by Helen Peters
Could they?
It seemed like they could.
But how can someone suddenly pay twice the rent they were paying before?
And if they can’t … then what happens?
From deep down where she had tried to bury them, Hannah heard Lottie’s words in the sitting room that day.
“Your new landlord wants to demolish the farm. And build houses on it.”
No.
It’s not true.
It can’t be true.
He can’t do that.
He won’t be allowed to.
I mustn’t think about it.
Dad will sort it out.
She buried the words again.
In the changing room, Hannah took off her boots and picked her way through the muddy hockey sticks, smelly socks and random bits of clothing.
There was nothing worse than communal showers.
Still in her kit, Hannah stood as far back as she could from the shower head and briefly stuck her head under the jet of hot water. She shook out her hair like a spaniel after a paddle in a pond and walked back to the changing room. That would be enough to convince Frostbite if she came in for one of her interrogations.
“What’s up, Emily?” asked Priya, who had had a proper shower and was now getting dressed. “You’ve been really quiet all day.”
Emily was sitting on the slatted wooden bench, carefully folding her hockey kit. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just a bit worried about Starlight.”
“Your horse?”
“Yes. It’s just, the stables where I keep him – they told me yesterday they’re closing down. And there’s nowhere else round here – all the other places are too far to walk or cycle to, or they’re too expensive. I don’t know what—”
“Oh, Ems,” said Miranda in a voice that could have shattered crystal. “I forgot to tell you the most exciting thing. I’m going skiing at Easter!”
“Oh, wow, lucky you,” said Emily.
“I know, isn’t that just so cool? Mummy booked it last night. Daddy sold this painting at Sotheby’s yesterday and he made a fortune. We’re staying in this amazing chalet in the Italian Alps with a cook and everything. Come round to mine before drama tonight and I’ll show you the website.”
“OK, cool. Can you believe we’ve got a dress rehearsal on Saturday, though? We’re nowhere near ready.”
Dress rehearsal? This Saturday? Hannah shot Lottie a horrified look. They hadn’t even got fabric for costumes yet, and they hadn’t had a single proper rehearsal.
Miranda arranged herself in front of the mirror and started to brush her glossy hair. “I think it’s exactly what we need. Last week’s rehearsal was a mess. I mean, half the cast haven’t even learned their lines yet. It’s pathetic. They need a dress rehearsal in front of an audience to make them take it seriously.”
“Yes, you’re right,” said Emily. “That is so true. I was thinking—”
“Oh, and did I tell you Jack’s going to come?” Miranda flicked a glance at Hannah, who felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She leaned over the bench to fold her hockey kit so that her hair covered her face.
“To the dress rehearsal?” said Emily. “Oh, no, how embarrassing.”
“That’s the whole point though, isn’t it? It’ll make people learn their lines at last. Anyway, I asked him and he said he’d come. Right, let’s go.” Miranda tossed her hair back and wafted across the changing room. Emily picked up her bags and scurried out after her.
“Oh, by the way, Hannah,” said Miranda, turning at the door so that Emily nearly skidded into her, “I love your trousers.”
“Cow,” said Lottie as the door banged shut.
“What’s wrong with my trousers?”
“Nothing. She’s just evil. What are you doing?”
Hannah’s voice came out muffled from beneath the bench. “I can’t find my sock.”
“Oh, Hannah, can you never get changed without losing something? Hurry up, we’re last again.”
The door burst open as if a cannon had fired at it and their PE teacher, Mrs Frost, launched herself into the changing room. She looked like she was made from pipe cleaners, but despite that she somehow seemed to fill the room.
“Come on, you two!” she barked. “Always the same ones, isn’t it? I’ve never seen such slowcoaches. Hannah Roberts, you’ve got mud on your face. I hope you’ve had a shower, young lady.”
“Yes, miss,” Hannah said. She raised her head from under the bench and pointed to her damp fringe.
“Huh. Well, get a move on. The caretaker’s locking up in ten minutes. And put those hockey sticks in the basket on your way out. Well played on the wing today, Charlotte,” she called as the door swung shut behind her.
“How come she never loses her voice?” asked Lottie. “How can a person shout non-stop for eight hours a day and not get a sore throat?”
Hannah scrambled to her feet, red-faced, her hair standing out all around her head.
“It’s nowhere. How can a sock just completely disappear? That was the only pair I had without holes in.”
“Is this it?” said Lottie, holding out a grubby grey sock between her thumb and forefinger.
Hannah took it gratefully and pulled it on.
From the corridor came the sound of jangling keys.
“Let’s go,” said Lottie.
Hannah took her coat off her peg and headed for the door.
“Aren’t you going to take your bag?”
Hannah turned round. Her school bag was still hanging on the peg. She heaved it on to her shoulder. It was heavier than usual – she had several textbooks and a science project in there as well as all her exercise books. She noticed that the stitching was unravelling on the strap. She must sew it up tonight.
Except she knew she wouldn’t. Last night she had started reading the most fantastic book and there was no way she was doing any mending until she’d finished it.
Dusk was falling as they left the PE building and walked towards the school gates. The wind stung Hannah’s face. She pulled her gloves out of her coat pocket. “Do you want a lift home? My dad’s at a meeting – he said he’ll pick me up from the bus stop at six.”
“No, I’m going into Linford to meet my mum, remember. She’s getting an early train for once.”
They walked past the bike sheds towards the main entrance. Attached to the railings was a laminated poster for the Scout jumble sale on Saturday. Lottie stopped to read it. “Hey, why don’t we go? I bet there’ll be loads of stuff for costumes.”
Hannah hesitated. She was planning to go anyway, if Dad would give her some money to get clothes for Sam, but she couldn’t spend that money on costumes, and she didn’t want Lottie to have to spend her pocket money when she herself could contribute nothing. She couldn’t wait to be fourteen so she could get a Saturday job.
Oh, but wait a minute. She still had five pounds left from her Christmas money.
“That would be great. I’ll probably have to bring the others, though.”
“That’s OK,” said Lottie. “They can help us find stuff.”
“I think we should have a dress rehearsal,” said Hannah, not quite knowing what she was saying or why she was saying it. “With an audience.”
“With an audience! Hannah, we’re not the Linford Youth Theatre. I can’t believe you’re trying to copy Miranda.”
“I’m not. I just think it’s a good idea. It will give us something to aim for – make us more organised.”
“But the competition’s in three weeks.”
“So let’s have the dress rehearsal in two weeks.”
“But we haven’t made a single costume!”
“I’ll come to yours every night after I’ve put Sam to bed and help you make them.”
Lizzie snorted with laughter. “You! What use would you be?”
“I can sew! I’m always sewing.”
“Sewing buttons back on doesn’t count. And you haven’t even sewn on a name tape since my mum gave you th
at fabric marker. Anyway, there’s no point arguing. There’s no way we can be ready in two weeks. I mean, the queen alone has three costumes, and Esmeralda—”
“You can show me what to do,” said Hannah. “I’ll help you with anything I can. I’ll really concentrate, I promise. And it doesn’t matter if they’re not all finished – we’ll have another week before the actual performance.”
“Well, we’re not doing it to an audience if the costumes aren’t finished. It would look ridiculous.”
“We need a rehearsal in front of an audience, Lottie. We need to get used to people watching it. We can’t perform for the first time to an audience on the day the judge comes. And at least it will force Martha to learn her lines.”
“But who will we invite? And what if your dad sees them arriving? No, it’s a crazy idea, Hannah. No. No way. The end.”
“There’s your bus,” said Hannah. “Go on. We’ll work it all out tomorrow. Have a good evening!”
Alone, Hannah felt the fears swirl into her head again. She pushed them away, crossed the road and trudged up the pavement to the bus shelter. A shadowy figure leaned against the far side of it.
Wait a minute…
Could it be…?
It was!
Her heart missed a beat. Jack Adamson! And she, Hannah Roberts, was about to be alone in a bus shelter with him!
Hannah was suddenly painfully aware of every single cell in her body. Her mouth felt dry. Her stomach fluttered like there was a family of sparrows trapped inside it. She didn’t know how to walk. What should she do with her hands? Should she look at him or not? Oh, no, had she brushed her hair after the match? She put a hand to her head, then instantly removed it. Act casual, she told herself.
Would he speak to her?
What would he say?
What if he ignored her?
Anything, any amount of teasing, was better than being ignored.
Jack glanced up as she approached.
“All right?” he said.
Hannah’s heart leapt. He had spoken to her! Maybe they were about to have a conversation!
Be casual, she told herself sternly. Be nonchalant.
“All right?” she replied. He was more good-looking than ever in the dim light with his hands in his pockets. Not that she dared really look at him.
“Just had a guitar lesson. You?”
“Hockey match. Away, against Tidemills.”
“Oh, right. You win?”
“Yes, three–two.” She didn’t mention that Miranda Hathaway had scored the winning goal.
“Cool.”
Cool. He’s being nice to me! And he smiled! I’m sure he smiled!
Silence.
That’s because it’s my turn. Say something! Make a witty remark! Keep the conversation going!
“So, are you getting the bus home?” she asked.
What a moronic thing to say. Of course he was getting the bus home. He got the bus home every single day. What sarcastic comment would he make now?
But he just said, “Yeah. You too?”
“No, my dad’s picking me up.”
Why had Jack asked her that? Had he hoped she was getting the bus? If she had been, would he have sat next to her? He must really like her if he wanted to sit next to her on the bus. She hoped that both the bus and her dad would be a very long time coming.
But that seemed to be the end of the conversation. Jack said nothing. Why had she said her dad was picking her up? That made her sound like such a baby.
Jack reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a box of matches. He struck a match and looked at the flame as it flared up with a little hiss. The wind blew it out and he dropped it on the pavement.
Hannah looked at the matchbox in his hand. There was something scrawled in biro on the cardboard. A mobile number. And a name. Hannah strained her eyes to make it out.
Miranda.
Jack had Miranda’s name and number written on his matchbox. In Miranda’s handwriting.
Of course. He was going to Miranda’s dress rehearsal on Saturday, wasn’t he?
The silence thickened. Hannah fished desperately inside her paralysed brain for something to say. How many times had she dreamed of being alone with Jack? And now that she was, all she could do was stand there like an idiot.
She plucked nervously at the frayed strap of her canvas bag. It was slipping off her shoulder. She hoisted it back up. There was a loud ripping sound and the bag thudded on to the pavement.
“Oh, no!”
In nightmarish slow motion, the entire contents of her bag slithered on to the ground. Books, pens, calculator, scrunched-up tissues and crumpled sheets of paper rolled all around her. She dropped to her knees, scrabbling to pick up her fountain pen before it fell off the kerb. Oh, wasn’t Jack going to love telling this story in the canteen: Roberts and her inability to do the simplest thing without looking like a halfwit.
And then the strangest thing happened. Jack moved across the bus shelter. His shoes were on the tarmac beside her. And then he knelt. Jack Adamson knelt on the ground, gathering books and stationery into his arms and ramming them back into the broken canvas bag.
“There you go.” He held out the bag so she could tip her meagre catch of pencils into it.
Hannah finally dared to lift her eyes from the pavement. And there he was, his face just centimetres from hers, her green eyes level with his brown ones. “Are you OK?” he asked awkwardly.
“Yes. Fine. Thank you.” She held his gaze for a second frozen in time, looking at his lovely face, framed by his curly hair and silhouetted by the yellow streetlight, and his strong hand, outstretched to help her up. And then, suddenly, she blurted out, “Do you want to come to our dress rehearsal next Sunday?”
What?
What had she just said?
“What?” said Jack.
The words tumbled out of her before she knew what was happening. It was like watching somebody else rush headlong into a pit in the dark. “Our theatre group. We’re having a dress rehearsal for the Linford Arts Festival. You know, like Miranda’s. On the first weekend of the holidays. Sunday the fourteenth. Three o’clock. On my farm. In a hen house. I mean, it’s a theatre but it used to be a hen house. It’s in a little wood in North Meadow – the field on the right as you come up the track. I mean, you don’t have to or anything…”
Finally, her mouth seemed to have stopped spilling out words. She didn’t dare look at him.
Miraculously, though, he smiled. “Sure. Why not?”
Her heart soared. He really did like her!
Suddenly, a honk-honk like an angry goose pierced the air. No, not now! Not now! Go away!
Jack looked up.
“Isn’t that your dad?”
Hannah made herself look. There it was. Her father’s ancient, mud-encrusted Vauxhall Chevette, signalling to pull in at the bus shelter. But what was that on the … no, surely not.
Oh, my sweet lord, it really is. Please let this be a nightmare. Earth, please swallow me up. Right now. Oh, please don’t let Jack see it. Please.
“Flipping heck,” said Jack. “What is that thing on the roof of his car?”
“No way,” said Lottie. “You have got to be kidding.”
It was eight thirty on Tuesday morning and they were huddled against the hot-water pipes in the girls’ cloakroom.
“Oh, if only I were,” said Hannah. “Can you imagine it?”
“That is unbelievable. A dead duck. No way.”
“A massive dead Muscovy duck. Huge. Just sprawled across the roof of the car with its giant wings outstretched. I nearly died.”
“But why did he have it up there?”
“He said he’d found it in the yard – a fox had got it – and he’d slung it there to stop the dogs eating it, until he got a chance to bury it. And then he’d just forgotten all about it. I mean, what sort of person just forgets they have a dead duck on the roof of their car? It was the most embarrassing moment of my entire life. And tha
t’s saying something. And it’s going to be all round the school by lunchtime.”
Hannah curled up and buried her head in her hands. Lottie hugged her.
Don’t be nice to me, thought Hannah. I haven’t told you everything. If you knew that I’d invited Jack Adamson to watch our non-existent dress rehearsal, you wouldn’t be comforting me right now. You’d be strangling me to death with your bare hands.
Hannah sat on a wobbly milking stool in the auditorium and opened her notebook. “I hereby declare this meeting of the Secret Hen House Theatre open. Date: Sunday 7th March. Present: all members of the theatre.
“Item one: Programme. To be produced by Miss Lottie Perfect, as agreed at the meeting of Saturday 6th March.”
Lottie, perched on the udder-barrel on the other side of the circle, reached into her bag and took out a folded piece of straw-coloured paper.
“Wow,” said Hannah. “That looks so professional.”
“Cool,” agreed the Beans. They were sharing an upturned chicken crate and using Jasper, sprawled in front of them, as a giant woolly footstool.
Martha glanced up briefly from her magazine, curled her top lip and said nothing.
Lottie had drawn a border of brambles around the edge of the cover. Inside the border was typed:
The Secret Hen House Theatre Presents
By Her Majesty’s Appointment
Saturday 20th March
3.00 p.m.
In the bottom right-hand corner she had drawn a hen wearing dark glasses and carrying binoculars under one wing.
“Why does the hen have sunglasses and binoculars?” asked Sam.
“Because we’re the Secret Hen House Theatre. She’s a secret hen.”
The Beans giggled. Martha flipped over the page of her magazine with a vicious crack.
“And then inside,” said Lottie, opening the programme, “there’s the list of scenes and the cast list.” She started to read it out. “Cast, in order of appearance: Queen Matilda – Hannah Roberts; Lady’s maid – Lottie Perfect; Footman—”
