rehearsal either. Miranda had been really annoyed with him about that.
Somebody laughed.
A woman. Phew. Hannah ran backstage. “People are coming!”
Everyone stopped what they were doing and listened. “That’s Auntie Cath,” said Lottie.
Leaves rustled and twigs snapped. A child wailed, “Ow, it stung me!”
“Ugh,” said Lottie. “My cousin Jeremy. He’ll probably cry for an hour now.”
The front-of-house door slid open. Hannah crept onstage and peeped through the gaps at the sides of the curtains. Lottie’s auntie Cath stepped cautiously over the threshold. A little girl held her hand.
“Isn’t this fun!” said Auntie Cath. “Look at those lovely curtains, Evie!”
A very grumpy-looking man stepped into the auditorium. He had two folding chairs under each arm and a whimpering boy behind him.
“Great fun,” he said, “when you have to carry your own flipping chairs through a blasted forest to get here. What is this, boot camp?”
“Sshh, Andrew,” said his wife. “They’ll hear you. Stop moaning and enjoy it.”
A pale girl of about ten, holding a paperback book in front of her face, appeared at the door. She glanced up from the book for long enough to pinpoint the spare seat, sat down in it and started reading again.
“Where’s everybody else?” asked Uncle Andrew. “We’re not the only ones who’ve got to suffer this, are we?”
Charming.
But where was everybody else? Surely it must be three o’clock by now? What if Granny and Lottie’s mum were wandering lost around the thicket?
The others were fussing with costumes and make-up. Hannah slipped out of the stage door and down the path, where bright-green leaves were uncurling all over the blackthorn bushes and wood anemones were opening up on the ground like little earthbound stars.
And then she heard a sound that stopped her blood in her veins.
“A theatre? In these bushes? You having a laugh, Adamson?”
Jack and Danny! Hannah felt her leg bones dissolve like tablets in a glass of water. She clutched at a hazel branch. No, no, no!
Deep inside her, so deep that she couldn’t really admit it even to herself, Hannah had had a secret fantasy that Jack would come to the play, and that, once there, he would be so wowed by her acting that he would see her in a whole new light and fall madly in love with her.
What a ridiculous idea. He had come, but he’dbrought Danny with him. Of course he had. They’d come to point and laugh, to gloat and make fun, and then to spread it all round the school on Monday morning that Hannah Roberts spends her weekends playing at theatres in an old chicken shed.
And what would Lottie say?
Lottie would never speak to her again after this.
As Hannah stood there clutching the hazel branch, she heard Danny’s voice again.
“There’s nothing in there, mate. She must’ve been having you on.”
And then Jack. “Who cares, anyway? Let’s get out of here.”
Hannah clung to the branch, not moving, not even breathing, as their voices faded away. Even when the only sound left was the rustle of the grass in the breeze, her legs still trembled and she couldn’t move. She hardly dared believe they had gone.
But they didn’t come back. There wasn’t another sound.
She was saved. And she would never, ever be so stupid again.
“Here we are, Dora. This must be the path.”
Lottie’s mum. And Hannah’s granny with her. Weak with relief, Hannah scurried back to the theatre before they saw her.
Jo and Lottie took up their positions in the wings, each holding the string of a curtain. Lottie caught Hannah’s eye. “Ready?” she whispered.
Hannah laid her head on the queen’s pillow and closed her eyes. Lottie and Jo pulled the curtains open.
Hannah, snoring loudly, heard surprised and appreciative noises from the audience. She heard her granny say, “Goodness, haven’t they got it looking nice!”
Hannah stretched elegantly and gave a huge yawn. Slowly she sat upright, opened her eyes,
Somebody laughed.
A woman. Phew. Hannah ran backstage. “People are coming!”
Everyone stopped what they were doing and listened. “That’s Auntie Cath,” said Lottie.
Leaves rustled and twigs snapped. A child wailed, “Ow, it stung me!”
“Ugh,” said Lottie. “My cousin Jeremy. He’ll probably cry for an hour now.”
The front-of-house door slid open. Hannah crept onstage and peeped through the gaps at the sides of the curtains. Lottie’s auntie Cath stepped cautiously over the threshold. A little girl held her hand.
“Isn’t this fun!” said Auntie Cath. “Look at those lovely curtains, Evie!”
A very grumpy-looking man stepped into the auditorium. He had two folding chairs under each arm and a whimpering boy behind him.
“Great fun,” he said, “when you have to carry your own flipping chairs through a blasted forest to get here. What is this, boot camp?”
“Sshh, Andrew,” said his wife. “They’ll hear you. Stop moaning and enjoy it.”
A pale girl of about ten, holding a paperback book in front of her face, appeared at the door. She glanced up from the book for long enough to pinpoint the spare seat, sat down in it and started reading again.
“Where’s everybody else?” asked Uncle Andrew. “We’re not the only ones who’ve got to suffer this, are we?”
Charming.
But where was everybody else? Surely it must be three o’clock by now? What if Granny and Lottie’s mum were wandering lost around the thicket?
The others were fussing with costumes and make-up. Hannah slipped out of the stage door and down the path, where bright-green leaves were uncurling all over the blackthorn bushes and wood anemones were opening up on the ground like little earthbound stars.
And then she heard a sound that stopped her blood in her veins.
“A theatre? In these bushes? You having a laugh, Adamson?”
Jack and Danny! Hannah felt her leg bones dissolve like tablets in a glass of water. She clutched at a hazel branch. No, no, no!
Deep inside her, so deep that she couldn’t really admit it even to herself, Hannah had had a secret fantasy that Jack would come to the play, and that, once there, he would be so wowed by her acting that he would see her in a whole new light and fall madly in love with her.
What a ridiculous idea. He had come, but he’dbrought Danny with him. Of course he had. They’d come to point and laugh, to gloat and make fun, and then to spread it all round the school on Monday morning that Hannah Roberts spends her weekends playing at theatres in an old chicken shed.
And what would Lottie say?
Lottie would never speak to her again after this.
As Hannah stood there clutching the hazel branch, she heard Danny’s voice again.
“There’s nothing in there, mate. She must’ve been having you on.”
And then Jack. “Who cares, anyway? Let’s get out of here.”
Hannah clung to the branch, not moving, not even breathing, as their voices faded away. Even when the only sound left was the rustle of the grass in the breeze, her legs still trembled and she couldn’t move. She hardly dared believe they had gone.
But they didn’t come back. There wasn’t another sound.
She was saved. And she would never, ever be so stupid again.
“Here we are, Dora. This must be the path.”
Lottie’s mum. And Hannah’s granny with her. Weak with relief, Hannah scurried back to the theatre before they saw her.
Jo and Lottie took up their positions in the wings, each holding the string of a curtain. Lottie caught Hannah’s eye. “Ready?” she whispered.
Hannah laid her head on the queen’s pillow and closed her eyes. Lottie and Jo pulled the curtains open.
Hannah, snoring loudly, heard surprised and appreciative noises from the audience. She heard her granny say, “Goodness, haven’t they got it looking nice!”
Hannah stretched elegantly and gave a huge yawn. Slowly she sat upright, opened her eyes,
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