Phoebe Finds Her Voice (11 page)

“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, like 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.”

She shook her head, still chuckling to herself. “So, what are we going to add, girls? What's our secret ingredient going to be?”

As far as I was concerned there was no point doing it – not this year when only Mum would be guessing – and no one would feel like celebrating anyway. But in the end we added molasses, a sort of sticky black treacle, and we all made a wish. I closed my eyes and concentrated really hard. I wished with every bit of strength in my body. I didn't really think it would bring Mum and Dad back together or make Polly Carter disappear in a puff of smoke
or
help me to sing my solo – but what else could I do?

I still hadn't come up with an answer by the time I went to drama on Saturday, but I
had
decided that I was going to sing my solo. The very last part of Donny's
Rise to Fame
article was all about believing in yourself – and I was absolutely determined to show everyone how good I could be. I might not be able to get Mum and Dad back together or sort out Polly Carter – but surely I could sing five lines of a song without having a total nervous breakdown.

As I walked up the stairs, my determination began to drain away a little with each step. Believing in myself was a whole lot easier when I was on my own in my bedroom! Ellie was waiting for me at the top, hopping up and down.

“Quick, Phoebs, you'll never guess what!” she squealed, pulling me into the hall. “Remember last week when Arthur said he had something to tell Mandy, but he couldn't remember what it was? Well, look! It was a fair!”

She was right. The entire hall was crammed full of people; most of them very old ladies with scarves on their heads and those shopping trolleys on wheels. There were loads of stalls piled high with clothes and toys and food – and some rather droopy paper-chain decorations hanging from the ceiling – a bit like the kind we used to make ourselves at primary school.

“There's no way we'll able to rehearse today, is there,” I said, secretly relieved. “Not with all this going on. Where's Miss Howell anyway?”

We looked across the hall. The turquoise wall at the back was covered in a huge poster announcing
The Annual Church Christmas Fair
and Miss Howell was standing in front of it, right next to a brightly coloured clownfish. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest and she looked as if she might explode, or kill someone, at any moment.

We fought our way through the crowds and shopping trolleys to ask her what was going on and as we got nearer I noticed a smaller poster stuck right underneath the big one. It said:

In each corner of the poster there was a picture of a holly leaf and right at the bottom there was a drawing of an angel with musical notes coming out of its mouth.

Ellie read the poster and looked at me, shrugging. “We haven't been practising carols. Why didn't Mandy tell us we were doing a concert?”

“I didn't tell you,” Miss Howell yelled above the din, “because I didn't know. I didn't know because Arthur failed to mention that there was a Christmas fair in here today, let alone the fact that
we
were supposed to be providing the entertainment. Okay? I didn't know we were supposed to be singing, and I
truly
didn't know I could hate someone as much as I hate The Great Arthur McDermott at this precise moment in time! Any other questions?”

Her hair was jet black to match her mood and it suddenly seemed so funny, the thought of us singing carols, that I started to giggle – or maybe it was just the sheer relief that I wouldn't have to sing my solo.

“
Phoebe,
stop it,” said Ellie, as Mandy stormed off muttering to herself. But then she looked at my face and a minute later we were holding onto each other in hysterics, just like we used to before Sam came along.

“Come on,” Ellie gasped, tears running down her face, “I spotted some delicious-looking chocolate brownies and I've got to get one before they all go. Let's see if we can find the others and tell them what's going on.”

We pushed our way back through the crowds and had just about reached the chocolate brownie stall when Sam appeared.

“Hi, Ellie, hi, Phoebe, have you heard? Apparently we're angels and we're putting on a concert. Anyway, Mandy wants us all on the stage straight away and she's mad as hell.”

“We know,” said Ellie and they raced off together, laughing about something, while I tagged along behind, trying not to feel left out. On the stage, Monty B was telling Miss Howell about how he'd always wanted to be an angel.

“Honestly, Mandy, if I'd known about the concert, I would have brought my fairy wings. And in case you're wondering, because I know you are, the reason I've got fairy wings in the first place is because—”

“Sit down, everyone,” Miss Howell said, interrupting Monty B. “For those of you who haven't read the posters stuck up all over this room and outside at the front of the building, Arthur has invited us to sing Christmas carols to the masses without actually bothering to let us know. So, any ideas? Do you all know Silent Night? Away In a Manger?
The Murder of Arthur McDermott?
”

“Well, we could sing some songs from
The Dream Factory
,” said Tara. “It'll be great practice for us, Mandy. Some of us have never sung in front of an audience before and it might stop us feeling so nervous when it comes to the real thing.”

Sam shook her head. “It's not very seasonal, though, is it? I mean people don't go round singing songs about nightmares and bed-bugs at Christmas.”

“Oh my God, yeah, it was a nightmare for Mary!” cried Neesha. “She couldn't find anywhere to have her baby and she nearly had it on the side of the road without any of those midwife people, or magazines to read, or anything. And she probably did get bed-bugs lying down on that manky straw – I bet it was minging!”

“Well
I
was nearly born on a hill in France,” said Monty B. “That's why I'm called Montgomery, because
mont
means
hill
in French.”

“Why didn't they just call you Mont then?” said Neesha. “Or Hill?”

Miss Howell shook her head, smiling for the first time. “How do we end up having these crazy conversations?” she said. “Although I actually think that might be quite a good idea to sing some songs from the show.”

“But not my solo,” I said, quickly. “We've never practised my solo before so there's no way I could sing it today in front of all these strangers.”

Miss Howell laughed. “Don't worry, Phoebe, not your solo. But perhaps you'd like to introduce us at the beginning?”

I looked at her like she was mad.
Me? Stand up and speak in front of a room full of strangers? By myself?

“I mean you did so well when you introduced Polly the other week, remember?”

“I'll do it with her,” said Monty B leaping up. “Come on, Frankie, it'll be a laugh.”

“Right then,” said Miss Howell as if it was all settled. “We'll just consider this a bonus – an unexpected chance to sing in front of an audience. We'll sing
Mixing a Dream, Doing the Sweet-Dream Rap, Don't Let The Bed-Bugs
Bite
and
Scream!

Scream!
is easily the best song in the show. It's about what happens when the Jelly-Skulls mess around with the Sweet-Dreamers' potions, causing children all over the world to have nightmares. One of the nightmares is about this boy who finds out he's got to be a fairy in the school play and that his costume is a frilly pink tutu.

Monty B is playing the part of the boy. He doesn't actually say anything; he just wakes up wearing the tutu, looks down at himself, and then screams in horror, while the Jelly-Skulls surround him chanting: