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SERIES EIGHT, EPISODE EIGHT
“REVELATIONS”
WRITTEN BY: TRUDY SIMMONS
SCENE SIXTEEN
INT. AUCTION HOUSE – EARLY EVENING
CASPIAN and JULIA lean against a late-Victorian 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, well 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. Caspian, 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 leave, leaving ANGEL looking forlorn and sad. It is clear that ANGEL has a crush on CASPIAN and would do anything for him.
Chapter Three (#ulink_5686cc76-4027-5d83-80f5-d1de88edf627)
Anyway, this is how it happened. I didn’t have much to do on set today, no crying or anything hard. Just Angel finding out that her cousin Caspian, who she’s in love with (who can blame her as Caspian is played by Justin. Whenever Justin talks to me I sort of have to stop breathing, so it’s lucky, when you think about it, that he hardly ever does talk to me.) and her father’s arch rival Harrison Archer’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 and 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 and then Liz, our producer, would say time is money, so I’d put a tear stick under my eyes 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 her 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 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, because they have done 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 door, and that’s when I found out.
“It’s just that Ruby seems to be going through a bit of a…difficult stage right now. That certainly is true,” 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 old thing,” I heard Simon Jenkins, the (I now know to be evil) script editor say.
“I don’t think it’s that big a deal,” Trudy, the show’s main writer, said. “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 it wasn’t a dream. And I wasn’t going to wake up. I wanted to leave, 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, sort of crossly, “bearing in mind we’re talking about a child here – option one: we send Angel away to America or something and she comes back a different actress, a more ‘photogenic’ one.” I felt my stomach turn over and my mouth go dry. I felt this wave of panic in my tummy like just when a roller coaster starts going down really fast.
“Option two,” Trudy continued, “and my favourite – 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 coloured 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, but 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. just like that. Bang. My knees went and I had to grip on to the wall to stop myself falling off the world. It was just like someone really had told me I was going to die; it was almost just like that, because in that second it all caught up with me and I realised that if I go from the show, everything else that was just about holding things together in my life would go to.
I’d never get to see Justin again, which meant he’d never get to know me properly and then realise one day that it was me he loved and not his stupid girlfriend. And worse, worst of all, Mum and Dad would be so disappointed in me. So angry with me that…that they might stop trying altogether, and then…
And then I had to stop thinking about it. I had to stop being there before I started crying and they heard me or something.
“Oh, yes,” Simon said. “I like that option. Let’s kill her: some sort of disease or something. We could tie it in with national kids dying week or something like that.”
“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. 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 I could feel my cheeks burning; I ran out of the building and on to 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 are different. And I write back to them and say I know how they feel, because everyone feels isolated sometimes in life and it’s best to be true to yourself and talk to a parent or teacher. But I didn’t know, not really, not until then. It wasn’t until then that I knew how they felt. So alone and so wrong 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 on 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 there and then 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 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 any more. No ones 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 for ever and that Becky would talk to me again one day, but I don’t think she will.
I tried to talk to her before English yesterday and one of the other girls said, “Don’t you realise 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 that 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 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 so my mum doesn’t worry about me being lonely.
What would Angel do?
Love
Shamilla Choudary
xx
Ruby Parker
Dear Shamilla,
I’m so sorry that you’re feeling so lonely, and I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to answer your letter. Today I had a very tough scene at work and I have really thought about what Angel would do if she was going through what you were. 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’s stopped being your friend, not really, not if she was upset about what that nasty girl said to you. Maybe as it’s now the summer holidays you could ring her up and ask to speak to her on her own. Or maybe just send her a friendly text. I bet once the pressure of school is off she’ll realise how much she’s missed you, because a good friend is hard to find.
If she really has stopped being your friend then, 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 and talk to your mum again. Ask her to 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 really 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 (#ulink_d5fca5fa-6807-5099-a511-12c7d9420684)
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: if I’d had a good scene or if Liz said that I’d had a good day. We laugh and talk about Everest and the things he got up to at home that day, 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’d notice a cat with a baguette. When we’d get in, I’d sit at the table and Mum would make me tea; 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, and he’d tell me a joke he’d heard on the radio. And I’d laugh really loud so Mum could hear us in the bath and she’d realise 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. I knew that if I told her 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 didn’t want to tell her. I don’t want her to worry about anything else. I just want to keep on showing her that we are happy.
The thing is, if I get dropped from the show I don’t know if I’ll be able to go to Silvia Lighthouse’s Academy for the Performing Arts any more. I mean, I only ever got in there because I was on the TV in the first place. I didn’t even have to audition. If I get dropped from the show then maybe I’ll get dropped from the school; maybe everyone, including Sylvia Lighthouse, will see that I haven’t got what it takes to make it after all. That maybe I never did…
And it’s not as if I’d get another job. I don’t think there’s work for ugly teenagers anywhere. Not even EastEnders any more. And then I’d lose Nydia and I’d be at a school where everyone would know I was a failure and I wouldn’t have any friends and…
It’s easy to tell other people to be brave and to cheer up, but it’s not so easy to do it. I know I sometimes moan about the school and about starting so early and finishing so late, but I love it. I really, really love it and I don’t want to go to a school where everyone has to be good at physics and pass five hundred GSCEs at grade A*. I’m rubbish at physics and maths and spelling.
So I didn’t tell Mum because of all that, and also because on the way home she wasn’t laughing or smiling and she didn’t talk about Everest – she didn’t talk to me at all. She turned up her Celine Dion CD really loud and pressed her lips together really hard so they went a bit blue. She went for a bath before Dad got in, and when he did come in I asked him what his joke of the day was, but he just sat at the table and asked me to give him a big hug.
“I’m so proud of you, Ruby,” he said. “You do know that, don’t you?” And I said that I did, but then I went to bed before it was even eight o’clock, because I know that once he finds out about the show he won’t be proud of me any more. And if he’s not proud of me, if he’s disappointed in me, if we don’t loud-laugh at his jokes every day when he gets in, then what then? Then maybe they’ll stop trying for my sake, that’s what then.
But I thought, At least I have Nydia for now. At least, unlike Shamilla, I still have one friend I can talk to. So I phoned her and told her.
“But it’s not true!” was the first thing Nydia said. “There is a place for ugly actors on telly!” And then she sort of coughed and said, “Which you aren’t one of anyway. You are beautiful, Ruby, and I’m not just saying that because I love you. I can see that you are beautiful.”
“On the inside, you mean?” I asked her glumly.
“Well, yes, but on the outside too. Definitely.” And I loved her for saying it, but I knew it wasn’t true, not really. On the outside I’m just almost-average at best – and average isn’t good enough.
“The thing is,” I told her, “I can’t tell Mum and Dad because well – you know. They’ll go all bonkers and I can’t give them something else to fight about and, I don’t know, they’ve gone ever so quiet, Nydia, and they keep hugging me. I think something’s going to happen. Something bad.” I felt my tummy go cold with fear at the thought of it.
“No, it’s not, because we won’t let it. I’ll think of something, I promise you. I always do, don’t I?” I thought of Nydia’s various plans to fix things since I’d known her (including stealing all of the hockey sticks from the sports locker and hiding them in the basement so we didn’t have to go and play outside in the snow and “build ourselves up for the harsh realities of life in the real world” like our sports teacher, Miss Logan, said) and I bit my lip. Nydia’s plans usually get us into lunchtime detention for four weeks in a row. Who knows what she might dream up? Some mad plan, I was certain. But I knew she was trying to make me feel better, and just knowing that she cared did make me feel better.
I heard a muffled voice on the other end of the line and Nydia shouted right in my ear, “All right, Mum, I’m coming!” so my ears rang for a second. “I’ve got to go, Gran’s here. Look, I’ll ring you back after dinner, OK? Even if it’s ten or something, and we’ll talk then. But don’t worry, Ruby, you’re a really great actress and pretty, and I’m not just saying it, OK?”
After she’d gone I flicked through the numbers on my mobile looking for someone else to talk to, but I don’t have very many numbers on it, just this French girl I met on holiday last Easter, and Nydia, Mum, Dad and Gran. I thought about calling my gran, but she’s a bit deaf and she’d probably ask me to repeat everything twice, really loudly, and end up thinking I was asking her about the war or something.
Then I looked at Brett’s name. I remembered the day when she put her number in my mobile. It was the first day I got it and I was showing it to everyone and feeling really cool. Brett took it off me and put in her home number and she said, right in front of the journalist who was interviewing her, “You know you’re like a daughter to me, don’t you, darling? Any time you need to talk, you just call me. Any time, sweetie.” So I did.
I was a bit nervous about calling her because she’s such a big star, the real star of the show. The one who goes on all the chat shows and the only one who’s published a biography about her affair with a footballer. When I’m being Angel and she’s being my mum, sometimes it’s like having a little holiday from my life. It’s not that I don’t love my mum or my dad, it’s just that, when Brett’s being my mum and I’m being Angel, all of the things we say and all of the problems we have, have been written out for us. I don’t have to worry because I know it will be OK in the end. I don’t have to worry that anything I say or do might make things worse or more difficult. Brett is very good at being Angel’s mum. She always makes Angel feel loved and better, and when Angel feels better, then, well, so do I. So I called her.
“Yes?” Brett said. She sounded a bit cross as if she thought I was someone else. The press probably, the press are always hounding 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.
Chapter Five (#ulink_ffbde9e6-c708-5398-b84e-71add60da3c3)
“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?”
