by Helen Peters
Jonah and Ben, both in muddy football strip, bowled up the corridor, jostling each other, Ben’s messy blond hair and freckled pink cheeks contrasting with Jonah’s straight dark hair and tanned olive skin. Since Danny Carr had left at the end of the summer term, Jack had started hanging out a lot more with these two. Ben was Lottie’s next-door neighbour, so (as Lottie’s mum never tired of reminding them loudly in public) they had known each other since they were in nappies.
Jack fell to his knees and clasped Ben’s hand.
“Oh, Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” he said in a squeaky falsetto.
Ben pushed him over.
“That’s not very romantic,” said Jack, “for someone playing the hot male lead in the house play.”
Ben looked startled for a moment. He stared at the notice board. Then he shoved Jack in the shoulder again.
“The list’s not even up, you prune.”
Jack looked down the corridor. “It will be in a second.”
The others followed his gaze. Miss Summers was walking towards the foyer, holding several sheets of A4 paper and a box of drawing pins.
Other people had seen her, too. Crowds started to form around the notice boards. Miss Summers smiled. “OK, everybody, stand back.”
She walked to the Conan Doyle board. Typical, thought Hannah. Always alphabetical order.
By the time the first three cast lists were up, the foyer was packed with people, swooping, chattering and screeching like a flock of starlings. Miss Summers manoeuvred her way out of the Milne crowd and walked towards the Woolf House board with her final sheet of paper.
You haven’t got a chance, Hannah told herself. You haven’t got a chance. But still the butterflies fluttered in her stomach. You never know, a voice inside her said. You never know.
“Out of the way, everyone, please,” said Miss Summers, as people inched back to let her through.
Once the last drawing pin was in and Miss Summers had left the throng, the crowd surged forward. Lottie gripped Hannah’s arm and dragged her through the mass of bodies until they were close enough to see the typed sheet of paper on the board.
Peering through the gap between two heads, Hannah zoomed in on the word “Juliet”. Next to it was a name.
Miranda Hathaway.
A big stone settled in Hannah’s stomach.
So that was that.
Well, of course. She had known it all along, hadn’t she? Why had she even allowed herself to hope?
Lottie groaned. “How totally predictable.” She put her arm round Hannah and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Han. I really hoped she might – you know – overlook the piglet incident. That’s so unfair.”
People shoved and jostled behind them. “Let’s get out of here,” said Hannah.
“Just a minute.”
Lottie ran her finger down the sheet.
Down and down and down.
Right to the very bottom of the list.
There was a pause before she said, “So you’re a Capulet lady. Same as me.”
A Capulet lady. Miming at the back of the party scene. Just as she had thought.
They pushed back through the crowd to the other side of the foyer, outside the Head’s office.
“I’m so sorry, Hannah,” said Lottie again. “That is so unfair.”
Hannah’s insides felt very tight, but she shrugged. “Not really. Not everyone can get the main part, can they? I mean, you’re a Capulet lady, too.”
“But I only wanted a non-speaking part. You wanted a proper acting part. And you should have got it. You’re a miles better actress than Miranda. Can you imagine how unbearable she’s going to be for the next two months? And she doesn’t even deserve it. If only that piglet hadn’t got out…”
Hannah heaved a big sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“No. Sorry.”
There was a chorus of squeals from the notice board. Hannah looked round.
She immediately wished she hadn’t. A group of girls was jumping up and down, hugging the glossy-haired person at their centre. Miranda.
Miranda caught Hannah’s eye. She extracted herself from the group and, flicking her auburn mane over her shoulders, put on the expression that Hannah hated even more than her smug one – the head-on-one-side fake-sympathetic one.
“I’m so sorry you didn’t get the part, Hannah,” she cooed, as if speaking to a toddler. For a terrible moment, Hannah thought Miranda was actually going to pat her on the head.
Hannah smiled brightly. “Oh, that’s OK. I’m quite busy this term, anyway.”
Miranda nodded, a concerned frown on her face. “Aw, it’s sweet that you’re putting a brave face on it. But you must have known you wouldn’t get it. I mean, Juliet has to be beautiful, doesn’t she?”
“Miranda!” said Priya, who was standing nearby. “Don’t be so rude.”
Miranda turned to her, eyes wide with what seemed to be genuine surprise. “I wasn’t being rude. I was just telling the truth. And Hannah doesn’t mind, do you, Hannah?”
Before Hannah could form a reply, Poppy swooped down and enveloped Miranda in a hug.
“Yay for you, Mims! Juliet!”
“Aw, thanks, Pops.”
Linking arms with Poppy, Miranda sashayed away down the corridor as though a red carpet were being rolled out in front of her by uniformed footmen. Hannah was filled with an overwhelming desire to punch her.
“Told you,” said Jack’s voice.
Hannah looked round. But Jack wasn’t talking to her. The crowd around the notice board had thinned out and Jack was standing in front of the cast list with Jonah and Ben.
Jack clapped Ben on the back. “You’ll be a beautiful Romeo. It almost makes me cry just thinking about it.”
“I didn’t even notice who’d got the other parts,” said Lottie to Hannah. They joined the boys at the notice board.
Jonah pulled a face. “Miranda Hathaway as Juliet? Rather you than me, mate. You’d have been better off with Hannah.”
“I was rooting for the pig myself,” said Jack, “but Roberts would have been my second choice.”
“So Priya’s the prince,” said Lottie. “And Katy Jones is Lady Capulet.”
“Who’s Katy Jones?” asked Hannah.
“In Year 9. You know, really tall, with long dark hair. Goes around with Marie.”
“Who’s Marie?”
“She’s playing Juliet’s nurse. Quite small, with fuzzy blonde hair. Really blonde.”
“Oh, yes, I know who you mean.” Hannah looked at the board again. “So you’re Tybalt,” she said to Jonah.
“I have totally got the best part,” said Jonah.
Ben grinned at him. “But I get to kill you, remember?”
“Hmm. We might have to change that bit of the script.”
Miss Summers, who had been talking to a group of Kipling students, turned and smiled at them.
“Good morning, miss,” Jack said, with suspicious politeness. “Could I have a word about this cast list?”
Miss Summers looked wary. “You can have a word. But the list is final and I’m not going to discuss any casting decisions.”
“No, of course not, miss,” said Jack. “I’m just a bit concerned, that’s all.”
“Concerned?”
“Yes. About how the casting blatantly contravenes equal opportunities legislation.”
Hannah stared at Jack.
Miss Summers raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”
“I mean, this is meant to be a school, isn’t it? An educational establishment where all pupils are given equal opportunities. People with incontinent pigs and people without.”
Hannah’s cheeks burned. Would people never stop going on about that pig?
But Jack continued. “Just because a piglet happened to relieve itself on Roberts in the audition – which I agree was unfortunate – she’s been totally victimised. She doesn’t even get a speaking part. I call that blatant anti-piggist discr
imination.”
Miss Summers looked as though she was trying not to smile. Suddenly Hannah felt angry. It was unfair that the pig had messed up her audition. There was nothing remotely amusing about it.
The bell rang for registration.
“Off you go, all of you,” said Miss Summers. “And thank you for pointing that out to me, Jack. I’ll check the anti-discrimination laws.”
Oh, ha ha, thought Hannah. Hilarious.
Miss Summers walked off up the corridor. Hannah turned to Jack.
“Will you ever stop going on about that pig?”
“Hey, what are you getting at me for? I was sticking up for you. You wait. She’ll check those anti-piggist laws and then she’ll have to sack Miranda and make you Juliet.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, Lottie.”
But Lottie had drifted back to the notice board.
“I dunno, mate,” Jonah said to Jack. “It might all backfire. I reckon she’ll make the pig Juliet.”
Hannah’s frustrations boiled over. She wheeled around and glared at the boys.
“WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP ABOUT THAT BLASTED PIG!”
The door of the Head’s office opened. Mr Collins appeared in the doorway. When he saw Hannah, his eyebrows shot up.
There was a long pause during which he kept his eyebrows raised and his eyes locked on Hannah.
“Sorry, sir,” Hannah muttered eventually.
Mr Collins raised his eyebrows even further. Then he turned round, walked back into his office and shut the door behind him.
Hannah turned on Jonah and Jack.
“Oh, thanks very much, you two. Thanks a whole bunch.”
“What?” said Jack, with his most wide-eyed, innocent look. “It wasn’t us screaming abuse in the corridor.”
“Look,” said Lottie, pointing to the small print at the bottom of the cast list. “There’s a meeting for the whole cast tomorrow lunchtime, plus anyone who wants to be involved backstage.”
“That’s great,” said Hannah, trying to feel properly excited for her friend. “You’ll get to be costume designer for the whole show.”
“If she lets me.”
“Of course she’ll let you. You’re brilliant.”
“So do we all have to go to this meeting tomorrow?” asked Jonah, as they wandered up the corridor to their form rooms.
“Yes, you do,” said Miss Summers, passing them in the opposite direction, carrying a pile of exercise books. “I want everyone involved with the house plays to be there.” She glanced at Hannah. “I’ve got some important announcements to make.”
“Do you want to come to mine for tea?” asked Hannah, as they walked home.
“Depends,” said Lottie. “Not if it’s overcooked beans on burnt toast again.”
“Actually, it’s shepherd’s pie.”
“Did you make it?”
“No, Granny did.”
“Oh. In that case, yes please.”
“Sometimes,” said Hannah, “I don’t know why I’m even friends with you. Do you need to ask your mum?”
“No, she won’t be home for hours. I was only going to stick something in the microwave.”
Lottie’s mum worked in London and she was always too exhausted to cook when she got home. Lottie ate better food when she stayed with her dad, but that was only every other weekend and the occasional week night. Her parents had been divorced for years.
“You were lucky not to get detention,” said Lottie, as they crossed the road at the top of Elm Lane.
“I was lucky not to get suspended. Seeing how much he hates me.”
On the left of the farm track, the fields stretched away to the soft curves of the South Downs, hazy blue in the afternoon light. On the right-hand side North Meadow sloped down to a wide stream. Along the far bank of the stream grew a thick hedge of blackthorn, hawthorn, hazel and willow. Beyond the hedge, a patchwork of smaller fields rose to meet the ancient oak woods that marked the northern border of the farm. Ruby rosehips and deep-red hawthorn berries studded the hedgerows like jewels.
A pair of buzzards circled in the sky above North Meadow, looping and crossing each other in a complex dance. The air was alive with birdsong.
The girls left their bags on the freezer and walked into the kitchen. A buzz of conversation was coming from somewhere in the house. Hannah turned to Lottie, frowning.
“There’s people here.”
Lottie listened. “Sounds like quite a few people.”
“They must be in the sitting room.”
Hannah walked into the hall. Who could it be? The sitting room was never used except at Christmas.
The back door rattled open and slammed shut again with a force that could only mean Martha. Hannah heard the thud as Martha’s school bag was thrown down on the freezer. She must have been just behind them walking home, but she would never in a million years have been seen dead actually walking with them.
Martha came into the hall. She gave Hannah a contemptuous look.
“I said you didn’t stand a chance, didn’t I? I don’t know why you bothered.”
“Did you get a part in The Tempest?” asked Lottie.
“Of course. I’m a water spirit.”
“Well, Hannah got a part in Romeo and Juliet, too. A non-speaking part, same as you.”
“I’m only a spirit because Year 7s weren’t allowed the big parts. I’ll get the main part next year, you’ll see.”
She started up the stairs. Then she stopped, frowning.
“Who’s in the sitting room?”
Hannah shrugged. “You tell me.”
Martha marched to the door and flung it open. She stared in for a few seconds. Then she pulled the door shut and swung round to face Hannah and Lottie. She looked as though she was about to throw up.
“I said he’d joined a dating agency, didn’t I? Have a look in there. He’s gone and invited every tragic loser on uglybride.com to our house, and he’s giving them tea and cake.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Lottie.
“He had that woman round the other day and now he’s got a crowd of them here. He must have realised he had no chance with anyone young or good-looking. This lot’s ancient. Take a look.”
She opened the door again. “Ugh. Disgusting.”
“Martha,” called Dad, “if you’re hanging around in the doorway, make yourself useful, will you, and fill up this teapot.”
“No way,” said Martha. “They’re not my mum.”
She turned on her heel and stormed up the stairs. They heard her bedroom door open and then slam shut.
Dad appeared in the doorway, holding a teapot. He was wearing his best jacket again. He frowned at Martha’s bedroom door. “What was that about?”
“I’ll make the tea, Dad,” said Hannah, taking the teapot from his hand. “Come on, Lottie.”
“Why are we making tea for them?” asked Lottie, as Hannah pulled her towards the kitchen.
“I need to know what’s going on in there.”
“You don’t really think he’s joined a dating agency, do you?”
“No. But what are they doing? It’s so weird. He has never, ever invited people round for tea before. Ever.”
“Except that woman the other day.”
“Exactly. And now this. We have to find out what’s going on. If we go round pouring tea, we can listen to what they’re saying.”
When Hannah walked into the sitting room with the teapot, the scene before her was even more bizarre than she had imagined.
Somebody – not Dad, surely? – had laid the little round table in the middle of the room with a white, floor-length linen tablecloth, perfectly ironed. In the centre of the table was a three-tier china cake stand which Hannah had never seen before, filled with cupcakes and biscuits and slices of buttered fruit loaf. Hannah’s mouth watered at the sight of them. It was almost enough to distract her from the even more extraordinary sight of her dad sitting in an armchair in his best jacket, holding a sa
ucer and drinking tea from one of her mother’s antique cups and chatting animatedly with a group of strange middle-aged women.
As Hannah stood there, transfixed, another woman burst into the room like a tornado of enthusiasm. She had a cloud of fuzzy brown hair and wide brown eyes. She wore a long loose dress that looked as though she had made it herself from an old pair of curtains.
“It’s amazing!” she exclaimed. “Incredible! These fields are an absolute treasure trove! You’ve got sneezewort, devil’s-bit scabious, dyer’s greenweed, creeping willow, carnation sedge – so many rare species. These meadows can’t have been ploughed in hundreds of years.”
Who was she? Had she come here to find a husband with a farm full of exciting botanical specimens?
“They haven’t,” said Dad. “There’s a hundred and forty acres of permanent pasture here, full of rare flora and fauna.”
The fuzzy-haired woman made appreciative murmurs.
Another woman shunted her chair across to join the conversation. Was there going to be a fight over Dad? Hannah couldn’t imagine that this lady was husband-hunting. She looked very nice, but she must be at least seventy.
“It’s an incredibly important site,” she said.
“It’s a completely unique environment,” said an intense-looking woman with a severe dark bob. “It’s absolutely vital that it’s preserved.”
“They’re clever,” murmured Lottie to Hannah as she glided past with the cake stand. “Saying all the things your dad likes to hear.”
“And the rare breeds,” chipped in a woman with a kind, round face and windblown hair. “Large Black and Middle White pigs, Southdown sheep, all sorts of rare poultry…”
“Ooh, great tactic,” whispered Lottie. “Praising his animals. That’s the winner.” She set the cake stand down on the table.
“And we’re just starting a herd of Sussex cattle,” said Dad. “Took delivery of the first calves last week.”
Another woman, wearing a yellow shirt and an earnest expression, leaned across. “And don’t forget that it might well be an important site archaeologically. There’s strong evidence that there was a medieval hunting lodge here.”
“Mmm,” murmured Lottie, busying herself with folding napkins. “Not such a good move. He’ll go for the one who likes his pigs.”
