Sloane Sykes stalked off to telephone her mother.
She was furious. Anyone would have thought Alice-Miranda was the movie star, the way the girls had all mobbed her after her aunt and Lawrence Ridley had left. Just watching the whole display turned Sloane’s stomach. Life simply wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t her mother have married someone like Lawrence Ridley instead of her loser vacuum-cleaner salesman father? Sloane dreaded the other girls finding out about that. She’d never live it down. At least she had proof of her mother’s having been a successful model, even if it was a hundred years ago.
“Hello, Mummy,” Sloane said.
“Are you having a good time?” her mother asked.
“No, not especially.”
“You just need to make some friends, that’s all,” her mother cooed. September was enjoying her newfound freedom with her children away. It was lovely not having to do the daily school run—now she could loll about in bed until nine a.m. and spend the rest of the day pleasing herself. The last thing she wanted was for Sloane to come home again.
“Septimus has got a new roommate,” Sloane drawled.
“That’s nice. I’m glad you’re keeping in touch with your brother. I was worried he wouldn’t make any friends, being the strange little fellow that he is,” said September, admiring her French manicure.
Sloane offered the smallest titbit of information. “His father’s a movie star.”
September dropped the phone. There was a rustling sound as she fumbled about, retrieving it from the floor. “What did you say?”
Sloane repeated herself, slowly. “Septimus’s new roommate’s father is a movie star.”
“Oh my gosh, are you kidding?” Her mother steadied herself on the counter, then had to sit down.
“No, Mummy, I’m not kidding,” Sloane said.
“Well, who is it, then?” September demanded.
“Some kid called Lucas,” Sloane teased.
“I don’t care about him,” September spat. “Who’s his father? Who’s this movie star?”
“Umm, well, I just met him a little while ago,” Sloane continued.
“Sloane Sykes, hurry up and tell me. Or do I have to drive over there and drag it out of you?” her mother demanded.
“Oh, it’s Lawrence Ridley,” Sloane sighed.
There was a dull thud at the other end of the line. September had fallen off the chair and was now picking herself up from the kitchen floor. Sloane could hear her mother’s squeals and wondered if perhaps she was having a heart attack.
“Are you there, Mummy?” she asked. “Mummy, are you there?”
There was the sound of deep breathing—more like huffing and blowing—until September finally gathered herself together enough to speak. “Sloane Sykes, you’d better not be putting me on.”
“I’m not, Mummy. He was just here a little while ago, having tea.”
“Then why didn’t you call me? I could have been there in an hour. You just don’t think, do you, Sloane? And now I’ve missed my chance to meet Lawrence Ridley.” There was another thud. Sloane rolled her eyes. She waited for her mother to come back on the line.
“Mother, I have to go.”
“No, no, you don’t. Tell me about him.” September gathered herself together. “What’s he like?”
“He’s handsome and charming and he’s marrying Alice-Miranda’s aunt,” Sloane grouched.
“Really? What’s she like?” September asked. “Is she pretty?”
“She’s okay, I suppose. But totally wrong for him.” Sloane scratched at her pinkie nail.
“Not glamorous enough, it happens all the time. Movie stars always marry beneath them.” Her mother clicked her tongue. “He needs someone more like … well, like me, I suppose.”
“That’s what I thought,” Sloane replied. “But I have to go, Mummy.” Sloane glanced up at the line of girls who were waiting to use the telephone. Mrs. Howard had appeared and was tapping her watch and giving Sloane very dark looks, before bustling out of the room with an armful of towels.
“Call me tomorrow,” her mother demanded. “Is he coming back again soon?”
“Who?” Sloane asked.
“Lawrence Ridley, of course.” September wondered where her daughter got her brain sometimes.
“I don’t know,” Sloane replied.
“Well, you’d better find out. Maybe we’ll get invited to the wedding,” September squealed.
“Yeah, maybe, if he goes through with it.” Sloane turned her back to the line of girls waiting for the phone.
“Bye, darling.” September hung up.
Sloane continued talking into the phone for at least another three minutes before she finally put it down.
“Sorry, girls, important business.” She smiled like a toad in a swarm of flies.
“Sloane Sykes.” Mrs. Howard reappeared. “In here, young lady. NOW!”
Sloane huffed and walked to Mrs. Howard’s little office, which was across the hallway from the sitting room.
“Close the door,” Mrs. Howard commanded.
The girls waiting to use the phone listened intently as Sloane got a very solid telling off for being so inconsiderate of others.
On Wednesday morning, just as Miss Reedy had promised, the cast list for the play was posted to the noticeboard outside the Great Hall. As morning tea finished, the girls spilled out of the dining room to check if they had secured a role.
“Alice-Miranda’s Snow White,” Millie squealed and hugged her little friend. “And Jacinta—you got the narrator.” Jacinta breathed a sigh of relief. A group of taller girls had pushed in close. Millie was standing on tiptoe but had no chance of viewing the board.
“Millie, what are you?” Alice-Miranda asked.
Danika turned around and grinned at the smaller girls. “Millie’s the Magic Mirror.”
“That’s great.” Alice-Miranda smiled and squeezed Millie’s hand.
Sloane was standing back from the group.
Jacinta turned to her roommate. “What about you, Sloane?”
“I’m in no hurry,” she sneered. “Seriously, who else could play the Queen like me?”
Jacinta muttered under her breath, “You’ve got that right.”
“What was that?” Sloane glared.
“Um, nothing, I just said yes, it’s a part with real bite.” Jacinta blinked innocently.
Ashima and Susannah linked arms. “Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to class we go,” they sang, thrilled with their parts as Dopey and Doc.
Ivory was excited to be named head of the stage crew, and Danika was in the group working on costume design.
“I wonder who my Prince will be?” Alice-Miranda thought out loud.
“It says here Sep Sykes.” Shelby turned around from the board, disappointed that she’d missed out on being one of the dwarfs, but consoled by her role as the lead tree in the forest.
“That’s great.” Alice-Miranda smiled. “Did you hear that, Sloane? Your brother is playing the Prince!”
“How lovely for you,” Sloane drawled.
The taller girls dispersed, leaving Sloane, Alice-Miranda and Millie to check through the complete list. Sloane moved forward and ran her finger down the page.
“Told you so,” she said aloud. “Evil Queen—Sloane Sykes.”
“I guess it won’t be a stretch just playing yourself,” Millie quipped.
“Millie, that wasn’t very kind,” Alice-Miranda reprimanded her friend.
“Sorry,” Millie apologized. “It’s just that I couldn’t imagine you having a more suitable part either, Sloane.”
“Look!” Alice-Miranda gasped. “It says that the Woodcutter is Lucas Nixon. I’m so glad he arrived in time to audition.”
“Good for him.” Millie smiled. “There’s no better way to fit in at school than to get involved.…”
Sloane rolled her eyes at Millie.
“Well, that’s what Miss Reedy’s always saying.” Millie pulled a face back at her.
The first read-through with the cast was to take place the following afternoon. The girls were to meet Miss Reedy and walk with her to the other side of the village to Fayle, where all of the rehearsals would take place. The school had recently built a state-of-the-art drama facility, which would be perfect for the play.
“We’d better get to class.” Alice-Miranda said goodbye to Millie and Jacinta and strode off to science with Mr. Plumpton. She always looked forward to his lessons, as they usually involved some type of experiment—which rarely went according to plan.
“Shall we go riding after school?” she called to Millie.
“That would be great.” Millie winked. “Meet you at the stables at half past three.”
“So where are you two going this fine afternoon?” Wally Whitstable was sitting in the middle of the stables on a bale of straw, oiling an old saddle.
“Hello, Wally.” Alice-Miranda smiled. “We’re just going for a loop over to Gertrude’s Grove and home again.”
She placed a small backpack outside Bonaparte’s stall. Mrs. Smith had happily handed over three large slices of hummingbird cake and three chocolate brownies when Alice-Miranda had earlier appeared at the kitchen door. She explained that they were going out riding and wouldn’t be around for tea.
“That’s quite a long way, girls. Make sure you’re back before dark. That forest gets awful creepy once the light fades,” Wally warned.
“We’ll be fine,” Millie said as she grabbed Chops’s bridle from the tack room wall.
“Watch that bloke of yours today, miss.” Wally pointed at Bonaparte’s stable. “I was giving ’im a nice rubdown before and the little monster nipped me on the ear. Drew blood, he did.”
“Bonaparte.” Alice-Miranda shook her head. “I just don’t understand your lack of manners. You’ve grown up with some of the best-tempered horses I’ve ever met and still you behave like a spoilt little boy. I am sorry, Wally. One day he might learn to behave, but I am afraid I have my doubts.” Bonaparte looked at his mistress with the sad eyes of a child in trouble.
“I haven’t seen Miss Sloane down here again.” Wally grinned. “I think Stumps might have put paid to her riding career.”
“She says that she’s waiting for her horse to arrive. Do you remember what she said his name was?” Millie asked.
“Yes, didn’t she call him Harry?” Wally replied.
“That’s what I thought. Then, the other day, she said that she was waiting for Hugo. I think her horse might be a figment of her overactive imagination.” Millie pursed her lips.
“Don’t be too hard on her, Millie,” Alice-Miranda said. “Maybe she really wants a horse but her parents can’t afford one. It costs a lot of money to come to a school like this, and ponies are very expensive.”
“But her mother’s a model and her dad’s on television—or so I heard.” Millie lifted her saddle down from the post on the wall and walked over to where she had Chops tied up in the stable.
“Television did you say, Miss Millie? What’s Miss Sloane’s surname, then?” Wally asked.
“Sykes, she’s Sloane Sykes,” Millie replied.
“That name does ring a bell.” Wally stopped polishing the leather and tapped his lip thoughtfully. “I know. There’s a bloke on the ’ome shopping channel called Smedley Sykes. My old nan’s always got that on. She thinks he’s a bit of a looker.”
“There you are, then. That could be him,” said Alice-Miranda as she led Bonaparte out of the stall, his shoes clip-clopping on the cobbled floor.
“But what does he do on the home shopping channel?” Millie asked.
“I think he sells gym equipment.” Wally poured some more polish onto the cleaning cloth. “No, that’s some other bloke Nan likes looking at too. Hang about. It’s, um—oh, that’s it. He sells vacuum cleaners. They’re beauties too. I bought one for Nan last year for Christmas and she loves it. She sucked Uncle Alf’s rug right off the top of his bald head one day when he wouldn’t lift his feet off the carpet.”
Millie roared with laughter, imagining Wally’s uncle losing his toupee up the vacuum cleaner.
“Well, Mr. Sykes isn’t exactly the television star that Sloane would want everyone to believe.” Millie giggled.
“I don’t think Sloane ever mentioned that he was on television. Didn’t one of the other girls say that? I think it was Ashima who said that she overheard Mrs. Howard talking to Mrs. Derby about Sloane’s parents,” Alice-Miranda replied as she pulled up a stool and hauled herself onto Bonaparte’s back.
“Maybe,” Millie said. “She’s probably embarrassed. I’d die if my father was on the television lifting bowling balls with a vacuum.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Alice-Miranda said. “There’s nothing wrong with being in sales. I mean, look at my mummy and daddy. Our family livelihood depends on department stores and supermarkets.”
Chops and Bonaparte were ready to go.
“Take care there, girls. See you soon.” Wally stood up and gave Bonaparte a friendly pat. The pony repaid his kindness by trying to bite his finger. “Off with you then, you little monster.”
Alice-Miranda and Millie trotted to the gate. Once on the other side, they cantered across the field and into the woods toward Caledonia Manor. Just as they had done on Sunday, the girls left the ponies in the stall outside the stables. Alice-Miranda led the way as they raced up the driveway to the house.
“Hello, Miss Hephzibah,” Alice-Miranda called as she knocked, then walked straight into the kitchen with Millie behind her. “We’re here, and we’ve brought cake and brownies too.”
The old woman emerged from the playroom and Alice-Miranda ran to give her a hug. Hephzibah didn’t know how to respond, having lived for such a long time without human affection. She gently patted the child on the back. Millie was more cautious, saying hello from where she stood.
“Hello.” Hephzibah nodded. “Please come.” Her left palm was outstretched, indicating that they would sit at the pine table in the middle of the kitchen. There were three cups and saucers with matching plates out ready. “It’s good to see you again … so soon. I … I wasn’t sure that you would come.…” Her voice faltered.
“Of course we were going to come and see you.” Alice-Miranda unpacked the contents of the backpack and busied herself distributing Mrs. Smith’s sweet treats. “But I’m afraid we can’t stay for too long or Wally will send a search party.”
Hephzibah was dressed in the same black clothes with her hat and veil shielding her scarred face. When Alice-Miranda had visited last time with Millie, the old woman had not removed either and had kept her face hidden. Hephzibah had seen in Millie the fear of a child who had been told the witch stories, and she was anxious not to cause further alarm. There was something lovely about Millie’s red hair and sprinkling of freckles like paprika that reminded Hephzibah of someone long ago. Someone she had loved with all her heart.
The trio sat down to their afternoon tea party.
“We’re doing a play with the boys at Fayle,” Alice-Miranda began. “Millie’s going to play the part of the Magic Mirror.”
“And Alice-Miranda’s Snow White,” Millie added.
Hephzibah looked up at the girls with a flicker of a smile hiding on her lips.
“A play, how wonderful. When I was a girl, I played the part of Snow White too,” she spoke softly. “It was marvelous.”
“That’s amazing!” Alice-Miranda gasped. “You can help me learn my lines.” The tiny child beamed.
Hephzibah clasped her bony hands in front of her. “That was a million years ago—another lifetime. I was a different person then.”
“But it will be fun,” Alice-Miranda insisted. “Anyway, next time we come, we can bring our scripts, can’t we Millie?”
Millie took a bite of chocolate brownie and nodded.
Alice-Miranda sipped her tea. She placed her cup back on the saucer, and for a moment, there was complete silence among the three of them.
“Have you always l
ived here?” Alice-Miranda asked.
Hephzibah rested her cake fork on the side of her plate. Something about this tiny child with her cascading chocolate curls and eyes as big as saucers made her feel safe.
“Yes,” Hephzibah replied. “Would you like to have a look around?”
“Yes, please.” Alice-Miranda stood up. “That would be wonderful.”
September Sykes sat on the couch watching her favorite television game show, Winners Are Grinners. A painful memory invaded her thoughts. Smedley had auditioned to be the host of that show fifteen years ago. He made it to the final two and then Cody Taylor, who she was now watching on the television, was given the job.
At the time, September had begged Smedley to change his name. She’d been keen on Saxon, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Cody Taylor was now one of the most sought-after presenters in the country. He owned an island and fourteen sports cars and his real name was Wilfred Thicke.
Life simply isn’t fair, September thought. At least things were changing for the better.
For a start, September was thrilled that Septimus was rooming with the son of the most handsome movie star on the planet. And if she wasn’t free to marry Lawrence Ridley herself, at least she could get herself and Smedley invited to Lawrence’s star-studded celebrity wedding. She could imagine what the girls at the gym would say about that. And then there was Smedley’s new business. He’d used the proceeds from the sale of his father’s shop to buy into a company building condominiums for cashed-up retirees chasing the sun overseas. He’d shown her the brochures—the apartments were gorgeous, and the whole scheme was certain to turn a handsome profit. The kids were tucked away at boarding school, and September simply didn’t have a minute to miss them. Life was certainly on the way up.
The last contestant had just blown it. “Oh, you silly cow,” September shouted at the television. “Everyone knows that it’s God who’s richer than the Queen.” She pressed the Off button on the remote before seeing the answer, which actually named a famous children’s author as the correct response.
Alice-Miranda Takes the Stage Page 10