'OK! Coming!' Cat sighed, tying her dressing gown and taking a last longing look at the steaming, foaming water.
The yoga class was in one of the dance studios off the courtyard. Cat rolled out her borrowed mat next to Belle's. She'd had no idea so many people were up this early in the morning . . . being peaceful! She followed the instructor's directions through the warm-up of stretches and sun salutations. 'And now . . . into the child's pose . . .' he chanted. Cat copied Belle, kneeling on the mat, leaning forward, head down. 'And breathe . . . and relax . . .'
OK, this isn't too bad, Cat thought. Quite calming really. But Inner Peace was getting a bit boring now. There was only so much breathing you could do. She started to run though her Lady Macbeth lines in her head – that difficult opening monologue: 'What thou wouldst highly, that wouldst thou holily . . .' She really needed to talk to Duncan about that line . . . but she still had the Henry VIII essay to do . . . and Mrs Salmon had given them another heap of food-chain homework . . . at least her Hamlet review was only slightly late . . . but she'd not done any practice on her steps for the Latin dance class this afternoon . . . or looked over her French vocabulary . . .
'And calm . . . and breathe deep . . .' the instructor went on.
Calm? Cat thought. I haven't got time to be calm . . .
She was back on that treadmill and now it was going faster than ever!
Suddenly she had the feeling that she'd forgotten something. Was there some homework she'd not handed in? Something was tugging at the edges of her memory . . .
Then it hit her: she'd left the bath running!
Cat rocketed up off the mat. Head spinning, she stumbled towards the door, ignoring Belle's call of 'Cat! What's wrong?'
Everything's wrong! Cat screamed silently as she bombed out of the studio, across the courtyard and into the entrance hall. Water would be cascading down the stairs like a Honeysuckle and Avocado-scented Niagara Falls. She imagined the beautiful moulded ceiling of the dining room beneath the bathroom collapsing under the weight of water. Students having an early breakfast would be buried under falling plasterwork . . .
She rushed past the dining room. No despairing cries from the rubble! Raced up the staircase. No torrential waterfall! Sprinted along the corridor. No white-water rapids!
Only Miss Candlemas – standing outside the bathroom door in her batik-print dressing gown, with a mop in her hand and a thunderous look on her face.
'Aha! I was wondering who'd flooded the bathroom!' she stormed. 'The guilty party returns to the scene of the crime . . .'
'I'm really sorry,' Cat panted in a fragile voice.
'Yes, well, luckily Gemma discovered it before it got too bad,' Miss Candlemas said, her anger abating. 'We don't need to start building an ark just yet . . .'
'Cat! Cat! What's happened?' Belle was running along the corridor towards her.
Cat squared her shoulders and tried to arrange her face into a chirpy smile. Panic over! she intended to say. What am I like? Can you believe I left the bath running?
But it didn't work.
Not even close!
What actually came out of her mouth was a sob. And then another.
Then she felt Belle put her arm around her and lead her gently back to their room.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Holly: Finding the Off-switch
Meanwhile Holly was thinking about getting out of bed. She was planning to meet Ethan at the sports centre for fifty lengths of the pool before breakfast. Just five more minutes, she told herself.
She'd vaguely heard Gemma getting up to go for a bath earlier and then coming back giggling about someone leaving the taps running and flooding the place . . .
Holly stretched luxuriously. Her new room was almost identical to the one she used to share with Bianca, except the colour scheme was soft mauve and lilac instead of yellow and orange and the atmosphere was completely different. Gemma was trying to get dressed quietly so she didn't disturb her. Bianca would have been stamping around, blasting her hairdryer and accusing Holly of stealing her make-up by now. Poor Lettie, Holly thought. She'd seemed delighted to share a room with Bianca – they'd been friends since they'd played with their My Little Ponies in reception class together – but even so, you kind of lost the will to live after a few weeks of Bianca . . .
One more minute. Holly was looking forward to seeing Ethan at the pool. And to going with him to the big bonfire party in Kingsgrove Park on Saturday. She was gradually getting used to the idea that Ethan was her boyfriend. In fact, bizarrely, Bianca and Mayu had done her a favour there: ever since they'd spotted her and Ethan together at Café Roma and broadcast the news to the entire school, their relationship had become common knowledge; now they were so totally last week's story, no one was very interested any more – like Posh and Becks.
CRASH! WAIL! SLAM!
Holly's snooze was interrupted by a disturbance outside her room. It sounded like a herd of mutant wildebeest stampeding along the corridor. Not that she knew what mutant wildebeest sounded like, but . . .
Then she recognized Belle's voice: 'Cat! What's happened?'
Alarmed, Holly vaulted out of bed, long-jumped across the corridor and skidded through the door into Cat and Belle's room.
Her friends were sitting on Cat's bed. Belle had her arm around Cat, who was crying.
'What's happened?' Holly asked anxiously, sinking down on the bed next to them.
'I think the bath tub running over was the last straw,' Belle said gently.
'That . . . and Lady Macbeth and Mr Sharpe . . .' Cat sobbed. 'And Henry the Eighth and Mrs Salmon and killer whales and Latin dance and Mum and Oliver! and Hamlet and . . .'
'I know,' Holly murmured, rubbing Cat's back. 'It's too much.'
'. . . I just can't find the off-switch!' Cat wailed.
Holly wasn't entirely sure what Cat was talking about but she got the general idea. 'Maybe you can't do it all. Perhaps there's something you can give up—'
'I can't give anything up! That would be like . . . like . . . giving up!'
'Well, you could talk to one of the teachers,' Belle suggested. 'Someone you trust, like Mr Grampian. Maybe they can help—'
'And let them think I can't take the pace? No way!' Cat protested.
'But everyone needs a little help sometimes—' Holly said.
'Like who?' Cat snapped. 'You two don't have any trouble. You never turn up late or get detention. Even Bianca manages to keep it together, for goodness' sake – she does loads as well, and she has time left over for playing tricks on people and running after Jack. And what about Ethan?' she added, on a roll now. 'He's playing Banquo, he's captain of the football team, a champion swimmer and he has time to be the perfect boyfriend. He's probably writing a one-man stage show of the Bible and developing a cure for cancer in his spare time . . .'
If only Cat knew, Holly thought, what Ethan told me when we were sharing our special pizza in Café Roma. How he'd almost lost the plot last year when he took too much on. How Mr Fortune had helped . . .
And that's when she had another Great Idea. Maybe it wasn't in the same league as last night's Ice-Cream Initiative, but it could just work . . .
'Stay!' she commanded, holding up her hands and backing slowly towards the door, as if training a pair of puppies. 'I'll be back in a minute!'
She turned and ran in the direction of the sports centre.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cat: Time Management for Dummies
After Holly had gone, Cat lay back on her bed. Her problems hadn't gone away but she was too worn out to worry about them any more.
Belle was plying her with cups of herbal tea and trying to Google 'nervous breakdown' on her laptop when she thought Cat wasn't looking.
Cat closed her eyes and escaped into a daydream. She was the tragic heroine in a Victorian novel, suffering in a sanatorium with one of those illnesses they used to have – consumption or nervous vapours or something. She coughed delicately into a lace hand
kerchief – she would never see her true love again . . .
Her eyes fluttered open and she saw . . . Ethan Reed.
'Oh, er, Ethan . . .' she mumbled, struggling to sit up. 'Sorry, I was miles away.'
Holly was hovering at Ethan's elbow. 'Ethan's got something to tell you, Cat!' she said carefully.
Now that she was officially a crazed, raving psycho-maniac, Cat noticed, everyone was tiptoeing around as if she might jump out of the window with her knickers on her head if they said the wrong thing.
But what could Ethan possibly have to tell her? He'd proposed to Holly and they wanted her to be their bridesmaid?
Cat was intrigued enough to drag herself out of her tragic-deathbed scenario and listen. 'I'm all ears,' she said.
'Thing is,' Ethan mumbled, clearing his throat, 'I had exactly the same problem as you last year.'
'You left the bath taps running and flooded the bathroom with Honeysuckle and Avocado Heaven?'
Cat knew that making a joke when people were being serious was a bad habit, but she couldn't help it. She'd gone past miserable now and was veering towards borderline hysterical.
'Not that part.' Ethan laughed and sat down on a beanbag. 'Taking too much on and getting overwhelmed. Er, nobody else knows this – apart from Felix obviously – but he found me one morning, running round the football pitch in my swimming trunks, reciting lines from Othello, "Reputation, reputation, reputation! Oh, I have lost my reputation!"
'What happened?' Cat asked, wide-eyed, picturing the scene.
'Well, first I punched Felix on the nose—'
'Wow!' Cat giggled. She could see why Holly thought Ethan was so great. Not because he punched Felix on the nose – she liked Felix – but he was funny and sympathetic and . . . she had to admit, this really was helping.
'What did you do next? I don't suppose you just lay around on your bed, dying?' she asked forlornly.
'I went to see Mr Fortune and told him the whole story – except the bit about punching Felix, of course. He was really helpful, and let me drop some classes – and after that, everything was much better.'
'So,' Holly piped up, 'we thought maybe you could do the same.'
'Yeah, thanks, Holly!' Cat laughed. 'Maybe I can.'
Holly and Belle smiled at each other.
'Thanks, Ethan,' Cat said. Knowing that even someone as cool and popular as Ethan had buckled under the pressure made her feel a whole lot better. 'And Holly . . .' she went on.
'Yeah?'
'You didn't actually run all the way to the sports centre in your pyjamas, did you?'
Holly looked down. 'Oh yeah, I suppose I did.'
'You want to watch that, girl!' Cat said with a grin. 'People will think you're going crazy!'
Rather nervously, Cat spoke to Mrs Butterworth, who made an appointment for her to see Mr Fortune about a 'personal matter'. So, at lunch time, she found herself knocking on the heavy oak door of the principal's office. She couldn't help remembering the last time she'd been here – with Holly and Belle – all frantic with worry that Nobody's Angels would be disqualified from the talent competition. Mr Fortune had made everything come out right that time. She prayed he could work his Principal Magic again.
'Ah, Catrin!' Mr Fortune crinkled his forget-me-not blue eyes and rubbed his neat-but-rugged white stubble as she entered the book-lined room. 'You don't mind if Leslie – er, Mr Grampian joins our little chat, do you?'
Cat didn't mind at all. Mr Grampian, with his long white ponytail, hawk-like nose and shabby corduroy suit, was her favourite teacher and had always stuck up for her in the past.
'Now, what seems to be the problem?' Mr Fortune asked, placing his hands on the desk and lacing his fingers.
Cat explained the too-much-stuff-too-little-time issue as calmly as she could. 'I don't want to give anything up,' she concluded, 'but I just can't go on like this . . .' The actress in her couldn't help cringing at how melodramatic that sounded, like something out of an EastEnders Christmas Special, but the two men were nodding understandingly.
'And what do you consider your top priority at the Garrick?' Mr Fortune asked.
'Acting,' Cat replied instantly. 'I want to be a classical actress. That's why Macbeth is so important to me.'
'I'm deeply gratified to hear you say that, Catrin,' Mr Grampian stated, smiling kindly. 'In all my years' teaching the dramatic arts, you are indubitably one of the most talented young actresses I have encountered . . .'
Cat stared at Mr Grampian, hardly able to believe her ears. She could barely resist the urge to jump across the desk and hug him. Most talented young actress (one of)!
'Well, now, let's see what we can do to lighten your workload . . .' Mr Fortune said, examining a copy of Cat's timetable. 'I think we could drop the advanced Latin dance, and one core singing lesson a week – just until Macbeth is done and dusted.'
OK, so it wasn't the complete cancellation of all science and maths lessons for the rest of eternity that Cat had been secretly hoping for, but you couldn't have everything. 'Thank you!' she said happily.
Cat skipped out of the office. Now she understood what people meant when they said a weight had been lifted off their shoulders. She realized that she'd been walking around like the Hunchback of Notre Dame for the last few days. Now she was strutting along like a model on a catwalk.
Back at her room, she found Nathan with Belle and Holly. They all hugged her, and smiled with relief when she told them what she'd arranged with Mr Fortune.
'Er, I brought you this from the library,' Nathan said. 'Thought it might be useful.'
Cat glanced at the book he was handing her: Time Management for Dummies. 'Who are you calling a dummy?' she said, batting him with it.
'And we've tidied your things for you,' Belle said.
Cat noticed that her side of the room looked like an illustration from a 1950s Guide to Good Housekeeping. 'Thanks,' she said.
'Oh, and we had a word with Miss Candlemas,' Holly told her. 'She's OK about the bath thing . . .'
'Thanks,' she said.
At which point the housemistress put her head round the door. 'Let me know if you're getting down in the dumps again, dear. Don't let things get on top of you . . .'
'Thanks,' she said, yet again.
Cat had never said so many thank-yous to so many people in one day! She was full of energy and on top of the world again. And she now had a couple of free hours to work on her Lady Macbeth lines and catch up on her homework instead of going to the Latin dance class. The play was only a few weeks away and there was still a lot of work ahead, but she had everything back under control again.
As long as I don't go to any more yoga classes, she thought.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Holly: Stokissimo
The following Thursday afternoon Holly was in her favourite class – advanced ballet with Miss Morgan. Holly could see Cat's point: Miss Morgan could be really fierce at times – shrunken by old age, wearing a black leotard with her sparse white hair under a black band, she hopped around like a hyperactive magpie. And when she banged her stick on the floor, everyone jumped to attention.
But today Miss Morgan was in an unusually good mood. She complimented Holly, Gemma and Lettie on their demi-pointe exercises at the barre. 'Bellissima!' she shouted, clapping her hands. 'Now we are ready to commence pointe work!'
Holly was so excited she could hardly breathe. She remembered her first lesson at Miss Toft's dance school when she was four years old, watching the older girls dancing en pointe – and dreaming that one day it would be her turn. Now that day was finally here! She slid her feet into the new pale-pink pointe shoes and criss-crossed the smooth satin ribbons round her ankles. How she loved those shoes!
The girls waddled awkwardly over to the barre, their shoes all thwacking on the wooden floor.
'Pointe work is not just about toes,' Miss Morgan began. 'Not just about feet. Every muscle must work. Every cell of the body. Pull up from the core. The abdomen. Lo stoma
co!'
Holly pulled up. All that early morning swimming had paid off: her core muscles were super-strong.
'Feet in parallel. Rise up – slowly!' Miss Morgan instructed, marching along the line of girls.
Holly pushed up and felt her toes cram against the blocks. She resisted the temptation to wiggle them back, absorbed the pain, tensed her muscles and held the position. Miss Morgan looked her up and down, nodded slowly and then, with her stick, gently pushed her shoulders forward. Holly felt as if she were about to topple forward flat on the floor, but she stood firm. 'Bellissima, Holly!' Miss Morgan shouted. 'And down! And up!'
Holly glowed with pleasure. She was actually en pointe at last – and it was bellissima!
When Miss Morgan finally told them to relax, Holly was exhausted. She glanced at the clock and couldn't believe they'd only been working for ten minutes – rising onto full pointe in parallel, then turned out in first position, and finally relevés. Some of the girls had struggled to complete the exercises, but Holly had done so well she was even able to let go of the barre for short, exhilarating moments.
Her toes felt as if they'd been stamped on by an elephant; her calf muscles were in agony – but she had never felt happier. She'd taken another huge step towards her dream of being a true dancer!
The girls were sitting on the benches, removing their shoes and comparing notes on the state of their toes, when Miss Morgan announced that she had a big surprise for them. She opened the door to admit Mr Korsakoff and his class of male dancers, in their white T-shirts and black leggings. They had been working in the next-door studio.
'Next term,' Miss Morgan announced, 'the Dance Department will be staging a small but magnifico ballet recital – Nutcracker Sweeties.'
Holly turned and exchanged excited grins with Gemma and Lettie – and Zak, who was now sprawling on the bench next to them. She couldn't wait! Mum had taken her to see Nutcracker Sweeties – a jazzy, razzmatazz version of The Nutcracker Suite – for her birthday several years ago, and it was amazing! But it was Zak who spoke for all of them: 'Whoa!' he shouted. 'Miss Morgan, dude! Stoked to the max!'
The Time of Your Life Page 7