The Farm Beneath the Water E-Book

Helen Peters

• Herausgeber: Nosy Crow
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: Helen Peters series
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Seitenzahl: 336

Beschreibung

Helen Peters' sequel to The Secret Hen House Theatre has all the same hallmarks: great writing and an emotionally engaging, entertaining story. It's good to be back with Hannah and the other characters - they've been much missed! The novel finds Hannah's farm facing a new threat - a water company wants to flood the land to make a reservoir. How can Hannah stand by and watch as her home, the land her family has farmed for generations, the wildlife, the ancient trees all disappear under a deluge of water? She isn't going to go down without a fight, and the school play might just be the answer. When the going gets tough, the tough take to the stage!

Leseprobe

Also by Helen Peters:

“As a child I loved The Swish of the Curtain, and The Secret Hen House Theatre is another engaging book about threatened amateur dramatics” Julia Donaldson

“Full of action, with a happy ending” Michael Morpurgo

“Hannah and Lottie’s adventure is full of happiness and sorrow. It’s like a new world. It was so gripping and unputdownable it seemed to be stuck in my hands” Esther Burridge, aged 11

“The sort of story you want to melt into. The trials and charms of farm life create a world where characters start to feel like friends” from The Independent’s 50 Best Summer Reads

“There’s something timeless about Helen Peters’ accomplished and hugely engaging debut … Drawn with humour and affection, Hannah’s world is utterly convincing” The Guardian

“In the best tradition of Noel Streatfeild and Pamela Brown, Peters captures the very special thrill of devising and producing a show … It feels refreshing to read such an honest to goodness adventure story” Books for Keeps

“Where farms meet theatre, the feathers are sure to fly in this fabulous debut novel” Daily Mirror

For Oliver

H. P.

Chapter One

The Audition

“I’ll walk from here,” said Martha, as the ancient, mud-encrusted car turned from Elm Lane on to the main village road. “I don’t want anyone associating me with this bunch of freaks. Dad, stop the car!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Dad. “You can get out at the bus stop as usual.”

Martha glared at him. She pulled a mirror from her school bag and began to make tiny adjustments to her carefully arranged hair.

Hunched in the back seat in a fog of misery, Hannah didn’t see how she could possibly get out of the car. How could she walk into school looking like this?

All Lottie’s beautiful work, ruined. Lottie would kill her.

And imagine what Miranda would say. She was horrible enough about Hannah’s ordinary school clothes. Oh, she was going to love this so much.

“How’s that pig, Joanne?” asked Dad. “Is she all right?”

Martha turned accusingly to her father, her face screwed up in disgust.

“As if it wasn’t bad enough already, turning up at school in this heap of scrap, you go and add a pig to the mix.”

Dad ignored her. Next to Hannah, eight-year-old Jo leaned over the tiny, trembling piglet lying in her lap. Her curly golden hair brushed against its pink skin. “Don’t worry, little one,” she murmured in its ear. “The vet will make you all better.”

“And as for you,” Martha said to Hannah, wincing as though Hannah’s appearance caused her actual physical pain, “going to an audition dressed like a demented scarecrow. What were you thinking?”

“I’m supposed to be a walking advertisement,” mumbled Hannah.

Martha snorted. “A walking embarrassment, more like.”

Hannah said nothing. It was true. She was a walking embarrassment.

It had seemed like such a good plan at the time. Hannah was desperate to play the part of Juliet in her house production of Romeo and Juliet and her best friend, Lottie, was desperate to make the costumes. So Lottie had made a costume for Hannah to wear at her audition this morning.

“It will help you get into character,” Lottie had said, “and Miss Summers will see I can sew and then maybe she’ll trust me to make all the costumes. You’ll be a kind of walking advertisement.”

The long white medieval nightdress that Lottie had made was beautiful. Until Hannah had brushed past a heap of old tractor tyres on her way to the car.

And there had been such a panic to get to school early for the auditions that she had completely forgotten to change into her shoes after helping Dad to unload the new calves.

So here she was, fifteen minutes late, curled up in a ball of despair in the back seat, wearing muddy green wellington boots and a white nightdress streaked with black tyre marks and tractor oil.

“Anyone would think,” said Martha, “that you enjoyed shaming yourself in front of the whole school.”

“It’s not the whole school,” muttered Hannah. “It’s only Key Stage 3. And it’s only Woolf House.”

“Thank goodness for that. At least I won’t have to watch.”

Thank goodness for that, echoed Hannah silently. It was bad enough that Martha had just joined her school in Year 7, but at least she had been put in a different house.

“You realise you haven’t got a hope, don’t you?” said Martha. “I don’t know why you’re even bothering.”

Dad pulled in at the bus stop outside the school gates. Hannah scrambled over seven-year-old Sam and tugged at the grimy door handle. The door stayed firmly shut. But the piglet wriggled out of Jo’s arms and jumped into the front seat, right on to Martha’s lap.

“Aarrgghh, get it off me!” screamed Martha, flailing her arms about. “Ugh, it’s disgusting! Get it OFF!”

She yanked the passenger door open. And the terrified piglet leaped from the car and bolted through the school gates into the playground.

Hannah stared in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening.

Martha froze, open-mouthed in horror. Then, like a sprinter off the blocks, she shot out of the car and pelted towards the school building. Her skirt was rolled up so high that it was almost invisible beneath her blazer.

“Where did it go?” demanded Dad, springing out of the car and scanning the playground, where groups of students were giggling, shrieking and leaping out of the way. As the pig scuttled into view across the tarmac, Dad raced after it, an extraordinary sight among the sea of navy uniforms in his torn trousers, holey jacket and mud-covered boots.

Using all her strength, Hannah finally shoved her door open and almost fell on to the pavement. Righting herself, she scurried towards the school, head down, boiling with embarrassment, while Jo and Sam hurtled through the laughing, screeching crowds in pursuit of the piglet.

Keeping her head down, praying that no one would see her and connect her with the pig, Hannah suddenly smacked full-on into somebody’s chest.

“Whoa,” said the somebody. “Steady on, Roberts.”

Hannah’s blood froze.

Jack Adamson. Of course. Somehow, he was always there for her most humiliating moments.

“Gotta hand it to you, Roberts, you sure know how to make an entrance,” said Jack, staring at the nightdress and wellies. “Is that what all the best pig farmers are wearing these days?”

Hannah felt her cheeks burning. “I’ve got to go,” she mumbled.

“Aw, cheer up. Want a mint?”

He took a half-eaten pack of sweets from his pocket and held them out to her.

“No, thanks,” said Hannah, avoiding the gaze of his deep brown eyes. She dodged around him and ran towards the doors.

“You’ll probably set a trend with that combo,” he called. “By the end of the week, the whole school will be wearing it.”

Hannah burst through the doors and raced towards the hall. And there was Lottie, immaculate as usual, not one dark hair out of place, hurrying up the corridor towards her.

Lottie gaped as she saw Hannah.

“My costume! What have you done?”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I can’t believe you’ve—” began Lottie, and then her eyes met Hannah’s. The full awfulness of Hannah’s morning must have shown in her face, because Lottie stopped in mid-sentence. When she spoke again, her tone was completely different.

“Oh, well, never mind. Come on, you might just make it.”

“Has Miranda auditioned yet?”

“She’s on now. That’s why I came to look for you.” She pulled Hannah down the corridor. “Why didn’t you just change into your uniform?”

“No time. It’s in my bag.”

“And what’s with the wellies?”

“Tell you later. It’s been a nightmare morning.”

They skidded to a halt in the foyer outside the hall and pushed the double doors open.

Miranda Hathaway, her long glossy auburn hair tumbling around her shoulders, stood centre-stage, pointing into the audience with a trembling finger. Hannah put a hand to her own straw-coloured hair. Had she even brushed it this morning?

Suddenly, Miranda let out a scream so piercing it made Hannah jump.

“O look, methinks I see my cousin’s ghost

Seeking out Romeo that did spit his body

Upon a rapier’s point – stay, Tybalt, stay!

Romeo! Romeo! Romeo! I drink to thee.”

Miranda raised a small blue bottle to her lips and staggered across the stage, collapsing on a chair.

Scattered applause broke out from the other students in the hall. Standing at the back, Hannah clapped politely.

“Typical Miranda, totally over the top,” muttered Lottie. “You’ll be miles better.”

Miranda stood up, flicked her hair over her shoulders and gave a little bow. Miss Summers, the new drama teacher, smiled at her.

“Thank you very much, Miranda. That was fantastic.” She consulted a sheet of paper. “Right, that’s everybody except Hannah.” She looked at the hall clock.

“Oh, I don’t think she’s coming,” said Miranda. “I think she’s changed her mind.”

Lottie gasped. “The cow!”

“I’m here, Miss Summers,” called Hannah, running to the front of the hall.

Everyone turned round. Miranda looked distinctly annoyed. Then she caught sight of Hannah and her eyes lit up as she took in the costume.

“Oh, good,” said Miss Summers. “Just in time.”

“Love the outfit, Hannah,” murmured Miranda, as Hannah walked past her. “Where did you get those boots?”

Hannah forced herself to block out the snorts of laughter from the front row. She kicked her wellies off at the foot of the stage and ran up the steps.

Miss Summers looked slightly taken aback at the oil-streaked nightdress, but she gave her a warm smile.

“OK, Hannah, we’ve only got a couple of minutes before the bell, so just do the first speech, would you? The balcony scene.”

Standing alone centre-stage, her eyes on the scruffy wooden floor, hearing the sniggers from the students in the auditorium, Hannah felt sick. Her palms were damp with sweat. All she wanted was to run away.

No, she told herself. You know the lines. You’ve practised and practised. This is your chance – your one chance – to show you’re worthy of the part. You can do it.

She made herself look up. And her eyes lit on Miranda, right in the middle of the front row. Miranda whispered something to Poppy, all black fringe and eyeliner, sitting next to her. Poppy cackled.

She’s trying to put me off, thought Hannah. Well, I won’t let her.

She shifted her gaze and gathered her thoughts. She wasn’t Hannah Roberts, a twelve-year-old girl standing on the school stage. She was Juliet Capulet, a thirteen-year-old girl who had just fallen madly in love with Romeo Montague. And she was alone on her bedroom balcony, thinking aloud.

As she raised her head to begin, Hannah saw, through the French windows that ran along the side of the hall, some kind of scuffle taking place outside on the patio.

She pulled her attention away and focused on a point high on the far wall, imagining the starry night sky of Verona on a warm summer’s evening. She thought of Romeo and, for some reason, he had Jack Adamson’s face.

“Oh, Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

Deny thy father and refuse thy name.”

In the audience, she saw Jack’s friend Jonah nudge his mate Ben and point towards the patio. Great. They were bored already.

With as much energy and passion as she could put into the words, she continued.

“Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,

And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”

More people were looking out of the windows now. Nobody was paying any attention to her. Was she really that bad, or was it just that she was the last person to audition?

“’Tis but thy name that is my enemy.

Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.”

People were nudging each other, pointing outside and giggling. What was going on?

Focus, Hannah, focus, she told herself.

“What’s Montague? It is not hand, nor foot, nor any other part

Belonging to a man. O be some other name.”

What was that noise outside the hall doors? Running and shouting and … oh, no, please, no … yes, it was, it definitely was … squealing.

Oh, help, she thought. It can’t be, can it? Surely not. Please, no.

“What’s in a name?” she continued desperately, as if saying the words might make everything else disappear. Don’t let them come in here, she prayed. Don’t let them come in here.

Through the doorway at the back of the hall skittered the little pink piglet, followed by Jo and Sam. Heads shot round. People gasped and shrieked. Miranda leaped on to a chair, screaming, her hands clasped to her chest, as if she thought the tiny creature was about to maul her to death.

Hannah continued to recite her speech, as though it were a charm that might protect her from the madness all around.

“That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.”

Jonah and Ben joined in the chase, along with Lexie and Amber from Hannah’s class. Miss Summers cast frantic looks around the room, as though somebody might appear who could tell her how to handle the situation. Lottie stared at Hannah, her expression a mix of pity, admiration and horror.

Trapped in this nightmare, Hannah continued on her course. What else could she do? She was on stage to make her audition speech and she would make her audition speech.

“So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,

Retain that dear perfection which he owes

Without that title.”

Everyone seemed to be chasing the pig now. And the piglet weaved between them on its tiny trotters, changing direction, running between their legs, scooting out of their grasp when they lunged at it, evading them all as skilfully as a world-class midfielder wrong-footing every defender on the pitch.

“Romeo, doff thy name,

And for thy name which is no part of thee,

Take all myself.”

Up the steps and on to the stage skittered the piglet. Hannah dived and seized it with both hands. As she scooped it up, it lifted its tail and produced a stream of warm, pungent yellow urine that soaked into Hannah’s white, oil-streaked dress and spread into a puddle on the stage all around her.

The hall erupted into hysterical laughter. Hannah stood frozen to the spot, unable to move or think.

Up the steps and on to the stage ran Jo and Sam. Jo made a grab for the pig, skidded on the wet patch and fell at Hannah’s feet. Sam tripped over Jo and landed on top of her. The piglet bolted down the steps stage left and back into the mass of students. Jonah and Ben set off after it, knocking over chairs and crashing into Lexie and Amber, who were chasing it from the opposite direction. Poppy barricaded herself into a corner with two of the upturned chairs, screaming and clutching at her hair.

At that moment, Dad burst through the patio doors, his eyes searching wildly for the runaway pig.

Suddenly, an authoritative voice boomed across the hall, cutting through the chaos.

“What on earth is going on in here?”

Hannah looked up from the writhing bodies on the floor, over the hysterical crowd beyond.

At the far end of the hall, standing in the doorway in a pristine grey suit, with a murderous look on his face, stood Mr Collins, the Head Teacher.

Chapter Two

A Visitor

“What did he say?” asked Lottie, as Hannah emerged from the Head’s office at the end of the day.

Hannah made a face, but she waited until they were outside before she spoke.

“Honestly, the way he talked it was like I’d done it deliberately. Can you imagine?” She put on a mock-thoughtful voice. “‘Hmm, what I would really like to do today is cause absolute maximum public embarrassment to myself by having a piglet wee all over me in the school hall.’ Why would he think I’d do that?”

“So what did he say?”

“Oh, he just banged on and on about threats to health and safety and school security and stuff.”

“Security! Did he think the piglet was carrying a bomb?”

“Dad told him it had nothing to do with me, but I’m sure he blames me for the whole thing. He hates me anyway, after what happened in the dining hall last term.”

“The worst thing,” said Lottie, “is that now Miranda will get exactly what she wanted. Just like she always does.”

“Yes, and I’ll be standing in the back row of the party scenes,” said Hannah. “If I’m lucky.” She kicked a stone along the pavement. “I was so looking forward to the play, too. I mean, I knew I probably wouldn’t get the main part, but I never thought my audition would be ruined by a pig.”

“It’s so unfair,” said Lottie. “You would definitely have been better than Miranda if that hadn’t happened.”

“I just hope you still get to do the costumes. I mean, it’s hardly your fault my dress ended up in the state it did, is it?”

When they reached Lottie’s house, the front gate was open. Lottie’s mum, Vanessa, in immaculate jeans and a perfectly ironed white linen shirt, knelt in front of a flowerbed, pulling out minuscule weeds.

“You’re home early,” said Lottie.

Vanessa straightened up and smiled. “My meeting was cancelled, it’s a beautiful day and I thought I’d bunk off and see my darling daughter.” She hugged Lottie and winked at Hannah as Lottie squirmed away. “How are you, Hannah?”

“Don’t ask,” said Lottie. “It’s been a bad day.”

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry. Are you coming in?”

Hannah hesitated for a second. She would have loved to go in, but Lottie and her mum didn’t get much time together.

“Oh, thanks, but I’d better go.”

“All right,” said Vanessa. “Well, give my love to everybody.”

As Hannah walked away up Elm Lane, she could hear Vanessa saying, “Now, darling, I’ve bought loads of treats, so come inside and tell me all about your dreadful day.”

Hannah dragged her boots along the ground. Imagine having somebody at home, she thought, who asked about your day and was interested in what you had to say.

At the top of Elm Lane, Hannah crossed the road on to the track that led to Clayhill Farm. She passed the disintegrating wooden gate that sagged permanently open and tried to push Miranda’s smug face out of her mind. Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs with the crisp fresh air that rose from the fields of her home.

The high arch of sky above the farm was a perfect pale blue. The farm was still in its summer clothes, with lush grass in the meadows and green leaves on the trees. It was only if you studied the leaves close up that the odd fleck of brown or gold was visible: a tiny reminder that autumn was on its way.

As she approached the farmyard, Jo and Sam came racing up the track towards her, followed by Jo’s cocker spaniel puppy, Rags, wagging her feathery tail. Their school finished earlier than the community college and they had already changed into jeans and T-shirts.

“We saw you from the window,” said Jo. “There’s a surprise in the house. Come and see.”

Sam grabbed Hannah’s arm. Hannah pulled it away. “You’re covered in mud. What have you been doing?”

In her soil-coated hand, Jo held a blue notebook with Bean Arkealogicle Society written on the cover. She and Sam were the sole members of the Society of Bean, a secret club whose activities seemed mainly to consist of calling each other bean names and drawing cartoons of various bean characters for their monthly magazine.

“We were excavating,” Jo said. “We found a Roman coin. Do you want to see it?”

Two years ago, an exploratory dig by the local archaeological society had revealed medieval pottery in South Meadow. The Beans had been fascinated by the dig, and since Sam had been given a metal detector for his birthday, they had spent a lot of time searching for treasure. Now Sam produced a muddy scrap of metal from his pocket.

Hannah glanced at it. “Looks like a squashed bit of tin to me.”

“Who knows?” said Jo. “It might be a Roman coin. We need to give it a professional clean and analyse it scientifically.”

“Come and see our surprise,” said Sam, pulling Hannah into the yard.

In her knee-high wellington boots, Hannah trudged through the muddy puddles and the chicken dung. Pigs snuffled and grunted in their sties behind the yard. The cockerel perched on the stable door threw back his head and gave an ear-splitting call.

An unfamiliar red hatchback was parked outside the cow stalls. Was someone visiting?

At the edge of the yard, Jasper, Jo’s enormous pet sheep, munched a clump of grass. His duck friend, Lucy, was nestled into his broad woolly back. Jasper looked up as the children approached and, with Lucy swaying gently on his back, he followed Jo to the garden gate, where he busied himself with another clump of grass while Jo put Rags in her kennel.

Hannah dumped her school bag on the rusty chest freezer in the scullery, then kicked off her wellies and added them to the heap already cluttering the concrete floor.

“Now, you have to be really quiet,” whispered Jo. “Follow us and don’t say a word.”

“What is this surprise, anyway?”

Jo gave her a stern look. “Don’t be so impatient.”

She opened the kitchen door and they crept across the tiles. Hannah heard a murmur of voices from the dining room. She started to ask Jo who was in the house, but Jo put a finger to her lips and pointed to the keyhole.

Hannah bent down and peeped through. Her mouth fell open.

Dad was sitting at the dining table with his back to her. He wore his best jacket, which was exactly the same as his everyday one except it didn’t have holes at the elbows and all the buttons were still attached. The change of jacket was unusual enough. But that wasn’t what made Hannah freeze at the keyhole, speechless with amazement.

Sitting at the other side of the table was a fairly young, very pretty woman with long dark wavy hair. She wore jeans and a pink cardigan and she was leaning towards Dad, talking animatedly. As Hannah watched, open-mouthed, the woman laid her hand on Dad’s arm.

Who was she? And what was she doing, touching Dad like that?

The woman said something and Dad threw back his head and laughed. Hannah’s insides twisted.

Jo reached for the doorknob. Hannah hardly had time to straighten up and adjust her face before Jo threw the door open.

Dad stopped laughing abruptly and turned round. The woman looked up and smiled at the children. A cup of tea stood on the table in front of her. Hannah stared at it. Surely Dad hadn’t made it? Dad had never made a cup of tea in his life. He never even opened a kitchen cupboard. How had he found the teabags?

Had she made the tea? Had she been poking about in their cupboards?

“Oh, hello,” said Dad. “Er, Sophie, these are my children.” He gestured to them. “Jo, Sam, Hannah. Er, this is Sophie.”

“Lovely to meet you,” said Sophie.

“Hello,” said Hannah coldly.

“Can we have a milkshake?” Sam asked Hannah.

“Yes, come on, I’ll make it.”

As Hannah closed the door, Sophie said something she couldn’t quite catch and Dad laughed again. Rage stabbed at Hannah.

“Did you like the surprise?” asked Jo.

Hannah opened a cupboard door and fished out the milkshake powder.

“We’re spying on her,” said Sam. “Who do you think she is?”

“I don’t know,” said Hannah. “Maybe she wants to keep a horse here.”

The Beans seemed satisfied with this explanation. But, Hannah thought, as she went to fetch the milk from the larder, if this Sophie person wanted to keep her horse at the farm, Dad would be showing her the stables. He never invited people into the house.

Martha burst into the hall from the dining room just as Hannah emerged from the larder. She followed Hannah back to the kitchen.

“Have you seen that woman? Has Dad gone and joined a dating agency or something?”

“Shh, he’ll hear.”

“What’s a dating agency?” asked Sam.

“I just walked in,” said Martha, “and he was saying, ‘They recommended you very highly,’ and she said, ‘Well, I’m delighted to have been asked. I’m very excited about it.’”

Hannah felt as though someone was tying her stomach into knots.

“Are they going to get married?” asked Jo, her eyes huge. “Are we going to get a stepmother?”

“No way will she marry him,” said Martha. “She’s really pretty. And young.”

“How was your day, Martha?” asked Hannah, to change the subject.

Martha gave her a withering look. “Great, thanks. Really good. I just love it when my entire family turns up at school with the sole aim of totally shaming me.”

“Are they really going to get married?” asked Jo.

“No,” said Hannah.

“She looked nice,” said Sam.

Hannah handed the Beans their milkshakes. “There you go. Take those upstairs.”

“Yum, thanks.” They took the drinks and left.

Without looking at each other, Hannah and Martha both edged closer to the dining-room door.

“Another cup of tea?” Dad was saying.

“No, thanks, that was perfect.”

“Do you want to come and see the loft now?”

The loft?

“Oh, yes, please,” said Sophie. “Then I can think about where to put my stuff.”

Martha gasped, her face a picture of outrage.

Why on earth, thought Hannah, would this woman be putting her stuff in their loft? The loft was where Mum had stored all their baby things, and her own things from before she got married. Why would Dad let a strange woman anywhere near their loft?

Chairs scraped across the tiles. The door into the hall opened. Something licked Hannah’s hand and she spun round.

“Jasper! You know you’re not allowed in the kitchen. Come on.”

“Ugh!” shrieked Martha. “Get that disgusting thing out of here!”

Hannah gave him a shove, but Jasper was like a solid wall.

“Ugh, it’s dribbling on the floor!” screeched Martha.

“Well, you help, then.”

“Are you mad? No way am I touching that.”

Hannah gave up. “There’s no point trying to push him. The only way to move him is with food.” She looked around the kitchen. “Pass me a couple of those apples.”

“Get them yourself.”

With a murderous look at her sister, Hannah crossed the kitchen and took two apples from the basket of windfalls that Sam had brought in from the orchard yesterday. They weren’t really ripe yet, but Jasper wouldn’t mind.

She held an apple out in front of her.

“Come on, Jasper. Good boy, come on.”

Jasper craned his neck towards the apple and Hannah moved slowly backwards, through the kitchen and scullery and out of the back door.

The shiny red hatchback squatted smugly in the yard. Their yard. With the back window left casually open. As though she belonged here. What a cheek.

Martha followed Hannah into the scullery and took her school bag from its place on the freezer.

“Guess that’s her car, then,” she said.

“Guess so,” said Hannah. She led Jasper into the yard and fed him the apple.

Martha stepped gingerly across the yard, dodging the chicken dung and giving Jasper a wide berth. She peered through the open car window.

“She’s got food from that posh place in Massingham. Snob.”

Suddenly her eyes widened. Then they narrowed thoughtfully. She turned and looked at Jasper. Chunks of saliva-coated apple fell from his mouth and dropped to the ground. Martha shuddered. But then she seemed to brace herself.

“Give me that other apple,” she said to Hannah.

“Why?” asked Hannah, handing it to Martha.

“Come on, Jasper,” said Martha, holding out the apple. “Come over here.”

“What are you … oh,” said Hannah, suddenly understanding.

Martha gave her a warning look. “If you say one word…”

Hannah widened her eyes in mock innocence. “One word about what?”

Their eyes met briefly. Then Hannah turned and walked indoors. As she shut the scullery door behind her, she heard Martha say, in an encouraging tone quite unlike her usual voice, “Here, Jasper. Here, boy. Good boy. That’s right, come on. Lots of yummy treats here.”

* * *

Two minutes later, sitting at the desk in her bedroom, her history book open in front of her, Hannah heard footsteps descending the loft ladder. Then Sophie’s voice. “This is so exciting. It looks absolutely ideal.”

Hannah felt sick. This woman wasn’t really going to move her things into their house, was she?

No. That would be crazy. They’d only just met.

Unless … unless they hadn’t only just met.

Maybe they’d known each other for ages. Maybe Dad just hadn’t bothered to introduce her to his family.

“Is that all you’d like to see?” asked Dad. “You don’t want to look around a bit more?”

“No, that’s fine, thanks. It’ll be perfect.”

“Well, I’m very grateful. This could be exactly what we need.”

Fury rose inside Hannah. What did he think they needed that she could possibly provide?

“Well, I can’t promise anything,” said Sophie, “but it all looks good. I’ll come and…”

But her words were drowned out by the blare of an alarm.

“That sounds like my car,” said Sophie.

Hannah’s stomach lurched. She heard Martha’s bedroom door open and Dad stride in. Martha’s was the only bedroom that overlooked the farmyard.

“That blasted sheep!” shouted Dad.

He ran out of Martha’s room and down the back stairs, Sophie following him.

With what she hoped was the face of a mildly curious onlooker, Hannah walked to the doorway of Martha’s room. Jo and Sam had their heads out of the window, laughing. Martha stood behind them, trying to look as though she wasn’t interested.

“He is so clever,” said Jo. “He can sense food from miles away.”

Hannah moved to the window and looked out into the yard. Jasper had his head through the open back window of Sophie’s car and was gobbling the contents of the shopping bag.

As they watched, Dad hurtled into the yard, grabbed Jasper round the neck and yanked him away from the car. Jasper held firm for as long as he could and, when he was eventually dragged away, he had half a paper bag hanging out of his mouth.

“You bad sheep!” growled Dad.

Sophie was laughing and pressing buttons on her key ring. The alarm stopped.

“I’m so sorry,” said Dad. “It’s my daughter’s sheep. Complete pest.”

“Hey!” yelled Jo, leaning so far out of the window that Hannah grabbed the back of her shirt in case she toppled. “Don’t be rude about Jasper. He understands, you know!”

Dad ignored her, but Sophie smiled up at the window and waved. “It’s no problem at all,” she said to Dad. “My fault for leaving the car window open. I thought it would be crime-free up here. I hadn’t reckoned on the animals.”

“Nothing valuable in there, I hope?”

“No, no, just a few groceries. I’m impressed with his appetite, though. A loaf of bread, a bunch of bananas, half a dozen eggs and a box of chocolate brownies.”

“That’s nothing for Jasper,” said Jo proudly to her siblings. “To him, that’s just a little snack.”

“I’m very sorry,” said Dad. “Let me reimburse you.”

But Sophie waved his offer away. She was petting Jasper’s huge woolly head. “Honestly, it’s no problem at all. He’s a lovely sheep. It was a pleasure to feed him.” She reached over and touched Dad’s arm. “It was great to see the farm and the house. Thanks so much for inviting me. I’ll give you a ring.”

She got into the car and started the engine.

Martha, her face twisted with fury, pushed past the others and pulled the window shut.

“Get out of my room, losers.”

“She seems quite nice, doesn’t she, French Bean?” said Sam, as he and Jo ambled on to the landing. “For a Russian spy.”

“Hmm,” said Jo thoughtfully. Hannah noticed that they now carried yellow notebooks with “Bean Spy Club” written on the front. “They always pretend to be nice, Broad Bean. That’s what spies do. But you can never trust them. Not for a second.”

“We wrote down every word she said,” Sam told Hannah. “And it was very suspicious.”

Hannah said nothing. It was very suspicious. She only wished she could believe that Sophie was a Russian spy. That would be so much less disturbing than what she feared.

Chapter Three

The Cast List

As the car drew up at the bus stop on Monday morning, Hannah spotted Lottie walking through the school gates. She ran to catch up with her.

“Oh, hi,” said Lottie, as Hannah tapped her on the shoulder. “Are you nervous?”

“There’s nothing to be nervous about. I haven’t got a hope.”

“You never know. I mean, you did get to say some of your lines. She might have been able to tell how good you are. Anything’s possible.”

“No, it’ll definitely be Miranda. Bet you a million pounds.”

And yet Hannah still felt butterflies in her stomach as they approached the school building. Even though she knew she had no chance of getting the part, a tiny flicker of hope still burned inside her.

It was ridiculous, of course, but Lottie was right. Anything was possible.

They walked up the wide front steps and through the glass doors into the foyer, its shiny wooden floor pockmarked by the forbidden heels of bygone decades.

Beyond the glass-fronted trophy cabinet and the wooden boards bearing the gold-lettered names of previous Head Boys and Girls, four house notice boards hung on the pale-blue walls. Each house was named after a famous writer who had lived in Sussex and each had a different house colour. Conan Doyle’s board was green, Milne’s was yellow, Kipling’s was red and Woolf’s was blue.

Groups of people milled around the foyer but, judging by the low-key atmosphere, the cast lists hadn’t gone up yet. Hannah and Lottie walked over to the Woolf House board. It was bare except for the tatty picture of Virginia Woolf that had been there forever and a team sheet for an upcoming football match.

“Hey, Roberts,” said a voice behind Hannah.

It was Jack, messy-haired and muddy-kneed, wearing the school’s red football strip.

“If you’re hoping to get into the team,” he said, “you’re going to have to start coming to training.”

“Oh, ha ha.”

“Or was it the cast list you wanted? Fingers crossed your piglet gets the part, eh? I’ve got high hopes for it after that audition. It’ll have to work on its bladder control, obviously, but it’ll look great in the costume. You know, with me as Romeo. I’ve never had a pig as a sidekick.”

“Yes, you have,” said Lottie. “You hung around with Danny Carr all last year.”

Jack tutted and shook his head sadly. “That’s not very nice.”

“No, it’s not,” said Hannah. “How could you compare that sweet little piglet with Danny Carr?”

Lottie ignored them both. “Anyway,” she said to Jack, “you didn’t even audition.”

“A man of my talent doesn’t need to audition. I’m far too busy for that sort of thing.”

Lottie gave a scornful laugh. “Sure you are.”

“What? I am. Do you know how many channels there are on my telly? It’s a full-time job.”

Jonah and Ben, both in muddy football strip, bowled up the corridor, jostling each other, Ben’s messy blond hair and freckled pink cheeks contrasting with Jonah’s straight dark hair and tanned olive skin. Since Danny Carr had left at the end of the summer term, Jack had started hanging out a lot more with these two. Ben was Lottie’s next-door neighbour, so (as Lottie’s mum never tired of reminding them loudly in public) they had known each other since they were in nappies.

Jack fell to his knees and clasped Ben’s hand.

“Oh, Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” he said in a squeaky falsetto.

Ben pushed him over.

“That’s not very romantic,” said Jack, “for someone playing the hot male lead in the house play.”

Ben looked startled for a moment. He stared at the notice board. Then he shoved Jack in the shoulder again.

“The list’s not even up, you prune.”

Jack looked down the corridor. “It will be in a second.”

The others followed his gaze. Miss Summers was walking towards the foyer, holding several sheets of A4 paper and a box of drawing pins.

Other people had seen her, too. Crowds started to form around the notice boards. Miss Summers smiled. “OK, everybody, stand back.”

She walked to the Conan Doyle board. Typical, thought Hannah. Always alphabetical order.

By the time the first three cast lists were up, the foyer was packed with people, swooping, chattering and screeching like a flock of starlings. Miss Summers manoeuvred her way out of the Milne crowd and walked towards the Woolf House board with her final sheet of paper.

You haven’t got a chance, Hannah told herself. You haven’t got a chance. But still the butterflies fluttered in her stomach. You never know, a voice inside her said. You never know.

“Out of the way, everyone, please,” said Miss Summers, as people inched back to let her through.

Once the last drawing pin was in and Miss Summers had left the throng, the crowd surged forward. Lottie gripped Hannah’s arm and dragged her through the mass of bodies until they were close enough to see the typed sheet of paper on the board.

Peering through the gap between two heads, Hannah zoomed in on the word “Juliet”. Next to it was a name.

Miranda Hathaway.

A big stone settled in Hannah’s stomach.

So that was that.

Well, of course. She had known it all along, hadn’t she? Why had she even allowed herself to hope?

Lottie groaned. “How totally predictable.” She put her arm round Hannah and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Han. I really hoped she might – you know – overlook the piglet incident. That’s so unfair.”

People shoved and jostled behind them. “Let’s get out of here,” said Hannah.

“Just a minute.”

Lottie ran her finger down the sheet.

Down and down and down.

Right to the very bottom of the list.

There was a pause before she said, “So you’re a Capulet lady. Same as me.”

A Capulet lady. Miming at the back of the party scene. Just as she had thought.

They pushed back through the crowd to the other side of the foyer, outside the Head’s office.

“I’m so sorry, Hannah,” said Lottie again. “That is so unfair.”

Hannah’s insides felt very tight, but she shrugged. “Not really. Not everyone can get the main part, can they? I mean, you’re a Capulet lady, too.”

“But I only wanted a non-speaking part. You wanted a proper acting part. And you should have got it. You’re a miles better actress than Miranda. Can you imagine how unbearable she’s going to be for the next two months? And she doesn’t even deserve it. If only that piglet hadn’t got out…”

Hannah heaved a big sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“No. Sorry.”

There was a chorus of squeals from the notice board. Hannah looked round.

She immediately wished she hadn’t. A group of girls was jumping up and down, hugging the glossy-haired person at their centre. Miranda.

Miranda caught Hannah’s eye. She extracted herself from the group and, flicking her auburn mane over her shoulders, put on the expression that Hannah hated even more than her smug one – the head-on-one-side fake-sympathetic one.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t get the part, Hannah,” she cooed, as if speaking to a toddler. For a terrible moment, Hannah thought Miranda was actually going to pat her on the head.

Hannah smiled brightly. “Oh, that’s OK. I’m quite busy this term, anyway.”