Little Stars

by Jacqueline Wilson

  When she finished her act, people threw flowers at her. She gathered them all up, fashioning them into a neat bouquet, and then selected just one rose. She peered around at the audience, smiling coquettishly, while all the men held up their hands hopefully. She took aim and threw the rose right up to a box on the opposite side, and a gentleman caught it, held it over his white waistcoated heart, and blew her a kiss.

  It was the perfect way to end the evening. When we came out of the box, I looked for Mrs Ruby, wanting to thank her, and to pave the way for another chance at an audition, but the lurking waiter said she was busy and mustn’t be disturbed.

  ‘Besides, it’s time you little girlies hurried home to your beds,’ he said.

  I was indignant at his tone, because I reckoned he was only a year or so older than me, but he was certainly right about the time. I was shocked to see that it was gone eleven. Diamond was drooping again. I was glad we had come to the Cavalcade on foot. I think she would have fallen off if we’d tried to ride the penny-farthing.

  I was very tired myself, and disorientated in the sudden dark after the bright chandeliers in the theatre. I wasn’t at all sure how to get back to Miss Gibson’s. We had come out of a different door. I took Diamond’s arm and steered her round the corner – we seemed to have come out at the back of the theatre by mistake. Yes, there was the shabby stage door.

  ‘Come, Diamond, I think it’s this way,’ I said, practically holding her up.

  ‘I’m so tired,’ she murmured fretfully. ‘I want to go to sleep!’

  ‘Yes, darling, but we have to get home to our beds,’ I said.

  ‘Which home is it? I’ve forgotten,’ she asked.

  I could well understand her confusion. So much had happened, and so fast, it was hard to remember where we were and what we were doing. She was so tired now she could barely walk, so I gave her a piggyback. I set off, glad she was such a light little thing.

  Then I stopped in my tracks. Someone was shouting. Someone was shouting at me.

  ‘Hetty Feather! Hetty Feather, stop!’

  ‘HETTY! SOMEONE IS shouting after you!’ said Diamond, craning round.

  ‘I know. Quick! We must run,’ I said instinctively.

  ‘But they know you, even though we don’t know anyone here.’ Diamond was still peering. ‘No, wait, we do know him! It’s your Bertie.’

  ‘Let’s still run,’ I said, grabbing her by the wrist and hauling her along.

  ‘But he’s your friend! You wanted to see him! You’re being silly, Hetty!’ Diamond panted.

  I knew I was being silly, but I couldn’t help it. I had wanted to meet Bertie – I’d longed to see him – but I felt different now. I was almost scared of talking to him. Perhaps it was because he seemed so grand now, a professional artiste, a star of the music hall. Or perhaps it was because he seemed overly fond of Miss Ivy Green, who was superior to me in every way. Why had I ever thought Bertie would be pleased to see me?

  He was close behind us now. ‘Hetty Blooming Feather! Stop running, will you! It’s me, Bertie,’ he called.

  It was ludicrous to go on running. I slowed to a halt and turned. There he was, grinning at me in the lamplight. He wasn’t in his smart striped blazer and white flannels now. He wore an old thick jersey, a shabby cord jacket and trousers patched at the knee.

  ‘Hello, Bertie,’ I said, trying to sound casual, as if we met each other every day of the week.

  ‘I knew it was you! I saw you in Mrs Ruby’s box and knew it, though it didn’t make any sense. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Oh, we just happened to be passing,’ I said ridiculously. ‘This is my friend Diamond.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Diamond,’ said Bertie, taking her sticky hand and kissing it.

  She stared up at him, thrilled to be treated like a grown-up lady. ‘We came specially to see you, Mr Bertie,’ she said.

  ‘Did you, indeed?’ he said, smirking.

  ‘No we didn’t!’ I said, giving her a shake.

  ‘And what did you think of my performance, Miss Diamond? I hope you weren’t too disappointed,’ said Bertie.

  ‘I thought you were very good. We both did.’ Diamond pouted at me. ‘We wanted to be music-hall artistes too!’

  ‘Really?’ said Bertie.

  ‘No, it’s just her little fancy,’ I said, horribly disloyal. ‘Come along, Diamond, it’s long past your bedtime.’

  ‘We did our acts for Mrs Ruby but she didn’t think we were good enough,’ said Diamond.

  I felt like gluing her little lips together. She was usually so shy she would hardly say anything in company, but now she seemed intent on blurting everything to Bertie.

  ‘So you fancy being a showgirl too, Hetty?’ said Bertie. ‘Well, that’s marvellous. Don’t worry about Mrs Ruby. She only wants experienced professionals. But I know plenty of other gaffs where they’ll take a chance on lily-whites. That’s what they call beginners. And I’ll help you polish your act, if you like.’

  I felt my face flushing as red as my hair. How dare he patronize me when he’d just been funny old Bertie the butcher’s boy last year!

  ‘We’re professionals too, thank you very much. Diamond is known as the Acrobatic Child Wonder. She has been starring in Tanglefield’s Travelling Circus. She’s performed the famous human column with three fellow artistes night after night.’

  ‘I know you of old, Hetty Feather,’ Bertie laughed. ‘You’re making up stories, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, it’s real. I only tumbled once. But then Beppo frightened me and we had to run away,’ said Diamond.

  Bertie stared, hands on hips. ‘What?’ He turned from Diamond to me. ‘You’re not telling me you’re an acrobat too, Hetty? Do you wear short drawers and saucy fleshings?’

  ‘No I do not! Take that grin off your face. But I’ll have you know I was the top draw of the circus.’

  ‘Oh, modest as always, as well as fanciful,’ said Bertie, shaking his head.

  I wanted to slap him. ‘I was the ringmaster,’ I said, as grandly as I could.

  Bertie doubled up laughing. ‘The ringmaster!’

  ‘Yes, I was. Look!’ I snapped open our suitcase and showed him my scarlet tunic and cream trousers and riding boots.

  ‘Oh my Lord!’ he gasped.

  ‘I introduced each act. Everyone said I was a magnificent spieler. The words just tripped off my tongue,’ I declared.

  ‘Well, I can believe that,’ said Bertie. ‘Oh, Hetty, it’s grand to see you. There’s no other girl to beat you!’

  ‘Not even Miss Ivy Green?’ I said, and then blushed again for being so obvious.

  ‘Not even Ivy Green herself,’ said Bertie, hand on heart, laughing triumphantly.

  ‘We must get home now. Come along, Diamond. At once!’ I commanded.

  ‘I’ll walk with you,’ said Bertie.

  ‘No you will not!’

  ‘Very well. Suit yourself. But tell me where you’re staying, Hetty.’

  ‘There’s no need. We are only there temporarily. I dare say we will be on our way tomorrow. Goodbye,’ I said, trying to retain a shred of dignity.

  ‘Oh, Hetty, I like it at Miss Gibson’s. Can’t we stay?’ said Diamond.

  ‘Miss Gibson the dressmaker? She fashioned my blazer for me! Then I’ll come calling tomorrow in the hope of persuading you to stay.’ Bertie gave us each a low bow and then marched off in the opposite direction.

  ‘Bertie’s so lovely!’ said Diamond, far too loudly.

  ‘Ssh! And he’s not lovely at all, he’s just a dreadful tease,’ I said crossly.

  ‘I thought you were sweethearts!’

  ‘That was long ago. And we were never exactly sweethearts,’ I said.

  ‘Then if you don’t want him any more, could he be my sweetheart?’ asked Diamond.

  ‘Bertie likes to be everybody’s sweetheart,’ I said sourly.

  Perhaps we should have permitted Bertie to walk us home, because we took a wrong turning somewhere.
It was very late indeed when we found our way to Gibson’s Gowns at last. There were no lights at any of the windows.

  ‘Oh dear, I think Miss Gibson must have gone to bed,’ I said.

  ‘What will we do?’ asked Diamond.

  ‘We shall have to knock loudly on the door.’

  ‘But won’t she be cross if we wake her up?’

  ‘Probably,’ I said.

  I wondered if I dared try. I realized we had gone rushing off to the Cavalcade without making any arrangements with Miss Gibson. We’d stayed so late at the show. Miss Gibson would have guessed as much and probably been shocked. She’d said she wouldn’t go to the Cavalcade because she was a single lady. Diamond and I were single ladies, and children too. She might be horrified. She could well have bolted the door on us for ever. Perhaps Diamond and I should march off with our suitcase and find another doorway to sleep in tonight. I’d had enough scoldings to last me a lifetime. We didn’t need to return to Miss Gibson’s ever.

  Oh, but we did need to return! The penny-farthing was locked up in her back yard.

  I was so tired and in such turmoil that I didn’t know what to do. I leaned against the shop window, the glass cool against my forehead, and tried to figure it out.

  ‘Hetty?’ said Diamond softly, obviously thinking I was crying. Perhaps I was, just a little. I was suddenly so tired that I seemed to have used up all my courage. What if I was fooling myself about inventing a new comic ventriloquist act? And even if we did perfect such a thing, would Mrs Ruby give us a second chance? I’d been so stupid to think that two small girls would automatically get to star in a huge music hall. Yet Bertie wasn’t much more than a boy. He had managed it. I was thrilled for him – and yet so deeply envious too.

  ‘There there,’ said Diamond. ‘Don’t you fret. I shall knock, and then Miss Gibson will be cross with me, not you.’

  She rapped smartly on the door before I could stop her. We waited, holding our breath. Nothing happened.

  ‘There, she must have gone to bed. She won’t hear us,’ I said.

  But just then I saw a wavering dim light at the back of the shop, and in two seconds the front door was unlocked. Miss Gibson stood there in her cap and vast white nightgown, holding a candle aloft.

  ‘Oh, please don’t be angry with us, Miss Gibson!’ Diamond said imploringly.

  ‘Come in, girls! I’m not angry, though I must admit I’ve been a little worried. I dare say Mrs Ruby invited you to the show?’

  ‘She let us use her own box,’ said Diamond proudly.

  ‘My, my! So you must have pleased her mightily. Are you really going to do your acts at the Cavalcade?’

  ‘No, she didn’t think our acts suitable,’ said Diamond. ‘Especially me. I wobbled all over the place and didn’t do it properly. Beppo would have beaten me.’

  ‘Who’s Beppo? And how dare he beat a little mite like you? Look, girls, come into the kitchen. You’re shivering. Let me make you a hot drink before you go to bed. And perhaps you might tell me a little bit about the performances? I must admit I’ve always been a little curious to know exactly what happens at the Cavalcade,’ said Miss Gibson, relocking her front door and leading us through to the back of the shop.

  She made us weak tea, and bread and milk. It was simple fare after the exotic food at the Cavalcade, but very comforting. I’d pulled myself together by this time and managed to run through most of the acts for Miss Gibson’s benefit while we ate and drank.

  ‘My, my,’ she kept saying. ‘Oh, my, my!’

  ‘Tell about Bertie, Hetty,’ said Diamond. ‘I think he was the best of all.’

  ‘You tell, then,’ I said.

  Diamond started her hymn of praise, even remembering a line or two of his special song, but soon her voice started to slur and her eyelids drooped.

  ‘Oh dear, the poor child’s falling asleep sitting up! What am I thinking of, keeping you two girls awake half the night,’ said Miss Gibson. ‘Let me show you your bedroom. I do hope you’re not expecting anything fancy. It’s very small and plain, and you’ll have to double up in the bed.’

  She left us her candle and shuffled off to her own room in her soft carpet slippers. I tugged most of Diamond’s clothes off and then laid her down on the bed. I wandered around the room, holding the candle high. It was small and sparsely furnished, with just a bed, a washstand and a chest of drawers, but it looked spotlessly clean. I liked the rainbow-coloured patchwork quilt on the bed, obviously made from snippets of Miss Gibson’s gowns.

  I took off my clothes and squeezed into bed beside Diamond. I stroked the edge of the quilt against my cheek, feeling the slippery softness of the silks. I remembered the one I’d had long ago, in my foster family’s country cottage. It had been plain cotton, made from scraps of worn shirts and faded frocks. I had nuzzled into it every night, fingering the stitches. I wondered if it was still there in that attic bedroom. I thought of Mother and wondered how she was faring. I knew she would be well cared for by my foster brother Gideon. He’d come back from soldiering with a wounded face and shattered nerves. I hoped he was fully recovered and happy again. And what of Jem, my dearest brother in all the world, even though we weren’t related by blood? Was he happy too?

  I’d been so sure I was doing the right thing when I made it plain I could never marry him, but now I suddenly wondered why. I’d hated the idea of settling down for ever in that little village, but I’d been leading a gypsy life for so long, the prospect of a proper home with the man I loved most seemed very tempting.

  Had I been secretly longing for Bertie all this time, unwilling to admit it, even to myself? If so, I was incredibly foolish! Bertie had changed in many ways – and yet he was still such a flirt, it was clear I could never count on him.

  What was the matter with me? I didn’t want him anyway! All I wanted was to make some kind of success of myself. Mama might not be living any more, but she was here in my heart, and if I listened carefully, she would sometimes speak to me.

  I lay still, cuddling Diamond, and after a long while I heard Mama’s gentle whisper.

  There now, dearest child. Sleep well. All will be well, will be well, will be well . . .

  I felt fresh and soothed when I woke up the next morning. I wondered how I could have been so weak and tearful. I crept out of bed and quietly rummaged for the last volume of my memoir journals, taking care not to wake Diamond. She was curled up in a little ball, her long hair over her face, with just the tip of her nose peeping through the locks.

  I crouched by the window for the extra light and started writing rapidly. I wasn’t writing my journal, I was jotting down ideas for a comedy ventriloquist routine. I decided it would be most effective if I pretended to be a little child too. I certainly looked like one, after all. I liked the idea of us being a double act. It wouldn’t be quite as frightening for Diamond standing on that stage in front of hundreds and hundreds of people. Not quite as frightening for me either, if I was honest! I remembered how the audience had heckled Vladimir and Véronique. They were such an unforgiving, rowdy crowd. If they thought that Diamond and I were very little girls, they might just be a little kinder.

  We needed a name . . . Dear Madame Adeline had called me Little Star when I was a child, and it had meant the world to me. Diamond was a little star too. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky. Little Stars was a perfect name for us.

  I scribbled line after line of script, smiling to myself. After quite a while I became aware of bustling sounds down in the kitchen.

  I flew down, barefoot in my nightie. I wondered if Miss Gibson had a maid, but she was there by herself, setting a scrubbed table with pretty willow-pattern plates. A kettle was whistling on the hob and eggs were boiling in a saucepan.

  ‘Please let me help, Miss Gibson!’ I said. ‘You sit down like the lady you are. Shall I make us a little toast? Don’t worry, I’ll be very careful. I’m trained as a cook-housekeeper and know e
xactly what I’m doing.’

  I wanted to be so obliging that she would let us stay on until we had earned enough money for bigger rooms. Of course, I’d never been a cook-housekeeper, but dear Mama had passed on some of her culinary skills and I’d been forced to skivvy all my nine long years at the Foundling Hospital.

  Miss Gibson didn’t seem convinced, but she let me finish laying the table. I did it neatly, the way Sarah had taught me at Mr Buchanan’s, the knives and spoons just so, the napkins folded with geometric precision. I put out a little spoon for the marmalade and a small knife for the butter, which I arranged in pats on a special plate. I made the toast and aired it carefully, so it would stay crisp, and made a perfect pot of tea.

  ‘My, Hetty, you’d certainly make an exemplary maid,’ said Miss Gibson.

  ‘And I’m going to prove an exemplary seamstress too, Miss Gibson. I do hope you’ll let me do some further work on Mrs Ruby’s beautiful dress today,’ I said.

  Miss Gibson looked at me shrewdly. ‘You’re doing your best to ingratiate yourself! Are you suggesting I employ you as a maid and sewing apprentice now that Mrs Ruby has put a stop to your music-hall ambitions?’

  ‘Not at all, Miss Gibson. I will act as a maid and sew all day long if you wish, but I don’t want any wages whatsoever. Just our bed and board, and I’m hoping this will only be temporary – because I’m sure Mrs Ruby will be delighted when I’ve perfected a brand-new act and decide to take us on after all,’ I declared.

  Miss Gibson laughed. She reached out and took my hand. ‘You won’t give up, will you, Hetty Feather? I like your character. You and your sister can stay as long as you wish. Is she still asleep?’

  ‘I shall go and wake her and we’ll dress in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,’ I said.

  Miss Gibson herself was already immaculately attired in the same black satin dress with fresh white lace cuffs. She creaked a little each time she shifted. I couldn’t help wondering what she looked like when her corset was removed. It must be so strange fashioning wasp-waisted gowns all day when you didn’t possess a vestige of a waist yourself.