‘I’m still not sure exactly what I’m supposed to do,’ Kim said nervously.
‘Look, Kim, it’s simple,’ I said, for possibly the hundredth time. ‘Someone comes along and bids for you and you have to do jobs for them.’ We’d fixed on tomorrow, Friday, as the day when the slaves would perform their tasks for the winning bidders. ‘Nobody’s going to ask you to split the atom or do a bungee jump. It’s just a bit of fun. That’s all.’
Kim said nothing but didn’t look convinced.
We’d managed to round up seventeen of our friends, including Kim and Kiran, who’d agreed to be slaves, so there were twenty of us in total. Mr Grimwade had arranged for us all to have lunch fifteen minutes early so that we could get into our costumes and be ready for the auction to start.
When we arrived at the canteen, Mrs Openshaw was on guard, waiting for us.
‘Now, you haven’t forgotten about getting me Molly Mahal’s autograph, have you, Amber?’ she called as soon as she saw me.
‘Of course not,’ I replied, hoping I didn’t look as guilty as I felt. I’d completely forgotten about it. ‘I’ll have to wait until Who’s in the House? finishes though.’
‘Oh, of course.’ Mrs Openshaw winked at me and kindly gave me extra broccoli. Yum.
‘I wonder if Molly’s going to win,’ said Chelsea as we all gathered round one of the large tables. ‘What do you think?’
‘Oh, I think she will,’ Shweta, Jazz’s friend, replied solemnly. ‘She’s so great, isn’t she? Everyone loves her.’
‘I think she’s had cosmetic surgery since she was here, don’t you?’ Kyra, Geena’s mate, chimed in. ‘I reckon she’s had her eyes done and—’
‘Look, can we forget about Who’s in the House? just for five minutes?’ I snapped. ‘I’d like to remind you that we have something equally important happening right here at Coppergate.’
‘What’s that then?’ asked Sharelle. ‘Oh, you mean the slave auction.’
‘Yes, I do.’ I glared at her. ‘So can we keep our minds on that please?’
There was silence for about ten seconds, apart from the sound of chewing.
‘I don’t know,’ Jazz said thoughtfully, ‘I think Romy Turner’s got a good chance, especially if she wears that silver bikini again.’
‘What bikini?’ Kiran scoffed. ‘It’s so tiny you’d need a magnifying glass to see it.’
They all started talking again and I sighed. I was getting quite sick of Who’s in the House? Thank goodness the programme finished tomorrow. Maybe then people would concentrate on our fund-raising events.
Half an hour later we were all costumed up and waiting backstage in the school hall.
‘There are lots of kids coming in,’ Jazz reported with satisfaction as she peeped through the curtains. She was dressed as Pocahontas in what I personally thought was a rather too tight and too short tunic, along with a feather headdress. I was much more tasteful in a Spanish flamenco dress with my hair drawn back tightly into a bun. ‘And teachers too,’ Jazz went on. ‘Oh!’ she gave a yelp of surprise. ‘Auntie’s just come in with Uncle Jai.’
‘I wonder what she’s doing here?’ Geena remarked. She had fought it out with Kyra for the flouncy, sequinned Fairy Godmother outfit, and was now swanning around backstage, waving her wand triumphantly. Kyra, meanwhile, was clanking about sulkily, dressed as the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz.
‘Are you ready, girls?’ Mr Hernandez poked his head round the curtain. He was wearing a new purple shirt decorated with bright green lizards. ‘If so, we’ll make a start. Let’s have you all out on the stage.’
‘Sir, can you give me a hand?’ Kim wailed, trying to hobble after the rest of us. She was dressed as a mermaid and her fishy tail was rather tight. ‘I can’t walk!’
Without further delay, Mr Hernandez made an executive decision and slung Kim over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. Then he carried her onto the stage and put her down. There were cheers and whoops from the audience.
‘I’m sure that’s against health and safety regulations,’ I heard Mr Grimwade say pompously to Auntie and Uncle Jai as we followed Kim and Mr Hernandez out onto the stage. ‘What if there’s a fire? Kimberley won’t be able to get out of the building fast enough.’
I was pleased (and relieved) to see that the hall was packed with kids and teachers. I was not at all pleased to see George Botley right at the very front of the stage, grinning up at me confidently. I’d asked George to be a slave himself but he’d refused, saying he was ‘totally looking forward to being a bidder’. His words. Oh dear.
Mr Hernandez began banging maniacally on the lectern with an auctioneer’s hammer. I have no idea where he got the hammer from but I could see Mr Grimwade wincing.
‘Pray silence!’ shouted Mr Hernandez. ‘Today we have a super, a spiffing, a totally splendiferous auction for you. You, the audience’ – he pointed the hammer at the crowd and the front row ducked nervously – ‘will have the chance to bid for your very own slave in aid of the school library fund. So why waste any more time? Life is short and we’re all getting older, so let’s meet our first slave right away. The very lovely Jasvinder Dhillon!’
Jazz stepped forward from the line and there were a good few rather vulgar cheers as the boys clocked the length of her skirt (or lack of it).
‘I’ll start the bidding at one English pound,’ Mr Hernandez declared. ‘Any takers?’
‘Five pounds,’ Auntie called. Jazz, who was beaming all over her face and flicking her plaits flirtatiously, looked rather peeved.
‘Ten pounds,’ said Mr Grimwade, and Jazz looked even more worried.
The bidding crept up as a gaggle of boys who all fancied Jazz joined in as well as some of her friends. Jazz had obviously ordered them to bid and then pull out at the last minute to make her look more popular. A truly despicable idea. I wish I’d thought of it.
The total stood at thirteen pounds seventy-five pence and was still going strong when a new bidder joined in.
‘Fifteen pounds,’ said Gareth Parker from the back of the room.
‘No!’ Jazz shrieked.
‘What’s he up to?’ I whispered to Geena.
‘Silence, please, slaves!’ Mr Hernandez ordered imperiously. ‘The bid stands at fifteen pounds.’
‘Twenty pounds,’ Mr Grimwade bellowed.
‘Twenty-five,’ said Auntie crisply.
‘Twenty-six pounds,’ Gareth added.
The other bidders had fallen away by now and Mr Grimwade shook his head too. Jazz stared beseechingly at Auntie.
‘Thirty pounds,’ Auntie offered.
Gareth hesitated, then shrugged and didn’t say anything. Jazz heaved a loud sigh of relief.
‘And the winner of our first slave is Mrs Arora,’ Mr Hernandez announced as Auntie handed over the cash. ‘Thank you. Now do make sure you work Jasvinder’s fingers right down to the bone.’
‘Oh, I intend to,’ Auntie replied. ‘I have a long list of chores that she should have done, going back months.’
Jazz looked extremely glum.
Things were going with a swing now. Next up was Kim, who tried to put a brave face on it when she was won for a bargain seventeen pounds twenty pence by Mr Grimwade. Mr Grimwade then announced that he was also there to bid on Mr Morgan’s behalf because the headteacher needed someone to clean out the school’s trophy cabinet. Kiran was the lucky slave there, going for twenty pounds.
‘That sounds like a bum job,’ I whispered to her. ‘Sorry about that.’
Kiran shrugged. ‘Oh, well, it’s all for a good cause, isn’t it?’
The auction went on, our friends going for amounts between five and twenty-five pounds. Most of them were won by teachers, but there was a minor sensation when Kyra Hollins was won by the boyfriend she’d dumped only two days previously.
‘Do I have to?’ she grumbled loudly after Christian Jones had apparently bid his life savings for her (thirty-one pounds fifty pence). ‘It’s not fair!’
; ‘I can see why you’re dressed as the Tin Man,’ Christian announced soulfully, ‘because you really don’t have a heart.’
The mystery of Gareth Parker deepened even more when it was Geena’s turn to be auctioned. As she stepped forward, he pushed his way to the front of the stage and stood there, arms folded, glowering at us.
‘And now’ – Mr Hernandez banged his hammer furiously – ‘our next slave is the utterly fabulous Miss Geena Dhi—’
‘Thirty pounds,’ Gareth snarled.
Everyone turned to stare at him as Geena flushed pink with rage.
‘He’s up to something,’ I said to Jazz. ‘He’s definitely up to something.’
‘I agree,’ said Jazz. ‘But what?’
‘That’s a very high opening bid, Gareth,’ Mr Hernandez said approvingly. ‘Anyone else?’
‘Er, excuse me.’ Uncle Jai was clearing his throat apologetically. ‘I’d like to bid, please. Thirty-five pounds.’
Geena beamed at him, only to scowl when Gareth snapped, ‘Thirty-seven pounds.’
‘Forty pounds,’ said Uncle Jai.
Gareth looked defiant. ‘Forty-one.’
‘Forty-five.’
‘I’m out,’ Gareth muttered, slumping in defeat.
Geena waved jauntily across the room at Uncle Jai. ‘Thanks,’ she called.
‘Don’t mention it,’ Uncle Jai called back. ‘Your aunt asked me to bid. I think she has plans for you.’
‘Yes, Geena, you haven’t done half your chores either,’ said Auntie. ‘I have a full programme of activities planned for you tomorrow.’
‘Oh, rats,’ Geena muttered sulkily.
I smiled. I was extremely relieved that we’d decided that people were only allowed to win one slave each. But I was a little concerned that nobody would bid for me now except George Botley. I think George had had the same thought because he was looking ever so pleased with himself.
‘And finally – our last slave!’ Mr Hernandez boomed. ‘The one, the only, the once-in-a-lifetime Miss Ambajit Dhillon!’
There were whoops and cheers, the loudest coming from George Botley, which was highly embarrassing.
‘Any bids?’ called Mr Hernandez.
George’s hand shot into the air. ‘Five pounds,’ he offered.
Please, somebody, anybody else.
‘Five pounds fifty pence.’
Gareth Parker again! I wasn’t sure whether to be angry or relieved. George or Gareth? It was a terrible decision that no one should be forced to make.
A few other kids and teachers joined in, but George and Gareth continued to put the price up slowly and the others fell away. Gareth offered nineteen pounds, and for the first time George started looking a bit uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to speak but someone else got in before him.
‘Twenty quid,’ said Rocky from the back of the hall, not even bothering to remove his iPod headphones.
I let out a huge sigh of relief. Rocky probably only wanted to buy me to have someone to sit and listen to his extraordinarily bad rap music (taking the term ‘captive audience’ to a whole new level). But even that would be better than being at George or Gareth’s beck and call for a day.
Gareth shook his head and stomped out of the hall. Ha! That was the end of him and his little game. Whatever that game might be.
George was looking worried too. ‘Twenty-one,’ he said hesitantly.
‘Twenty-two.’ Rocky didn’t miss a beat.
George frowned up at Mr Hernandez. ‘Twenty-two pounds and a bag of Walkers salt and vinegar.’
‘George, you know my weakness for salt and vinegar crisps only too well,’ Mr Hernandez said solemnly. ‘But rules are rules. Hard cash only, I’m afraid.’
‘Sorry,’ George said apologetically, glancing up at me. ‘I’m out.’
Thank goodness!
‘I’ll try to bear the pain, George,’ I assured him.
‘I now declare this auction over.’ Mr Hernandez beat a final tattoo with his hammer on the lectern. ‘And I’m pleased to tell you that the girls have raised just over three hundred pounds!’
There was a round of loud applause and then everyone began filing out for afternoon lessons.
‘Thanks for bidding for me, Rocky,’ I said as he climbed onto the stage to pay Mr Hernandez. ‘You saved my life.’
‘What?’ Rocky was texting away on his mobile. ‘Oh, I wasn’t bidding for myself. Baby asked me to bid for her.’
‘What!’ I screamed.
‘Yes, I’m just texting her now to tell her I won.’ Rocky sent the text and scowled. ‘She’d better pay me back for this as well. She owes me a ton of cash as it is.’
Horror-struck, I tottered backstage to join the others.
‘Poor George,’ Jazz remarked, removing her feather headdress. ‘I did feel sorry for him when he missed out on Amber.’
‘Never mind George, what about you and me?’ Geena demanded. ‘Auntie’s going to have us doing chores before and after school tomorrow. She’ll want to get her money’s worth all right.’
‘Well, if you want to know something even more tragic,’ I said glumly, ‘Rocky was bidding on Baby’s behalf.’
I’d like to say that Geena and Jazz were sympathetic, but they just roared with laughter.
As we went home after school that evening, quite a few people came up to me and said how much they’d enjoyed the slave auction. But, as usual, most of the playground talk was about that night’s edition of Who’s in the House? Would someone else be kicked out before the Grand Finale tomorrow night? Would Molly Mahal take glory, or would Romy Turner’s string bikinis win the day? Even Luke Lee had an outside chance, what with his ageing eighties fan base.
I was so annoyed with the programme taking away most of the attention from our fund-raising efforts that I almost decided not to watch tonight. Note: I did say almost decided. Well, these things hook you like a fish and you have to watch, don’t you? It’s a bit like picking at a scab. You know it’s bad for you, but you just can’t stop yourself.
‘Look!’ I groaned as we reached our house. Baby was sitting in the window like a shark waiting for her next victim to chance along the way. That would be me, then.
‘What’s she holding?’ asked Jazz as we walked towards the front door.
‘Two sheets of A4 paper,’ I sighed, ‘which I’m betting is my list of jobs for tomorrow.’
Baby spotted us outside and began grinning like a loon through the window.
‘Bad luck, Amber,’ Geena chuckled as we went in. ‘I bet even Auntie hasn’t got that much planned for me and Jazz.’
‘How wrong can you be?’ Auntie appeared in the living room doorway and thrust one list at Geena and another at Jazz. ‘There are two pages each, by the way. Baby and I printed them all out on the computer.’
‘This is inhuman,’ Jazz wailed, scanning the sheets. ‘Even slaves have rights.’
‘Hi, Amber.’ A grinning Baby handed me her list over Auntie’s shoulder. ‘I’d like all these things done tomorrow, please. You’ll probably have to get up an hour or two earlier, but no pressure.’
‘I’m going to garrotte George Botley for suggesting that stupid slave auction,’ I muttered.
‘Anyway, on a lighter note, I have some interesting news for you,’ Auntie went on. ‘When I got home after the slave auction this afternoon, someone rang me from the local TV news programme.’
‘You mean they’d heard about the slave auction and wanted to put it on the local news?’ I asked, perking up.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Auntie replied. ‘They want to come and film us watching Who’s in the House? tomorrow night. Everyone knows Molly stayed with us quite recently and they think it would be interesting to film our celebrations if she wins tomorrow.’
‘Oh.’ Sure, it would be a bit of a laugh to be on the TV. But all this Who’s in the House? frenzy was seriously beginning to get on my nerves.
‘Ooh! I’m going to be on TV!’ Baby squealed. ‘Out of my way, losers.�
� She barged past me, Geena and Jazz, and charged upstairs. ‘I’ve got to plan my outfit.’
‘Baby, they’re only going to film us for a very brief period,’ Auntie called after her, ‘and I’m sure they won’t show the clip at all if Molly doesn’t win.’
But Baby had gone, dreaming of TV stardom.
‘She’s such a clunkhead,’ Geena said dismissively. ‘I mean, it’s only the local news, for goodness’ sake. Nothing special. Do you think I’ll have time to go to the hairdresser’s after school?’
‘No,’ said Auntie. ‘You have slave duties to perform.’
Geena scowled.
‘Are we going to celebrate if Molly wins?’ asked Jazz. ‘I wasn’t planning to throw a party or anything.’
‘I think the news people are hoping we’ll jump up and down and cheer loudly,’ Auntie replied. ‘They said they wanted the same atmosphere as you find in a pub when the England football team are playing.’
‘What, doom and gloom, and people drowning their sorrows in drink?’ I asked.
Auntie smiled. ‘I think they meant jumping around and cheering when England score a goal. Oh, and they want us to invite as many people who knew Molly as possible to come along.’
‘All right,’ I agreed absently. An idea had just occurred to me and I took it up and looked at it from all angles, while Geena and Jazz started discussing what outfits they were going to wear tomorrow.
The news crew were coming to film us because we knew Molly Mahal, and because of the popularity of Who’s in the House? of course. But appearing on TV, even just the local news, could be great publicity, in some way, for our own fund-raising efforts.
How exactly?
I just had to figure that one out before tomorrow night.
Chapter Seven
‘AND THE OSCAR for Best Actress goes to . . . Amber Dhillon!’
Blushing and smiling, I gathered up the long sparkly skirts of my expensive crimson dress and sashayed my way over to the stage, diamonds twinkling in the flashing lights of the cameras. The applause was deafening. People were whooping and cheering, and it was all for me.
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