When You Wish upon a Rat (26 page)

The reporters were all nice too, and they asked the same questions, so after the first interview there was nothing even vaguely scary or intimidating about talking to them.

“Do you go to bed early, Ruth?”

“How many hours of studying do you do every day?”

“What do your friends think of your success?”

“What is your favorite meal?”

• • •

Before heading back to the hotel to settle in, Ruth had lunch in the dining room. She was sitting with the crew, tucking into spicy sausage rolls and steak fries and an Italian soft drink, when the realization came to her in a flash.
Being a star was totally great!
Apart from a few little downers like having to stand in one position for the photographers and having to smile when you didn't feel like it, she couldn't think of a nicer lifestyle.
Yes,
she thought as she picked another sweet pastry off the little glass plate that had been brought in especially for her.
At last he got it right! Thank you, Rodney!

But by the time Ruth got back to the hotel and walked into the plush lobby, she was totally exhausted.

Cindy took her by the arm and led her to the elevator. “You look like you could do with a rest,” she said. “We've got an hour-long window in our schedule. What about chilling out in front of the telly? Or you can have a swim in the heated pool or … ring your friends.”

“Okay.” Ruth stumbled into the elevator ahead of Cindy, and within only a matter of seconds they were on the fifteenth floor. Cindy opened the door for her and ushered her into a beautiful room overlooking the park and, past that, the city. Such a big room and all to herself! The furniture—a desk, chair, and enormous bed—was made of polished wood with deep green leather trimmings. Ruth stood and stared around in wonder.

“So you think you'll be okay here, Ruth?”

Ruth looked over at Cindy, who was busily setting some biscuits and a bottle of soft drink on the coffee table.

“Oh, sure. I'll be fine. Thanks, Cindy.”

Cindy was looking at her watch. “How about I show you a few things and then leave you alone for a while?”

“Sure,” Ruth said. She was actually longing for Cindy to leave so she could examine everything in the room properly.

Cindy showed her the room service menu and the phone and how to ring reception. Then she showed her the bathroom and how the shower worked. The luxury almost shocked Ruth. There were gold faucets and a big fluffy white towel, little packets and bottles of shampoo, and the bathtub was huge.

There was a knock on the door, and a man brought in a small case.

“We sent someone out to buy a few things for you,” Cindy said. “Toothbrush and pajamas and other bits and pieces.”

“Wow!” Ruth was overwhelmed. “Thank you so much.”

“So have a little rest, okay?” Cindy said, showing her again how the taps worked. “Now, don't hesitate to call me if—”

“I'll be fine,” Ruth reassured her again.

“We'll get back from your house around four,” Cindy said, “have another rest period, and then I'll pick you up for dinner. You'll be free at eight. You can come back here and watch telly;
then up bright and early tomorrow. Okay? Remember, if you want anything, I'm in 108. Only a few doors down on the right.”

“Thanks, Cindy.”

First off, Ruth examined the contents of the little case. Just as Cindy had said, there were all the essentials, like pajamas and a toothbrush and toothpaste, plus a couple of interesting books and magazines. She wandered around the room, touching the polished wood of the desk and the marble bath and the gold taps, and imagined herself as a grown-up woman, like Cindy, expensively dressed and checking into rooms like this all over the world. Would she ever get used to it? Maybe it would seem quite normal after a while.

She sighed and flopped down on the big bed, then picked up and opened a magazine, wishing that the big room didn't feel so empty somehow. If only she had insisted that Marcus and Paul come back with her. They would both enjoy it all so much—the huge sparkling bathroom, the view over the city, the enormous television screen. She could almost see them. Paul would be buzzing around pointing out one thing after another.
Cool!
He'd be pressing buttons and opening cupboards and checking out everything.
You seen this?
Marcus would lie back on the bed with his hands behind his head and laugh. “It's a hard life,” he'd mutter, “but someone's got to live it. Might as well be me!”

accompanied by Cindy and Melissa the interviewer, Greg the cameraman, and Greg's assistant, Ian. There was a lot of chatter and joking among them about other people working at the network, none of whom Ruth knew. But every now and again they'd say something to include her, so she never felt completely out of it. She was nervous about having these people in her house but realized that there was nothing she could do except take Cindy at her word. What harm would a quick interview with her parents do? Maybe it would all be in close-ups, and no one need see anything of the house.

Only a few minutes into their drive they passed St. Paul's Cathedral and stopped at a red light. Looking out the window, Ruth got a jolt when she noticed a distinctive red door set into the stonework on a small laneway at the back of the cathedral. She stared at it in shock. How would she find her way back there if … she needed to?

“Can you tell me the name of that little lane we just passed?” she asked the driver.

“Chapman,” he said.

“So many laneways in the city,” Cindy murmured. “I haven't been down most of them myself.”

Their car pushed on through the traffic. Ruth tried to memorize some landmarks, but after the driver took a few turns, she had to give up. All the buildings started to merge into one another and she had no idea where she was. She tried not to worry. After such a fantastic morning, she couldn't imagine wanting to go back to her former life anyway. Experience may have taught her that things can change, and often very quickly, but she had a strong feeling that this time Rodney really had done it.

As they turned the corner and pulled onto Wales Street, it was as though she were seeing the street for the first time, and the effect was devastating. Not a tree in sight and rubbish everywhere and their house:
the worst house in the street by far!
It looked like it was sinking into the ground. The whole roofline was uneven. Ruth had never noticed that before. Why didn't her father fix up those veranda posts the way he had said he would? This was going to be so humiliating. What were these people going to think? The whole day had been spent
sitting and standing and walking on spotless, gleaming surfaces with perfectly groomed, polite people who had probably never seen a dirty fridge or heard someone fart or burp or yell loudly.

Everyone in the car went quiet as they pulled up outside Ruth's place and got out. Even Cindy had nothing to say. With lowered eyes Ruth led the way through the front gate. Suddenly, the battered front door opened and a smiling Mrs. Craze came hurrying out to greet them, making Ruth cringe with shame. Her mother had on the bizarre red caftan that she'd worn to the Christmas concert and she had a bright red fake flower stuck on the side of her head next to her ear.

“Welcome!” she said too loudly, as though the television crew were her best friends. “We're all ready for you. I even made scones!”

“Oh, that's very nice of you!” said Greg the cameraman as he looked around at the dried-out lawn with skid marks all over it, then at the pile of tires in the corner of the yard and the newspapers all over the porch.

“Now, we did what we could,” Mrs. Craze said, following his gaze nervously, “but I'm afraid things are still a little rough around here. We're planning a big renovation next year, aren't we, Ruthie?”

Ruth nodded in humiliation.

“But please come in, everyone.” Mrs. Craze held the kicked-in screen door open and they all trooped through into the house.

“Why wait for next year?” Ruth heard Ian mutter under his breath to Greg, who chuckled in appreciation.

“Maybe they're hoping it will fall down first!”

Just inside the front door, Greg turned to Mrs. Craze. “Could we have a look around,” he asked, “and check out the best place to do the interview?”

“Oh yes, of course.” Mrs. Craze waved them on down the hallway. “Make yourselves at home. But I do think the front room would be best.”

When they were out of earshot, Ruth turned on her mother. “You must have been out of your mind! Why did you say they could do this?”

“They said it was important,” her mother said quietly, “and that you were willing, so I … I didn't want to be a fly in the ointment.”

“
What?
”

“We did what we could, Ruthie,” Mrs. Craze added feebly.

“Well, it wasn't enough!” Ruth hissed furiously.

They did the interviewing in the front room, as planned, because it was really the only halfway respectable place.

“What is it like being the only girl in the family, Ruth?”

“What would you like to be when you grow up?”

“What do you think about global warming, Ruth?”

Ruth answered as best she could, but this time found it no fun at all.
Half a day and I've become used to the gleaming surfaces too,
she thought.
Get me out of this dump!
Anyway, what could she say about global warming? She was eleven years old! She was too busy thinking about whether someone might by chance have cleaned the toilet or shifted the pile of newspapers from the corner in the kitchen.

When the interview was over, Ruth looked around the room. Why had she ever thought this room was nice? It wasn't at all. Mary Ellen's piano and table were the only two items of furniture that were even vaguely okay. She'd been interviewed sitting on a grubby, worn sofa that looked like it had come straight out of a Goodwill bin. The windows were streaked with dirt and the curtain was torn. The curtain rod was held together with black electrical tape. Memories of Paul doing chin-ups on it crowded into her head like unwanted guests.

“So, Ruth, you going to show us around?” Greg asked. He had the camera on his shoulder now. “Can we film your room … the desk and bookcase where you study?”

“No.” Ruth shook her head. “I don't want to do that.” She didn't want to admit that there was nothing in her room even
resembling a desk or a bookcase. Nor did she have a proper closet. All her clothes were in piles on the floor.

“Okay,” Cindy said, “we'll finish up, then.” She smiled at Ruth. “Mind if we just get a few establishing shots outside?”

“Okay,” Ruth said in a small voice.
What was an establishing shot?

Ruth had to go to the toilet, and when she came back out she saw that the crew was filming the bathroom next door.

She sidled up to Greg as he was shooting the stained bathtub. He started a little when he saw her.

“Your mum said it's okay, honey,” he said in a bright, jovial tone. “Don't worry, we won't use most of it.”

So why are you filming it?
Ruth wanted to say but didn't dare. She ran back into the kitchen, where her mother was pulling scones from the oven.

“Mum, why did you say they could film everything?” she whispered angrily.

“Well, they seemed to think it was important,” Mrs. Craze said, looking a little worried. “I'll be glad when this is over, Ruthie.”

“You shouldn't have said it was okay,” Ruth said. “I definitely don't want my bedroom filmed!”

“I think they already have it, love,” her mother said guiltily.
“If only we'd gotten you that new bedroom suite. Remember last year we were planning to and—”

“Too late,” Ruth snapped.

“I'm sure everything will be okay,” Mrs. Craze said, trying to be more positive.

“That's what you always say and it hardly ever is!”

“Well, sometimes it is,” her mother said, and popped a little bit of scone into her mouth. “I think you'll find that these are okay.”