Chapters 3 & 4!

Chapter 3

I know that most people could never get lost in a house, but when you consider that the house that Mom had rented in London was of the same massive proportions as a very old museum then you might come to understand how I got lost on that first day. Just as I was starting to feel like a rat trapped in a maze, I spotted a door that led to the back yard. And even though I was still dressed in the horrible uniform, I decided that a little air might help me to recover my sense of direction.

It was only when I stepped outside and heard the lock click shut behind me that I realized my mistake.

Even as I yanked at the handle, I knew the situation was hopeless. Security was always a serious business in our homes. I had to find another entrance or someone who could help me. The gloomy sky and the freezing temperature meant that there was no time to waste.

Tapping at the huge, old windows got me nowhere – all of the rooms that I could access were empty. After about twenty minutes and just as the rain began to fall, I considered throwing a rock though one of the windows; that would certainly get someone’s attention, but I didn’t want to start life in London with the fallout that an act like that would produce.

I looked around for inspiration as the thunder clapped and a heavy downpour began. And it was then that I spotted the steps that led down to a basement door. I ran with my jacket held over my head for some sort of protection from the deluge (a totally pointless exercise – I was already soaked through). Without thinking, I threw my weight against the door, expecting that it too would be locked. But before I knew what was happening I found myself skidding through a room that looked nothing like anything you would expect to find in our expensive property. The linoleum-covered floor was slippery and I struggled to remain standing before I finally came to an abrupt stop next to an old dining table.

I knew immediately that I was not alone and I tried to regain some sort of composure before I looked up. I pulled my dripping hair from my face and saw a boy of about my own age. He was balancing a soccer ball on top of his right foot and he was staring at me. At that moment, I couldn’t remember a time when I had been more embarrassed.

‘It’s rude to stare,’ I snapped. (So, okay, I can be a little rude when I’m nervous).

The boy did not respond, but instead he began to bounce the soccer ball from foot to foot and then to his knee. He was obviously some sort of show-off. His silence unnerved me.

‘Look, who are you?’ I asked.

Suddenly he stopped bouncing the ball. He held the ball under one arm as he regarded me with an expression that did not even try to hide his contempt.

‘Well there is no need to ask who you are,’ he answered. His accent was English, but not the fake kind of snooty drawl that Sebastian had been teaching Mom, I guessed that it was an authentic London accent.

‘You must be the daughter of the big Hollywood star,’ he said, sounding less than impressed. ‘My name is Peter Worthing,’ he said crossing the room to shut the open door that was now letting all of the rain in. ‘I know you’ve only just arrived, but you’ll find that over here we have a quaint little habit of knocking on somebody’s door before we just come barging in.’

He looked mad. But I was not about to give him the satisfaction of an apology. And so what if he was what CoCo would have described as boycandy? That floppy dark hair and those green eyes might have worked on some girls, but not on me. Peter Worthing (whoever he was) was obviously very rude, but he was not going to push me around. I started to explain myself.

‘Look,’ I said, ‘I didn’t know anyone else was living here. We just arrived this morning.’

Peter sighed; he was clearly unimpressed.

‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘that we have had photographers parked outside the front door ever since the press got word that your Mother would be renting this place?’

‘Welcome to my world,’ I said.

‘You’ll find,’ he said, ‘that even though I live downstairs, I am a whole universe removed from your world.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I asked.

‘My Dad’s the caretaker here,’ he said sharply. ‘We actually work for a living.’

I opened my mouth, intending to put up some sort of defence for Mom and her assortment of assistants, but I decided not to.

‘Look,’ I said, trying to sound casual, ‘ can you show me a way back into the house? I’ve locked myself out.’

He sniggered.

‘Just for future reference,’ he said, ‘we would prefer it if you did not access your house through our humble flat. Just consider this the servant’s entrance.’

Things had gotten off to a miserable start. But since we were going to have to share the same space for the immediate future, I decided to demonstrate to him that I was not some spoilt Hollywood brat. As he led me through the cramped apartment I spotted a familiar toy.

‘Hey,’ I said, ‘you’ve got the same model of computer as my friend J.K. – and he’s a complete techno-maniac.’

For the first time since our meeting, Peter smiled.

‘Your friend has excellent taste,’ said Peter as he stopped to admire his own computer. He pointed to a brochure that was pinned to the wall next to the desk, ‘Next Spring I’m going to buy that laptop.’

‘Yeah, cool,’ I said nodding, ‘J.K. has one of those too.’

Peter’s smile dissolved.

‘I expect J.K. also has a rich daddy,’ he said. ‘I’m saving every penny that I earn.’

‘You work?’ I said (in the kind of astonished tone that he probably expected from a spoilt Celebrity Spawn).

‘Nothing to get excited about,’ he said as he opened the door that led into the main house. ‘I spend my weekends helping out in a store that sells computers like that.’

I looked down at the floor, knowing that there really was no comeback to that, when I noticed just how foreign the linoleum of Peter’s apartment looked next to the marble of our house. Maybe we really were from different worlds after all..





Chapter 4

I was relieved that Mom would be filming the night before my first day at my new London school. The last thing I needed was some sugar-coated lecture on the exciting possibilities of a new life experience (barf!). My introduction to life in England hadn’t exactly gotten off to a great start. And as I lay on my bed and regarded the plaid uniform that was hanging outside of my closet, the signs for any immediate improvement in my life were looking pretty ominous.

So when I heard a knock on my bedroom door I knew I didn’t want company.

‘I’m not here,’ I yelled.

‘Well, strictly speaking, neither am I,’ said a familiar voice as my bedroom door was flung open.

It was Grandma Ellen!

‘Tell me you’re here to rescue me,’ I said as we hugged.

‘Wish I could Sweetie,’ said Grandma as she tilted my face up towards the light, ‘but I’m in enough trouble as it is.’

She released my face with a dramatic flourish. ‘You know, you have perfect pores. Great genes and youth; if they could only bottle it and sell it then a lot of plastic surgeons would be kissing their Ferarris goodbye.’

Ellen threw herself onto my couch and perched her feet on a huge mound of cushions. She surveyed her feet with irritation.

‘You know all that flying will give me the ankles of an old lady if I am not careful.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Ellen,’ I said (I always knew just what to say whenever she was fishing for a compliment). ‘But you really should wear comfortable shoes when you fly.’

‘Now Bliss,’ said Ellen, ‘you know that I am a simple creature. But I do have my standards and unlike your Mom I refuse to be seen in public wearing any item of clothing with the word sweat in its name. You can tell what kind of a person someone is by looking at their shoes, and these Jimmy Choos are my simple way of announcing to the world that I have a commitment to all that is fabulous. Besides, isn’t it a sin to hide your light under a bushel?’

I looked at the diamond-studded shoes with the killer heels and smiled my reply. Nobody could accuse Ellen of being a shrinking violet.

‘Didn’t Mom just send you on a cruise?’ I asked.

‘Now I really do not want to badmouth your Mom,’ said Ellen, ‘but the woman went and put me on a slow boat to China. And I mean literally. She said it would be a lovely surprise. And the next thing I know I’m cruising down the Yangtze River with a bunch of people who looked like they had just escaped from a retirement home! Can you believe it? I mean I enjoy a little culture as much as the next person, but if I never see another temple again it will be too soon… In the end I had to fake appendicitis just so they’d evacuate me to Hong Kong. Frankly, why anyone would choose to sail through some old ruins when there are some SERIOUSLY marvellous shoe shops and spas just a short hop away is quite simply beyond me. I don’t know what your Mom was thinking.’

I was pretty confident I knew exactly what Mom was thinking, but I kept my mouth shut. I doubted that Ellen wanted to be reminded of Enrique – a young souvenir from her last cruise who turned out to be a complete love rat. His name had not been mentioned since he jilted her just days before they had planned their wedding. Mom probably figured that dancers like Enrique did not feature heavily on the itinerary of a cultural cruise of the Yangtze.

‘Of course, she wanted me out of the way, you know,’ said Ellen. ‘She made it perfectly clear that she didn’t want me tagging along on this trip to London. Why she imagined that I could not be trusted to keep a secret I’ll never know.’

Jet-lag had clearly chewed up Ellen’s brain. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I knew exactly why Mom wouldn’t want Ellen in London. My Grandma was not what you might call publicity shy. The last thing Mom needed was the worry of a surprise appearance by Ellen in the British media. It made perfect sense.

‘So you’re not staying?’ I asked, disappointed.

‘Sorry kiddo, but this is what you might call a flying visit. There’s a car waiting outside to transfer me to the private jet that an old pal of mine has sent to collect me. I can’t be expected to celebrate the New Year in Aspen until I’ve ironed out some of these creases,’ she said, pointing to her face. ‘And there’s an amazing clinic in Switzerland that can squeeze me in if I hurry.’

‘Can I come?’ I asked, being deliberately pathetic.

‘Just thank your lucky stars that you have at least another decade before you need to start thinking about finding a great surgeon,’ said Ellen. ‘What’s up? Is Angel giving you a hard time?’

I pointed to the uniform and watched Ellen shudder.

‘I either make it work in some all-girls school tomorrow or I’ll be sent to a boarding school in Arizona.’

‘What,’ said Ellen, ‘absolutely no boys?’

‘I’m not worried about there being no boys.’

‘Give it time,’ said Ellen.

‘I just want to go home,’ I said.

‘Listen Bliss,’ said Ellen, suddenly sitting up, ‘I’m gonna tell you something I told your Mom a long time ago; home is not a place – being home means being together. And right now you need to be with your Mom. Sure, I know she can be a little intense. But everything happens for a reason. And you have got to believe that you are here for a very good reason.’

There was a tap on my door as Bob, Mom’s head of security, announced his arrival.

‘Excuse me Ellen, ‘ he said, ‘but your driver says you need to leave now.’

‘I’m on my way,’ said Ellen, ‘just give us a minute please.’

Ellen waited to see Bob disappear from view before reaching into her huge Chanel purse. She rummaged around before she produced a gift and she carefully placed it into my hands.

‘I believe you have a right to this,’ she said with uncharacteristic seriousness. ‘Your Mom will not be happy with me; I know that. But even so, I want you to talk with her once you’ve had a chance to think. Don’t worry about getting me into trouble. It’s not as though your Mom can send me away to boarding school. If I can handle a cultural cruise up the Yangtze, I can handle anything.’

Ellen hugged me tight and left as quickly and as unexpectedly as she had arrived. The only proof I had of her visit was the gift in my hand. It was impossible to imagine just what it was about this particular tastefully-wrapped offering that could upset my Mom. Ellen’s gifts were usually expensive, designer-label accessories. Unless the box contained my passport and a ticket to Los Angeles it was unlikely to rock my world. As I ripped at the box is soon became clear that it contained nothing more exciting than a video…

Why had Ellen given me some old video that had been too lame to even make it to dvd?

I examined the cover for evidence. The movie had clearly been produced by a London studio – their Union Jack logo was sprawled next to the movie title. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that ‘Starship Survivors’ was some sort of a sci-fi creation. How old was it? There was the date, it was a year older than me..

Wait a minute, was that my Mom’s face??

Suddenly I had a bing-bing-bing moment all of my own.

Mom had been talking about London for months before this trip, but she had never mentioned the fact that she had already shot a movie in England. And it was not in her nature to miss even the tiniest triumph from her hugely successful career. I could have sworn that I knew every last boring detail of Angel’s career, from her first job as the ‘Betsy Bubbles Baby’ right up to her last Golden Globe. But this English film was news to me. Something was definitely up.

I stared at the video with renewed interest.

There was only one possible explanation, because there was only one huge skeleton in our family cupboard. There was one question that was never answered. There was one discussion-free zone.

My heart suddenly felt as though it would jump right out of my chest. Because I knew, I just knew, that my Dad’s name was listed somewhere on those credits.

All I had to do now was to find him.


Ten Avoidance Techniques Used by Mom to Avoid Questions about my Dad

1 Tears
2 Hugs
3 Change of subject
4 Treats
5 Grandma
6 Talk of a ‘Universal Family’
7 Phone call
8 Suddenly-remembered appointment
9 Listing of all of the people who really love me
10 Did I mention tears?