Lauren Child - Feel the Fear

‘She’s having her hair done,’ said Clancy. ‘She had it done yesterday too.’

‘Well, you know what they say, great hair opens doors,’ said Brant.

Clancy scrunkled his nose at this, perhaps trying to work out the truth of the statement. ‘Maybe. . . anyway, he wants us all there with good hair, while he is busy making Twinford believe his career is really great and we are great and he is great and Twinford can be great. You get it?’

‘I get it,’ said Ruby. ‘You can’t come because you are all busy being great and getting your hair done.’

Clancy nodded. That was about the size of it.

RUBY WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO THE EVENING. Not so much the ‘do’ itself – all that party yacking was sure to be a total yawn – but the costumes, they promised to be pretty interesting.

Aside from reading, movies were Ruby’s greatest passion, particularly thrillers and horror – a passion she shared with Mrs Digby. Nothing cheered Mrs Digby as much as a good murder story. Too bad she isn’t prepared to risk a few ghosts , thought Ruby. Tonight was going to be a bonanza of thriller movie memorabilia.

Ruby took longer than usual to get ready. She’d had to make a couple of minor adjustments to the new dress she had bought – namely hacking four inches off the hem and fixing it in place with tacky glue. She was largely pleased with the overall effect, and once she had her new shades on too she really looked the business. All in all, she was looking forward to the costume show. At least it would take her mind off worrying about that dumb Spectrum test.

‘ That’s what you’re wearing?’

Sabina Redfort stared at her daughter, who was attired in a strange misshapen dress with worn-looking shoes and over-the-knee socks. Obscuring her eyes were a pair of huge white, square-framed sunglasses.

The dress had very obviously been purchased at a vintage store or possibly off a charity rail. It was on the large side and covered in a loud pink and yellow paisley print. She had pulled it together with a wide white buckle belt.

Jeepers! thought Sabina, maybe the kid actually pulled it out of a dumpster .

‘What?’ said Ruby, reading her mother’s thoughts, made obvious by the expression on her face.

Her mother closed her eyes and shook her head like she was trying to dislodge the vision.

‘OK,’ said Sabina, ‘I’m not going to make a thing of it, let’s just go and have a nice time. I’ll pretend you’re wearing that lovely peach dress I got you at the department store – why aren’t you wearing that lovely peach dress I got you at the department store?’

Brant Redfort, now dressed in an elegant black suit, walked into the living room to find his wife, a picture in rose with matching accessories.

‘You look sensational honey,’ he said kissing his wife. ‘You too. . . Ruby.’ He uttered this compliment before he had really taken in the vision that was his daughter. ‘You look very. . . very. . .’ He paused, searching for some word that might not insult but that might also be truthful. He could find no word.

‘I’ll take very very ,’ said Ruby. ‘No need to get your underwear in a bunch on my account.’

Hitch drove the Redforts to the venue. It was a big deal affair, red carpet, the whole circus.

The costume show was being held at the Scarlet Pagoda – the proceeds from the very expensive tickets and raffle would hopefully raise enough money to keep the old art deco building from crumbling to dust. The place was considered an architectural gem of great historical importance, having been built in the heyday of the roaring twenties. Any elderly star worth an Oscar had tripped across this stage.

And many of those stars had left their footprints – literally. Outside the theatre was Twinford’s own walk of fame, where brass star shapes were set into the sidewalk, commemorating the town’s most famous. Next to each star was a cast of the actors’ shoes, their footprints pressed into wet concrete.

Ruby and her family walked past the footprints, and as they walked Sabina gave a running commentary.

‘There’s Fletch Gregory, what a man, and oh, look at dear little Arthur Mudge’s teeny feet – I always thought he was taller, and goodness, are those really Margo Bardem’s?’

And on into the theatre.

It had begun as a theatre for circus and stage productions, then much later it had become a movie theatre. But now it was just a room, a large empty space, where each week another tiny gold mosaic tile would drop from the ceiling. A place where the elegant ladies who silently stared out from the murals faded a little more each year. Soon, if nothing were done, their faces would disappear altogether and then the wrecking ball would be called in.

For tonight, though, it was a sparkling extravaganza of a party; a hint of the things to come when it was renovated. Everyone who was anyone was there, champagne glasses in hand, laughing and chatting as elegant young waiters glided around with silver trays of canapés.

As soon as Ruby and her parents walked in they were surrounded. ‘It’s such a wonderful example of the deco era,’ said Dora Shoering, Twinford’s self-declared expert on all things historical. She had to talk loudly over the hubbub of voices and chinking glasses. ‘You can touch the history, run your hands over it, breathe it into your lungs.’ The women all took deep breaths.

Sabina coughed – the Pagoda was a haven for dust mites. ‘You know your onions, Dora. I mean it would be a perfect sadness if it were destroyed,’ she said.

‘I totally agree,’ agreed Marjorie Humbert, who was now looking for a tissue, having just run her hands over history. ‘It would be Twinford’s bitter loss.’

Elaine Lemon joined them. ‘So what are you ladies talking about? Gossip I hope!’

‘Oh we were just saying how it would be the most terrible pity if they were to flatten this building,’ said Marjorie.

‘I so concur,’ said Elaine, opting for a sad-face expression. ‘It would be the most awful tragedy.’ She paused. ‘A tragic one.’ In truth, Elaine was not there because she was remotely interested in the Scarlet Pagoda, but had eagerly accepted Sabina’s offer of a free ticket because everyone else was going.

Ruby felt this conversation wasn’t really going places and so moved off in search of something entertaining. As she circled around the room she recognised many big names from the stage and screen, including one of her favourites, Erica Grey. She was a star of the B-movies and had played some of the most curious and monstrous villains on the medium-sized screen. She was originally from Alabama and spoke in a drawn-out drawl, her voice rich and deep. Every few sentences she would throw her head back and laugh – her red lipsticked mouth opening wide to display perfectly white shining teeth.

Ruby weaved her way on through the crowd and caught a glimpse of Crazy Cops actor Dirk Draylon as he made his way to his seat on the other side of the catwalk. Apparently the show was about to begin.

Boy, Mrs Digby would love this , she thought.

There were many other well-known personalities mingling in the crowd but none whom Ruby felt eager to shake hands with. Not because she didn’t admire them, she did, she just had a wariness about meeting screen heroes; meeting one’s hero could be a mistake, a big let-down. This illusionary world that was film often survived better if it was never contaminated by real life.