The Time of Your Life

by Isabella Cass

  So, girl, she told herself, you're just going to have to get over it and move on. She wasn't going to let her Jack-angst spoil the wedding gig. Nothing could come between Belle and her one true love – the thrill of standing on stage singing in front of an audience. Not even a boy with x-ray eyes.

  When they were finally ready, they packed their overnight bags – Holly had arranged permission for them all to stay at her house for the night – and signed out at Mrs Butterworth's desk before setting off in a taxi with Ben and Mason. The boys had obviously not invested quite as much time in their appearance, being dressed, as usual, in black T-shirts and torn jeans.

  The reception was in a grand old church hall. It was already teeming with guests in festive mood. Belle soon spotted the bride, Carly, looking like a fairy-tale princess in white silk and lace. She embraced them all and showed them where to set up.

  'Stop fussing with the band, Carly! The photographer wants you!' someone shouted.

  'That's Greg, my husband!' Carly nodded towards a tall young man with a goatee beard. 'He thinks he's the boss. He'll soon learn, won't he, girls?' she joked.

  'Er, Carly, where's Felix?' Holly asked. They'd been expecting him to travel directly from the wedding service with the rest of his family and meet them at the reception.

  'Oh, you know what he's like – always late! He said he was popping out to get something he needed for the gig . . .'

  Belle felt a cold trickle of anxiety. Where was Felix? They were due to start soon. Everyone else was being all laid-back and go-with-the-flow about it, but she couldn't help worrying; she wanted the gig to be perfect!

  Ben tried Felix on his mobile phone, but there was no reply.

  Half an hour later, there was still no sign of him. The speeches were over and the wedding guests were beginning to glance expectantly at the stage.

  Carly tried Felix's number again, but he still wasn't answering. 'I'll throttle my dear little brother when I see him,' she growled. 'Sorry, guys. We'll just have to start without him,' she said. 'We'll miss our honeymoon if we wait any longer!'

  Belle nodded. She was singing lead vocals on the first song anyway, and although it wasn't ideal, she could manage without the support of Felix playing the melody on guitar. Her stomach churning, Belle stepped to the front of the stage, took the microphone and glanced back at the rest of the band. Holly and Cat smiled in encouragement, Ben gave a thumbs-up sign and Mason counted them in.

  Belle began to sing. She was in paradise: on stage, microphone in hand, singing her heart out! This was where she was meant to be!

  Carly and Greg moved onto the dance floor to a round of applause and began to dance. Belle could see the love shining in their eyes and drew on that feeling as she sang, her voice swelling, becoming even stronger and purer. Cat and Holly's harmonies were perfect, and she hardly noticed the missing guitar. After a few moments, others joined the bride and groom, and soon the room was full of couples swaying back and forth – some more than others; there'd been a lot of champagne drunk during the speeches.

  As the last note ended, the room erupted with applause. Belle smiled and bowed, thrilled by the whistles and cheers of the enthusiastic audience. She looked round at Cat and Holly, who grinned at her, both radiant with the joy of singing. Mason and Ben were beaming triumphantly too. Belle turned back to the hall to see Carly and Greg in the middle of the dance floor, still smiling up at her and clapping.

  Then Belle glanced up at the sound of the door at the back of the hall crashing open. It was Felix! He hobbled in on his crutches, through the throng of guests towards the stage – followed by a man carrying a large chair.

  Belle couldn't believe what she was seeing. Felix went out to get a chair? But the church hall was full of chairs! They'd already put one out for him . . .

  But when Felix and the chair were lifted onto the stage, Belle realized it was no ordinary chair. It was a large, black swivel chair with wheels and a footrest for his ankle. Felix scooted across the stage, did a couple of spins, grabbed the microphone and began to sing the opening lines of the next song on the play-list: Livin' La Vida Loca . . .

  The crowd cheered and laughed. They seemed to think Felix's late arrival was all part of the act. Belle could only join in as she fell into step with Cat and Holly, clicking her fingers and dancing as they sang their harmonies.

  Within seconds the party was jumping! Old aunties in floral dresses were bopping with little boys in page-boy suits; flower girls were dancing around in their long party dresses . . . and at the end of every song the guests went wild and shouted for more.

  'I've not had this much fun since the karaoke party!' Belle shouted to Holly and Cat over the noise of the applause. The karaoke was the first time they'd sung together, before they'd even formed Nobody's Angels.

  'Me neither!' Holy and Cat chorused back, both glowing with exhilaration.

  When they took a break, there was a flurry of hugs and high-fives. 'What's with the chair, man?' Ben asked Felix when they finally sat down with their drinks.

  'Wicked, eh?' Felix grinned. 'I got the idea from Mrs Butterworth. I hate not being able to move around the stage. I borrowed it from Uncle Mattie's furniture shop down the road.'

  The band took their places on stage for their second set – this time performing their own material, including Nobody's Angels' song, Done Looking! The vibrant mambo number went down so well, they played it twice more during the evening. There was more dancing and applause until, finally, the best man took the microphone and thanked them all, rather drunkenly, for making the party rock.

  Belle was on a high . . .

  And she'd hardly thought about Jack once all day!

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Holly: Cheese Toasties and Angelina Ballerina

  Holly was still buzzing with excitement as they stood chatting with the boys, waiting for their taxi at the end of the gig.

  And when a friend of Felix's father came over and asked if both The Undertow and Nobody's Angels would perform at his company's Christmas party, she thought she would swoon with joy! The company was a well-known advertising agency with trendy offices in Docklands. Wow! Holly thought. How cool would that be!

  The boys clearly thought so too. They high-fived and agreed immediately.

  Cat jumped up and down, clapping her hands and shouting, 'Yippee!'

  But Holly hesitated. The Macbeth production was only a week away and Cat really had to focus on that a hundred per cent now. Would she have time for another gig?

  Cat stopped jumping and looked serious for a moment, as if she'd read Holly's thoughts. Then, 'It's OK,' she said, suddenly grinning. 'The party gig's going to be a week after Macbeth – right at the end of term, just before we all go home for the Christmas holiday – and if we can just do the songs we did tonight . . .'

  'Yeah, we'll be ladies of leisure by then!' Belle laughed with relief. 'As long as we start rehearsing again the day after Macbeth, we'll have plenty of time!'

  Holly nodded, her excitement flooding back.

  'There's one condition, though!' Belle added, grinning. 'Cat and Felix both have to promise to be on time. No West End auditions. No more last-minute furniture-shopping. After two nail-biters this week, my nervous system can't take any more!'

  'DEAL!' they all shouted.

  Holly spent the short taxi ride home pointing out the local landmarks in the orange glare of the streetlamps. 'My old school!' she exclaimed. 'The park . . . the shops . . . Miss Toft's dance school . . . my street . . .' It was so much fun to show her friends her own special corner of the world. She knew it was a very ordinary north London kind of a corner, but it was her corner, all the same.

  It was after eleven o'clock when they pulled up in front of the familiar small red-brick house; warm golden light spilled cosily from the bay windows on each side of the front door. Mum threw open the door and Holly dropped her bag and gave her a huge hug. It was so good to be home again!

  'Don't you all look fabulous? Aren't you fr
eezing? Are you hungry?' Mum bombarded them with questions as she welcomed them in. She had only met Cat and Belle once, at the party after the gala showcase, but she treated them as if she'd known them all their lives.

  'Where's Steve?' Holly asked, once they were settled comfortably round the kitchen table.

  Mum smiled as she cleared away a pile of school books she'd been marking. 'Good old Boiler Repair Man has put on his cape and flown off to rescue an old lady with an exploding combi,' she told her.

  'My stepdad's a gas-fitter,' Holly explained, in response to Belle's puzzled look. 'A combi's a type of boiler.'

  Mum bustled around making hot chocolate and cheese toasties. She joined in the laughter as the girls recounted their latest escapades at school, including Holly's attempt to impersonate Cat as Lady Macbeth. Belle even told the sorry tale of Jack Thorne, Bianca Hayford and little Foo-Foo.

  'Oh, yes, the lovely Bianca!' Mum said. 'Holly's told me all about her. There was a girl at my school like that when I was your age. Her name was Felicity Pritchard – a right cow, she was!'

  There was a pitter-patter on the stairs. Holly ran to scoop her little brother, Will, up in her arms, all warm and sleepy, in his Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas. She carried him upstairs and put him back to bed, snuggling her face into his neck – suddenly realizing how much she missed her family when she was away at Superstar High.

  Only a few minutes later, the girls were ready for bed themselves.

  When Holly opened the door, she saw her bedroom as if for the first time. It was very, very pink, with a border of ballet shoes and ribbons. The walls were plastered with old posters of Kylie Minogue, Beyoncé and Darcey Bussell, and one was covered with dance certificates and photos from her competitions and shows. Fluffy toy animals were piled on the bed. Two extra beds had been made up on air mattresses on the floor – one of them with an old Angelina Ballerina duvet cover she'd not seen for years.

  'Sorry, my room's a bit . . . babyish,' Holly said. 'It looks like a five-year-old just moved out!'

  Cat laughed. 'It's brilliant, Hols. Bagsy I get the Angelina bed!' She jumped onto the pink duvet printed with little mice in tutus.

  'It's perfect,' Belle sighed. 'I wish I had a room like this!' She placed her Louis Vuitton overnight bag on the other airbed and started unpacking, arranging her toiletries on a shelf and laying her neatly folded clothes out for the morning.

  Cat caught Holly's eye and laughed. She pulled her pyjamas out of her rucksack and threw them on. 'I'm so tired, I'm not even going to take my make-up off.'

  'Yeah, let's live dangerously!' Holly agreed, crawling under her duvet in her pants and T-shirt.

  'Sorry, I can't live that dangerously,' Belle said, sitting cross-legged on her bed, holding up a small mirror and delicately wiping her face with cotton wool dipped in cleanser from her selection of matching Clinique bottles.

  'Hurry up!' Cat groaned, throwing her Angelina Ballerina pillow at Belle. 'Turn the light out, Hols!'

  'Hey, I can't see what I'm doing!' Belle protested. But then she laughed and got into bed. 'If I have spots in the morning, I'll be holding you two personally responsible. Goodnight.'

  'G'nigh . . .' Cat murmured.

  Holly snuggled down happily in her bed. Her own bed in her own room!

  'Goodnight,' she said, yawning.

  It was a perfect end to a perfect day.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Holly: The Tragic Tale of Little Foo-Foo

  By Monday lunch time, Holly was completely fed up with Bianca Hayford.

  Before, Bianca had merely been velcroed to Jack's side; now she seemed to have applied the hot-glue gun and bonded herself permanently in place.

  She passed notes to Jack all through the science lesson.

  In art, Bianca smudged Madonna's teeth, and was only brought back from the brink of emotional collapse by sitting next to Jack and copying his Nelson Mandela.

  In English, when Jack mentioned that his favourite book was Nineteen Eighty-Four, Bianca told him that it just happened to be her favourite too, and insisted they should write their book review together.

  Jack smiled and nodded in response to Bianca's attention-seeking tactics, but he seemed preoccupied, Holly thought, and he kept glancing uncertainly at Belle.

  Holly could see that Belle was trying to rise above it – but it was clear from the deep frown lines between her eyebrows that she was beginning to sink beneath it.

  At lunch, Cat grabbed a sandwich and headed off to a Macbeth meeting and Belle disappeared to the music library. Holly queued at the baked potato counter in the dining room, mulling over the problem. It was so frustrating! Holly was sure Jack and Belle were made for each other, but it was starting to look as if they were doomed never to get together. It wasn't Jack's fault – he had tried to talk to Belle several times, but she was so embarrassed about the whole affair, she just mumbled excuses and scuttled away whenever he came near. And then, before he had a chance to try again, Bianca would ambush him. Holly didn't blame Jack for being friendly with Bianca either; she was the first person he'd met at Superstar High, and he was probably being extra kind to her right now because he thought she was devastated by the death of her little dog.

  But, Holly thought, surely Jack will feel differently if he finds out that Bianca has never even owned a dog.

  Holly wasn't naturally a suspicious person. But she was convinced that little Foo-Foo was an entirely mythical beast, invented by Bianca to dupe Jack into The Kiss and put an end to his romance with Belle.

  Bianca didn't even like animals – she wouldn't let poor Shreddie near her!

  But, without proof that Bianca was lying, Holly couldn't say anything to Jack. She had to just stand by and watch Bianca dig her claws deeper into him, while Belle missed out on her chance of the perfect date!

  But as she scanned the dining room for a place to sit, she spied Lettie Atkins at a table by herself and a Great Idea flashed into Holly's mind. Lettie had been friends with Bianca for ever. Surely she would know if Bianca had a little canine companion.

  Holly sat down next to Lettie. 'Does the name Foo-Foo mean anything to you?' she asked, getting straight to the point with a line she'd picked up from an episode of The Bill.

  Lettie looked up with a bemused expression, but before she could answer, Bianca, Jack and Mayu joined them – and Bianca immediately started telling them all about what she was planning to wear to the party after Macbeth on Saturday night, which totally put paid to Holly's investigations.

  The afternoon's singing class with Mr Garcia was just as bad. Or rather, the class was fine, but Bianca continued to cling to Jack's side – like an FBI bodyguard prepared to leap out and take a bullet for him at any moment. And as they left the class, Bianca foiled Holly's second attempt to interrogate Lettie by dragging her (and Jack, of course) off to the library on some supposedly urgent book-returning errand.

  Later, Holly was in her room, flicking through a new dancewear catalogue and chatting with Gemma about the thrilling prospect of the Nutcracker Sweeties production next term. They were both wearing their pointe shoes under thick socks; following Miss Morgan's advice to wear them as slippers to soften the glue and help shape them to their feet.

  'I feel like a penguin in wellies in these!' Gemma said as she hobbled across the room.

  Holly giggled, and then jumped up as she heard the door across the corridor banging shut. Lettie must be setting off for her six-o'clock piano practice.

  At last – a chance to speak to her alone!

  But when Holly peeped out, Lettie was disappearing down the corridor, hand-in-hand with Nick Taggart. 'Piano practice' seems to be taking on a whole new meaning these days, she thought. She was about to go and share this latest snippet of gossip with Cat and Belle . . .

  . . . but then she had a radical idea.

  She would confront Bianca directly.

  Before she could change her mind, Holly knocked on Bianca's door and marched – or rather waddled – in.
Her stomach knotted with anxiety as she entered the room she had once shared with Bianca.

  'What do you want?' Bianca snapped, barely looking up from writing a text message. 'Not your room any more, in case you'd forgotten.'

  OK, here goes, Holly told herself. 'Bianca, your dog . . . '

  'Foo-Foo? What about him?'

  'It's just that I didn't even know you had a dog . . .'

  'Yeah, well, newsflash for you,' Bianca said sarcastically. 'I don't tell you all my personal secrets!'

  'Er, a dog's not exactly a personal secret,' Holly pointed out. 'How did Foo-Foo die?'

  Bianca stared at her hands for a long moment, as if mustering the strength to talk about it. Then she took a deep breath. 'Well, if you must know,' she gulped, 'it was c-c-can—' And with that her face crumpled and she burst into tears, unable to finish the terrible word.

  'Cancer?' Holly whispered.

  Bianca nodded. 'The vet tried everything,' she sniffed, 'but they couldn't save him, and Mum said it was better for him not to suffer, and . . . and . . . and . . .' Tears were flowing down her face now.

  Holly felt dreadful for doubting her. Surely even Bianca couldn't just produce tears like turning on a tap – unless she happened to have a pile of chopped onions stashed under her pillow. And no one would lie about something as serious as cancer, would they? Holly realized, with a terrible pang of guilt, that Bianca must have been telling the truth about Foo-Foo all along.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to put her arm round Bianca's heaving shoulders, but Bianca shrugged her away.

  'I'm so sorry, I – I didn't mean to upset you . . .' Holly stammered.

  'Well, you've brought on one of my headaches,' Bianca complained, kneading her temples.

  'Would you like some water?' Holly offered. 'I could ask Miss Candlemas for some paracetamol.'