by Poppy Harris
Bethany stretched up on tiptoe to see over the heads of the crowd until she saw Chloe’s neat blonde head. Struggling through the masses of parents and children, they managed to meet in the middle of the hall. As her best friend came nearer, Bethany could see the frown of anxiety on Chloe’s face. Her eyes and nose were pink. ‘You nervous?’ Bethany asked.
For a moment, Chloe said nothing. When she did speak, her voice was a hoarse whisper, so quiet that Bethany had to lower her head to hear her.
‘Sorry,’ she croaked. ‘My voice has gone. I can hardly speak. Can’t sing a note. You’ll have to sing…’ Her voice faded to nothing, but Bethany knew what the sentence would have been: ‘You’ll have to sing by yourself.’
Bethany’s heart sank. This was terrible – she couldn’t perform by herself! But she knew she mustn’t let Chloe know how disappointed she was – it wasn’t Chloe’s fault she was unwell, after all.
‘Oh, poor Chloe,’ said Bethany, and hugged her. ‘I’m sorry you can’t sing. You just get better.’
‘Poor you,’ whispered Chloe.
‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ said Bethany. ‘I’ll be OK. We’ll have to tell Miss Fossett.’
But Bethany didn’t feel OK at all as they went to talk to Miss Fossett. She felt sick with nerves. I wish I’d never agreed to sing the stupid song, she thought, as she wove her way through the hall. Her hand rested on the comforting shape of Hamilton in her bag.
Bethany soon saw that they weren’t the only ones waiting for Miss Fossett. A crowd of small children pressed around her, all asking questions and wanting help with their costumes. Parents queued with questions to ask. And there, on the stage, lay something that looked like an enormous white doughnut, or sparkly mashed potato.
Someone was tugging at her sleeve, and she looked down to see Sam. His mouth was tight, and his face pale with anger.
‘That’s my costume!’ he growled. ‘That stupid white thing!’
‘I thought you said it was lost!’ said Bethany.
‘It was,’ he muttered. ‘They found it.’
‘Pity,’ she said. ‘Where did they find it?’
‘Ar… cud,’ he mumbled.
‘Where?’
‘Art cupboard,’ he said. ‘The one in my classroom.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Bethany. If Sam was going to hide things, he’d have to think of somewhere better than the art cupboard. ‘You can’t possibly do your somersaults in that,’ she said.
‘I know,’ said Sam. ‘I wish I could just lose it properly again without anybody noticing.’
He slumped into an angry silence, and Bethany couldn’t think of anything to make him feel better. It was difficult to think about anything but the fact she had to sing by herself now. Her hands shook and she felt a bit sick, so she slipped her hand into her bag, reaching for Hamilton.
He wasn’t there.
For a moment, Bethany couldn’t breathe. Shaking, her hand closed on the cool, smooth shape of her phone, and she read the text.
BUSY. C U SOON. DON’T WORRY. H.
Not again! thought Bethany. She wasn’t often cross with Hamilton, but hadn’t she told him not to go anywhere this evening?
‘All mobile phones switched off!’ called Miss Fossett, looking over at her, but then she caught sight of Bethany’s face, and left the parents to talk to her. ‘Bethany, what’s the matter? You’re not ill, too, are you? Chloe doesn’t look at all well.’
‘No, Miss,’ said Bethany. ‘It’s just… it’s just that Chloe can’t sing tonight. She hasn’t any voice at all, and, please, Miss, I can’t do it alone with all those people staring at me!’
‘Now, Bethany, Chloe being ill is no excuse,’ exclaimed Miss Fossett. ‘Just imagine that they’re not staring at you at all. Think of something happy and take a few deep breaths. I will be most disappointed if you don’t sing tonight. And if you do, you can be very proud of yourself, and your family will be proud of you too. You can do it.’
Bethany thought of the afternoons she’d spent practising with Chloe, with Hamilton conducting and guiding her. She thought of Chloe, who would blame herself for being ill if Bethany didn’t sing alone, and of her parents, who had looked forward to this.
Hamilton had looked forward to it, too. He’d be so disappointed if she didn’t sing. For Hamilton – wherever he had got to! – and for Chloe, she must forget about all those people, and concentrate on every note and every word instead. She would sing her sweetest and best. She took a few deep breaths, and softly sang a few bars to herself to make sure that the song was still in her head.
‘OK, Miss,’ she said.
‘Brave girl,’ said Miss Fossett. ‘Now, I have to make sure the Year Threes are ready.’
Bethany brushed her hair and worked her way back towards the stage, glancing from side to side in the hope of catching a glimpse of Hamilton. Parents were taking their seats and leafing through their programmes. Children were in organized groups of stars, angels, snowflakes, robins and carol singers. She slipped her hand into her pocket, hoping desperately that Hamilton might have jumped back in without her noticing, but there was nothing there except a tissue and a pound coin.
Hamilton! Please! she thought. Where are you?
Bethany was suddenly distracted from her search for Hamilton by the sound of gasps of surprise coming from the stage.
She worked her way through the crowd to see Miss Fossett standing in front of the stage holding all that was left of Sam’s costume. Bits of fluff floated to the floor. A steady trickle of polystyrene pellets fell from one corner. Stuffing bulged from a torn seam. Loose threads trailed down. A button dropped off and landed on the floor with a ping.
From the corner of her eye, Bethany saw Sam trying not to grin and failing. Miss Fossett turned to him with her eyebrows raised.
‘Miss, I don’t know what happened,’ he said, still unable to keep the smile off his face. ‘It wasn’t me.’
‘He’s been with me all the time,’ said Mum. ‘It really wasn’t anything to do with Sam. Do you get mice in here?’
‘Certainly not!’ said Miss Fossett.
But you might have a hamster, Bethany thought. She pressed her hands to her mouth to hide her smile.
‘Maybe it was already damaged, and we didn’t notice,’ said Miss Fossett. ‘That must be it. We definitely don’t have any rodents in here.’
Miss Fossett turned to Sam.
‘Well, Sam, I’m most disappointed,’ she said. ‘As it is, you’ll just have to change into…’
‘My white PE kit?’ suggested Sam helpfully.
‘That’ll have to do,’ she sighed. ‘Run and get changed.’
Sam exchanged a quick high five with Bethany while Miss Fossett wasn’t looking. Then he dashed away before Miss Fossett could think of something else silly for him to wear.
‘I’ll help you tidy up the mess, Miss!’ said Bethany, and she quickly gathered together the scraps of Sam’s wrecked costume. Hamilton must be in there somewhere.
Hamilton had just discovered how much fun Christmas concerts could be. He’d not only solved Sam’s problem, but he now had a supply of snowflakes that would make the most spectacular Christmas Bethany had ever seen. With his pouches crammed with fluff, and stuffing on top of his head, he looked out from the remains of Sam’s costume that Bethany was clutching, waved a paw at her and ducked down again.
‘I’ll put this in the classroom bin, Miss,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I’ll only be a minute.’
‘It’s all right now,’ Bethany whispered at the pile of scraps in her arms. She went into the nearest classroom and closed the door. ‘There’s nobody else here.’ Hamilton popped up, looking very pleased with himself and cleaning glitter from his whiskers. ‘Hamilton, I was very worried about you! I didn’t know where you were!’
Hamilton tucked his head down on his chest and looked up sheepishly at her, as if apologizing. But he knew she wasn’t really cross, and she knew he wasn’t really sorry. It didn’t se
em to matter.
‘All the same,’ she said, ‘Sam’s so happy! You’re brilliant.’
Hamilton nodded. He couldn’t help it – it was true, after all. And he’d enjoyed chewing up that costume.
Bethany was about to throw the fluff in the bin, when Hamilton folded his claws tightly round her finger and shook his head. He needed that!
‘You want to keep it?’ she said. ‘OK. I suppose you want to nest in it.’ She stuffed the bits of costume into her bag, and Hamilton wriggled down among them.
‘We have to go into the hall now,’ said Bethany, ‘so I’ll have to turn the phone off soon. The concert starts in five minutes.’
The destruction of Sam’s costume had taken her mind off the concert for a moment. But as she thought of the waiting audience and the stage, fear trickled through her again.
‘Oh, Hamilton,’ she said, and stroked him. ‘I’m so scared! You heard about Chloe losing her voice?’
Hamilton nodded.
‘I said I’d sing by myself,’ she went on. ‘But I’m terrified. It was all right when there were two of us. I’ll be all by myself, with all those people – all of them, and only one of me! I feel ill just thinking about it!’
Hamilton ran up her arm and rubbed his face against hers. She tried to hold him, but he ran back to the phone.
I’LL COME WITH U IN YR POCKET IF U LIKE, he offered.
For a moment, Bethany hesitated. He’d already had two adventures that day, and worried her sick both times. But at least, with Hamilton in her pocket, she’d know where he was and then she wouldn’t feel so alone on stage.
‘Yes, please,’ she said. ‘I’ll feel much better with you in my pocket.’ Feeling a bit better already, Bethany switched off the phone and walked back into the hall, past the rows of snowflakes and robins, to her seat beside the stage.
‘Bethany,’ said Miss Fossett. ‘What do you have in your pocket? It’s bulging!’
‘I’ve got a packet of tissues in it, Miss,’ she said, and didn’t mention that she had a hamster in there, too. ‘Just in case I’m catching Chloe’s cold.’
‘I hope you’re not!’ said Miss Fossett.
The Year Three choir sang. Somebody read a poem. The snowballing children did their dance, with Sam in his white shorts and T-shirt rolling, somersaulting and tumbling with a huge smile on his face, but Bethany couldn’t quite enjoy it. Her moment was coming closer, and anxiety gnawed at her stomach. She took deep breaths. The robins danced, then the recorder group played their carol suite, while in Bethany’s pocket, Hamilton tapped out the rhythm with a claw – then it was her turn. She stood up.
‘It’s you and me, Hamilton,’ she whispered.
The light on the stage was bright, and the audience sat in darkness. That helped. She couldn’t see the faces clearly. At the back of the hall, above the heads of the audience, was a clock with silver Christmas angels around it.
Miss Fossett sat ready at the piano. With her hands folded in front of her, Bethany could feel the edge of her pocket against her wrist, and reminded herself that Hamilton was in there. She nodded at Miss Fossett, who gave her the first note, then fixed her eyes on the topmost angel and began to sing.
‘How far is it to Bethlehem? Not very far.
Shall we find the stable room, lit by a star?’
She listened to the piano and to her own voice as she sang, keeping in time and staying in tune. The first three lines were over, then the first verse. She was concentrating so hard that in a moment of blank panic she realized she’d forgotten the next line – Oh, help – it’s something to do with babies – rhymes with ‘sheep’. Oh, yes…
‘May we peep like them and see Jesus asleep?’
But that moment had shaken her confidence. They all noticed, she thought. I came in a tiny bit late and they must have noticed. Her throat tightened and her voice wasn’t as strong as it had been. Pull yourself together, Bethany, she told herself. She sang on.
‘Will he know we’ve come so far, just for his sake?’
But Hamilton had heard that quaver in her voice. Bethany needed his help. It was all right when there were two of us. That’s what she’d said. He had an idea.
Still singing, Bethany slipped her hand into her pocket to calm Hamilton, who seemed to be trying to get out. He ran up her arm and on to her shoulder.
‘Ooh!’ said all the audience. There was a rustle as everyone leant forward to look, and Bethany knew at once what Hamilton was doing. All eyes were on him now. Nobody was looking at her any more. She smiled in her song, remembering that she had told Hamilton she would sing for him. She lifted him down from her shoulder and held him on the palm of her hand, level with her face, as she sang in her strongest voice:
‘For all weary children…’
When her last note faded, there was a silence that seemed to last for hours, so Bethany didn’t know what to do next. Then the applause and cheering began, and Bethany bowed, holding Hamilton before her in her cupped hands. Hamilton nearly bowed too, but remembered just in time that this might give away his secret – so he stood still in Bethany’s hands and hoped that he looked ordinary. He didn’t even wave as Bethany walked back to her place, held him to her cheek and whispered, ‘You star!’
The children in the Nativity play trooped on to the stage to take their places, straining on tiptoe and tripping over their costumes as they tried to see if Hamilton was still there. But Bethany had slipped him quietly back into her pocket.
At the end of the concert, friends and family clustered round Bethany. Everyone wanted to know how she had trained the hamster, and why she hadn’t told anyone about bringing him to the concert. Children were asking if they could teach their hamsters to do that. Chloe hugged her, and asked her, in a raspy whisper, why she hadn’t let her in on the secret.
‘I didn’t mean it to happen like that,’ Bethany whispered back. ‘I brought him because I was nervous. Hamilton did the rest.’
‘Well done, Hammy,’ said Chloe. Bethany and Hamilton exchanged glances. Hammy! It wasn’t much better than Fluffpot.
Parents were gathering their children and taking them home. As they walked out to the car park, everyone was talking about That Hamster.
Tim Taverner had been working late that evening. He had taken to driving home at night by way of Spinhill, where Bethany and Chloe lived, and past the school. Always, his tracking device was switched on, just in case the hamster was anywhere near. One day, he might just get the chance to snatch it.
He had almost driven past the school when he saw that the lights were on, and people were leaving. There must be something happening there this evening – some sort of Christmas do. He wasn’t sure which school Bethany and Chloe went to, but this one seemed likely. He parked outside the school gates (which wasn’t allowed) and wound down the window to hear what people were saying as they walked away.
‘Brilliant concert,’ said one. ‘That hamster!’
Tim squeaked, and jumped in his seat.
‘Mum, can I have a hamster?’ said a child.
‘However did she train it?’ wondered someone out loud. ‘It was as good as gold.’
‘It can’t have been a real one,’ said someone else. ‘It must have had batteries.’
With shaking hands, Tim opened the glovebox and took out the tracking device. There was no signal, but that might just mean that something was blocking it, or that he wasn’t quite near enough yet. If the microspecked hamster had been in the school, it might still be there. Hastily, he got out of the car and strode through the school gates.
What made it harder for him was that, while everybody else was trying to get out of the school, Tim was desperate to get in. He struggled through the crowds, weaving and elbowing his way with mutters of ‘Excuse me’, and ‘I need to get through’. It was almost impossible, so he’d have to go round the crowds, not through them.
‘Careful,’ called a teacher. ‘There’s a…’
Tim’s feet slid away from under him.
<
br /> ‘… slippery patch there,’ finished the teacher, as Tim fell and sped backwards across the ice towards the open gate. People rushed to help, but Tim was travelling much faster than they were, and beyond the gate was the main road.
It was a good thing that Tim had parked his car at the school gates (which was absolutely not allowed), because it gave him something to crash into. In only a few seconds he had remembered who he was and where he was. After that he soon worked out which way was up, so he rubbed his head and tried to stand. It wasn’t easy, because the crowd had finally caught up and gathered about him. A lot of people were talking at once, saying things like, ‘Keep down now, keep your head down’ and ‘Are you hurt?’ and ‘Do you feel faint?’
Tim put his hand to the back of his head. He had hit it against the car, not hard enough to knock himself out, but enough to hurt and make him a bit dizzy. It was hard to concentrate.
‘He’s banged his head,’ said someone. ‘That could be serious. I’m calling an ambulance.’
‘Don’t need one,’ muttered Tim.
‘Yes, you do,’ said a woman with a phone in her hand. ‘You need to see a doctor.’
‘I am a doctor,’ said Tim.
‘He thinks he’s a doctor,’ said the woman with the phone. ‘He’s definitely not well.’
‘Maybe he really is a doctor,’ said someone else, and knelt beside Tim. ‘Are you a doctor, love?’
‘Not that sort of doctor,’ said Tim, still struggling and failing to get up. He tried to say that he had a doctorate in applied artificial intelligence, but it was too hard. ‘I’m another kind of doctor.’
‘Is he Doctor Who?’ asked a little boy excitedly. ‘Mum, is he Doctor Who?’
Tim struggled to remember what he was looking for. ‘Hamster,’ he said. ‘Micro… thing…’ and when the ambulance arrived, the bystanders were ready to explain that he’d had a nasty bang on the head and thought his name was Dr Hamster. They said he’d probably got hamsters into his head because he’d heard them talking about the one in the school concert.