pounds. Poor old her.” Nydia giggled.
“Yes, poor her,” I said. “Poor little Anne-Marie.” I remembered what I promised her. “She’s going to be really, really angry and mad Anne-Marie pretty soon,” I said.
“What do you mean?” Nydia asked me.
“When she finds out I haven’t arranged any meeting for her with Liz. That never in millions of years could I arrange any meetings for anyone. I’m only a kid! She must think I’m miles more important than I am. That’s really going to hack her off when she finds out.”
Nydia giggled even more.
“There’s always a bright side,” she said, and we both laughed our way to the bus stop until I remembered something else Anne-Marie had said.
“Hang on a minute – what did she mean when she said she would get someone for me to practise on…?”
Chapter Thirteen
“So, what are you having then, kiddo?” Dad said. Kiddo. He had never called me kiddo before in my whole life. I watched him from around the edge of my menu. He was wearing this stupid bright red shirt and he’d got himself a stupid leather jacket. There was something else funny going on. I squinted at him as he studied the menu. Then I realised he’d put gel in his hair and made it all sort of spiky, even around the bits where you could see the pink of his scalp. If it wasn’t so sad it’d be funny.
“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 said without cracking a smile.
“Er no, 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 favourite places: we’d all been coming here since I was really little. All the staff knew us and most of the time the other regulars either didn’t recognise me or simply ignored me. But tonight there was a table in the corner – a big family party – who kept looking over at me and nudging each other. I tried not to look at them.
“Hi, Ruby. Hi, Mr Parker. How’s it going?” Cassie, the waitress, stopped at our table, her 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. 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 sort out 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 table of people 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 whenthey’re telling you how much they love your work. It was a fake smile.
“Ruby,” he said all cheerfully. “Darling, I know this is hard for you, I realise that, but, well, there’s no point in pretending that it hasn’t happened. People have to know some time.”
“Why do they?” I asked him in a low whisper. I nodded in the direction of the table that still kept looking at me. “Those people over there, they recognise me from off 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 used to eat toast and butter wherever I went. 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
“Yes, poor her,” I said. “Poor little Anne-Marie.” I remembered what I promised her. “She’s going to be really, really angry and mad Anne-Marie pretty soon,” I said.
“What do you mean?” Nydia asked me.
“When she finds out I haven’t arranged any meeting for her with Liz. That never in millions of years could I arrange any meetings for anyone. I’m only a kid! She must think I’m miles more important than I am. That’s really going to hack her off when she finds out.”
Nydia giggled even more.
“There’s always a bright side,” she said, and we both laughed our way to the bus stop until I remembered something else Anne-Marie had said.
“Hang on a minute – what did she mean when she said she would get someone for me to practise on…?”
Chapter Thirteen
“So, what are you having then, kiddo?” Dad said. Kiddo. He had never called me kiddo before in my whole life. I watched him from around the edge of my menu. He was wearing this stupid bright red shirt and he’d got himself a stupid leather jacket. There was something else funny going on. I squinted at him as he studied the menu. Then I realised he’d put gel in his hair and made it all sort of spiky, even around the bits where you could see the pink of his scalp. If it wasn’t so sad it’d be funny.
“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 said without cracking a smile.
“Er no, 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 favourite places: we’d all been coming here since I was really little. All the staff knew us and most of the time the other regulars either didn’t recognise me or simply ignored me. But tonight there was a table in the corner – a big family party – who kept looking over at me and nudging each other. I tried not to look at them.
“Hi, Ruby. Hi, Mr Parker. How’s it going?” Cassie, the waitress, stopped at our table, her 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. 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 sort out 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 table of people 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 whenthey’re telling you how much they love your work. It was a fake smile.
“Ruby,” he said all cheerfully. “Darling, I know this is hard for you, I realise that, but, well, there’s no point in pretending that it hasn’t happened. People have to know some time.”
“Why do they?” I asked him in a low whisper. I nodded in the direction of the table that still kept looking at me. “Those people over there, they recognise me from off 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 used to eat toast and butter wherever I went. 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
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