Phoebe Finds Her Voice Read online

  I wanted to say, “Tell him yourself,” but Mum and Dad were barely speaking these days.

  Walking up the stairs into the hall, Polly was just ahead of me when she called out over her shoulder, “I hear your dad’s going to buy you your own special aura for Christmas, Phoebe,” and then burst out laughing, clutching hold of the banister as if she was in danger of falling down. I could feel myself shrivel up inside as I tried to think of something to say back, anything, but just then Tara came over and grabbed my arm.

  “Thank goodness you’re here, Phoebe!” she cried, pulling me into the hall. “You’ve got to test me on Act One – I’ve been practising all week but for some reason I still seem to be getting my lines mixed up.”

  I don’t think she was getting her lines mixed up – I mean she’s easily the cleverest girl in our class – she was probably just trying to get me away from Polly before I pushed her back down the stairs or something.

  “Hi, Phoebe,” said Ellie, coming over and giving me a hug. “What do you think of the hall? It’s wicked, isn’t it? It’s like standing in the middle of a giant aquarium. Sam and I are going Christmas shopping later if you want to come. My mum’s going to drop us at the High Road after drama.”

  “I can’t, Ellie. My gran’s coming over and I have to go straight home.”

  Just then Miss Howell walked over to us. “Look at the state of the hall, girls! I honestly don’t know what goes on in that man’s head. I mean, doesn’t he realize that fluorescent turquoise doesn’t exactly match sunset orange?”

  She touched her hair, which was the brightest orange I’ve ever seen and actually much more like a tangerine than a sunset. I’d put my hair up in a sort of knot with bits hanging down. I copied it from this magazine. It probably didn’t look anything like the girl in the picture, but at least it wasn’t plastered with hair gel and bits of blue tissue.

  “Anyway, come and make a circle over here and we’ll get started, and Ellie, don’t even tell me you’ve lost your script or its been weed on again because I don’t want to know.”

  “I haven’t actually lost it,” said Ellie, shrugging sheepishly. “I just dropped it in the bath and then it was drying over the radiator, but I think my little brother might have taken it and used it to…er…line the hamster cage.”

  “The hamster cage!” said Miss Howell, trying not to laugh. “Ellie Matthews, what am I going to do with you? Anyway, you won’t need it this morning because in a second we’re going to learn some exercises to help you project your voices when you’re onstage. At the moment most of you are speaking and singing from up here at the top of your chest, when your voice actually needs to come from way down here in your belly.

  “Let’s start off by going round the circle and each of you saying your name as loudly as you can without shouting. I want you to put one hand on your tummy, then when you speak you should feel it go right in.”

  “My tummy’s not moving at all,” said Monty B. “But that’s probably because I had six bowls of cornflakes for breakfast.”

  “Oh my God, that is so gross,” said Neesha.

  I hate it when we have to say things out loud in front of everyone else; I’d actually rather have a hole drilled in one of my teeth with no anaesthetic. I tried to tell Miss Howell I didn’t want to do it, but she just said I’d be fine. By the time it got to my turn in the circle, my heart was thumping so loud in my chest I had no idea whether my voice was coming from the bottom of my belly or the top of my big toe.

  “Not bad at all,” Miss Howell said when we’d all had a go. “But now I want you to spend about five minutes or so talking to the person sitting next to you. Then when you’re ready, you’re going to stand on the stage with your partner, introduce them to the rest of the group, and tell me one interesting fact about them. I’m going to stand at the back of the hall and if I can hear you, I’ll wave.”

  Ellie was sitting on my right, but she was already talking to Sam, who was sitting next to her on the other side. Sitting to my left was Polly Carter. Great!

  “Come on then, Phoebe,” she said, giving me one of her nastiest smiles. “Tell me something interesting – like how’s your dad this week?”

  “Very funny, Polly! How’s yours?”

  “Shut up!”

  We both sat there in silence for a minute while everyone around us chatted away. I couldn’t think of anything to say because what I really wanted to say was, “Why are you always such a witch to me?” But then suddenly Polly put her head down and I realized she was crying.

  “Hey, listen, Polly, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  She lifted her head again and wiped her eyes angrily.

  “Forget it. I’m fine,” she said, her voice stone hard. She sat there for a bit staring into the distance. “And don’t tell anyone I was crying because I wasn’t, okay?”

  “Okay. I wasn’t going to tell anyone anyway. But are you all right?”

  “I’m fine – I just said so didn’t I? Look, why don’t you just tell everyone that my dad’s new girlfriend is going to have a baby and that I’m going to have a half-brother? That’s an interesting fact isn’t it?”

  I looked at her, amazed. I didn’t even know that her mum and dad had split up, or that her dad was with someone else.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want me to say?”

  She didn’t answer me. She just stared straight ahead again, her body rigid.

  “Well, you can tell everyone that my dad’s changing his name at a special ceremony if you want,” I said. “But I can’t tell you what he’s changing it to – it’s way too embarrassing.”

  She still didn’t say anything, but she sort of smiled and her eyes didn’t look quite so mean. Her family seemed to be in an even bigger mess than mine – maybe that’s why she was so horrible. But I still didn’t get why she picked on me all the time – and I still didn’t know what I was supposed to do about it.

  By the time it got round to our turn to speak I was so distracted by what Polly had said about her dad, I totally forgot to be nervous, and when I’d finished introducing her and telling everyone that she was going to have a half-brother, I realized that Miss Howell was waving madly at me from the end of the hall.

  “That was fantastic, Phoebe Franks!” she shouted. “Never mind about back here – they probably heard that in the next town. And congratulations, Polly! A new baby – how exciting!”

  “This is Phoebe,” said Polly when she introduced me. “Her dad is changing his name, but I’m not going to tell you what he’s changing it to because it’s top, top secret!” She made it sound dead exciting like Dad was involved in some sort of dangerous, underground mission and no one laughed or anything.

  I couldn’t believe it. The whole thing was like a miracle. I’d spoken out loud in front of everyone in the group without wetting myself or collapsing in a heap. And my arch-enemy, Polly Carter, had turned into a normal human being. Well, for a couple of seconds anyway. I turned round to say thanks but she’d walked over to the other side of the hall and she had her back to me.

  Next up were Monty B and Adam. Monty B bounced onto the stage grinning like a madman, and introduced Adam. Then he started to talk and it was obvious that he had no intentions of stopping.

  “This is Adam. He goes to Fern Bay Secondary and he’s in Year Nine. He loves coming to drama but his favourite subject at school is art and he once won a big competition so it’s like he’s already famous in a way.

  “I’m definitely going to be famous when I’m older,” he went on, hopping about from one foot to the other. “I’ll probably be an actor or a comedian or something. I’ve got some great jokes I could tell you, like there’s this one about two boiled eggs but it’s really long so…anyway, Adam’s got two brothers and one sister and he’s the youngest. You know I used to be the youngest in my family as well, Mandy, and it – was – the – pits. Then my younger brother was born, which was great, except that now I’m a middle child and everyone knows that middle chi
ldren—”

  “Monty B!” Miss Howell called out. “I said one interesting fact, not his entire life story with a bit of yours thrown in for good measure!”

  “But Mandy—”

  “Stop! Stop! Cut! ENOUGH!”

  “Okay, I get the message. NO NEED TO PROJECT YOUR VOICE LIKE THAT!” he shouted, and stormed off the stage pretending to be in a huff.

  In the break, Polly stayed on the other side of the room with two of her friends. I tried to catch her eye a few times and smile at her, but she was back to sneering and laughing.

  After break we stood round the piano and practised Doing the Sweet-Dream Rap and Don’t Let the Bed-Bugs Bite. It was amazing how much better we sang after doing those exercises. It felt as if the sound was filling the whole room, and none of us noticed Arthur walk in until the song we were singing came to an end.

  “Voices of angels,” he said, making us all jump. “Look at me, Mandy, I’m tingling all over.”

  “Oh, hello, Arthur, I didn’t see you there,” said Miss Howell, getting up from the piano. “Hall’s looking lovely and er…turquoise.”

  “Yes, stunning, isn’t it? Splendid, in fact…just the ticket.”

  “Just the ticket for what, exactly?” Miss Howell muttered.

  “All will be revealed in good time, Mandy. All in good time.”

  “Look, why don’t you just tell me now, Arthur, since you’re here. Put me out of my misery.”

  Arthur clasped his hands together like he was praying. “But Mandy, my dear, the secret of a good friendship is trust. And a friendship without trust is like an actor without a stage. I forget who said that, but it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  I looked over at Mandy. Her fist was clenched tight and I was sure she was about to swing it at Arthur. She took a very deep breath.

  “There was one thing,” he went on. “Trouble is, that lovely singing has knocked it right out of my head. Something to do with next week…now what was it?”

  He pulled hard on his beard, and a big bit of croissant floated down to the ground.

  “No, it’s gone…oh well, it’ll come to me…carry on…voices like angels…I’ll pop back when I remember…toodle pip for now.”

  He gave a theatrical bow and with a quick flick of his cape he legged it out of the room. Of course he didn’t come back, and Miss Howell ended the session by suggesting we hold a competition to see who could guess what was going to happen the following week.

  It was about half-past three and just starting to get dark when Gran arrived.

  “Get the kettle on,” she called out from the car, just like she always does – and I ran out to give her a massive hug. Before my grandpa died they used to come down to visit us all the time, but Gran’s been so busy lately; travelling to all these unusual places and doing about a hundred different hobbies – computer classes and line dancing and a whole load of others.

  Mum had made the most delicious tea – home-made scones with raspberry jam, and her famous marble cake – and as soon as Gran had taken off her coat and sat down at the table, we got stuck in.

  “Your hair’s looking very pretty, Phoebe, tied up like that,” said Gran, cutting us all a huge slice of cake. “How are you getting on at drama these days? Have you sung the dreaded solo yet?”

  “No, I haven’t and I don’t want to think about it. It was bad enough today, we had to go round the circle and say our names as loud as we could and I nearly ran out of the room when it got to my turn.”

  “Oh, I meant to ask you, Phoebs,” said Mum. “Does Miss Howell need any help with the costumes?”

  “I don’t know, I’ll ask her next week. But did I tell you that the hall’s been painted turquoise and Miss Howell doesn’t know how we’re going to get it to look like a run-down, grey factory, when the whole room looks more like a scene from The Little Mermaid. You should see it, Mum. It’s covered in these huge tropical fish and the turquoise is so bright it’s almost blinding.”

  “But why does it have to look run-down if it’s a dream factory?” asked Gran. “A dream factory could be brightly coloured, couldn’t it?”

  “No, but Baron-Von-Bolt and Ice Bomb who run the factory are greedy and they keep all the money for themselves. The factory is supposed to be in a real state and the Sweet-Dreamers are like slaves – they never have enough to eat, and their clothes are all old and tatty.”

  I couldn’t stop talking. I think I was still excited about getting up on the stage in front of everyone without making a total idiot of myself.

  “Well if the hall’s turquoise, I’ve got a brilliant idea,” said Sara, leaning forward. “She could make it an underwater factory. All the Sweet-Dreamers could be mermaids, yeah? And Baron-Von-Bolt could be a shark, Gobstopper could be an octopus because he’s always trying to get his hands into Baron-Von-Bolt’s pockets, and I know, I know, Ice Bomb could be like a really tropical fish, because she’s supposed to be beautiful. What do you think, Phoebs?”

  “Oh wow, Sara! That’s brilliant! You’ll have to tell Miss Howell. I’m sure she’d love to hear all about The Dream Factory set underwater. She might even offer you a part – as a bit of seaweed.”

  “You’re so vile!” cried Sara.

  “Stop winding her up, Phoebe,” said Gran, clearing the plates, but I could see she was trying not to laugh.

  “Mum, is it true that Polly Carter’s going to have a half-brother?” I asked, remembering what Polly said at drama. Mum’s friend, Trish, lives in Polly’s road and she always seem to know what’s going on with everyone.

  “Well, yes I think she is, but why do you want to know?”

  “Oh nothing, she just mentioned it today and she seemed to be really upset.”

  “It’s all a bit scandalous, actually,” said Mum. “Apparently Polly’s dad has moved in with one of the neighbours and now they’re having a baby together.”

  “What, so you mean they’re all living in the same street? That must be so awful for Polly, and her mum.”

  “Yes, and according to Trish there’s been all sorts of carrying on. I think she said that a few weeks ago, Polly’s mum threw all her dad’s stuff out of the window and then tried to set fire to it on the street. The police were called and everything. God only knows what will happen when the baby’s born.”

  “But what is a half-brother?” said Sara. “How can you have half a brother anyway? I wish I only had half a sister.”

  “Shut up, Sara, can’t you? Your voice is actually driving me nuts. I wish I had no sister at all!”

  “Phoebe! That’s horrible!” said Mum, as Sara stormed out of the room. “Stop picking on your sister and help me with these dishes.”

  While we were washing up Gran asked Mum how things were with Dad, but Mum glanced over at me and shook her head. Whatever she was going to say she obviously didn’t want me to hear, but it wouldn’t have made any difference. I could see how bad things were with my own eyes.

  Mum was always angry or in a mood or on the verge of tears – and Dad spent more and more time at the Life centre. They were barely speaking to each other at all – passing stupid messages through me and Sara, and when they did speak it nearly always ended in a row. I don’t think they even knew what they were angry about any more – but it was like they’d forgotten how to communicate in any other way.

  I had tried talking to Mum about Dad losing his job and about how much his work at the nursery meant to him but she wouldn’t listen.

  “He knows what his responsibilities are,” she’d snapped. “And it’s about time he lived up to them. I’m not going to support him while he goes through some kind of pathetic mid-life crisis.”

  The problem was I could kind of understand how both of them were feeling; I could see why Mum was cross but I knew how much Dad was missing his job at the nursery. I kept thinking there must be something I could do to get them back together, or at least get them talking again, but it was hopeless. They might not be setting fire to each other’s clothes in the street, li
ke Polly’s mum – but they weren’t far off.

  After tea Mum said she had a headache and went upstairs to lie down for a bit while Gran got busy sorting out the ingredients for the Christmas pudding. We always make the Christmas pudding with Gran – it’s like an old family tradition. We don’t put money in like some people do – we add a secret ingredient, a different one every year – and Mum and Dad have to guess what it is. One year, ages and ages ago, I added chilli powder, but by mistake I put in a whole tablespoon instead of a teaspoon and Dad had to drink about a gallon of water all in one go.

  “She just wanted to warm you up a bit, Robert,” said Gran, as Dad’s face got redder and redder, and I nearly wet myself laughing.

  I was dreading Christmas this year. It was going to be totally dismal. Dad was having Christmas lunch at the Life centre – and the rest of us would probably sit around all day pretending everything was normal and fine when it so obviously wasn’t. I wasn’t even excited about breaking up from school. The thought of spending two weeks stuck in the house with Mum and Sara didn’t exactly fill me with joy, and I wouldn’t even have Star Makers to look forward to.

  Gran got busy measuring out little pots of raisins and sultanas and almonds and mixed peel and grated carrot and apple – like a Sweet-Dreamer in the factory sorting out all the ingredients for a really sweet dream. She sifted the flour and baking powder, poured in the eggs and then got me and Sara to add the little pots one at a time.

  “Make sure you stir from east to west, girls,” said Gran. “Or is it west to east? I can never remember. Which way did the wise men travel to see the baby Jesus?”

  “How do you know they didn’t walk from the North Pole to the South Pole?” said Sara, pinching raisins out of the bowl and feeding them to Barney. “Or right the way across Russia.”

  Gran roared with laughter. “Russia!” she spluttered. “The three wise men walking across Russia! Oh, that’s priceless, Sara, absolutely priceless.”