by Helen Peters
Nick Constable took a small card from his jacket pocket and handed it to Hannah.
“All my details are on there. Just email me with the lines and anything else I need to know.”
Hannah took the card. “Thank you so much.”
“Well, that’s very community-spirited of you, Mr Constable,” said Mr Collins, with a forced smile. “Rather you than me. Off you go, then, Hannah.”
Hannah turned away from the two men to leave the hall and her face broke into a huge grin.
“Over here, please, Jack,” called Mr Collins.
As Hannah passed Jack, he muttered, “What are you up to, Roberts?”
“Nothing,” said Hannah airily. “Nothing at all.”
Lottie had a piano lesson at lunchtime, so Hannah headed across the patio to the library. She had science homework to finish before this afternoon’s lesson.
Jack was playing table tennis with Jonah on one of the outdoor tables. As Hannah passed them, Jonah smashed the ball across the table and Jack leaped sideways, whacked it back and crashed into Hannah’s shoulder. She staggered across the paving stones, trying to keep her balance.
Jack turned and grabbed her shoulder to steady her. The sudden contact made Hannah’s heart thump.
“Sorry, Roberts. His rubbish shot.”
Jonah was rummaging in the bushes for the ping-pong ball.
“So,” said Jack, “what’s with asking Mr Creepy to be in the play? What’s the cunning plan?”
Hannah looked at him. He would hear about it soon anyway. She had already told Lottie, and she would be telling everyone else at the next rehearsal.
So she told him. He listened in silence. When she finished, she braced herself for the sarcastic retort.
“Wow,” said Jack. “That is genius.”
“Look, I know it sounds mad, but it’s a desperate situation and—”
“Roberts, I’m not being sarky. I do think it’s genius.” Hannah stared at him. “Really?”
“It’s a brilliant plan. Once he realises he’s been set up, he’s stuck. Caught in the spotlight. If he walks out, he totally loses face.”
“Well, that’s the idea.”
Jack spun his bat between his fingers. “Have you thought about using multimedia?”
“What do you mean?”
“Got it,” called Jonah, emerging from the foliage with the ball in his hand. “Ready for my world-beating serve?”
Jack sauntered back to the table and struck a pose. “Bring it on, Hadley.”
Hannah watched them bat the ball back and forth. What exactly had Jack meant?
“Hey, Hannah.”
It was Lexie and Amber, both in Hannah’s tutor group and both in Woolf House.
“How’s the play going?” asked Amber.
Hannah felt herself going red.
“Oh, er, yes, not bad, thanks.”
They seemed to be waiting for more, so she added, “Everyone knows their lines now. And the costumes are amazing.”
Well, at least that bit wasn’t a lie.
“You’d better make sure we win,” said Lexie. “Imagine if we had to watch everyone in Kipling skipping off to a theme park while we spend the day in school.”
“I bet we’ll win,” said Amber. “Vishali says it’s really good.”
Jack sprang sideways for the ball and landed squarely on Lexie’s foot.
“Ow!” she screeched.
“Oops, sorry,” said Jack.
Lexie hopped up and down clutching her foot. “You idiot. I think you’ve broken my toe.”
Amber grasped her arm and steered her over to a bench.
Jonah was searching for the ball again. Hannah grabbed her opportunity.
“What did you mean before? About multimedia?”
Jack tossed his bat from hand to hand. “Just that you can use other stuff as well as words to make your point. Projections on the back wall: visuals, statistics, quotes. And music to underscore your meaning.”
“Like what sort of thing?”
“Well, at that meeting you went to, you said the water guy was using images of the farm that made it look run down, yeah? So you can do the opposite.”
“Show the good side of the farm?”
“Yeah, but also you can show they’re lying, by quoting their own words alongside images that show the opposite. Ironic juxtapositions, see? So when the water-board guy says this is an unproductive farm, the images you’re projecting behind him show crops being harvested, fields full of cows, that sort of thing.”
“And when he talks about there being no wildlife,” said Hannah, seeing possibilities now, “we can project pictures of the birds and trees and wild flowers.”
“Exactly. And you can flash up text, too, that contradicts what he’s saying.”
“Like Lottie’s dad’s bird results. Yes, that would be great.”
“You should use old photos of the farm, too. Film footage would be perfect, if you’ve got any. With some kind of emotional music playing in the background. Show people the history of the place. You have to approach it from all angles, you see.”
Hannah looked at Jack curiously, as though he had turned into somebody completely different.
“That sounds amazing. How do you know all this stuff?”
Jack shrugged. “I like film.”
“Hey, Adamson, are we playing or not?” called Jonah.
Jack turned back to the table-tennis table. Jonah served. Jack sliced the ball back across the table and it bounced off the edge. Jonah lunged for it but Matthew, who was standing watching, caught it and threw it to his friend Ethan. Jonah pounced on Ethan and they started scuffling.
Jack turned back to Hannah. “Tell you what, Roberts. I could come up to the farm if you like. Take some photos, do a bit of filming. Then I could make you a sample. Put some images and music together, see what you think.”
For a moment, Hannah was overcome with gratitude. She opened her mouth to thank him.
“If your dad wouldn’t mind,” Jack said.
Hannah froze with her mouth still open.
What would Dad think if he saw Jack at Clayhill? What would he think of Hannah inviting the boy who had burned his barn down to come to his farm and take photos?
But if it was to save the farm?
Would Jack even produce anything worthwhile, though? What if he just messed about? After all, that was all he’d done so far. So why on earth should she trust him now?
Most terrible of all, what would Lottie say if Hannah invited Jack to the farm?
Hannah could imagine exactly what Lottie would say, and it wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have.
Ethan freed his arm from Jonah’s grasp and threw the ball to another boy behind Jack. Jack intercepted it. He turned to Hannah.
“Listen, Roberts,” he mumbled, looking at the ground and tossing the ping-pong ball from one hand to the other, “I really am sorry about the fire. I never meant it to happen, you know that. And this plan of yours sounds like a laugh. So if I can help, that’s cool, you know?”
Hannah glared at him. “It’s not a laugh. It’s deadly serious.”
“Yeah. That’s what I meant.”
“And the show’s in two weeks. There’s so much to do. We don’t have time for anyone mucking about. And it’s not like you’ve done anything so far.”
“Fair point.”
“And it’s got to be good. Really good. It’s the only way we’ll get away with it without being expelled. I can’t let everyone down. I’m going to be getting people into enough trouble as it is.”
Jack looked into her eyes. “I promise I’ll be good, miss.”
Hannah made the mistake of meeting Jack’s gaze. Her insides melted.
“Well … OK, then. If you really promise.”
“Cool.”
“Come on, Adamson, what are you playing at?” called Jonah. “Your serve.”
Jack turned back to Jonah.
“I hope you’re ready for this, Hadley.”
He tossed the ball in the air as if to serve, but then he caught it again and spun round to face Hannah. “Last Saturday of half term? Around two?”
Hannah felt herself blushing. “Yes, thank you, that would be great.”
Jack turned to the table.
“Oh, but Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t mention it to any of the others yet, will you?”
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
He raised his bat to serve. “Right. Game on.”
It was the last Saturday of the October half term. Hannah was brushing her teeth after breakfast when, from the bathroom window, she saw Lottie, Priya, Marie, Katy, Ben and Jonah walking up the farm track. Her stomach flipped at the sight of Lottie. If she found out who was visiting that afternoon…
But there was no time to worry about that now. Anyway, there was no reason Lottie would find out. Not yet, anyway. Not until Jack had actually produced something. And, knowing Jack, he probably wouldn’t even turn up.
She shoved her toothbrush in the mug and ran down the back stairs.
Nobody else had eaten breakfast. The Beans were busy with their archaeology museum and Martha was engaged in some top-secret project in the dining room. She had slammed both doors and threatened them all with death if they disturbed her. Whatever the project was, it had put Martha in an even worse mood than usual.
“Hi!” called Lottie, as she and the others appeared at the garden gate.
Hannah stepped outside and closed the scullery door behind her. You never knew when the Beans might be spying.
“I know you said to go straight to the theatre,” said Priya, “but as we were early, we thought we’d call for you.”
“Marie’s bottling out,” said Jonah.
“What?” said Hannah.
Marie glared at Jonah. “I’m not bottling out. I’m just not sure it will work. I mean, even with the Aqua bloke being in it, I still think Collins will stop us when he realises what we’re doing.”
“Oh, I had an idea about that,” said Hannah. “Lottie, could you ask your mum to sit next to him at the play? We all know Collins fancies her – he practically drools every time he sees her – and she can use her famous charm.”
Lottie looked as if she were about to throw up. “You’re asking me to encourage my mum to flirt with the teachers?”
“It will mean you’ll have to tell her what we’re going to do. Not in detail, but you’ll have to prepare her a bit. She won’t tell on us, will she?”
“Of course she won’t. She’s completely against the reservoir. But I’m not sure she’ll be able to—”
The kitchen window flew open and Jo’s head appeared. “Hannah, will you make me an omelette?”
“Make it yourself,” called Hannah.
“But yours are nicer than mine. Please?”
“Sorry, Jo,” said Hannah. “I’m busy.”
Jo sighed and her head disappeared back inside the kitchen. Through the open window, Hannah heard Dad’s and Martha’s raised voices.
“It’s more likely,” said Lottie, “that Nick Constable will walk out once he realises he’s been stitched up.”
“He needs a minder,” said Katy. “Someone to keep him on stage.”
Jonah’s eyes brightened. “A security guard?”
“No, idiot. Charm, not force. Someone to stand next to him and smile at him and make him feel like everything’s going to be all right.”
Everyone’s eyes turned to Amy. Amy recoiled in horror.
“Me? No way! He gives me the creeps.”
“He gives everyone the creeps,” said Katy.
“Stupid, stupid thing!” shouted Martha from the dining room. “How am I supposed to do it by myself?”
“Well, I don’t know why you’re asking me,” said Dad. “I haven’t got a clue.”
“Fine! I’ll just throw it all in the bin!”
Dad’s footsteps sounded on the tiles.
“Let’s go,” said Hannah, glancing at her watch. “The others might be there already.”
“Hannah!” shouted Dad.
Hannah raised her eyes to heaven. “What now?”
Dad wrenched the scullery door open.
“Oh, there you are. Come here, will you?”
“But we’re having a rehearsal.”
“Just come here a minute. Martha’s having problems with some costume or other.”
Hannah sighed. “Coming. Just give me a second, OK?”
Dad glared at her and stomped back into the house.
Hannah handed a folded piece of paper to Priya. “Listen, can you start without me? Exactly the same as before except with this.”
Priya started to unfold the paper. “What is it?”
“Not here!” hissed Hannah, glancing at the open window. “It’s the new Prologue. There’s only one copy. I’m really scared of anyone finding it.”
“How can we all rehearse from one copy?”
“How about you read a couple of lines and everyone repeats them? We’ll have to learn it by heart. It’s too dangerous for everyone to have a copy.”
“Hannah!” yelled Dad.
“Coming!”
“Shall I stay?” Lottie asked Hannah. “Maybe I can help. If it’s a costume thing.”
“Oh, thank you. That would be great. See you in a minute, guys.”
They walked through the kitchen. Sam stood at the sink, sloshing his hands about in a bowl of bubbly water. Jo was grating cheese on to a board. Butter sizzled in a frying pan on the Aga.
At the dining-room table, Martha sat with her head in her hands, her shoulders heaving with furious sobs. Mum’s sewing machine stood in its case on the table. Pieces of blue fabric and sheets of paper were strewn all around it. Dad stood by the door, looking bewildered.
“What’s going on?” asked Hannah.
Martha ignored her.
Lottie picked up a sheet of paper. “So you’re making a costume for The Tempest?”
Martha continued to sob. Hannah picked up another piece of paper. “Water spirits,” she read.
“Water what?” asked Dad.
“Spirits. Martha’s playing a water spirit in The Tempest.”
Dad shook his head in disbelief. “Right, well, I’ll leave you to it. Must see to those calves.”
Lottie held a piece of paper out to Hannah and pointed to the words at the top.
“Dear Parents,” it said, followed by a letter explaining that simple instructions for constructing a spirit costume were attached.
“They don’t look simple to me,” muttered Hannah.
Lottie held up a piece of fabric, frowning. “This one’s got staples in it. Have you been stapling your costume, Martha?”
Martha’s head jerked up. “How else am I supposed to make the stupid thing? I can’t even get the lid off the poxy sewing machine.”
She gave the plastic case a swipe.
“Don’t do that!” cried Hannah. “That’s Mum’s sewing machine.”
Lottie pressed the clips at either side of the case, raised them and lifted the lid off. “There you are.”
Martha shot her a look of loathing. “Oh, well done. Lottie Perfect can open the sewing machine. How’s that supposed to help? I don’t know how to use the stupid thing, do I?”
“But I do,” said Lottie.
“Well, good for you.”
Lottie glared at her. Then she spread out the pattern sheets and examined the pieces of fabric. “No wonder you couldn’t do it. They haven’t given you big enough pieces for the skirt panels.”
Martha mumbled something.
“What?” asked Lottie.
Martha muttered something unintelligible again.
Lottie gave an exasperated sigh. “Martha, if you want me to help, you’re going to have to talk to me.”
Martha shot her head up. “I said I might have cut them in half, all right?”
“You cut the skirt pieces in half? Why on earth did you do that?”
“Because I was trying to make the stupid top, wasn’t I?” yelled Martha. “How was I supposed to know those pieces were for the skirt? So now I can’t make any of it and Zara won’t let me be in the show any more.” She burst into tears again.
“Isn’t Zara’s mum supposed to be a West End costume designer or something?” said Hannah. “Why isn’t she making the costumes?”
“She can’t do everything,” snapped Martha. “Zara gave us this bag with all the stuff in and said could we ask our mums to make it.”
“She said to ask your mum to make it?”
“That’s what I said, stupid. Are you deaf or something?”
Hannah felt a surge of anger towards Zara. Why were people so thoughtless? Why couldn’t they just check before they sent things home for people’s mums?
Lottie was folding the fabric pieces. She picked up the empty bag from the floor and put the fabric in it. Then she tucked the pattern sheets into the side of the bag.
Martha snatched the bag from her. “Don’t pack it away! If I don’t have the costume done by Monday, I can’t be in the show.”
“So do you want me to make it or not?” asked Lottie, holding out her hand for the bag.
Martha’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“I said, would you like me to make your costume for you?”
Silence. Martha stared at the table.
Lottie shrugged. “Well, if you don’t want me to…” She started to leave the room.
Martha stood up and pushed the chair back so hard that it skidded across the tiles. “Fine. Whatever. Since you’re so desperate to.”
Without making eye contact, she shoved the bag at Lottie and stomped out into the hall.
“You’re welcome,” called Lottie after her, as the door slammed. “Really, don’t mention it.”
Hannah turned to her friend. “That’s so nice of you.”
“It’s no problem,” said Lottie, as they walked back through the kitchen. “I can’t believe Zara did that.”
“I know.”
“Did what?” asked Jo.
“Nothing.”
“Look at this, Hannah,” said Sam. “We’ve found another Roman coin.”
“Great.”