“Say sorry to the young ladies.” Jesus ground his foot into the boy’s chest. “I can’t hear you.”
“Sorry,” stammered the boy.
The boys scurried away when Jesus turned his attention to Hailie, who was sobbing and shaking like a leaf.
“She’s broken her ankle again,” Velvet said. “Can you carry her?”
Jesus gently lifted Hailie into his arms. “You need to be a bit more particular about the company you keep.”
He carried her all the way to St Vincent’s Hospital.
“I didn’t know you knew Spanish,” Jesus said, as he and Velvet waited for Hailie to have her foot put in plaster again.
“I don’t.”
“But you texted me in Spanish.”
“My phone only texts in Spanish, and it was just a fluke that it decided to send it to the only person in my contacts list who could understand it.”
Hailie limped out on crutches. Velvet rang her father on a payphone and he delivered them all home.
CHAPTER 18
The holidays hadn’t been as bad as the last ones. Velvet had worked on the script as well as finishing an English assignment. Her dad had found her a cheap Casio electric keyboard in an op shop, so she’d practised her piano pieces. She’d kept the plastic clarinet from Mr MacDonald’s music cupboard and joined a woodwind ensemble organised by the local neighbourhood house. But the highlight of the break had been going to see Annie with her aunt. It wasn’t Velvet’s favourite musical by a long way, but there were some good songs, and she always loved the experience of a live performance. Afterwards, over coffee and cake, she and Aunt Evelyn had a lot of fun working out why the second act was so flawed. The holidays had been quite satisfying, and Velvet no longer cared that her old friends never called her.
Velvet’s first lesson that term was Mandarin. She stood outside the classroom as the other students streamed in, talking about what they’d done during the break. The other thing Velvet had done over the holidays was worry about her woeful Mandarin grades. She’d tried to study, but it still made no sense to her. It wasn’t fair. She was two years behind everyone else, but weeping in the deputy principal’s office had failed to get her out of Chinese.
She’d come up with a plan. It was so radical, she wasn’t sure if she could go ahead with it. Getting a D in a test was bad enough, but what if she failed the exam? She couldn’t bear the thought of having that on her report. Pulling herself up straight, she marched into the classroom and sat down. Next to Drago. A murmur passed through the class. No one ever sat next to Drago.
“’Sup, Corduroy?”
“I need help.”
She took out her books.
Word had spread about the drama of the last day of term, and Drago called a meeting at recess.
“Don’t go around blabbing about what happened to Hailie, okay?” he told them. “If Slinky finds out, he’ll blame Mr Mac and he’ll be in big trouble.”
“And he’ll cancel the play,” Peter added.
Earlier in the year, they would all have been delighted if the play was cancelled. It was different now.
“I spent practically the entire holidays doing physio at the Fracture Clinic,” Hailie complained.
Once the others found out about Jesus’s heroics, they treated him with more respect, especially the girls. Hailie had gone off boys for at least a week, but Jesus had visited her over the break to see how she was, and she’d asked him if he’d go out with her. He’d said yes.
“You’ll never guess what I did over the holidays?” Roula said.
Nobody guessed. They knew that no matter what bizarre things they suggested, Roula would top them.
“A film crew was in our street, filming a scene for a new movie. The director asked me to audition for a part!”
Jesus was worried that the two thugs would come looking for revenge, so he appointed himself the girls’ bodyguard. He insisted on walking them to the station after school for a couple of weeks, just in case. He also wanted to give them self-defence lessons at lunchtime.
“I’m gonna show you girls how to use your elbows as weapons and how a knee can make any guy cry like a baby.”
Taleb had written a new song and, for once, they were all keen to go to lunchtime band practice to hear it.
“It’s the one about the prophecy,” he said.
Velvet was pleased. That had been her idea.
“It’s when Clarence is talking to the murderers and he realises he’s been framed.”
Taleb played an introduction that sounded like it was from a murder mystery.
“Did you hear the rumour that’s going around town?
There’s a murderer amongst us. I hope he’ll soon be found.
How will we know him? Who could it be?
There’s only one clue. His name begins with G.
It could be Gianni from the kitchens, or Gavin in the forge.
It isn’t either of my brothers. Me? But my name’s …”
“And then the murderers say together … George!”
Everyone loved it. “That’s great, Taleb.”
“It’s a bit short.”
“You can do a guitar solo and sing that verse again.”
“It’s terrific,” Velvet said, “but we might need more medieval-sounding names like Geoffrey and Giles.”
They made Taleb play it again with the new names.
“I did some work on the play over the holidays,” Drago said.
“Really?”
He pulled something out of a plastic bag. Everyone gasped. It was Hastings’s head, perfectly sculpted from clay with a clump of hair glued to the top, a purple tongue hanging out and blood around its severed neck.
“Gross.”
Peter picked it up. “It weighs a tonne.”
Taleb made them spent the first two weeks of term practising the prophecy song, working out each band member’s part and going over it again and again. Velvet was learning how to loosen up and improvise. Hailie mastered her saxophone piece. Taleb had relented and let Roula play something simple on the recorder. Jesus had discovered a talent for percussion, and every week arrived with a new piece of junk to bang, ring or rattle. And Mei’s contribution with her French horn made them sound more like a band.
An ad in the school newsletter had failed to unearth a single drummer, so Taleb decided they would manage with Jesus as percussionist. Mr MacDonald remembered that he’d taught flute to Peter in Year 7, and Peter was able to regain his skills enough to play a flute solo just before he was executed. Drago revealed that he had a talent for drama, although he did have a tendency to overact. Taleb spent more time with the Cultural Studies band than with Toxic Shock. Hailie still couldn’t sing, but no one expected her to.
Drago had realised that Mei could actually understand English well, and it was their Australian accents that had confused her at first. She’d developed a good heavy metal style of singing, but Taleb was struggling to get her to pronounce his lyrics correctly. She had a habit of dropping the ends off words and substituting familiar words for ones she didn’t know.
“Spotted toad. Bottled spider,” Taleb said for the nineteenth time.
“Spotty toe! Bottom spy!” Mei replied.
“Give it a rest, Taleb,” Peter said.
“You’re not supposed to understand heavy metal lyrics anyway,” Roula said.
Taleb was about to make them run through the prophecy song again, so Drago distracted him.
“I think I’ve found a bit that will make the second act more interesting.”
“If this is another feeble attempt to put in a sex scene, Drago …”
“No. This is high drama.” He pulled a dog-eared copy of the play from his pocket.
“Geez, Drago,” Hailie said, “you really have been reading the play.”
Drago ignored her. “The night before the battle, Richard is in his tent near the battlefield getting nervous. The ghosts of all the people he’s killed come and guilt trip him.”
/>
“Cool. A ghost scene.”
“We could make it really spooky.”
“That’s a great idea, Drago,” Velvet said.
“And then the ghosts visit Richmond in his tent and tell him he’s going to win the battle,” Drago said.
Velvet was very pleased that Drago had been reading the play. “We could have Richard and Richmond on opposite sides of the stage and light one first and then the other. Make it look like night and then have some pink light to make it look like dawn.”
“So who gets to come back as a ghost?” Jesus asked.
“All the dead people,” Mr MacDonald said. “Clarence, the little princes, Buckingham and Lady Anne.”
“Does Lady Anne die?”
“Yes,” Velvet said. “Shakespeare hints that Richard poisoned her. It’s not true, of course.”
Mr MacDonald continued. “Then comes the battle and the bit where Richard shouts, ‘a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse’ and Richmond kills him.”
“But he was brave,” Velvet said. “Even Shakespeare says so. Can we get that in somehow?”
Peter groaned. “Give it a rest, Velvet.”
Velvet had come up with a lot of ideas for defending Richard’s name. She wanted to have faceless black figures walking across the stage with placards proclaiming Richard’s innocence. She’d written a scene where Anne defended Richard against the other women, but no one liked it.
“Let’s stick with Shakespeare’s story, Corduroy,” Drago said. “Even if it isn’t true.”
Velvet was disappointed, but proud. Drago was defending Shakespeare. That was because of her.
CHAPTER 19
Velvet and Drago were trying to get the seduction scene right. It wasn’t working.
“This is a first for me,” Mr MacDonald said, “but I’m inclined to agree with Drago.”
“No,” Velvet insisted. “I am not kissing him.”
Mr MacDonald had told them to use their own experience for their performances. It was hard enough trying to think of Drago as someone who could seduce you, but Velvet just didn’t have any experience to draw on.
Taleb was still trying to get Hailie to sing in tune. He was convinced she’d get the hang of it once he’d explained a few musical principles to her. Because he was naturally musical himself, he didn’t understand how anyone couldn’t get it right. Hailie didn’t think her singing needed improving.
“I need my own song,” she said. “After King Edward dies, I should have a sad song. Something that will have everyone in tears.”
“Anything you sing will have people in tears,” Peter said.
“I’m not writing another song,” Taleb said.
“Why not? When Velvet suggests a new song, you write it.”
“Velvet is the director. If she suggests a song, it’s to improve the play, not to give herself more time in the spotlight.”
Velvet tried not to look pleased.
They continued with the scene. Hailie’s acting wasn’t good either. She clomped around with her foot in plaster trying to look seductive.
Peter was unusually impatient. “It’s no good. You can’t have a couple of Year 9 girls trying to be sexy women. It just doesn’t work.”
“And what would you know? When was the last time you came on to anybody?” Hailie snapped.
Peter looked like he might have had something to say, but if he did he kept it to himself. Velvet, aware of her own shortcomings in this area, was immediately defensive.
“How old do you think Lady Anne was when this was really happening?”
“I don’t know,” grumbled Peter. “But I bet you’re going to tell us.”
“She was fifteen.”
Velvet got the reaction she wanted. The others were all genuinely surprised.
“She was not. That was Juliet.”
“She was fifteen and already a widow. And she’d had a horrible time with her first husband.”
“So it’s all right if you can’t act,” Peter said. “Is that what you’re saying?”
Drago came to her defence.
“She’s doing okay, Peter. Stop giving her a hard time. So how old am I, Corduroy?”
“Nineteen at this point.”
“Is that all?”
“Yep. Richard fought his first battle when he was nineteen. He led a battalion or division or whatever they’re called. And he got badly wounded in the shoulder. That’s what gave him a slightly lopsided look and what historians later turned into a hunched back.”
“I thought they were all old,” Jesus said.
Mr MacDonald broke in. “So now you can feel comfortable in these roles. If Velvet feels out of her depth being seduced, that’s just the way she should play it.”
Velvet didn’t have time to go to the library at lunchtime any more. She had script meetings with Drago on Mondays and Wednesdays, self-defence with Jesus on Tuesdays. Mei had offered to do Chinese conversation practice with her on Thursdays. And now Taleb had organised extra band practice for Friday lunchtime.
Velvet’s science class had gone over time. Velvet hated being late. She took a shortcut down the stairs near the science lab. No one ever went out that way. The stairs led to a back door near the rubbish skip. Not only was it smelly, it was also where the delinquents hung out. Velvet hurried down the stairs and ran straight into Eddy, the Toxic Shock drummer, and other assorted thugs.
“Look, guys, it’s Ms Snobnose Pye.” Eddy blocked her way with a tattooed arm.
“She must want to get into your pants, Eddy.”
Eddy smelled bad.
“Let me through,” Velvet said.
“Why should I?”
Velvet turned to go back up the stairs, but Eddy pulled her round so that she was looking into his ugly face. His breath had that smell of cheap cigarettes. He slid his hand down her back and grabbed her bottom. The other boys sniggered. Velvet looked into Eddy’s eyes and smiled sweetly. She pulled back her knee and aimed for his groin. Eddy crumpled onto the stairs, his eyes nearly starting out of his head, tears streaming down his face, in too much pain to cry out. Velvet didn’t move, stunned by what she’d done.
Taleb came down the stairs, paused for a moment to take in the scene. He stepped over Eddy.
“Come on, Velvet,” he said, grabbing her arm. “You’re late for band practice.”
When they were outside, he shook his head. “I saw you heading for the stairs. You know Eddy always hangs out there.”
“I was in a hurry. I didn’t think.”
“I was just about to come and rescue you. I should have known you could look after yourself.”
“It’s what Jesus taught us. I didn’t mean to hurt him. It was just instinct. I’ve only ever done it to a punching bag before.”
“Eddy’ll live.”
They went through the hall and into the dressing room that Taleb had discovered behind the stage, where the band could practise unseen and unheard by anyone. The lunchtime sessions weren’t popular with the other members of the band. No one else had turned up.
Velvet sat down, still shocked by what she’d done.
“This is the coronation song,” Taleb said, “the chorus song that you wanted. I haven’t got all the lyrics yet.”
He plugged a device into his guitar. It looked like the foot pedal of a sewing machine.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a distortion pedal.”
He played a strong, stirring melody, bending the notes with the pedal. Velvet watched him play and calmed down a little. She still wasn’t sure about Taleb. Sometimes she was positive he liked her, other times – like when he yelled at her for playing something wrong – she was convinced he didn’t.
“What do you think?” he asked, without looking at her.
“It’s great. Of course. All your music is good. I’m even getting used to Queen Margaret’s song.”
Taleb looked at her. “What about my Toxic Shock songs?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I saw
you play once at a lunchtime concert. I only listened to one song, if that’s what you call them. It was too noisy for me.”
Taleb smiled as he tuned his guitar. Once he got the braces off, his smile would be beautiful.
“These are the lyrics I’ve got so far.”
“Three cheers for his majesty,
He’ll rule England well.
Ring the bells for his majesty,
Da-da-da-da-da-del.
“Make way for his majesty,
Who wears the royal crown.
Da-da-da his majesty,
At his feet bow down.”
“I couldn’t think of anything to rhyme with ‘well’ that worked.”
Velvet went through rhyming words in her head.
“How about ‘All our fears he’ll repel’?”
“That’s good.” Taleb wrote down her words. “What about the other missing bit? ‘Something, something, his majesty’.”
“We’ve had cheering and bell ringing and bowing. What about singing? ‘Sing praise for his majesty’?”
Velvet tried to look like it was no big deal that Taleb had asked her to help him write a song.
“Do you think it needs a chorus?” he asked.
“Songs in musicals usually have choruses. Perhaps it could be a contrast to the verses. Like an aside. People whispering their doubts about Richard.”
“Go on.”
“We don’t really like him. We’re scared what he’ll do.”
Taleb finished it off. “They say he killed the princes. And his brother Clarence too.”
He wrote it down. “That’s great. I can make the chorus music sound a bit menacing. Plunky bass notes.”
An image of sheet music with “composed by Haddad/Pye” printed on it flashed into Velvet’s mind.
“Toxic Shock’s playing at Yarrabank Plaza on Saturday morning,” Taleb said. “You should come. See if you think we’ve improved.”