Feel the Fear. Lauren Child
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sort of do. Sabina was turning the pages of the latest copy of the Whispering Weekly, a sort of gossip and fashion journal. The gossip was about celebrities: mostly actors and singers, and the fashion was almost all about how the celebrities looked disastrous in their chosen gowns. FAMOUSLY FABULOUS? OR TRAGICALLY TERRIBLE?
There was one whole section dedicated to mishaps: close-ups of laddered stockings, pimples, ageing skin or bad hair. Tammy the hairdresser kept leaning over Sabina’s shoulder and tutting sympathetically and occasionally even turning the pages. The story Tammy was most interested in was about the actress who had had the misfortune to use a brand of make-up known as Face Flawless. Evidently the actress had attempted to conceal her blemishes so that she might look picture-perfect for her film premiere – the only thing was, Face Flawless used an ingredient in its formula that reacted badly under flash photography. The result was far from flawless: all the areas it covered glowed white. Poor Jessica Riley, her face was just a mess of circles and powdery blotches.
‘My heart goes out to her,’ said Tammy, making a sad face. ‘They shouldn’t print these stories.’ She waited for Sabina to turn the page. ‘I mean look at her,’ she said pointing a comb at a singer who had been snapped in an ill-fitting bathing suit. ‘Poor thing – gosh, though, she might want to think about shrinking those thighs.’
‘I’m sure she feels a lot better knowing that twenty million people like you all pity her,’ said Ruby.
Brant Redfort walked in. ‘Oh Ruby, you look different.’
Sabina looked up from the magazine. ‘Yes, you do. Why I wonder. . .?’
‘Could it be my. . . arm. . .?’ said Ruby.
‘Yes!’ said her parents both at once.
‘We should celebrate!’ said her father.
‘You know me, I love to celebrate,’ said her mother clapping her hands together. ‘Hitch!’ she called, ‘We’re celebrating! Could you rustle up something celebratory?’
There was a long ring from the doorbell followed by another and another.
Mrs Digby answered to find Clancy hopping from one foot to the other.
‘Jeepers child, keep your shorts on.’
‘Sorry!’ called Clancy as he ran up the stairs two at a time.
Clancy had cycled over especially to see the arm.
‘It’s not as hairy as I’d hoped,’ he said when Ruby showed it to him, ‘but it is definitely hairier than the other one.’
Ruby rolled her eyes. ‘Boy, do you live a sheltered life.’
‘Hey Clancy,’ said Sabina, ‘how come you’re not all scrubbed up for the Scarlet Pagoda benefit tonight? It’s a dressy affair, you know.’
Clancy’s face immediately dropped. ‘Because I’m not going is why.’
‘What? Are you insane?’ said Ruby. ‘Have you actually lost your whole complete mind?’
‘My dad has a last-minute ambassadorial dinner tonight so I am strictly on family duty.’
Ruby folded her arms.
‘Look, no one’s as bummed about it as I am,’ said Clancy. ‘I really wanted to be there. I mean, aren’t they showing costumes from The Crab Man Cometh?’
Ruby’s parents looked blank but Ruby nodded.
‘You sure you don’t want to come with us, Clancy dear?’ asked Sabina.
‘Good thinking honey,’ agreed Brant. ‘Come with us.’
‘You gotta come Bozo,’ said Ruby. ‘They’re all the costumes that have appeared in every horror movie you love – and other films too, the cool ones not the schlocky stuff.’
Clancy let out a pathetic laugh. ‘I know! It’s not like I haven’t been looking forward to it for weeks. But you think my dad is gonna let me off to go to that when he’s got Ambassador Sanchez coming? She has eight kids, get that? Eight!’
‘So?’ said Ruby.
‘So,’ said Clancy, ‘my dad only has six kids.’
Ruby looked at him. ‘Is this a competitive thing?’
‘You bet it is. Do you know how difficult it is for women to get on in the political arena?’
‘You’re preaching to the choir,’ said Ruby.
‘So Ambassador Sanchez makes my father look like a lightweight, at least that’s how my dad sees it. Sanchez is the queen of the career family – I mean, heck, she even baked her own cake when the president dropped by last month. She is a single mother of eight and an ambassador who bakes cakes for the president.’
‘She sounds super,’ said Sabina.
‘So your dad’s gonna fight back?’ said Brant.
‘Oh he’s fighting back all right,’ said Clancy. ‘He’s determined to at least look like this really great dad who spends his time looking after his great kids while he does a really great job of doing his great job. So he wants us all there.’
‘What about his really great wife?’ asked Sabina, sipping on one of the celebratory drinks Hitch had just rustled up.
‘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?’