by Jean Ure
I asked Mia how it felt, to be coming back to the town where she grew up and where, as she herself has admitted, life was not always easy. She agrees that it wasn’t, but says that that is all behind her.
“I can look back now and remember the good times, not just the bad.”
I ask her what the good times were, and she says, “Mainly school. I went to Hillcrest and I made lots of really great friends there, though I didn’t always behave as well as I should. I used to get into lots of trouble for talking too much and not paying attention. I was a bit of a naughty girl in those days!”
And the bad times? She doesn’t shy away from the question.
“The bad times,” she says, “were being in a children’s home and then with foster parents. We didn’t really get on. I can see now that it was probably my fault as much as theirs, but we had absolutely nothing in common and it made for a very difficult few years.”
“I believe you actually left home when you were only sixteen?”
“Yes, I did.”
“That’s a very young age to strike out on your own.”
“I just felt like I had no alternative. Something happened… I got into a bit of trouble. I knew I couldn’t turn to my foster parents. I was desperate! I had to get away.”
“Can I ask where you went?”
“I didn’t really go anywhere, in the sense of heading for any particular place. To start off with, I just drifted, until in the end I found my way to London. Inevitable, really.” She pulls a face. “Where else does a runaway go? We all think the streets there are paved with gold.”
“But you survived.”
“I think I had a certain toughness which made me grit my teeth and just get on with things. I scraped a living. I worked in clubs, I worked in shops… One thing I was determined not to do, and that was to give up and go crawling back home with my tail between my legs. Little did I think…” She laughs, a rich gurgle of amusement. “Little did I think that one day I’d be returning as a minor celeb!”
I say, “Not so minor,” and she shrugs a shoulder.
I ask her if she had always wanted to be a singer. She says that she always made a lot of noise. “I don’t know if you’d call it singing!” But then she stops, and thinks about it, and says that is not quite true.
“I did used to sing. All the time. Just not in the school choir, you know? I’m not sure I ever consciously thought about the future, but I guess I always knew I was destined for show business in one form or another. I used to get into a whole load of trouble with my foster parents for what they called showing off. Making myself obvious. They didn’t approve. I remember my foster mother once complaining that I never stopped fizzing and bubbling. I guess I still don’t. The difference is that now I get paid for it!”
Reflecting on her path to fame Mia says that the most important thing for her was that she never gave up.
“No matter what happened, I never lost sight of my goal. I was at my lowest ebb when I ran away, I thought my life was over, but in fact it was just beginning. Sheer determination carried me through.”
Omigod! I could hardly contain myself. I felt like rushing round to Jem’s straight away, but remembered just in time that she wouldn’t be there. They were all going off for the weekend to stay with her nan and granddad. They wouldn’t be back, Jem had said, till late on Sunday evening. Oh bother, bother, bother, bother! I would burst if I didn’t tell someone.
Maybe I could ring Skye? But that wouldn’t be fair; Jem ought to be the one to hear first. I banged my fist down on the floor.
“Damnation and curses and picture skew oaths!”
“I think you’ll find that word is pronounced picturesque,” said Dad, coming out of the front room. “Picture-esk.”
Rather huffily I said, “Whatever.”
“Very colourful language, coming from you!”
“It’s instead of swearing,” I said. “I didn’t think you’d like it if I used swear words.”
“I’d be shocked if you knew any.”
“I know plenty!” I shouted, as he went past me up the stairs.
“Please,” said Dad, “don’t ruin my illusions. What’s to swear about, anyway?”
“I’ve just discovered something totally earth-shattering and I can’t tell anybody!”
“Why can’t you? Is it a state secret?”
“No! It’s cos Jem’s gone away and she’s the one that has to know first and I won’t see her until Monday!”
“Well, just remember,” said Dad, “patience is a virtue.”
I have lots of virtues. I do! I really do. Not boasting, but I am very loyal to my friends and hardly ever lose my temper and am extremely tolerant of other people’s annoying faults and failings. I just find it VERY DIFFICULT to be patient.
I went up to my room, accompanied by Rags, and read the article yet again, just to make absolutely certain I wasn’t imagining things. But I wasn’t! I sellotaped the torn edges, took a red felt tip pen out of my school bag and began underlining all the important parts.
Local girl… went to Hillcrest… left home when you were only sixteen… got into a bit of trouble… NEVER STOPPED FIZZING AND BUBBLING. I underlined that bit three times and put a row of exclamation marks at the side. I couldn’t wait for Monday morning to arrive!
But then, guess what? Monday morning comes at last – and Jem isn’t there. Not at our usual meeting place on the way to school. She’s late. Again!
“I’m not waiting,” said Skye.
“Just a few more minutes,” I begged.
“No.” Skye set off without so much as a backward glance. I hovered a moment, then reluctantly went trailing after her.
“Did you see the local paper?” I said.
“No,” said Skye. “Did you do your maths homework?”
I dismissed my maths homework with an airy flick of the hand. Last week I’d forgotten to do it and had been put in the dreaded Book with a black mark against my name. So what? Who cared? There were more important things to think about!
“I read this really interesting article,” I said.
“About what?”
“About this singer? Mia Jelena?”
“Never heard of her.”
“Angel has. She says she’s famous. There’s a picture of her… I’ve brought it in to show you. Well… show Jem, really. She’s the one I’ve brought it for. And the article. You’ll never believe what it says!”
“What?”
I sucked in my breath. “Can’t tell you! I shouldn’t even be talking about it. Not without Jem.”
We both turned, and looked back the way we had come.
“Seems like you’ll have to wait till break,” said Skye.
“I’ve been waiting all weekend! I was going to call her, but they’d gone away. I nearly called you, only I thought p’raps it wouldn’t be fair. You see, it’s about her birth mum… I think I might have solved the mystery!”
Well, at least I had her attention. Skye stopped, and frowned. “How?”
“It’s no good, I can’t tell you! It’s in the article.”
“Just give me a hint.”
“No, I can’t.” I shook my head. “But it’s more than coincidence. It’s got to be!”
“What is?” said Skye. “What is more than coincidence?”
“What it says. I can’t tell you!”
She nagged at me all the way to school, but I wouldn’t say a word. Like I say, I am very loyal to my friends. Jem would never forgive me if I let Skye into the secret of my amazing discovery without her being there to share it.
I was just terrified in case Jem wasn’t going to be in school at all that day, cos loyal though I am I wasn’t sure how much longer I could last before my mouth went and opened of its own accord and everything came spilling out. It wasn’t right that Skye kept poking and prying! She shouldn’t have been tempting me like that.
When I hissed at her about it, under cover of Mrs Gently taking registration, she got all high and
mighty and hissed back that I shouldn’t ever have mentioned anything in the first place.
“If you’d just kept quiet—”
“I thought I could trust you!”
Fortunately, before a situation could develop, the door had opened a crack and Jem had come sidling in, hoping, no doubt, that Mrs Gently (who is a bit dozy) wouldn’t have noticed her absence. She didn’t! Quite extraordinary. I immediately scribbled a note and pushed Skye out of the way so I could shove it across the desk to Jem.
Sumthing 2 tell U at break!!!
Jem mouthed at me. “What?”
I couldn’t mouth back at her as Skye had meanly sat up very stiff and straight and blocked my view. She was doing it on purpose! In a huff cos I hadn’t let her into the secret.
The minute the bell rang for break we headed for our private corner.
“She’s been driving me mad,” said Skye. “She’s discovered something and she won’t say what!”
“I told you,” I said, “we had to wait for Jem.”
“Well, so now she’s here, so you can tell us!”
“Before I do—” Skye groaned, and rolled her eyes. “Before I do,” I said, turning to Jem, “have you ever heard of Mia Jelena?”
“No,” said Jem. “Who is she?”
“It’s who she might be,” I said. I folded the paper so that only the photograph could be seen. Jem gazed at it, wonderingly. “Do you recognise it?”
“N-no… I don’t think so.”
“It looks a bit like you,” said Skye.
Hah! I knew I hadn’t been imagining it.
“You don’t think you could have seen it somewhere and that’s what made you do that drawing?” I said. “That drawing of your birth mum?”
“No.” Jem was very positive. “That came out of my head.”
“Is she the singer?” said Skye, pointing at the photo.
“Yes. She’s the Queen of Soul, and she’s coming to the Daycroft Halls on 15thDecember. She’s coming back to where she used to live… See?” I flashed the headline at them. “LOCAL GIRL MAKES GOOD. Shall I read it to you? I’ll read it to you!”
I read it very slowly and clearly, pausing for effect at all the places where I’d underlined.
“Mainly school.I went to Hillcrest—”
“She came here?” said Jem.
“Yes! It’s what she says… I went to Hillcrest. Listen! There’s more.”
I saw Jem’s eyes widen as I read the bit about Mia leaving home when she was only sixteen. They widened even more as I got to something happened… I got into a bit of trouble. By the time I came to never stopped fizzing and bubbling they were practically sticking out on stalks.
“There!” I said, when I’d finished. “What d’you reckon?”
Skye opened her mouth. I rushed in hastily, before she could start being negative. “Don’t try saying it’s just coincidence!”
“I wasn’t going to,” said Skye. “I was going to say… ”
“What?”
“I was going to say wow.” She muttered it a bit shamefacedly.
Wow is not one of Skye’s expressions. It showed she was impressed, not to say totally gobsmacked. Hah! I turned, triumphantly, to Jem.
“So what d’you think?” I poked at her. “Oi! What d’you think?”
Jem seemed to have gone into a trance. She had taken the page from me and was staring, open-mouthed, at the photo.
“That could be my mum,” she said. Her eyes had gone the size of soup plates. “She could be my mum… and she’s famous!”
Chapter Eight
“She does look like you,” said Skye.
“That’s what got me,” I said. “I saw it immediately. That’s why I thought maybe you’d copied your drawing from somewhere.”
“I didn’t,” said Jem. “ I just—” She blushed. “I just looked at a picture of me and made it older.”
“Well,” I said, “that practically proves it… it’s just too much to be a coincidence!”
I looked at Skye, daring her to deny it. She frowned, but didn’t actually say anything. Jem was eagerly rereading the article, in search of more clues. She pounced, gleefully.
“I get into trouble for talking too much and not paying attention!”
She did; all the time.
“And I don’t have anything in common with my mum and dad! And I’m always showing off!”
“You fizz and pop,” I said.
“I’ve always fizzed and popped! D’you remember, at primary school—”
“Yes, yes,” said Skye. “We all remember at primary school.”
“You used to call me Fizzy Pop!”
“We did,” said Skye, kindly. “But it still doesn’t actually prove anything.”
I knew she’d have to start being negative. “What more proof do you want?” I said.
“Well, for a start,” said Skye, “we don’t know how old Mia is. If she’s only, like, twenty, then that’d obviously make her too young.”
I checked, hurriedly, on my fingers. Jem was eleven, and twenty minus eleven was… nine. Oops! Skye was right. Far too young.
“Whereas,” said Skye, who likes to use these sort of words, “if she was thirty—”
“She’s not thirty!”
“You don’t know.”
We all gazed at the photo, trying to decide how old Mia might be.
“Photos can be airbrushed,” said Skye. “She could be any age. It’s no good just guessing, we have to be sure.”
“But how?” quavered Jem.
“Look her up on the Internet. If she’s famous, like Angel says, there’s bound to be a website or something.” It was at that point, most annoyingly, that the bell rang for the end of break. Jem let out a howl.
“I need to know now!”
“Leave it to me,” said Skye. “I’ll find out. I’ll tell Mrs Holliday I’ve got to check something urgently. She’ll let me.”
Mrs Holliday is our librarian. She wouldn’t have let me or Jem go on the computer when we were supposed to be in class, but Skye is one of her favourites. Skye is lots of teachers’ favourite. I don’t hold it against her; it is just the way she is.
“At least,” I pointed out to Jem, “it shows she’s taking things seriously at last.”
If she was late for registration she’d run the risk of being put in the Book. Her worst nightmare! I mentioned this to Jem, who said, “Yes, I suppose,” but in a vague sort of way. She kept shooting these worried glances at the door. I guessed she was scared in case Skye came back and reported that Mia had been airbrushed and was in fact quite ancient.
Skye slid into class just as registration had started. Mr Keys said, “You can think yourself lucky, Skye Samuels, that you’re in the second half of the alphabet.” He wouldn’t have said that to me! Not, of course, that I am in the second half of the alphabet, but that is not the point. The point is, he would have torn me to shreds. Still, I guess that is life. You just have to accept it.
Skye slipped into her place between me and Jem. Slowly and deliberately, she held out her hand, palm upwards, on the desk. She was trying to show us something! I craned forward to look. On it, in ball point pen, she had written: 27. I did more hasty calculations on my fingers. Twenty-seven minus eleven was … sixteen. Yay! It worked out exactly. Jem’s face was now bright pink with excitement. She spent the rest of the morning taking sly peeks at Mia’s photograph. If she wasn’t careful, I thought, she would have it confiscated. Some of our teachers are unbelievably strict.
At lunch time, we crammed down our food as fast as we could and headed off to our private den.
“She’s my mum,” exulted Jem. “I know she is! It’s just this feeling I have.”
“Me too,” I said.
We both turned, automatically, to Skye.
“Don’t you agree?” said Jem. “Don’t you think she’s my mum?”
“I guess she might be,” said Skye.
“So should I get in touch with her or not?”
> “I’m not sure.” For once in her life, Skye sounded doubtful. “I don’t quite see how we can.”
“Maybe,” I said, “if we got tickets for her show?”
“You must be joking,” said Skye. “It’ll be well sold out by now.”
“And where would we get the money?” Jem bleated it, pathetically. “My mum was going to take me to the Ice Dance but the tickets cost, like, a fortune.”
I am not one to give in. I find it really irritating when all people can do is raise objections. Specially when you are trying to help them!
“Just cos we can’t get tickets,” I said, “doesn’t stop us going there. We could wait at the stage door.”
Skye gave a hollow laugh. “At eleven thirty at night?”
Wild thoughts of creeping out of the house while Mum and Dad were in bed, or watching television, flashed through my brain; but even I could see that that might be fraught (as they say) with difficulties.
“We’ve got to do something,” pleaded Jem.
“We’ll have a think. We will all rack our brains,” said Skye.
I racked like crazy the whole afternoon. I thought, we could write a letter. Well, Jem could write a letter. She could leave it at the box office. I began composing it in my head.
Dear Ms Jelena,
I am a great fan of your music. (It was only diplomatic to say that.) I wish I could have come to your concert tonight, but I could not get tickets. My mum could not afford them. (Hopefully that would make Mia feel sorry for Jem.)
When I say “my mum” what I mean is my mum that adopted me. I have been trying to trace my birth mother, and when I read about you in the local paper—
Which was as far as I could get. No matter how many times I wrote and rewrote in my head, I always became stuck at the same place. How do you ask someone you have never met if they are your real mum who abandoned you when you were just a tiny baby?
By afternoon break I was beginning to feel slightly demented. I think Jem was too. Her face was all scrunched up with the effort of brain-racking, and her hair was a mad mess of tangles. Skye was the only one looking calm.