all hot and I felt like I should cry, but my eyes were dry and prickly. I get letters from girls who are picked on at school because they're fat, because they wear glasses, or sometimes just because they're different. And I write back to them and say I know how they feel, because everyone feels isolated sometimes and it's best to be true to yourself and talk to a parent or teacher. But I
didn't
know. It wasn't until then that I knew how they felt—so alone in the world that there was nothing they could do to fit in, because it wasn't anything they
did
that was wrong. It was everything they
were
.

It took me ages to be able to go back to the set and act like everything was fine. Actually it took until one of the runners came and banged on the door and shouted my name. A part of me wanted to just walk out of there and leave them in the lurch. But I'm not very good at rebelling, so I just went back and I did my scene. Luckily I was filming reaction shots for a scene when Angel accidentally finds a robber in her house and I had to scream and look scared. It was pretty easy. After all, it's not every day that you find you're going to get killed, is it?

Flat 32
Mandela Tower
Freedom Estate
Luton
Beds

Dear Ruby,

I hope you don't mind me writing to you. I'm sorry to be taking up your time. It's funny though, because I'm thirteen like you, and I feel like you know me really and that talking to you is like talking to a friend.

The thing is, Ruby, I don't know what to do at the moment. I really don't. My best friend, Becky, stopped talking to me a couple of weeks ago. She got in with the in-crowd and then just stopped talking to me. And it wasn't just her—it was everyone. Nobody talks to me anymore. It's not like anyone calls me names or hits me or anything, but all day long at school, I'm on my own. At break time I just go to the library and read a book. I told my mum about it and she said it wouldn't be this way forever and that Becky will talk to me again one day, but I don't think so.

I tried to talk to Becky before English yesterday and one of the other girls said, “Don't you realize she hates you?” I didn't know what to say after that. Becky looked sort of upset, but she still didn't talk to me. I know when Angel and Julia fell out, Angel felt like that too for a while, but then she found out just in time that Julia was going to be kidnapped by Armenians and they made up. I don't think anything like that will happen to me. On Sunday nights, I feel so terrible that I'm sick. It's the summer holidays soon and that's good, but even then I know that I won't have anyone to talk to and that I'll have to go out on my own and pretend I'm with friends so my mum doesn't worry about me being lonely.

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 minute
and 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.