The Farm Beneath the Water

by Helen Peters

  Her nose fizzed and tears prickled at the back of her eyes. She bit her cheeks and blinked them back.

  “That’s not quite true, actually, sir,” said Jack. “It was Hannah’s idea, but we were all up for it. None of us was forced into it. Isn’t that right?” He looked around at the others, who all murmured agreement.

  Hannah stared at the grey carpet in a whirl of confusion. Jack had stood up for her to the Head! And he had used her first name! She had never heard him say her first name before.

  “Hmm,” said Mr Collins. “The idea was entirely yours, Hannah?”

  “Yes,” said Hannah, her insides twisting into knots.

  Mr Collins cleared his throat.

  “I have to say, I find your behaviour quite extraordinary,” he said, holding her gaze with his watery blue eyes so that she didn’t dare blink, let alone look away. “Quite extraordinary. I am almost at a loss for words.”

  “And yet still he manages to talk,” murmured Jack.

  Mr Collins snapped upright in his chair. “I beg your pardon?”

  He must have the hearing of a falcon, Hannah thought. She had barely caught Jack’s words herself and she was right in front of him.

  “Nothing, sir,” said Jack.

  But Mr Collins had turned his attention back to Hannah.

  “You were entrusted,” he said, “with the great honour of directing your house play, and yet you abused that privilege in the most contemptible manner.” He began to count on his fingers. “You have deceived your teachers, who put their trust in you. You have let down your house by flouting all the rules and thus disqualifying yourselves from the competition. You have led other members of your house into trouble, as evinced by the fact that they too are now standing in my office rather than attending the prize-giving ceremony. And, worst of all, you have thoroughly insulted and humiliated a guest of this school. Not only a guest, but the sponsor of the house play competition. Your behaviour has been outrageous.”

  Mr Collins rarely lost his controlled manner, but he had worked himself up over the course of this speech and now he looked truly angry. His face was almost as red and shiny as Nick Constable’s had been on stage.

  Hannah realised she was shaking. If she was expelled, she suddenly thought, where would she go?

  And then the worst thing of all hit her like a blow to the face.

  If she had to change schools, she wouldn’t be with Lottie any more.

  Oh, she hadn’t thought this through at all, had she? Why, oh why, had she done something so completely mad?

  Through the fog of misery and terror, she suddenly realised that Lottie was speaking.

  “It’s not like you make it sound, sir,” she was saying. “Hannah didn’t start by wanting to deceive anyone. We were practising Romeo and Juliet for ages. It was just that her farm was getting destroyed and this was the only way to make people listen.”

  Mr Collins cut in, and his voice was icy.

  “And you thought, did you, that the house play competition was the proper forum in which to air your grievances? And not only to air your grievances, but to trick, insult and humiliate the very man whose company was sponsoring the competition, and who had agreed, out of the goodness of his heart, to appear in your play?”

  “Out of the goodness of his heart?” spluttered Jack. “Didn’t you hear the evidence, sir? He only agreed to be in the play because he thought he’d get popularity points. His company is trying to destroy Hannah’s farm, and they’re lying through their teeth about it. They’re only sponsoring the plays to get the village on their side about the reservoir.”

  “Be quiet, Jack,” snapped Mr Collins. “That is quite enough from you.”

  He let his eyes travel across the whole group, resting on each of them in turn as he spoke.

  “Had you wished to challenge Aqua’s plans, you could have done so by any number of means. But to take advantage of the trust your teachers had shown in you and hijack a school event in order to have your opinions heard is absolutely appalling.”

  He paused. “I shall have to consider what punishment will be appropriate in your case, Hannah. I shall see you here at 8.30 on Monday morning. And as for the rest of you, I shall be writing to your parents, and I shall have to think very carefully before any of you is allowed to participate in any house or school activity again, whether sporting, musical or dramatic, or indeed, whether any of you will be allowed to hold any position of responsibility in this school at any point in the future.”

  Some of the Year 7s were crying now. Hannah desperately wanted to give them a hug. Tears were pouring down her cheeks. She had got everyone into massive trouble and all for her own selfish reasons. What had she been thinking?

  Mr Collins glanced at the clock on the wall. He placed his hands on the arms of his chair and stood up.

  “I think you had all better go home immediately.”

  There were sounds of dismay from around the group.

  “But, sir,” said Marie, “my sister’s in the hall and I have to walk home with her.”

  “I live in Bletchington,” said Grace, “and my mum and dad are in there and they’re taking me home.”

  “My brother’s in there and he’s got my bus fare,” sobbed Millie.

  Other people opened their mouths to protest. Mr Collins’s lips tightened. But then his expression changed. He surveyed the group with a hard little gleam in his eye.

  “Very well. You will stand at the back of the hall, under the strict supervision of Mrs Young, and you will watch the other houses receive their awards. And perhaps that will help you to reflect on how you have let everybody down this afternoon: your house, your teachers, your families and, most of all, yourselves.”

  “Sadist,” muttered Jonah, as they were escorted back to the hall. “Did you see his face? He was loving the idea that we’ll all be standing at the back crying while the other houses pick up their trophies.”

  Jack gave an exaggerated sob. “I can’t believe we’re not going to be allowed –” his voice wobbled – “positions of responsibility. Thanks a lot, Roberts. You have totally ruined my chances of being Head Boy.”

  Hannah, who had managed to wipe her tears away and get herself under control, let out a laugh that immediately felt as though it was going to turn into a sob. She clamped her mouth shut. Mrs Young, hearing the laugh, shot her a filthy look.

  “I can’t believe you argued back with him like that,” whispered Katy to Jack. “In his own office.”

  Jack snorted. “Collins’s office? Home from home. I spend more time in there than I do in my own living room.”

  “Not this term,” said Marie. “You’ve been a bit of a reformed character this term.”

  “Since Danny left,” said Jonah.

  “Yeah, till Roberts led me astray.”

  They were outside the hall doors now. Mrs Young turned and glared at them.

  “I said no talking,” she snapped. “The prize-giving is in progress. Go into the hall in single file and in absolute silence. Stand in a line against the back wall.”

  “And wait for the firing squad?” muttered Lottie.

  “I don’t want a sound or a movement out of any of you,” Mrs Young said. “You’re in quite enough trouble as it is and you’re very lucky to be allowed to watch the prize-giving at all.”

  Applause broke out in the hall and Mrs Young opened the doors. They filed in and stood along the back wall. Hannah found herself between Lottie and Jack. They had to squeeze up to fit everybody in and her arm was almost brushing Jack’s. The proximity made her go hot all over.

  The famous theatre director stood on stage next to Miss Summers, behind a trestle table displaying several shiny trophies. She was presenting a shield to two girls from Conan Doyle House. She shook both their hands and spoke warmly to them. Then the girls turned to face the audience and held up the shield. The Conan Doyle students cheered and whooped. Hannah wondered what the trophy was for. She glanced at the Woolf House group, sitting silently on
the other side of the hall, and she was filled with guilt again. She would never be able to make it up to them, would she?

  Miss Summers handed another trophy to Josephine Baxter, who turned to the packed hall and smiled.

  “The prize for Best Sound and Lighting goes to…” She paused dramatically.

  “Milne House!”

  Cheers and stamping came from the green-clad Milne section of the audience, as a Year 9 boy and girl ran on to the stage and collected the cup.

  Miss Summers handed the next trophy to Josephine Baxter.

  “And now the prize for best costume design.”

  Hannah felt terrible. Lottie should have won this, no question. What had she been doing, depriving her best friend of the trophy that should have been hers, just for her own selfish reasons?

  “The prize for best costume design goes to … Woolf House!”

  The Woolf House students exploded into celebration.

  Hannah stared. She looked at Lottie, who was frowning and shaking her head.

  “She must have got it wrong. She must have forgotten we’re disqualified.”

  The judge held her palms up for silence and addressed the back of the hall. “As the Woolf House cast and crew missed my introductory talk, I just need to explain to them that, although their play has been disqualified from the competition, the superb costumes that we saw on stage in their opening sonnet were clearly made for Romeo and Juliet, and therefore there was no reason to disqualify them from the costume prize, which they absolutely deserve. Could Woolf House’s costume designer please come and collect the trophy?”

  Lottie looked shell-shocked. Hannah gave her hand a huge squeeze. “Go on. Go and get your cup.”

  Lottie, looking dazed, walked up the aisle to an eruption of cheers and whoops from the delighted Woolf House students. Hannah felt the lightening of a burden, as though an enormous load had been lifted from her shoulders. Lottie had been recognised. Hannah hadn’t prevented her best friend from being awarded the prize she deserved. And Lottie so deserved this prize.

  The judge was shaking Lottie’s hand, smiling and talking to her animatedly. And Lottie, always so cool and composed, was actually blushing.

  She walked back down the aisle, head down, trying to hide her glowing face. Hannah gave her a huge hug as she took her place against the wall again.

  “What did she say?” Hannah asked.

  “Nothing,” said Lottie, but she couldn’t help a huge grin escaping.

  The hall quietened as Miss Summers lifted the one remaining trophy, a big wooden shield with a silver plaque in the centre. She handed it to Josephine Baxter, who turned to the audience.

  “Well, here it is. The one you’ve all been waiting for. The House Play Shield. The winning house, as well as receiving one hundred house points and all the glory and honour of being the winners, will also have a day off school at a theme park, kindly sponsored by the local water company, Aqua.”

  There were giggles and mutterings at this. People turned their heads to look at the disgraced group at the back of the hall and whisper to each other.

  “So, without further ado,” said the judge, “will the director of the winning house play please come on stage to receive the shield. The winning house is…”

  She paused. It felt as if every single person in the hall was holding their breath.

  Josephine Baxter gave a beaming smile. “Kipling House!”

  It was as though somebody had put a match to a can of petrol. The red Kipling section of the hall exploded into noise and colour and movement, cheers and whoops and catcalls and waving of arms and stamping of feet. Hannah could see Martha and Jade jumping up and down with their hands in the air and she felt genuinely pleased for them. They deserved it. They had worked really hard and they had produced a good play. Maybe Romeo and Juliet could have been better. But she had made the choice, hadn’t she?

  Had it been the right choice? Would her play have any effect?

  She would just have to wait and see.

  People were reaching round to the backs of their seats for their coats. But Josephine Baxter was holding up her hand for silence again.

  “There is just one more thing I want to say, and I know you’ve been sitting here for a long time now, but please bear with me for another couple of minutes.”

  She paused and the audience settled down.

  “I want to say something that is probably very unorthodox and subversive, but I’m a theatre director, not a teacher, so you’ll have to forgive me.” She looked into the front row and smiled, presumably at Mr Collins. Hannah couldn’t imagine that he was smiling back. Unorthodox and subversive was so not his style.

  “The play that Woolf House presented today,” she continued, and Hannah’s insides did a violent somersault, “was certainly unorthodox and subversive. It was absolutely not what they were supposed to do.”

  Heads craned round. Hannah stared at the floor in agony, feeling hundreds of eyes on her. If only she could disappear. Why did the judge have to do this? Hadn’t they had enough of a telling-off already?

  “And yet,” said Josephine Baxter, “their play was one of the most gripping pieces of theatre I have ever seen.”

  Hannah’s head shot up. She stared at the judge. Had she really just said what Hannah thought she had said?

  “What an amazing achievement,” Josephine Baxter continued, “to create that surprise, that jolt, in an audience of over four hundred people. To begin a Shakespeare play, and then to dismantle that play, through words and through the visual symbolism of removing the costumes, on stage, in front of a packed hall. The vision was masterful. And the daring, the sheer courage, in bringing their villain on stage, unscripted, letting him think he was the star of the show and then gradually unmasking him, leading him into their traps, over and over again. What a fantastic idea to have a member of the cast play the part of a disgruntled actor who had wished to be in Romeo and Juliet, having the actor burst on stage and condemn the play and, by doing so, highlight just how right it was that the cast were doing what they were.”

  Hannah stared at Lottie, her mouth hanging open.

  “Miranda?” she mouthed.

  “And the way the play built up to its climax, with more and more damning evidence, was extraordinarily well handled. It was iconoclastic, it was compulsive viewing and it was a stunning piece of theatre.”

  A couple of people began to clap, but Josephine Baxter held up her hand for silence again.

  “One more thing. It is the bold, the brave, the original, those who dare to be different, who use their intellects and their creativity to fight for what they believe in and to make their dreams come true, it is those people who change the world. We don’t have to travel to change the world. We can do it just by standing up for those things we know are right: in our families, our schools and our communities.”

  Her eyes panned around the hall, taking in everybody, until finally they rested on Hannah.

  “All those of you who dared to do what you did today, you didn’t win a trophy, but you might just have won something far more important.” She paused. “I hope you save your farm. I hope you change the world.”

  She walked into the wings. And Hannah, standing with her head bowed and her heart racing, heard chairs scrape back and another standing ovation erupt around the hall.

  When the applause finally died away and the hall transformed from ordered rows into a swarming mass of bodies, Hannah suddenly found herself surrounded by a crowd.

  “Well done,” said Emily. She was holding one of Lottie’s leaflets. “That was amazing. I’m definitely going to write.”

  “Me, too,” said a couple of Year 7 girls standing next to her.

  “I can’t believe how they lied like that,” said Vishali. “I think everyone in the village is going to write.”

  A group of boys from 8P walked past. “Hey, Hannah, you owe us a day at a theme park,” called Thomas Campion.

  “Only if Romeo and Juliet had won the
shield,” Vishali called back. “And it wouldn’t have. I saw rehearsals of both, and The Tempest was miles better.”

  She turned to Hannah and winked. “Actually, I reckon yours would have won, but if you take my advice, you’ll tell everyone it didn’t stand a chance.”

  Hannah became aware of the penetrating voice of Miranda’s mother, with her arm around Miranda, standing at the centre of a cluster of people several feet away.

  “I know, wasn’t she just extraordinary?”

  Miranda’s head was bowed and Hannah couldn’t see her expression. She nudged Lottie and tilted her head in Mrs Hathaway’s direction. Trying to look as if they were making their way to the refreshment table, the two girls drifted towards Miranda and her mother.

  “It was marvellous, wasn’t it?” Mrs Hathaway was saying. “So selfless, such a lack of vanity, to take on that role, to transform herself from the beauty that she is into this almost unrecognisable creature. I mean, that’s the sort of performance that wins Oscars, isn’t it? Did you see how she held the stage? Absolutely mesmerising.”

  She smiled fondly at Miranda, who continued to look at the floor.

  “She’s still wiped out from it, aren’t you, darling?” said her mother, stroking her cheek. “Look how her make-up’s smudged. Real tears she was crying. Such incredible passion. Such extraordinary talent. And do you know, she never breathed a word about it beforehand. It was a complete surprise to us. She’s such a professional, aren’t you, darling?”

  Lottie caught Hannah’s eye and grinned. Hannah could guess what Lottie was thinking. As far as the outside world was concerned, they were safe. Miranda would never be able to reject that sort of praise by confessing the truth.

  But Hannah could imagine only too well how much Miranda would be hating her right now.

  Miranda slipped away from her crowd of admirers, muttering something about sorting her hair out. Feeling queasy, Hannah followed her.

  Lottie tugged at her arm.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To apologise.”