I bet you are seeing loads of celebrities and forgetting about all of us little people! Looking forward to seeing you in a few days.
Danny
PS Nydia did an audition for this part on a new CBBC show called Totally Busted.
At first when I heard a woman’s voice I thought I must have the wrong number so I said, “Sorry, I thought this was Frank Parker’s number.”
But Just before I could put the phone down the female voice stopped me. “It is! It is Frank’s number. Hello – is that Ruby? I’m Denise.”
I said nothing for what seemed like a long time.
“Denise,” the voice on the other end of the phone said again, sounding totally natural and even quite amused. “Your father’s so-called girlfriend.”
I felt my cheeks burning pink and thanked my lucky stars that she couldn’t see me. It was one thing to have a fairly rude nickname for a person behind their backs, but it was another thing entirely to realise that the person knew about it. I couldn’t believe my dad had told her, especially when she was now supposed to be his ex so-called girlfriend. I couldn’t work out why she was there at all.
“The thing is,” I said, “I’m calling from America and it is probably costing my mum’s so-called boyfriend a lot of money, so can I talk to Dad, please?”
Denise laughed. “I like you, Ruby,” she said. “Very direct.”
“You haven’t even met me,” I said. At least my dad hadn’t forced that particular ordeal on me. Yet. Maybe by half term I’d find myself on a wet and windy beach in Brighton with so-called Denise. Well, if she liked direct, I’d give her direct.
“I thought you and Dad had split up?” I said. I would never normally ask an adult that kind of question in that kind of way, but as she was so far away it didn’t quite seem real.
Denise laughed again. “Oh no, dear, we Just had a misunderstanding. It’s all cleared up now.”
“Can you put Dad on, please?” I asked.
“Can’t, love. He’s popped out to the shop. He’ll be back in a few minutes. We could chat while we wait if you like. I’m sure Jeremy Fort can afford it.” Denise laughed. I did not. And I couldn’t actually believe what came out of my mouth next.
“Yes, he can afford it,” I said, sounding exactly like I thought Anne-Marie did when she was giving someone the brush off. “But I don’t want to talk to you.”
I put down the phone and for about fifteen seconds I felt quite pleased with myself. And then I remembered that I phoned Dad to try and make up with him, and that being rude to his ex- or un-ex-so-called girlfriend was not the best way to go about it.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me. OK, I was feeling a bit fed up about Mum and Jeremy, and worried about what People’s Choice Magazine said about the film (and my mum). But I wasn’t acting like me at all. I’m not rude to people and I don’t talk back, and I never put the phone down on someone after insulting them because I’m me, Ruby Parker – really bad at rebelling. Maybe my mum was right to be worried about me keeping my feet on the ground because suddenly I felt untethered, as if I was careering off in all directions like a popped balloon. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t know how to stop it.
I thought about picking up the phone again and saying sorry to Denise, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I knew that the next time I spoke to or saw Dad I was going to be in really big trouble with him. I half expected him to call here and tell my mum how dreadful I’d been. So I decided not to phone back. I’d face the music when I saw him and we could make up then, because hopefully by then I’d be me again.
That’s when I checked my e-mails on the laptop in my room. There was only one e-mail in my inbox and I was glad to see it was from Danny. When I saw his name there my heart skipped a beat and I smiled to myself.
At least I could rely on Danny. He was a good friend and even though we’d nearly split up that time he thought that I was in love with Sean Rivers we had stuck together.
I couldn’t believe his news! I knew that Liz Hornby, the producer, had finally persuaded Danny to record the Kensington Heights theme tune as a song because Nydia and I went along with him to the studio when he made it.
Me and Nydia had laughed all day because as lovely as Danny is, and as good-looking, he really can’t sing at all. He did about a million takes and each one seemed worse than the last. Even Danny was laughing about it and said that the only hope of saving his career was if the record was so bad it sank without anybody ever hearing it.
Well, it looks like that didn’t happen. It occurred to me that maybe Danny was Joking, so I logged on to the UK Top 40. Sure enough there it was in black and white: 1. Danny Harvey Kensington Heights (You take me to…).
I was going out with a proper pop star (or quite possibly a proper one-hit wonder, but anyway, I didn’t care). I was proud of him.
Suddenly, I wanted to speak to Danny really badly and I looked at the phone. Mum and Jeremy had said I could call Dad. They hadn’t exactly said I couldn’t call anybody else, but then again they hadn’t definitely said I could call who I liked and Mum was strict about our bill at home (including my mobile) so I was fairly sure she wouldn’t approve.
I supposed I could go downstairs and ask permission to call Danny, but that would mean finding them, possibly interrupting them mid tongue-type kissing and then having to say sorry and be nice, something I was having trouble doing just now. Anyway, feeling uncharacteristically rebellious once again, I decided that, as Dad’s so-called and apparently not ex-girlfriend had said, Jeremy could afford it.
“You’re a genius,” I said as soon as I heard Danny’s voice.
“Oh, Rube!” he said a little hesitantly as if caught off guard. “Hiya! What a nice surprise!” I was happy at how pleased to hear from me he sounded. “It’s mad, isn’t it? My rubbish record at number one! I’ll never have any rock credibility ever again.”
“You never did anyway,” I laughed. “But seriously, Danny – that’s amazing. Wait till you get back to school. Michael Henderson is going to die with Jealousy.”
“I think he already has over Anne-Marie and Sean.” Danny paused. “So how was your Christmas?” he asked.
“Weird,” I said. “Jeremy and Mum are like the geriatric version of Anne-Marie and Sean, all gooey and ooey and I love you, I love you, I love you!”
“Seriously?” Danny said, chuckling.
“Well, I haven’t actually heard them say the ‘I love you’ thing, but I wouldn’t be surprised. The ooey and gooey stuff is a horrific fact I have to live with on a daily basis. But I suppose Mum needed it today. The paparazzi took a photo of her and it got printed in this horrible magazine