Ruby Parker Hits the Small Time (11 page)

“Your hair looks stupid like that,” I said. “I'll have the marinara. A large one.”

“All to yourself?” Dad attempted to joke. “You'll burst!”

“Are you saying I'm fat?” I asked without cracking a smile.

“What? No! Ruby, you're perfect. I'm glad you don't worry about what you eat. Too many girls do, especially girls in your industry. It's not worth it.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I know that, Dad. I'm not a total moron.” I looked around the restaurant. It was one of our favorite places; we'd been coming here since I was really little. All the staff knew us, and most of the time the other regulars either didn't recognize me or simply ignored me. But tonight there was a big family party in the corner who kept looking over at me and nudging one another. I tried not to look at them.

“Hi, Ruby. Hi, Mr. Parker. How's it going?” Cassie stopped at our table, her pen and order pad poised. “No Mrs. Parker tonight?”

My dad opened his mouth, but I stepped in before he could say anything.

“No, no. Mum's ill. Got the flu—terrible flu—had to stay in bed, and we can't cook so we came out to eat. She's really,
really
ill. But not so ill that it would be mean to leave her on her own or anything. Just too ill to cook.”

Cassie looked concerned. “Poor Mrs. Parker. I know—I'll get some tiramisu for you to take away for her. That'll make her feel better. What do you reckon, Ruby?”

I nodded gratefully. Cassie took our orders and headed back to the kitchen, past the family who kept looking at me. Dad smiled at me. It was a new kind of smile—one he'd only got since he'd left—the sort of smile TV presenters give you when they're telling you how much they love your work. It was a fake smile.

“Ruby,” he said brightly. “Darling, I know this is hard for you—I realize that—but, well, there's no point in pretending that it hasn't happened. People have to know sometime.”

“Why?” I asked him in a low whisper. I nodded in the direction of the family who kept looking at me. “Those people over there, they recognize me from the telly. Do they
have
to know that my parents are splitting up? How do you think that feels, Dad? Or Cassie, who's known us since I only ate toast and butter here. Does she have to know? Does she have to know that my life's been ripped apart by
you
? I don't think so. I don't think anyone
has
to know.”

Dad rubbed his hand across his chin and thought for a moment, as if he were trying to find a magic spell that would suddenly make everything all right.

“Darling, you mustn't think that this is happening
because
of you. I love you. Never forget that.”

I forced myself not to laugh out loud. “You don't love me enough to stay at home,” I snapped at him. “You don't love me enough to try to work things out with Mum.” I slammed down my glass. “Do you?”

I could tell he was shocked. Before all this, it had always been him and me. Always us two joking around, teasing Mum or making her cross. Always him I went to when Mum said no. Always him who said yes—until Mum overruled him. He must have thought I'd be on his side in all this. He thought wrong.

“Ruby, you have to see this isn't about you. It isn't about how much I love you. It's about me and your mum being happy. We're not happy together and things have gone too far now for us to be happy together again. There's no way we could get back together. Your mum accepts that; she understands it. You have to try, too.”

Just at that moment Cassie arrived and set down our pizzas. “Anyone for parmesan or ground pepper?” she asked us cheerfully.

“No, thanks,” my dad said.

Cassie looked at us both. She must have known that something was up, because normally whenever we went there we made a joke about how much extra cheese I like on my pizza. She must have seen the red blotches blossoming on my cheeks and maybe the tears that were edging their way out of my eyes, because she didn't say anything more. She didn't make a joke or ask me about the show; she just turned and went.

I bit my lip hard and took a deep breath.

“Mum might tell you she's fine, Dad, but she isn't. She cries all the time. Her eyes are red all the time. She's only accepted it because you aren't giving her a choice.”

I picked up my fork and stabbed it angrily into a piece of pizza. Dad shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Ruby, that's not true. Your mum and I agreed. And we also agreed that whatever happens we'll make sure that you don't—”

“Is it because you've got a new girlfriend?” I asked him. It was as if I'd just thought of it, but somehow I'd kept the question hidden even from myself until that moment, when it just came out without me telling it to.

“I …er …well, no, not in the sense you mean.”

It was like I'd been punched in the stomach. I didn't know
what
I'd expected, but I hadn't expected him to admit to it. I hadn't expected it to be true. I couldn't believe that Dad could love someone else apart from me and Mum—someone else
instead
of us.

“You have? You've got a girlfriend?” I asked in disbelief. My voice rose above the murmur of the restaurant and the watching family all turned and stared at us.

“No. No!” Dad said quickly. And then, choosing his words carefully, he added, “There is …someone. But she's a friend and that's all. Nothing has happened, Ruby. We haven't even been on a date. We're just friends. But I do enjoy her company. One day, when things have settled down a bit, maybe then, but we'll see.”

Until then, I hadn't really believed he was gone. Until then, I thought he'd come around; that eventually he'd hate how angry and hurt I was, and he'd get lonely and realize he missed us and just come home. But in that moment, I realized he was planning a future in which he was more than Mum's husband and more than my dad. He was planning a future without either of us in it.

“I want to go home,” I said with a small, tight voice. “But we haven't …” Dad gestured at my barely touched pizza.

“Please, Dad. I'm tired and I feel sick and I've got work in the morning. Please.”

Dad ran his fingers through his stupid spiky hair and suddenly he looked very tired and older than normal. He shrugged and left some money on the table to pay the bill.

“I'm sorry, Ruby. I just can't seem to get things right at the moment,” he said. “Come on, then.”

I followed him out, keeping my eyes down as we threaded through the tables of other customers.

“Excuse me?” someone called out. My dad kept walking, but I stopped in my tracks. A girl from the corner table had reached her hand out to get my attention. I turned and made myself smile.

“I'm sorry to bother you, but you're Angel, aren't you? From
Kensington Heights
?”

I nodded. “That's me!” I said as cheerfully as I could.

“We love
Kensington Heights
, don't we, Mum?”

The girl's mother nodded. “Never miss it. Can't wait for next week!” She winked at her daughter. “It's Cheryl's birthday tonight. Well, her actual birthday's not till Saturday, but her dad's got her this weekend, so we thought we'd go out tonight.”

“Happy birthday, Cheryl,” I said with some effort.

“Um, do you, would you mind …” Cheryl asked nervously. “Would you give me your autograph, since it's my birthday? I'm thirteen, like you!”

I smiled, nodded, and signed the piece of paper she handed me, wishing her many happy returns.

“There you go,” I said.

“I love Angel the best,” Cheryl said. “She's the one you really believe in. All those other characters, they're just not real. But you—you're really real.”

“Thanks,” I managed to say. “All the best, then!” I turned on my heel and almost ran outside onto the street where Dad was waiting in his car. I could feel the tears starting to come again.

“Ruby,” Dad said when I got in, “none of this was ever meant to hurt you. None of it.”

I looked at him and wiped my tears away with my hands. “But it
does
hurt me, Dad,” I told him. “It hurts me more than anything.”

After we got back, Mum and Dad stood for a long time in the hallway, talking in low voices. Before tonight I'd have hoped they were trying to work things out—for my sake. But now I realized that really wasn't going to happen. However they worked things out, it wouldn't involve us getting back to the way we were. Dad hadn't really wanted to talk about his so-called friend, but somehow I knew from the moment he mentioned her, nothing would be the same again.

When Dad had gone, Mum brought me cheese toasties and a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream.

“He
is
trying,” she said as she sat down next to me on the sofa, tucking her legs up underneath her. I looked at her sideways. I wasn't sure if I should tell her about what Dad had told me or not. I didn't want to upset her. But I decided that she would want to know, that she'd hate for me to keep something from her.

“Mum? Did he tell you about his …friend?” I asked uncertainly.

Mum stretched her mouth into a thin, unhappy smile. “I know who she is, yes,” she said. She put an arm around me and sat close to me as I picked at my cheese toasty. “Look, Ruby, it hurts. It hurts a lot to think about your dad being with someone else. I suppose that's why I've been crying so much. But it's not because I want your dad back. It's because I'm sad when I think about how happy we were when we started out. I'm sorry we couldn't keep it that way, but your dad and I don't make each other happy anymore. I'm not saying we don't still love each other in a way—just not in the way we used to. He thinks he might find that kind of love with another person. That's hard to understand, I know, especially when you've been so used to things being one way for such a long time. But I
do
understand it. I'm not the victim in this, Ruby, so don't make your dad the bad guy just because you need someone to blame. He loves you very, very much.”

I slurped my hot chocolate. “He won't love me when he's got loads of new kids,” I said. “He'll probably just forget about me then.”

Mum shook her head and kissed the top of mine. “He won't, Ruby—even if one day he does have another family. He won't forget about you.”

I rested my head on her shoulder. “How do you know?” I asked her.

“Because I still know your dad better than anyone. I know you mean the world to him. It's breaking his heart to see you like this, Ruby.”

I shut my eyes and suddenly I felt terribly, terribly tired. “I'm sorry, Mum,” I said. “I'm really sorry.”

“Don't you be sorry, darling,” Mum said softly. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

Chapter Fourteen

I
watched Brett's profile, her face tipped back under the glare of the huge makeup light that was angled directly above her. Her personal makeup artist, Claire, was applying her foundation. It took a long time. Brett had once told me that over their professional relationship, she and Claire had developed a lengthy routine that minimized shadows, reduced lines, and made her look ten years younger than the thirty-nine she actually was. Mind you, Brett told me that about two years ago and she's
still
thirty-nine according to the
Sunday Express
magazine, so I'm not exactly sure how she works it out. Maybe it's like dog years. Maybe there are five human years to every Brett year. It was probably the journalist's fault. They are always printing lies about Brett.

Claire looked annoyed. Claire always looks annoyed, and I'm sure she doesn't appreciate enough what Brett has done for her. I often heard her swearing loudly in complaint about something Brett has done or said, as if it wasn't Brett who paid her wages. And once I caught Claire doing an impression of Brett that made her look like a wicked old witch! That was unfair because, after all, without Brett, Claire wouldn't have a job. In fact, Brett could make it so that Claire never worked in this industry again if she wanted to. Claire is very lucky that Brett is so kind to her.

You see, a lot of people don't see the real Brett. The touchy, hard, nasty Brett isn't her at all. Deep down, she's very kind and vulnerable. I saw her say that on a talk show once. And when she's being Angel's mum, you just know it's true. Sometimes I've even wished Brett
was
my mum.

“Oh, hurry up, Claire!” Brett demanded. “I feel like I've been here for hours!”

Claire rolled her eyes and winked at me. “You
have
been here for hours,” she said. “It takes hours to get you looking exactly the way you want to, Brett. It'd be quicker to have a face-lift. Another one.”

I was surprised that Claire hadn't read Brett's autobiography, where she says once and for all that she's never had any plastic surgery. I was also surprised that Brett didn't sack her right on the spot. Instead she just looked sideways at me and pursed her lips.

“You don't know how lucky you are,” she said, as if she might be quite angry with me. She had every right to be, as ever since I found out I was still on the show, I hadn't had a chance to thank her for her help. That was why I'd hung around after my own makeup had been done, waiting for the right moment to talk to her.

“I know,” I said, glancing at my reflection in the mirror. “Mind you, it doesn't take long to get some spots glued on and a bit of grease sprayed in your hair.”

I sighed and picked up one of my newly lank strands of hair. Liz said it was so that when I shot my transformation scenes next week, the contrast between the old Angel and the new Angel would be even more dramatic. Which was fair enough, I supposed; it was just that I'd got used to being told I wasn't
beautiful
enough. It was a bit of a shock to be told now I wasn't
ugly
enough. And, what's more, I had to go around like this in front of Justin, who never had to look ugly—who, even with all the special ugly makeup in the world, could never look ugly because his inner beauty just shines through.