Kira Dreaming

by Belinda Murrell

  ‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘I’ll talk to the girls and let you know.’

  Mrs Beecham took my hand and squeezed it. ‘Remember, just think positive thoughts,’ she said. ‘Our artistic director always said “act as though you’re confident and you’ll look as though you are confident”. Otherwise known as fake it ’til you make it!’

  That made me laugh. ‘Thanks, Mrs Beecham,’ I said. ‘I’ll ask the girls now.’

  As I expected, the girls were super-excited that we had a second chance to perform. I told them everything that Mrs Beecham had said. We needed concert costumes and we needed them fast. We spent the rest of recess huddled in a corner talking about what we had to do. Lunchtime was spent in the library researching costume ideas.

  There was nothing for it but to call an emergency Sassy Sisters meeting. This time we chose Cici’s house so we could take advantage of her mum’s storeroom full of fabrics. The four of us raced there straight after school, stopping in at the cafe and Meg’s yacht so we could let our parents know what we were planning. Charlie phoned her mum from Cici’s place.

  Cici’s mum was out at a client fitting, so Cici phoned her to get permission to raid her material store. Luckily, Nathalie said we could help ourselves to anything we needed. Cici’s dad was home, cooking in the kitchen with Cici’s brother, Will. Eric was teaching Will how to make prawn dumplings with dipping sauce. The kitchen was filled with the sweet and spicy smells of brown sugar, sesame, soy sauce and chilli. Will was frowning with concentration as he wrapped the delicate dumplings.

  The four of us gathered in the sunny studio, standing around the big antique table that Nathalie used as a desk. The room had French doors that opened onto a paved terrace with star jasmine growing over the trellis and terra cotta pots overflowing with pink geraniums.

  One wall was covered with a giant black fabric mood board, with fashion photographs, swatches of material and pencil sketches pinned up. Two headless mannequins stood in one corner, wearing dresses in bold floral prints.

  We had printed a collection of photos of costumes that we’d found on the internet at lunchtime. Meg spread the prints out on the table.

  ‘Which one do you like best?’ asked Meg.

  ‘I think this one’s my favourite,’ said Cici, tapping one of the pictures. ‘It’s fun and colourful and looks simple to make.’

  The photo showed four girls posing closely together, wearing black T-shirts with black leggings and sneakers. Over the top of their leggings, each girl wore a fluffy tutu in different rainbow colours. On their heads they wore tiaras covered in sparkly diamantes.

  ‘Black leggings and tops will be super-easy,’ I said. ‘We all have those.’

  ‘The tutus are adorable,’ said Charlie. ‘But can we really make them ourselves?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Cici, pulling out a set of instructions she had copied from the website. ‘We don’t even need to sew them. All we need is a wide ribbon to go around our waists, and then strips of tulle to knot onto the ribbon in whatever colour we fancy.’

  We all read Cici’s instructions.

  Cici found a measuring tape and some pairs of fabric scissors in the top drawer of the desk.

  ‘Come with me, girls,’ she said.

  The room next to Nathalie’s studio was a large storage room with floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with plastic tubs, cardboard boxes and roll upon roll of fabrics in every colour you could imagine. There were also rollaway racks laden with clothes on hangers. It was a fashionista’s treasure trove.

  Cici filled our arms with rolls of tulle, spools of satin ribbon, a box of silk flowers and remnants of iridescent silky fabrics in shimmering silver, icy-blue and opal-white.

  ‘I love this peacock-blue,’ said Meg, stroking the stiff tulle with her fingers.

  ‘I can’t decide between this mossy-green and the hot-pink,’ said Charlie, as we walked back into the studio.

  ‘You could mix two or three colours together if you want,’ said Cici with a grin. ‘Let’s experiment.’

  We laid the different tulle colours out on the table and mixed and matched them with various ribbons, colours and decorations until we had each decided what we wanted. Cici was our fashion advisor.

  In the end Meg chose summery colours of opal-white and yellow, with a cluster of yellow and pink frangipanis at the waist. Charlie went with green to match the colour of her eyes, with three blue cornflowers pinned on the waistband. Cici chose bold, flame colours of red, orange and yellow, which looked dramatic with her black hair. I couldn’t decide. In the end I chose sea colours of turquoise and peacock-blue with glints of shimmering silver.

  Now it was time to make our skirts. Firstly, we each had to cut a long strip of satin ribbon. Mine was cream. The ribbon had to be long enough to go around our waist and then tie in a pretty bow at the back. We measured the ribbon and tied a tiny knot on each side to show our waist measurements.

  Then we had to cut our tulle. We used the measuring tape to see how long we wanted our skirts to be. Cici wanted hers quite short and frothy, whereas Meg wanted hers to be longer and feathery.

  We cut the tulle into lots of narrow strips. It took ages!

  ‘Remember to measure twice and cut once,’ Cici warned us. ‘We don’t want to make mistakes and waste the material.’

  Then Cici showed us how to attach the tulle strips onto the waistband. Each strip was folded in half to create a loop. We neatly threaded the ends of the tulle around the ribbon and through the loop, securing them to the waistband. This was the really fun part as the tutu took shape quickly. When the ribbon was completely full of tulle strips between the two marker knots, we tried them on.

  The skirts were stiff and springy, floating about as we twirled and pranced.

  ‘They look brilliant,’ I said, spinning in a pirouette, just to see my tutu swirl out.

  Charlie jumped up and down, playing air guitar.

  ‘I can’t believe we made them ourselves,’ said Meg, capering around the room. ‘They look so professional.’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Cici, examining each tutu. ‘Just a couple of finishing touches to go.’

  Cici used safety pins to attach the artificial frangipanis to the front of Meg’s tutu, then the three blue cornflowers to Charlie’s waistband. With mine, she knotted on some floaty pieces of silver material, which glimmered in the light as I moved.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Cici. ‘Now we just have to decide on our headwear.’

  We packed up all the materials and put them away in the storeroom. All the snips and scraps went in the bin and the scissors away in the top drawer. Then, when everything was back to normal, we went to Cici’s room with its filmy white curtains, polka-dot quilt cover and the quirky white reindeer head on the wall. A long bank of built-in wardrobes took up the far wall. This is where Cici kept all her fabulous fashion. She opened a drawer that was neatly stacked with hair accessories – ribbons, clips, headbands, tiaras, scrunchies and flower crowns. Her fingers flew over the treasure trove, picking out several items that she thought would work.

  ‘Help yourself, girls,’ said Cici, placing them on the dressing table. We tried on different headbands with our hair all flowing and loose. It was hard to choose.

  At last we decided on a garland of blue cornflowers for Charlie, frangipanis for Meg, a circlet of tiny pearls for me and a diamante tiara for Cici the Flame Queen. We looked at ourselves in Cici’s full-length mirror.

  ‘You all look gorgeous,’ said Charlie.

  ‘So do you,’ I said.

  Cici put on her most theatrical voice. ‘Ladies and gentlemen – I give you the Sassy Sisters!’

  I felt a thrill of excitement.

  Cici picked up her guitar. ‘Let’s do it.’

  My costume made me feel completely different. When Cici started to play the opening chords, I grabbed her hairbrush off the dressing table, opened my mouth and sang with gusto.

  It was just like all the times when we mucked around together, singing
our favourite songs for fun. If only I could capture this feeling when we sang in the concert tomorrow.

  We could be brilliant. Now we just needed to come up with an idea to make our stage presence sparkle.

  The solution came to me in a flash of inspiration in the middle of the night. I sat up suddenly and bumped my head on the caravan roof. Oh, I couldn’t wait to sleep in a proper bedroom!

  My idea came from Harry asking Bella to be in his magic act. The solution was simple. What if we combined our ‘Kira Dreaming’ singing act with the Fabulous Five’s ‘Kira Dreaming’ dancing and gymnastics routine? Tash, of course, couldn’t dance but perhaps she could sit on a stool and sing with us.

  Surely the other girls could adapt their performance to fill in the section in the middle which had been for Tash’s dramatic solo. The gym girls were all beautiful dancers and skilled at memorising choreography. I was certain they could improvise.

  I couldn’t wait to get to school to ask the other girls what they thought.

  When I woke up again in the morning, the caravan was strangely quiet. Mum, Bella, Harry and Summer were all gone. Mum had probably gone to the cafe as usual. She must have taken Smudge with her in her crate. But where were the others?

  I padded out to the garden in my pyjamas and bare feet. Sounds of muffled laughter came from the garage. I recognised Bella’s giggle. But what were they doing in the garage so early in the morning?

  I opened the garage door and went inside. Papa, Harry and Summer were standing beside a fabulous contraption. Summer rushed to greet me, licking my bare toes and ankles with puppy kisses.

  In the middle of the garage was a rectangular box, taller than me. It was painted in a deep midnight-blue with mystical silver stars and moons scattered over it. Harry was standing in front of the box, wearing his top hat and magician’s cape over his blue pyjamas. Bella was nowhere to be seen. This must be the magic disappearing box that Papa and Harry had built together.

  ‘Good morning, Pippa,’ said Papa with a warm smile. ‘Have you come to see Harry’s latest creation?’

  ‘It looks professional,’ I replied. ‘Is Bella inside it?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Harry. ‘Bella, I’m opening the door to show Pippa.’

  He took hold of a silver handle on the front of the box and pulled. The side of the box opened on hinges like a door. Bella was standing inside the box dressed in her orange-and-black tiger onesie.

  She jiggled up and down with excitement. ‘It works, Pippa. It really works.’

  ‘Come out, Bella, so we can show Pippa the act,’ said Harry.

  Bella skipped out of the box and stood beside me. The inside of the box was painted black, making it look shadowy and mysterious.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Harry, in his magician stage voice. ‘As you can see, the box is completely empty.’

  ‘There’s no gentle-men, only gentle-man,’ interrupted Bella, pointing at Papa.

  Harry ignored her.

  ‘Now, I need a volunteer from the audience,’ said Harry, standing in front of the box and waving his wand about. ‘I will make that person magically disappear.’

  Bella stuck her hand in the air and jumped up and down. ‘Me. Me. Choose me.’

  ‘Could you please come to the stage, young lady,’ said Harry, beckoning with his hand.

  Bella bounded up to stand beside him.

  ‘And what’s your name?’ asked Harry, taking her hand and shaking it.

  ‘You already know my name,’ said Bella, pouting. ‘I’m your sister.’

  Harry glared at Bella.

  ‘My name’s Isabella Hamilton,’ said Bella, meekly.

  ‘Now, don’t be frightened, Isabella,’ said Harry. ‘I am Harry the Marvellous Magician and I am going to make you disappear, but I almost always manage to bring people back.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Bella. ‘I’m not scared.’

  ‘Step into the box,’ ordered Harry.

  Bella skipped inside the box and turned around so she was facing us. She waved and jiggled. Harry closed the door with a great flourish, shutting Bella inside. He took his wand and gestured in the air.

  ‘Abracadabra. Alakazam!’ cried Harry. ‘Make this marvellous maiden magically melt away.’

  He tapped the door with his wand three times. Then he flung the door open. ‘Tada.’

  The box inside was completely empty. Bella had disappeared.

  ‘Bravo,’ said Papa, clapping his hands. ‘Perfectly done.’

  ‘Where is she?’ I asked, thinking fast. ‘I know. There’s another door at the back of the box and she’s escaped. I bet she’s hiding there.’

  I ran around the back of the box but Bella wasn’t crouched there. Summer sniffed around the base of the box and barked. She was as confused as I was.

  I came back to the front of the box. Harry preened, looking very pleased with himself.

  ‘If you’re quite ready?’ he asked.

  I nodded.

  He tapped the box once and opened the door. There was no one there. Harry smacked his forehead in fake frustration.

  ‘Of course. I forgot the magic spell.’

  He closed the door, waved his wand and cried, ‘Abracadabra. Alakazam! Make this magical maiden return again.’

  Harry opened the door. There was Bella, grinning from ear to ear. She pounced out of the box with a roar.

  Harry and Bella took a bow. Papa and I both clapped our hardest.

  ‘What a fabulous act,’ I said. ‘That’s even better than what you did at the audition.’

  ‘I know,’ said Harry. ‘Bella’s done a great job of mastering the illusion.’

  Bella beamed with happiness.

  ‘Well, that’s enough rehearsal for now,’ said Papa. ‘It’s time you three got dressed for school. I’m going to make you my famous poached eggs and avocado on toast, so don’t be too long.’

  The three of us scrambled back to the caravan to get ready.

  Bella and Harry were ready first and they ran off to eat breakfast in the cottage. I was just leaving the caravan myself when I heard a funny vibrating noise coming from the shelf near Mum and Bella’s double bed.

  Mum had left her phone behind.

  I looked at the display. It read Andrew Hamilton. My heart sank. It was Dad again.

  Should I answer it? I still felt angry with him.

  It seemed as though the phone vibrated more urgently. I picked it up.

  ‘Hello? Dad?’ I said.

  ‘Pippa, sweetheart. Is that you?’ came my dad’s familiar voice.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  There was an awkward pause.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Dad, trying to be cheery.

  ‘Getting ready for school,’ I said. ‘Papa’s just made breakfast.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Dad. ‘And what about Bella and Harry?’

  ‘They’re getting ready for school too,’ I said.

  ‘I see. I was hoping to speak to them.’ Dad was sounding desperate again.

  ‘They’re in the cottage,’ I said. ‘Eating poached eggs on toast.’ Then I felt sorry for Dad. He was trying. He missed us too.

  So I decided to tell Dad about Harry’s magic box that he’d made with Papa and the disappearing act he’d practised with Bella.

  ‘That sounds marvellous,’ said Dad, wistfully. ‘I wish I could see that.’

  ‘It’s for the VIP concert on Friday,’ I said. ‘And I’m performing a song with my friends.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be fantastic,’ said Dad.

  ‘Well, the audition didn’t go very well,’ I admitted. I told Dad all about my stage fright.

  ‘Poor Pippa,’ he said. ‘That sounds like a total disaster.’

  ‘It was,’ I said. ‘And I’m scared I’ll freeze all over again on Friday.’

  ‘I used to get terribly nervous before all my presentations,’ confessed Dad. That surprised me! When he had his own business, Dad had to present important information to clients all the time. I’d often
seen him practising in front of the mirror at home. He’d always seemed calm and confident.

  ‘Did you?’ I asked. ‘Harry said you told him to imagine everyone in the audience was sitting in their underwear.’

  Dad laughed. ‘Harry told you that, did he? Well, I have a couple of other tricks that might help you.’

  ‘Like what?’ I asked.

  ‘I find it helps to do some exercise before the performance, like stretching or going for a quick walk to burn up all that nervous energy,’ suggested Dad. ‘Take lots of deep breaths to help calm yourself down just before you start.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ I said.

  Dad paused on the other end of the line. ‘I know this sounds funny, but the thing that helps me the most is to stand really tall with my arms and legs stretched out like a starfish. Can you do that?’

  I wrinkled my nose in total disbelief. Then I held the phone to one ear while I planted my feet wide apart and stretched the other arm up in the air. I stretched myself taller.

  ‘Yes, I’m doing it,’ I said.

  ‘Make yourself as tall as you possibly can and say to yourself, “I am ten feet tall and bolder than I’ve ever been. I’m going to smash this performance!”’

  I stretched even taller. ‘I am ten feet tall and bolder than I have ever been. I’m going to smash this performance!’

  I laughed out loud to imagine how ridiculous I must look and sound.

  ‘And that’s the secret of how to turn yourself from a timid mouse with stage fright into a superhero performer,’ said Dad.

  Dad was right. I did feel stronger and more confident.

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said, and I really meant it. ‘I’d better go. Papa’s eggs will be getting cold.’

  ‘Bye, Pippa,’ said Dad. ‘I love you.’

  ‘Love you, too, Dad,’ I said. I hung up, but before I went to the cottage for breakfast I decided there was one thing I needed to do.