He ran to examine each instrument, his jaw dropping at their quality. A slight twinge of jealousy pulsated in Melody’s chest when she saw the ease with which he handled them all, from the trumpet to the violin, but she banished the feeling. She reminded herself that she was glad to have a friend, and seeing Freddie’s glee made her feel happy about the studio for the first time. Usually she dreaded the place and hated the instruments, but watching Freddie play them brought her joy.
As he shredded on an electric guitar, Melody glanced at the calendar behind him again. She imagined dressing Freddie up as her for the Debut Gala. A jet-black wig, her gown from Claudette Rouge’s and he’d be perfect. The thought of his wild curly hair peeking out from beneath the wig made her laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asked, his fingers sliding up and down the neck of the guitar.
Melody smirked. ‘Never mind.’
Freddie put down the guitar and walked over to an enormous gold tuba. ‘Look at this beauty. You really don’t wanna play any of these instruments? Don’t you need to practise for the Gala?’
‘That’s the problem. I don’t have a performance worked out, and I don’t have a teacher now either. I was hoping you might be able to help? I don’t even have my notebook any more to write down all my —’
‘Wait, your notebook — that’s it!’ Freddie punched the air. ‘That busker girl in Town Square turned your words into songs. You are musical . . . but it’s all trapped in that notebook.’
‘That girl — Clementine — stole it. I can’t just magically make it reappear.’
‘No, but you could track her down at Town Square again.’ He broke into a grin. ‘I’ve got a better idea: we could track her down at Town Square again.’
‘Shouldn’t you be rehearsing for the Gala too?’
‘Nah, I nailed my performance ages ago.’ He cringed as he realised what he’d said. ‘Er, sorry. Besides, you might need someone with you to distract the busker while you get your notebook back.’
‘I guess so.’
‘Let’s do it. And maybe that dog will be there too.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve gotta run but I’ll meet you outside the secret entrance at lunchtime. Deal?’
Melody nodded, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She was nervous about venturing out in public again, but after lying to her parents, and no prospects at all for her performance at the Debut Gala, she had to do something. Besides, she’d broken so many rules now that she’d lost track of how much trouble she would be in if she got caught.
So that lunchtime, Melody plopped Freddie’s cap on her head again and returned with him to Town Square to try to catch Clementine in the act.
‘You just missed her,’ one of Clementine’s adoring fans told Melody and Freddie that first afternoon.
The next day, they tried again. Again, they were out of luck.
‘She did a sunrise performance today,’ a starstruck local told them. ‘She’s an enigma that one. And what a talent! Her newest songs are just wonderful.’
Freddie elbowed Melody. ‘That’s your stuff,’ he whispered.
Melody sighed. ‘Maybe we should give up?’
‘Maybe.’ He readjusted her cap. ‘Or here’s an idea: maybe we just try again tomorrow.’
14.
A new plan
Melody tugged at the baseball cap, pulling it down even further as she and Freddie snuck through the school grounds.
‘Don’t worry, no one suspects a thing,’ Freddie said, striding ahead. ‘But hurry, we don’t want to miss her. Today’s the day, I can feel it!’
‘It’s out of our control,’ puffed Melody, trying to keep up. ‘It all comes down to when she decides to perform.’
‘Hey, she had long red hair, right?’
‘Yep.’
‘In a plait? Kinda wavy?’
‘Um, I think so.’
‘And was her bike green? And a tandem?’
‘I think so . . . Why all the questions?’
Freddie spun around to face Melody. ‘Because she’s right there!’ He pointed to a girl sitting on a bench in the school’s rotunda. ‘And look, her pooch is there too.’
Melody gasped and came to a halt. ‘Clementine’s here? Why? She couldn’t get away from me fast enough the other day. Something’s not right . . .’
‘I have no idea, but let’s find out,’ Freddie said, and he linked his arm with Melody’s and gently led her across the grass towards the rotunda.
Melody’s jaw tightened as they marched closer. She searched for what she might say to Clementine but nothing came to mind.
Moe barked, causing Clementine to spin around. Her eyes widened when she saw Melody and Freddie, then she grinned. ‘Well, well, well, is this fate or what?’
‘Why are you here?’ asked Melody, hands on her hips.
‘I want to talk to you. I was just trying to come up with a plan to bust you out of that school.’
‘How did you know where to find me?’
‘You told me, remember?’ Clementine impersonated her: ‘I’m Melody Trumpet and I go to the Battyville Elite School For Musically Gifted Children. Simple.’
‘That was pretty good. She sounded just like you,’ whispered Freddie.
Melody shot him a disapproving look.
‘As luck would have it — and no judgey-wudgey faces from you two — I happen to be banned from being within a five-hundred-metre radius of the school for toilet-papering the car park. Oops.’
‘That was you? People talked about that for weeks.’ Freddie laughed, then cocked his head to one side. ‘But I don’t get it. Why’s that lucky?’
‘Because being banned from the premises forced me to hang out in the rotunda here to plan my big entrance — and look who happens to stroll past? Melody Trumpet, just the gal I need to see.’
‘No, I need to see you,’ Melody said. ‘I want my notebook back.’
‘Ahh, the notebook.’ Clementine nodded. ‘That’s why I’m here too.’
‘It is?’
Clementine picked up her bicycle, wheeled it down the steps of the rotunda onto the grass and patted the second seat. ‘Hop on.’
‘Yeah, right!’ Melody said, arms folded over her chest. ‘I’m not getting on that deathtrap. I’ll just take my notebook and then we’ll be on our way.’
Clementine laughed. ‘The tandem’s perfectly safe. There’s no need to get all prickly. And I’m going to give you the notebook — soon. I promise.’
Melody looked to Freddie for a clue about what to do. He shrugged.
‘But I need to show you something important first,’ Clementine said. ‘Come on. It won’t take long. Well, not too long.’ She passed Melody a chipped silver bike helmet. ‘Safety first!’
Melody slipped the helmet onto her head over the baseball cap. ‘I don’t know . . . this feels ridiculous . . .’
Tongue sticking out in concentration, Clementine tightened the helmet’s straps.
‘Ouch, that hurts,’ Melody said, squirming.
‘Quit complaining. That’s not the girl I know!’
‘You don’t know me at all,’ Melody told her.
‘Sure I do. Your name is Melody Trumpet, you like writing, you’re friends with this young chap —’
‘Freddie!’ he chimed in.
‘You’re friends with Freddie, and you’re a nice person, if not a bit grumpy. You also have neat handwriting, enjoy using commas, and have lots of thoughts about lots of things.’
Melody looked unimpressed. ‘So you’ve read my notebook. Big deal.’
‘You also like choc-mint ice-cream.’
Choc-mint was Melody’s favourite flavour but she was certain she’d never written a poem about it. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I have a knack for these sorts of things,’ Clementine said. ‘Well, that and you smudged some chocolate on the pages. I had a cautious sniff while reading.’
‘So you read . . . everything?’
Clementine nodded and looked at Melody with warm eyes
. ‘I did. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. And after reading your notebook, I feel like we have a lot in common.’
‘Oh really?’
‘Sure! We couldn’t have had more different beginnings, it’s true. You, raised in a mega-mansion with famous parents and all the pressure in the world. And me, an orphan who ran away from her shady aunt and uncle, and was rescued from the streets by Mumma Rose. But neither of us have a loving family and people we can count on.’
Melody stared. She’d expected to feel furious by Clementine’s theft and her betrayal of Melody’s privacy, but instead her soft, kind tone made her feel understood.
‘You hopping on or what?’ Clementine asked.
‘Okay,’ Melody said, clambering onto the second seat. ‘But just so you know, I’ve never done this before.’
Clementine turned around. ‘What? Ridden a bike?’
Melody nodded.
‘Never?’
‘Never.’
‘No worries, I’ll do all the pedalling,’ Clementine said. ‘You just hold on tight. Moe will keep you company back there.’
Right on cue the pooch jumped into the basket behind Melody.
Freddie held up his skateboard. ‘I’m coming too.’
‘No way,’ Clementine said, holding up her hand. ‘I can’t be responsible for both of you.’
‘You won’t even notice I’m here,’ he insisted. ‘I’ll be like the invisible man, a ghost, a shadow —’
‘Fine, you can come,’ Clementine said. ‘But I’m going to live to regret this. Okay, let’s go!’
Clementine pushed off and started pedalling, and Moe woofed with delight. Freddie jumped on his skateboard and raced alongside the tandem bicycle.
They were on their way.
* * *
The air whipped about Melody’s hair as Clementine pedalled through the streets of Battyville. Melody wrapped her fingers tightly around the second set of handlebars, but her feet dangled just above the pedals so she couldn’t help. She peeked over her shoulder to watch Freddie gliding behind them on his skateboard.
Melody tried to track where Clementine was taking them, but was too distracted by the sights and smells as they sailed along the winding bicycle paths. On Jupiter Lane they passed a row of trees bursting with colourful and fragrant flowers. On the corner of Spy Street and Boffin Avenue, a man was setting up a stall with a sign that read: Jewellery for sale. Clementine pedalled on, until she reached Dreamers Parade. Melody was captivated by the bustling people, the fairy lights twinkling on the trees, the flashing neon signs.
‘Hold on,’ Clementine puffed. ‘Hill.’
It was a steep climb and Clementine’s legs pushed down harder and harder to keep them moving. Moe barked in motivation. Freddie had to get off his skateboard and carry it up the hill, red and wheezing behind them. Frightened by the steep angle, Melody wanted to close her eyes but she forced herself to keep them open and soak everything in. This was life beyond Trumpet Manor — and she was finally getting to see it without a limousine window in the way.
Dreamers Parade became more and more narrow, winding around corners and through tunnels, and over the Battyville Bridge across the lagoon.
‘Nearly there,’ Clementine squeezed out between puffs.
This was another side to Battyville — one that Melody had never seen before. People strolled past wearing colourful flashy shirts that clashed with their pants, and layers of beaded necklaces. A group danced on the footpath to music bursting out of a speaker set up on the steps of a house. Melody even saw a young man rollerskating along the street with a python wrapped around his neck! She was so mesmerised she forgot she was supposed to be angry at Clementine for stealing her notebook.
The tandem bicycle stopped outside a tall, narrow terraced house. Next door to the left, an old woman with purple hair sat at an easel on the balcony, painting a canvas with a rainbow of watercolours. Next door to the right, a muscular ballet dancer in a unitard and leg warmers was stretching his powerful legs along the rail that led up to the front door, while playing cards with two girls in matching tutus.
‘Here we are,’ Clementine said to Melody and Freddie, waving to her neighbours. The artist saluted with her paintbrush and the dancers called out a hello. ‘Welcome to Dreamers Parade.’
She wheeled the bicycle to the middle terrace house and propped it against the wall.
‘You don’t need to lock it up inside?’ Melody asked. ‘What if someone steals it?’
‘People don’t steal around here,’ Clementine scoffed, scooping Moe out of the basket and plopping him onto the ground. ‘They might borrow something for a while, but things always find their way back to their rightful owners.’
Melody smirked. ‘Like someone’s notebook, perhaps?’
‘Exactly.’ Clementine grinned as she and Moe climbed up the steps to the front door. ‘Coming?’ she asked Melody and Freddie.
Melody looked at the dancers who were now pirouetting on the pavement in front of their building. ‘Um . . .’
Freddie, still breathless from the climb, gasped, ‘Yes . . . need . . . water.’
‘I just want my notebook,’ Melody said.
‘Perfect! Come on then!’ Clementine clasped her hands together as Melody and Freddie joined her at the front door. ‘Are you ready to visit The Workshop? Five sharp knocks and Mumma Rose will let us in. Anything less and the door stays locked.’
‘Workshop?’ asked Melody. ‘Mumma Rose?’
Freddie was more to the point. ‘You’re not in a weird cult, are you?’
Clementine laughed. ‘Weird? Yes. Wonderfully weird. But a cult? Absolutely not.’
Melody swallowed and stepped up to the door. She knocked twice, then froze, suddenly feeling very far from everything she knew at Trumpet Manor.
‘Five,’ Clementine whispered. ‘You can count to five, can’t you?’
Melody wrinkled her nose and rapped the door five times.
‘Well, that’s technically seven all up, but who’s counting, right?’ Clementine said as the door swung open to reveal a tall bony woman with pink hair cut in a pixie style, red spectacles and glitter on her cheekbones.
‘Clementine,’ the woman said, pulling her in for a hug.
‘This is Mumma Rose,’ Clementine said in a grand voice. ‘She keeps an eye on things at The Workshop.’
Mumma Rose’s eyes twinkled. ‘What she’s trying to say is, I’m the boss. My workshop, my rules.’ She peered down at Melody and Freddie. ‘And who are these two tiny people?’
‘This is Freddie,’ Clementine said, ‘and this is Melody Trumpet — the girl I was telling you about. As in the Melody Trumpet.’
‘I see. Are you someone from the television?’ Mumma Rose asked, squinting at Melody. ‘Because we don’t have a television.’
It was the first time someone hadn’t made a fuss when they heard the Trumpet name. Melody liked it.
‘No, I’m just me,’ she said.
‘Then welcome.’ Mumma Rose stepped aside and waved them into The Workshop.
Melody and Freddie traded nervous glances. What were they walking into?
15.
Welcome to the Workshop
They entered a room that was at least two storeys high, with three levels of bookshelves and thin balconies with wooden railings lining one of the walls. Enormous paintings, photographs and sculptures hung from the walls to its left and right. The windows were small and didn’t give much light, but a lamp glowed in one corner, highlighting the clutter that covered nearly every metre of the floorboards. The fourth and final wall was blank. Pure white. Completely untouched.
Melody took a step closer, her fingertips grazing the empty wall. Her body twitched with the urge to fill it with words; to make it feel alive like the rest of the room.
A loud yawn followed by whispers came from a mezzanine floor high above them. Melody elbowed Freddie and directed his attention to the sound. They edged a little closer to each other, alone in the large space.
Clementine had gone into the kitchen with Mumma Rose to fetch a jug of water, and Moe was curled up on a couch, already snoring.
‘Is that a child?’ a girl’s voice murmured. She sounded grumpy.
A light and airy giggle, then a boy said, ‘Of course it’s a child, Allira. Two, in fact. A her and a him. You know, you were a child yourself mere years ago, sister dearest. Aww, look at the little poppets.’
‘They don’t look very friendly.’
‘Shhh, I think you’re scaring them,’ the boy said.
‘If they find me scary, they need to toughen up.’
Melody cleared her throat and dared to call up to the mezzanine. ‘Hello?’
No reply, but she saw an older boy duck down behind the balcony.
Melody shrugged. ‘Okay then . . .’ she said, her voice trembling, ‘who’s scared now?’
High-pitched giggles rattled around the room. ‘She got us there, Allira, you have to admit,’ the boy said. He peeked at them from above the railing and Melody saw a toothy smile and thin dreadlocks. ‘Hi there!’ he called, before disappearing again.
Suddenly, he yanked a wiry girl up by her collar so they were both standing in clear view. They looked identical, from their dreadlocks and deep brown complexions to their wiry limbs and their head-to-toe athletic gear.
‘Say hello, Allira,’ said the boy.
Allira gave them a small wave, then turned back to the boy. ‘You couldn’t just let me sleep in like you promised? Fine. If I have to get up, then Gaff’s getting up too. Gaff, we have visitors!’
A tall man with a thin moustache popped up by her side. He was holding a burning wooden torch. ‘Howdy,’ he announced, then sipped from an I love my mum mug. He swished the liquid around his mouth, then spat it at the torch, sending red flames shooting into the air. He did it again, then gave a small bow before disappearing back behind the balcony.
‘Fire-breathers — always gotta steal the show,’ the boy called down to Melody and Freddie. ‘I’m Slack, by the way.’
‘I’m . . . I’m Melody,’ she stammered, still stunned by the spectacle.
Melody Trumpet Page 7
