Girls to Total Goddesses (13 page)

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24

Half an hour later we were both mad staring dolls from
The X Files
, and to add insult to injury we’d been pressured into buying some horrendously expensive products so we’d be able to reproduce the ghastly look ourselves, at home.

‘The one thing we should have bought was make-up remover,’ I grumbled as we escaped into the public loos in the marketplace, and peered in anguish at ourselves in the mirror. ‘We could have wiped the whole lot off straight away.’

‘How could a beautician be so bad at her job?’ frowned Chloe, with eyebrows that were several shades too dark for her redhead skin and permanently arched in a questioning way which was really unsettling.

‘You know what we’ve learned today?’ I mused. ‘That we’ve got to be in charge of our makeover
ourselves
. We look atrocious. Like a couple of trannies. Now I’m going to have to go off and frighten the living daylights out of Ruby.’

‘Ruby?’ asked Chloe, puzzled. ‘Who’s Ruby?’ It was time to tell Chloe the whole story of the lost poster. I explained, without referring to Beast, but saying that the Major Events ‘people’ were really cross with me.

‘I’ll come to Ruby’s with you if you like,’ offered Chloe. ‘Give you some support?’

‘No, thanks, darlin’,’ I sighed. ‘This is my mess, I ought to sort it out by myself. And Ruby might be twice as freaked out if two of us turned up.’

‘Especially looking like this!’ giggled Chloe, pulling a sinister face beneath her two tons of make-up. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come?’

‘I have to do this alone,’ I insisted. ‘It’s only seeing a little girl, after all. You go home and make a list of new ideas for our goddess project – preferably revolving around cake and a sofa.’

First we took some photos of ourselves in our disastrous make-up – just so we could laugh about it later – and then we parted. I got the bus which would take me to Ruby’s part of town. I was feeling really, really nervous. How do you tell a little girl that you’ve lost her prize-winning artwork? Especially if you’re made up to look like the wicked stepmother in a fairytale?

I found Ruby’s house easily, because one of Toby’s friends lives in the next street and I went to a party there once. I felt very edgy as I walked up the path and rang the doorbell.

The door opened, and a smiley woman stood there. She had freckles and she was small and plump. She was wearing a nurse’s uniform. This was Ruby’s mum, presumably.

‘Mrs Rogers?’ I asked, trying to sound professional and cool, though aware that my make-up suggested a visit by some kind of Hallowe’en spook. She nodded. ‘My name’s Zoe Morris,’ I said. ‘I’ve come about the poster competition that Ruby won.’

Mrs Rogers frowned. ‘What poster competition?’ she asked, puzzled.

‘Oh, haven’t you heard?’ I was surprised Ruby’s mum knew nothing about it. ‘Yes, there was a competition to design a poster for the Amnesty concert in December – you know, Jailhouse Rock. Maybe you’ve heard of it?’

Mrs Rogers frowned and shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so, sorry,’ she said. Beast had certainly got to improve his publicity. ‘Come in, er . . . ?’

‘Zoe.’

‘Zoe. Sorry. I’ve had rather a tiring day.’

‘Are you a nurse?’ I was still trying to sound professional and cool. ‘I think nurses are brilliant. I would love to be a nurse, but I can’t stand the sight of – well, anything.’ Mrs Rogers smiled.

‘I’m a midwife, in fact,’ she said, and led me into the sitting room.

A small girl with short, dark hair was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, watching
The Simpsons
. A rather faded-looking man with glasses was sitting in the corner working at a PC.

‘Switch that TV off, Ruby,’ said her mother. The dad swivelled round in his chair and gave me an uncertain smile. There was a sudden silence as the TV noise died. ‘This is Zoe,’ said Mrs Rogers. ‘She’s come about the art competition.’ Ruby blushed violently. ‘Zoe tells me you won. Is that right, Ruby?’

Ruby fidgeted uncomfortably on the carpet. Her face was scarlet. I felt really sorry for her, but mystified. If I’d won an art competition I’d race home and ram the news down my parents’ throats before they had a chance to catch their breath.

‘Yeah,’ she said, with a strange shrug.

‘Why didn’t you tell us, love? That’s brilliant!’ said her mum. Ruby squirmed and fiddled with her shoelaces. ‘For goodness’ sake!’ her mum laughed. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of! Zoe says it’s going to be on a poster – isn’t that right, Zoe?’

‘Yes,’ I beamed, trying to banish from my memory the awful image of Ruby’s artwork disappearing over the rooftops and into the night. The Rogers family had only heard the good news so far.

‘But that’s wonderful, isn’t it, Dad?’ exclaimed Ruby’s mum.

‘Terrific,’ said her dad. ‘Well done, Rube.’ Ruby stared at the carpet and said nothing. She seemed really very shy.

‘Would you like a drink, Zoe?’ asked Ruby’s mum. ‘I was just making some tea.’

‘Oh, thanks very much,’ I stuttered, ‘but there’s something I have to explain first . . . It’s a little bit complicated, I’m afraid.’ A cloud crossed Mrs Rogers’s face.

‘Maybe we should sit down,’ she suggested, sinking on to an armchair and looking apprehensive.

‘It’s not anything serious,’ I assured them. ‘At least, I mean, nobody’s hurt, I mean . . .’ I was getting stupidly flustered now. How could anyone get hurt on a piece of paper? ‘The thing is . . .’ I struggled on ‘. . . we were thrilled with Ruby’s artwork, but unfortunately it got – er, damaged.’

‘Damaged?’ asked Mrs Rogers, looking irritated that her darling’s work had been so badly neglected. Ruby just went on staring at the carpet. ‘How?’

‘Well, not so much damaged as lost,’ I admitted, feeling terrible. ‘You know it was very windy yesterday, right?’ I went on. ‘I was taking Ruby’s artwork to the printer, and I met some friends, and I wanted to show them it, because it was so brilliant, and I got it out of my bag, and the wind kind of grabbed it and whipped it away, and it went flying off over the roofs.’

‘Oh my goodness!’ exclaimed Mrs Rogers. ‘What a shame!’

Ruby looked up at this point and, curiously, her face cleared slightly, almost as if she was relieved.

‘I don’t mind,’ she said, ‘if you want to use somebody else’s. Yasmin’s was brilliant. It was loads better than mine anyway.’

‘No, Ruby,’ I insisted. ‘You’re the winner. We want to use your design. All we need is for you to redo it.’ Ruby went pale.

‘And because we’re up against some terribly tight deadlines,’ I gabbled on, ‘we were hoping you might be able to do it right now . . . ?’

Mrs Rogers looked cross for an instant, then her face relaxed.

‘Come on, Ruby,’ she said. ‘Get up off that floor! There’s just time for you to do the painting for Zoe before we have our supper. Dad, you can give me a hand in the kitchen. Run and get your paints, Ruby.’

Ruby sidled off upstairs, and Mrs Rogers cleared a space on the dining table.

‘I’m really sorry about this,’ I said. Mrs Rogers tried not to look harassed.

‘It’s fine, Zoe, don’t worry,’ she smiled. ‘It could have happened to anybody. And it’s a wonderful honour for Ruby to win like this. Come on, Brian! Switch that blessed computer off and come and give me a hand with this supper!’

Ruby’s dad abandoned his workstation and Ruby returned with her paints. Her mum spread a newspaper on the table first, and then her parents went off to the kitchen. Ruby set out her paints and brushes and a fresh piece of A3 paper, then she sat down. I sat opposite her. She just sat and stared at the paper. Her face was a blank. I was really puzzled.

‘Ruby, what’s the matter?’ I whispered.

She looked up at me with tears in her eyes. Her lip was trembling. Poor little kid! What on Earth was wrong?

‘I can’t do it!’ she whispered, and two big tears burst from her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

‘Yes, you can!’ I hissed. ‘Come on, Ruby!’

‘No,’ sniffed Ruby. ‘I didn’t do it in the first place. I cheated.
Don’t tell Mum and Dad!
’

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25

‘What?’ I couldn’t believe this. ‘Ruby, don’t cry. Tell me about it!’

‘I couldn’t do it,’ whispered Ruby. ‘I got stuck. Joe was home last week and he helped me. Well, he did it, really. I just did the stars and stuff.’

‘Who’s Joe?’ I was already planning to track this Joe down and tie him to a chair until he’d reproduced the winning design.

‘My brother. He’s away at art college.’

‘Oh my God! Joe Rogers! Of course!’ I realised who Joe was. He’d been at our school, in the same year as Beast, but he was a quiet guy and I’d never got to know him. He spent all his time making sculptures and things, and he wasn’t much of a party animal. ‘You’re Joe’s sister! He’s so talented!’

‘Yes, well, that’s why the painting won the competition. I never dreamt mine would win! I just got stuck with it and begged Joe to help me! I-I couldn’t do it so Joe did it for me!’ Ruby’s face crumpled up in anguish. ‘All this has happened to punish me for cheating!’ Two more big tears slid down her face.

‘Now, Ruby,’ I whispered, ‘you’ve really got to stop crying, because if your parents come in they’ll find out something’s wrong.’ I spotted a box of tissues on the coffee table and handed her one. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. ‘OK, now can you remember what the design looked like?’ I asked. Ruby shrugged.

‘No,’ she said gloomily. I felt frustrated. It was as if Ruby just wasn’t trying. But I’d found it really difficult trying to reproduce the missing artwork, so how was Ruby going to manage it? And she wasn’t in the right frame of mind.

‘I can’t pretend to be Joe pretending to be me,’ she said hopelessly.

‘No, of course you can’t,’ I said. ‘Let’s just sit and think for a minute. There’s bound to be a way out of this.’

We sat quietly for a moment. Ruby just stared sadly at the blank sheet of paper. My mind was racing.

‘The concert’s in aid of Amnesty, right?’ I began. Ruby frowned slightly. ‘You know what Amnesty’s about, don’t you?’ She shrugged. ‘In some countries people get put in prison just for saying things – for what they believe,’ I explained. ‘They haven’t committed a crime. Here we’re lucky, we can say almost anything. But in some countries you daren’t even criticise the prime minister or you get thrown in jail.’

‘My dad criticises the prime minister all the time,’ said Ruby.

‘Well, imagine what it would be like if some horrible men came in the night and dragged your dad away to jail.’ Ruby pulled a tragic face. ‘So that’s what Amnesty’s about. Helping and supporting those people in jail.’

‘I remember now,’ said Ruby. ‘Mrs Jenkins explained it to us.’

‘Well, think what it might be like to be in jail,’ I urged her. ‘The design doesn’t have to be like the other one. Anything will do – as long as it’s yours.’

Ruby heaved a big sigh and picked up the paintbrush. Tentatively, she started to paint. She painted some big prison bars, turning the piece of paper into a window.

‘Brilliant! Brilliant!’ I encouraged her. At this point her mum came in carrying a cup of tea for me.

‘Well done, Ruby!’ she beamed. Phew! Thank God she hadn’t arrived a few moments earlier.

Ruby kind of stalled, once she’d done the bars, and stared at the painting.

‘Will this do?’ she asked.

‘Er . . . I think it needs a little something extra,’ I said, gently. So far we had prison bars: OK, it was a start, but it was hardly a prize-winning design. I could imagine other kids who’d entered the competition looking at it and bitching about how their design was much better.

‘I know!’ said Ruby suddenly. She didn’t quite smile, but her miserable frown disappeared. She started painting little notes of music floating in through the prison bars.

‘Brilliant! Amazing!’ I encouraged her.

Ten minutes later it was all done. It was nothing like the original painting but it was simple, and really unusual. The prison bars looked grim and harsh, and the floating notes of music were multicoloured, like a flock of tropical birds.

‘You know, Ruby,’ I said, ‘I think if you’d entered the competition with this painting you’d have won anyway.’

‘Promise you’ll never tell anybody that I cheated!’

‘I promise. I think you’ve been punished enough!’

Ruby smiled, at last. As soon as the painting was dry, I left. Ruby’s dad had found a big envelope to keep it safe, and I held it tight. The wind had dropped now, but I was still ultra-cautious.

On the way I rang Beast’s mobile. It was on voicemail. I tried to sound wonderful, but I felt so shattered it came out in a demented mutter.

‘Hi, Beast, this is Zoe. Uhhh – you asked me to ring when the artwork was finished. It’s nothing like the original, but I think it’s OK. I’ll drop it into the office tomorrow morning on my way to school.’

At last I arrived home. Dad was whisking up one of his culinary masterpieces.

‘Sorry I’m a bit late, Dad,’ I explained. ‘I had to go to a little girl’s house and get her to do a painting.’

‘On your face, I presume,’ he quipped, staring at my face with an amused expression. Oh God! The make-up makeover! I dumped my bag, placed the artwork carefully on the table and ran upstairs. The bathroom door was locked. I rattled the knob.

‘What?’ called Mum. ‘I’m in the bath! I’ve had an awful day!’

My make-up remover stuff was all on my shelf in the bathroom. I went into my bedroom and looked at my face in my small mirror. The make-up made me look like a spinsterish businesswoman aged about forty. The sort of person who is trying too hard and has never had a boyfriend.

The front doorbell rang. I froze. I heard Dad go to the door and talk to somebody. Then he shouted from the foot of the stairs.

‘Zoe! There’s somebody come from Jailhouse Rock! About an artwork or something!’ My heart gave a massive lurch. It was Beast! Oh my God! He mustn’t see me like this!

‘OK, OK, I’ll be right down!’ I called. Frantically I ransacked my room for anything which might remove make-up. I was tempted, just for an instant, to wipe my teddy bear Bruce across my face, but I didn’t think it would give the desired result. The Baxter’s beautician had used heavy-duty waterproof mascara. At least if I burst into tears, there wouldn’t be any hideous smears. And this evening was turning out so stressy, I would almost certainly have to have a cry at some stage.

The thought of Beast seeing me in this god-awful make-up would be enough to produce a deluge of tears of humiliation. I could feel them welling up right now and I hadn’t even seen him yet.

With a huge sigh I nerved myself up to see him. I would tell him I was going to be in a pantomime, and I had been trying out the make-up for it.

‘Zoe!’ Dad called again.

‘Coming!’ I replied. I walked out of my room and arrived at the head of the stairs. But it wasn’t Beast standing beside Dad, looking up at me. It was that infernal, interfering, prize-winning bitch, Charlie.