Little Darlings (25 page)

Jack takes a deep breath and then bounds onstage, all his lads following. Mrs Avery can't do the music as she's on the panel. It's Mrs Linley who's been left in charge, and she's not quite as practised. She starts the music too quickly, before everyone's in place. Jack's so keyed up he starts at once, spitting on his hands and stamping his feet, but the lads are two beats behind and can't catch up. But it's actually
better
like that – Jack
does a backflip, they look, they copy; Jack does a handstand, ditto. It's got more pace and rhythm to it than when they're all trying to keep together. The fight is funnier too. Jack pretends to punch, then all the others swing their arms and start up another fight. At the end, when they usually just peter out and stop, Jack trips. Is it deliberate? He falls flat on his face – and down go all the other boys like dominoes. There's a
huge
round of applause, and the panel join in.

‘These boys have improved tremendously,' says Mrs Avery. ‘They've obviously worked very hard on their routine. I thought tonight's performance was brilliant.'

‘If you'd only put the energy and determination you've shown in your dancing into your schoolwork you'd all be top of the class. Well done, lads,' says Mr Juniper.

‘Wow!' says Miss Evans. ‘You were amazing, boys!'

‘Good for you, Jack the Lads. You always made me chuckle when you were in my class, Jack, even though you were so naughty – and you're still making me chuckle now. Well done, all of you,' says Mrs Riley.

‘Your scores, please, ladies and gentleman,' says Mr Roberts.

Mrs Avery gives them
ten
, Mr Juniper eight, and Miss Evans and Mrs Riley give them both nine. So that's it then. The Jack the Lads have got thirty-six. Only one less than Angel scored this afternoon, I think they'll win this evening – and although this hurts, I'm truly pleased for Jack. I grin at him when he comes panting backstage, still terribly out of breath.

‘Well done!' I whisper.

‘I thought I made a right prune of myself,' he whispers back. ‘I didn't mean to fall over. It didn't half hurt too! But it seemed to work, didn't it?'

‘You know it did,' I say. ‘I think you'll win.'

‘Rubbish. You will,' says Jack.

‘You're
both
talking rubbish.
I'm
going to win again,' says Angel.

‘Shh!' says Mrs Linley as she puts on the music for Girls Very Soft. They're very good, but a bit boring. We all know their little step-shuffle routine and join in backstage, though Mrs Linley glares at us and gestures to us to sit down. The panel all make positive comments and the girls end up with twenty-eight, not a bad score at all.

Then it's Fareed and Hannah. They
still
haven't got the hang of half the tricks. The audience don't laugh so much, trying to be kind, so their act doesn't work so well until right at the end, when
the toy rabbit gets stuck in Fareed's hat. He struggles, tapping it hopefully, biting his lip.

‘Look, it's in there
somewhere
, Fareed,' Hannah hisses. She scrabbles inside the hat and yanks it out. There's a sudden burst of helpless laughter as she waves the poor mangled toy in the air, its ears drooping, and they both end up with a big round of applause though they don't score high.

The Dancing Queens are good – well, they
look
good in their pink T-shirts and little black shorts and flashing tiaras, and one of their mums has made them up with silver eyeshadow and pink lipstick, and sprayed pink streaks in their hair. Mr Juniper goes pink himself watching them and gives them a nine. Miss Evans likes them too, but Mrs Avery isn't quite so keen, and Mrs Riley says they're all lovely girls but she wishes their act wasn't quite so . . . sophisticated. Wait till she sees Angel!

Then there's Natalie and her friends doing the play. Mr Roberts went over it with them after school and he's helped them cut half of it – but it still seems ultra long-winded and very silly and shouty. When they finish at last, someone in the audience gives a
huge
cheer. It's probably Natalie's dad. The teachers don't rate them at all, though Mrs Riley says they've all clearly tried extra hard and it was a brave attempt.

‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you Miss Angel Thomas, this afternoon's overall winner. Give her a big hand,' Mr Roberts bellows.

Angel elbows her way past us, wiggling her big bottom. There's enthusiastic applause as she stands on the stage. She grins and waves her hands, mouthing
More, more!
milking it for all she's worth. Maybe Angel's going to win
again
.

She does her cartwheels, she performs her little crab act, she spins on her bottom with such gusto it's a wonder she doesn't rub a big hole in her leggings. She finishes differently this time, doing rather wobbly splits, but this gets her more applause.

‘Well done, Angel, that's certainly an incredible dance routine,' says Mrs Avery. ‘No wonder you won this afternoon.'

Angel positively glows – but Mrs Avery only gives her a seven, as does Mr Juniper, Miss Evans gives her an eight and Mrs Riley a six – so she
hasn't
won this time. She gives us all a shove as she comes backstage, absolutely furious.

So Jack's still in the lead – but now it's Raymond's dance, and he is so brilliant. He whirls around and leaps up in the air, twiddling his feet, his head up, his arms out, the whole line of him perfect poised. No one whistles or yells silly things
at him this time, everyone watches, totally rapt, and when he's finished everyone claps like crazy. Mrs Avery stands up to clap him, smiling all over her face.

‘Well
done
, Raymond. We're so lucky to have such a brilliant dancer at our school. I wouldn't be at all surprised if we're flocking to watch you in a real dance company in a few years' time,' she says – and she gives him ten.

Mr Juniper gives him nine, and Miss Evans and Mrs Riley give him nine too.

So that's it then. Raymond's won, with thirty-seven points. At least he deserves to come first. I clap him as he bounces backstage, and Jack pats him on the back – though Angel glowers.

‘It's not fair if Raymond wins,' she whines. ‘He's been going to his poncy dancing classes for years and years. Of course he's going to know more twiddly steps than any of us.'

‘Shut up, Angel,' says Jack. ‘He's better than us, full stop. And we don't know whether he
has
won yet.'

‘There's only rubbish acts left,' Angel hisses. ‘Them two stupid boys mucking about, then the Speedos doing their little swoopy dance, and Destiny caterwauling.
They're
not going to win, are they?'

‘Just ignore her,' Jack mutters, though I think she's right.

Jeff and Ritchie certainly aren't any competition, though they
look
funny now because someone's lent them tutus and they've certainly got bottle to go out onstage wearing those fluffy white sticky-out skirts. They still haven't worked out a proper routine. They just flounce about and teeter on the tips of their trainers. It's funny for a few seconds but quickly gets tedious – and the teachers vote accordingly.

‘Now we have another astonishing dance routine. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm delighted to introduce the very talented Superspeedos,' says Mr Roberts.

My stomach starts churning. I'm next, I'm next, I'm next. My throat tightens and I'm not sure I can even speak, let alone sing. I watch the Superspeedos sweeping through their routine. Jack fidgets by my side, watching them anxiously too. He doesn't seem to mind Raymond beating him, but I know he'll hate it if the Superspeedos get a better score than the Jack the Lads. There's very loud applause at the end, and Mrs Avery goes on and on about their hard work and how they've proved practice makes perfect. Jack groans, especially when she gives them another ten. Mr
Juniper gives them an eight, and Miss Evans and Mrs Riley both go for a nine – so that's thirty-six, exactly the same score as the Jack the Lads.

Jack breathes out and grins.

‘Our last act on
Bilefield's Got Talent
is a little lady with an astonishingly large voice. Please give a warm welcome to Miss Destiny Williams,' Mr Roberts shouts.

Jack reaches out and squeezes my hand. ‘Good luck!'

I stumble out of the wings and onto the stage. It's exactly the same stage as this afternoon, so why does it seem so much bigger? There's a spotlight on me, half blinding me so I can't see the audience. I can't even see Mum right at the front. She's part of the dark blur – but she's out there, I know she is, and I can't let her down. I detach the mike from its stand and wait till the audience are quiet.

‘I'm singing this for my mum,' I say into the mike. It's so powerful it makes me jump hearing my voice boom out so. ‘It's her favourite song. So this is for you, Mum.'

There's a few ‘
Ahhh'
s, a few groans and several nervous giggles. Mrs Avery, Mr Juniper, Miss Evans and Mrs Riley are all sitting in front of me, looking expectant. Mr Roberts is at the side of the stage, looking a little worried now.

‘Take your time, Destiny,' he whispers.

I've taken my time. I open my mouth and start singing.

‘
You are my Destiny . . .
'

My enhanced voice fills the large hall. It feels so big and powerful I picture it spilling out, flooding the corridors, bursting out of the windows, rushing in a torrent along the roads until the whole town is awash with the sound. Maybe far, far away in Robin Hill, Sunset and our dad are listening, hand in hand.

I sing each word, thinking of it as a deeply personal message for me, not just a simple love song. I feel it in every part of me. I ache with it, and after the last long note I'm wrung out, exhausted, near tears. There's a long silence. I take a couple of steps towards the wings, wanting to hide – but then the clapping starts. Such clapping! I'm dazed by the noise. All four teachers are on their feet, clapping.
Mr Roberts
is clapping! And down there in the audience there's Mum. I can see her now the lights have gone up a bit. She's standing up and cheering – oh God, the embarrassment – but there's lots of people standing. It's all right, they're all showing me they like me – so why have I got tears running down my face?

Mrs Avery's dabbing at her own eyes. ‘Oh,
Destiny, that was marvellous. I've been lucky enough to hear you sing before, and I knew you had a lovely voice, but that was just incredible!' she says.

Then it's Mr Juniper's turn. Surely he'll still hate me.

‘I think your voice is awe-inspiring, Destiny. It's practically rendered me speechless. However, I've got
just
enough breath to remind you that we have a little detention date, so see me on Monday after school!' He's trying to look fierce, but he's laughing – everyone's laughing.

‘You've got a thrilling voice, Destiny. I could listen to you for ever,' Miss Evans gushes.

‘It's hard to believe such a big powerful sound could come out of such a slight girl! You've given us the performance of a lifetime, Destiny,' says Mrs Riley.

‘Wonderful comments, Destiny,' says Mr Roberts. ‘You're clearly going to get a high score – but you've got Raymond's excellent thirty-seven to beat. Teachers, may I have your scores, please.'

They hold up their cards.
Ten, ten, ten, ten!
I can't believe it! I've got a ten from each of them, even Mr Juniper, so I've got forty, maximum marks, and
I've won
! Poor Raymond – but lucky, lucky, lucky me. I've won the contest, I've won it for Mum!

I want to rush down into the audience and hug her, but I have to stay up here on the stage while Mr Roberts presents me with a
WINNER
pin-badge – a
gold
one this time.

‘A gold star for a gold-star performance!' he says, shaking my hand vigorously.

His own hands are wringing wet, but what does it matter? He's a lovely teacher, they're all lovely teachers, even Mr Juniper. Mr Roberts calls everyone out onstage to line up and take a final bow. Jack comes leaping out and gives me a big hug in front of everyone!

Then the contest is finished, but it's not all over: there are refreshments – juice and tea and little bits of cheese on Ritz crackers – and we can go and mingle with our parents.

Mum's already got a cup of tea when I get to her, and we hug so hard we nearly spill it all over her best blue top.

‘Oh, Destiny, you sang it so wonderfully!' she says.

Lots
of parents come up and congratulate us both, even Angel's mum, though Angel herself glares at me and says that silver is ultra-cool and gold is just tacky bling.

Miss Lewis, our IT coordinator, comes up with her big camera. ‘I've been recording the show for
the school archives. I can easily burn you a DVD of the show if you'd like it, Mrs Williams,' she says.

‘Yes please, that would be wonderful!' says Mum.

I raise an eyebrow at her. ‘We haven't got a DVD player, Mum!'

‘Yes, but I can always borrow someone else's, can't I?' she says. ‘I want to relive every single moment.'

I don't need a DVD to remind me of my performance. I'll remember every split second of it for the rest of my life. It plays inside my head all evening – and long after Mum's asleep I relive it. It's wonderful that I've won. It's amazing that all four teachers gave me ten out of ten, even Mr Juniper who never gives full marks to anyone. It's great that I beat Angel and that Jack gave me a hug. It's fantastic that Mr Roberts said when I was going home that he was really proud of me. But the
best
thing of all was standing there onstage, my voice soaring, nailing every note.

I lie wide awake, not wanting to go to sleep, savouring it all. But I obviously sleep at some stage because I wake with a start in sunlight. Mum's standing over me with a breakfast tray.