by Anne Fine
‘I’m going to perform The Dance of the Evening Star,’ she explained to them carefully. ‘I’m going to be Starlight. As evening falls around me, I wake and flutter to and fro, touching the wonders of nature lightly with my starry wand.’ She waved it, to show them. ‘And everything glistens with starlight, just for me, because everything loves me so much.’
In the control room Bonny shook her head in amazement that anyone would willingly dance something so soppy. She couldn’t imagine anything more likely to banish any lingering doubts she might have had that she was doing Mrs Opalene’s girls a giant favour, sparking up their Curls and Purls Show.
‘Anyway,’ went on Amethyst, ‘I dance all night, except that, obviously, in the dance, the night only lasts two minutes. Then I curl up in my forest dell and fall asleep. And daybreak comes. Then I wake up and flee.’
‘Lovely!’ said Mrs Opalene, filled with relief that one of her precious girls, at least, was planning something more ladylike and traditional. ‘Lovely, dear Amethyst! I do so look forward to seeing how very elegantly you can flee.’
Amethyst smiled. Her beautiful face lit up. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I have been practising fleeing.’ She turned to face the glass window and nodded at Bonny, who slid in music tape number 3, and wound down the forest backdrop Amethyst had chosen earlier.
Amethyst curled in a neat silver ball, and everyone waited. Out swelled the music. As its busy first bars gave way, within moments, to a more sleepy, going-to-bed sort of melody, the silver ball that was Amethyst gradually uncoiled a little, and the glittering wand waved gracefully in the air. Then she rose to her feet and looked around, making grand gestures of surprise and delight, as if she’d never seen an evening before.
And she’d certainly not seen one like this. It started well enough, with Bonny focusing exactly the right tree shadow shapes onto the stage, and turning the evening through the right shades of darkening blue while switching the stars up more brightly. Amethyst flitted round, flicking her hair prettily and pretending to pat each of the soppy, sloe-eyed creatures that were painted on the backdrop with her starry wand of evening.
‘Aaaah!’ everyone cooed dutifully when she tapped the baby deer sternly on its head.
‘Ooooh!’ everyone chorused politely when she shook her finger crossly at the chipmunks.
Amethyst swirled around, pretending to look for the squirrel.
And then she screamed. For from the branch over her head dangled the shadow of a massive spider. Amethyst skidded to an ungainly halt. In the control room, Bonny was jiggling the spider silhouette furiously in front of the lantern, and, on the stage, the spider shadow leaped obediently to the attack.
Amethyst screamed again. She’d secretly wanted something different. But this was horrible. Horrible! The whole stage darkened and the shadows loomed. Out went the stars, as if a cloud had swirled in front of them. Swampy green lights flickered eerily, and strange mists rose. In a frenzy of switch-flicking from Bonny, the baby deer ended up howling like a wolverine, the squirrel snarled, and when a demented chattering began to pour out of one of the loudspeakers behind the backdrop, Araminta suddenly had the bright idea of wheeling it behind the bit with the painted chipmunks, as if they’d suddenly come to life, and flown into a fury.
It was quite terrifying. From side to side ran Amethyst, desperate to find a way off the stage. She wasn’t fleeing very elegantly, for all her hours of practice. Each time she thought she’d found a safe way to go, a shadow shaped like broken fingers seemed to snatch at her, or shadows of branches underfoot snaked out as if to trip her.
Her enthralled audience shouted.
‘Try that way, Amethyst!’
‘No! It’s not safe! Try the other side!’
‘Amethyst! Watch out!’
‘Look behind you!’
Round and round Amethyst ran, in ever more desperate circles. From behind the backcloth came a werewolf’s cry. And then another, sounding even closer.
Amethyst tore at her hair in fright. Sweat glistened on her face, melting her perfect make-up. Her lovely features twisted in terror and in the end she did the only thing that she could think of, and hurled herself back in a silver ball on the floor, covering her eyes with her fingers.
And that’s when Bonny switched on the sounds of tiny, scurrying feet. Spreading her fingers slightly, Amethyst saw the little furry balls of shadow flitting across the stage.
‘Oh, not rats! No!’
Amethyst jumped to her feet and started beating at them with her glittering wand. As the music came to an end and Bonny regretfully turned up the light to flood the stage with rosy dawn, Amethyst was to be seen clutching her torn skirts around her, still trying to beat to death a dozen skittering rats that were just shadows.
And how the audience clapped.
‘Amethyst! Why didn’t you tell us you could act?’
‘My heart’s still thumping, Amethyst. You ought to be in horror films! You’re brilliant!’
‘Do the scream again. Just one more time. It was so bloodcurdling.’
‘I really thought that was a spider. And the rats fooled me too.’
‘The rats fooled everyone. Did they fool you, Mrs Opalene?’
Mrs Opalene blinked hastily. It wouldn’t do at all to admit that, ever since the spider, she’d had her eyes tightly closed. Not that it had helped much. She had still heard the werewolf’s cry, the wolverine’s snarl, and the terrified squeals from everyone around her.
Better say something, or they’d force her into watching it again, so she could mark it properly.
‘Gratifyingly macabre, dear.’
Amethyst smiled bravely. She didn’t know what gratifying meant. Or macabre, either. But now the lights were on again, she could at least get off the stage without falling over from fright. It hadn’t been fun. It had been terrifying. But they were all talking about it so excitedly, and patting her on the back as she went shakily back to her seat. Only a minute ago, she could have cheerfully strangled that new Miss Sparky. Miss Electric Shock, more like! But now that her heart had stopped thumping, she could admit to herself that this Dance of the Evening Star must have been a whole lot more thrilling to watch than the usual old waking and fluttering and fleeing.
‘Next!’ called Mrs Opalene faintly.
Up on the stage walked Sarajane. But as Bonny reached for music tape number 4, she saw a shadow fall on the desk in front of her.
Hastily, she swung around.
‘Toby!’
He nodded through the glass towards the stage. ‘Brilliant!’ he told her. ‘Stunning! A real spectacular! It’s quite amazing how much you’ve picked up in one short day.’
‘Araminta’s been helping. It turns out she knows a whole lot more than she ever realized. She’s a real star at—’
He wasn’t listening. He was looking worried.
‘But you must promise me you won’t make a fool of Sarajane.’
Bonny couldn’t help staring. ‘Oh, come on,’ she managed to get out at last. ‘If it’s all right for the others, then it’s all right for her. Sarajane is no different.’
‘She is to me,’ Toby said stubbornly. He blushed. ‘I know that she can be as silly as all the others. But still I don’t want her ending up head down in a well with her bloomers showing, or singing in her vest and knickers, or running round screaming.’
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Bonny said, equally stubbornly. ‘They’re all enjoying it. You can tell.’
‘It doesn’t matter if she does it,’ Toby said. ‘It just matters that she gets to choose. And you haven’t asked her.’
Bonny was silent. It was no more than the truth. But they were halfway through the show now. She wasn’t going to stop for anyone.
Bonny turned back to the controls. ‘Sorry, Toby,’ she said firmly. ‘But I’m afraid Araminta and I are running this show.’
She felt a finger in the small of her back. ‘Well, I’m afraid I’m warning you and your very good friend Araminta. Do
n’t mess with Sarajane’s song, or you’ll regret it.’
Bonny made a face. So Cristalle was right. Toby was soft on Sarajane. But that was no reason for the two of them to change their plans. Araminta had already filled the bucket with water, and what could Toby do to them anyway? The day was very nearly over. How could a tea boy cause trouble for them? It was an empty threat. Of course he couldn’t.
And then it struck her. Yes, he could. He could rush down and tell the lady on the desk what she and Araminta were doing, and she could hurry off to fetch Mum out of Bookkeeping (Advanced), and …
Fetch Mum out of her class? Oh, that would be awful. It was so very near the end of the day that she might be in the middle of the test that would give her the certificate she needed so badly. Why, she might be on the very last question. To be so close, and have to lay down your pen and rush up to the third floor because of your troublesome daughter! What a way to start your new life in a brand new place.
‘All right,’ said Bonny sourly. ‘You win.’ But then suddenly, ringing in her ears again as if she’d somehow pressed the ‘echo’ switch, she heard the little phrase he’d used to warn her so sternly: ‘you and your very good friend Araminta’.
And suddenly she didn’t mind. Let Sarajane get on and do her bit in the Curls and Purls Show as soppily as she’d planned. If it mattered so much to Toby (and it obviously did), she’d just sit back and watch – with her good friend Araminta!
‘All right,’ she said again, a whole lot more cheerfully. ‘We won’t do anything to Sarajane. And that’s a promise.’
CHAPTER SIX
BONNY SLID IN the music tape, and dropped into the revolving lantern the sheet that threw images of glittering rain. While Sarajane stood waiting for the excited chatter of the audience to die away, Bonny signalled frantically at Araminta to move to the nearest loudspeaker, then whispered. ‘Don’t throw the water!’
‘Why not?’ hissed back Araminta. ‘It’ll be brilliant. Everyone will love it.’
Already Sarajane was stepping forward.
‘I can’t explain,’ Bonny whispered hastily. ‘There isn’t time. But just don’t throw it. Don’t do anything. Promise?’
Araminta shrugged, disappointed. But, like a good friend, she answered trustingly, ‘Well, if you say so.’
Sarajane was explaining now. ‘This is a lovely little song and dance called Pretty Miss Raindrop. It starts with a great peal of thunder so you mustn’t be startled. And then I fall to earth in a glittering shower. There aren’t many words in the song.’ She stopped, embarrassed. ‘Well, actually, the only words in it are ‘Drip, drip, drip’. But I do sing them over and over.’
More of a threat than a promise, Bonny thought privately. But she obediently pressed PLAY when Sarajane gave the signal. There was a moment’s silence. Then, from the speakers, flowed the plaintive sound of violins.
Bonny waited for the thunderpeal. (Sarajane had told her three times over that this was the cue to switch on the glittering shower.) But nothing like a peal of thunder came, only the music rising and falling like souls lost in grief. Bonny peeked through the glass. Poor Sarajane looked positively stricken. Could this be the wrong music? She glanced at the empty tape box. Yes, it was number 4. But in the rush to speak to Araminta after Toby’s warning, might she have slid it in on the wrong side?
Oh, no! Toby would kill her when he realized there was something wrong. In desperate hope, Bonny held on for one or two more bars, in case the thunder came. But it was hopeless. It didn’t sound at all the right sort of music for rushing round being a raindrop. Clearly the only thing to do was take out the tape and start again. Sarajane looked more and more panicked as the wrong music poured out behind her. And a great scowl was gathering on Toby’s face.
Bonny’s finger reached out for the STOP button. But just at that moment, Sarajane threw back her head and opened her mouth wide. Bonny hesitated. Had she decided to press on and sing whatever it was she had recorded on the other side?
The haunting melody rose. And out of Sarajane’s mouth there poured a waterfall of notes so pure and lovely that Bonny’s hand froze from sheer enchantment.
‘Dark my days, and dark my hours
Since Lord Henry broke my heart.
I’ll forsake these golden bowers
And the seas of grief I’ll chart.’
Beside her, Toby moved closer to the glass. Already the glower on his face had cleared. He looked entranced, and Bonny could see the fingers on his left hand twitching, as though, as he listened, he was playing the melody along with his precious Sarajane on some imaginary violin.
The glorious voice poured out of the loudspeakers. Even Araminta had put down the bucket and stopped looking wistful as she listened.
‘Lost my hopes, and lost my beauty
Since Lord Henry rode away.
Was there ever such a cruelty?
Was there ever such dismay?’
The lovely voice soared. Even if Toby weren’t in the way, rapt and unreachable, there was no need for Bonny to switch on any glittering showers. Sarajane’s voice alone could glitter and sparkle, flash and blaze. All Bonny had to do was keep the simple spotlight trained on her. If she could sing like this and steal their hearts, why should she bother even to step out of the bright circle of light that was all Bonny offered?
‘Will Lord Henry hear my singing?
Shall I charm him back to me,
In his ears, my verses ringing,
In his heart, my melody?’
The music swelled and died. The song was over. Sarajane hung her head, deeply embarrassed, and, for a moment or two, there was no sound at all.
Beside Bonny, Toby stirred uneasily. Beyond the glass, the clapping started. Araminta put the bucket back where it was supposed to be, and Mrs Opalene dabbed at her eyes with a frilly lace handkerchief.
Toby’s eyes shifted to the audience.
‘Whose is that spare seat next to Sarajane’s?’
‘It’s Araminta’s. She’s not using it.’
Instantly, he was at the door. ‘Silly to waste it.’
‘You’re soft on Sarajane, aren’t you?’
Did he even hear her? She didn’t think so. He’d already gone. Bonny sighed heavily. And after all those lofty speeches about silly girls! (Though, to be fair, he’d stuck with just feeling soft until he’d heard her singing so beautifully. It was her talent, not her pretty face, that had bewitched his heart.)
As he slipped into Araminta’s empty seat, Mrs Opalene rose from her own overfull one.
‘My dearest Sarajane,’ she said, still plainly moved. ‘That was incomparable.’
Nobody knew what incomparable meant. But it was obvious it was a compliment of the highest order, so everyone happily nodded along. And, after that, it was quite clear to them that Mrs Opalene was almost as taken with the new-style Curls and Purls Show as her pupils.
‘Memorable, dear! Memorable!’ she said, enchanted, after Lulu’s ‘cowboy sweetheart’ song, when Araminta popped up behind the cardboard stockade wearing the bison horns she’d found in the stockroom, and Bonny turned on the tornado and sent tumbleweed bouncing across the prairie backdrop.
‘Exotic!’ she marvelled after the firework explosions that shook the stage all through Cristalle’s lullaby.
‘Rivetingly tasteless, dear,’ was her judgement after Angelica’s Beauty and her Mirror song, during which Bonny fiddled with the lighting until Angelica aged horribly before their eyes, then turned into a skull.
‘Disquietingly vertiginous,’ she said faintly when Araminta’s own turn finally came round, and Bonny made the snowflakes swirl so fast that Araminta finally got dizzy and fell over.
And how Bonny managed to turn Cooki’s pretty fairy ring of mushrooms into that waterlogged swamp of crocodiles, Mrs Opalene swore she’d never know.
At last it was over. Cindy-Lou swatted out fiercely one last time at all the shadow bats that had so mysteriously swooped in to join her gracious Tea-time with th
e Vicar mime. Down came the curtain, and Mrs Opalene sailed up the stairs and stood on the stage apron.
‘Well, dears!’ she declared. ‘That was …’
And, for the first time in her life, Mrs Opalene was lost for words.
‘Such fun,’ said Araminta, coming out of the wings, and hugging Mrs Opalene. ‘Such wonderful fun!’
‘Marvellous!’ called out Lulu.
‘Fabulous!’
‘Terrific!’
Pearl hugged herself. ‘It was,’ she breathed in ecstasy, ‘the very best Curls and Purls Show ever!’
Mrs Opalene capitulated graciously. ‘Yes, dears. I do agree it made the most amusing and interesting change. And we must certainly think of doing it that way again some other time.’
‘Not just some other time, Mrs Opalene! Next time!’
‘Not just next time, Mrs Opalene! Every time!’
Mrs Opalene looked down at them, startled. Where were the modest and amenable girls with whom she’d spent the morning? Sitting in front of her now were a crowd of smudged, untidy urchins, fidgeting and grinning, and calling out, uncurbed.
‘Now, girls!’ she reproved them. ‘Aren’t we beginning to forget that we try to stay very best friends with Miss Manners?’
At the words, ‘very best friends’, Araminta swivelled in her seat and blew a sparkling, Araminta-ish kiss at Bonny through the glass.
Bonny had never blown a kiss before. Like lots of other things in Charm School that day, it was a first. She blew it back while Mrs Opalene went on with her lecture. ‘In fact, dears, as you know, ladies never shout out like this when they want something. They simply think of a roundabout way of suggesting it nicely, in the hope that—’
But no-one was listening.
‘Mrs Opalene!’ Pearl’s voice rose over the others. ‘That was such fun that I don’t think I could go back to doing it the old way. There was just too much sitting around and waiting. And watching everyone else mince up and down looking pretty was boring too.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘I had such fun today. Amethyst was brilliant. I wish I could act like that.’ Suddenly, a thought struck her. ‘Do they do acting classes here, as well?’
