Phoebe Finds Her Voice

  On Thursday Dad came to meet me from school. Ever since that day when he talked to me about losing his job – he’s been turning up once or twice a week to walk me home. He never comes in – so Mum doesn’t know – but it’s not like it’s a really big secret or anything.

  We walked along in silence for a few minutes and then he started to tell me about this couple he’d met over Christmas at the Life centre, and the problems they’d been having in their marriage. I didn’t really get why he was bothering to tell me about two people I’d never even met, but after a bit I wondered if he might be trying to tell me something without actually telling me; like some hidden clue about him and Mum. He’d just got to a really good bit about how the centre was helping them to work things out when we saw beaky-nose Burton coming towards us and we both groaned.

  “It’s absolutely disgusting,” she shouted, striding towards us. “There’s still rubbish in the bins and it’s been how many days since Christmas? I don’t know why we bother paying our council tax, I really don’t. And have you noticed that some people are not using their recycling boxes?”

  “I’m so sorry, Valerie,” said Dad waving his arm at her, “but we really can’t stop. We’re right in the middle of a deep, transcendental meditation and any sudden or unexpected disturbances might be fatal.”

  Valerie opened her mouth and then shut it again and then opened it again but nothing came out. As we walked past her, Dad started to hum and I joined in trying to keep a straight face. I didn’t even know what transcendental meditation was but it was the first time I’d ever seen Valerie Burton lost for words and I felt like cheering or something. Dad looked over at me and smiled mid-hum, and just for a second it was like it used to be before everything went wrong.

  The following Saturday Mandy arrived with some of the costumes.

  “Pop into the toilets with these,” she said, handing them round. “I’ve made three basic sizes so I might need to adjust some of them. The boys have got trousers to match the dresses and this is your Gobstopper costume, Polly.” She handed Polly a black, silky jumpsuit. “The rest of the costumes will be ready next week.”

  “There is no way I’m wearing this!” cried Polly, screwing up her face and holding the jumpsuit out in front of her as if it was diseased or something.

  “What do you mean?” said Mandy. “It’s a fantastic costume!”

  “But I’ll look so stupid!”

  “No more stupid than usual,” said Monty B to Adam.

  Polly opened her mouth to say something back but Mandy put her hands on her shoulders and steered her towards the door. “Come on, madam. Into the toilets and then pop out and show me when you’ve got it on.”

  We all squashed into the loos to try on the dresses. Polly moaned and groaned about her jumpsuit but then decided it looked quite cool and paraded around the hall showing it off to everyone. There were a few alterations to make but when Mandy had finished pinning hems and adjusting some of the waistbands she hung them on the clothes rail at the back of the stage. Then we ran right through Act One with no scripts, and considering how bad we were before Christmas it was nothing short of a miracle.

  “That was great, guys,” Mandy said when we got to the end. “It’s really beginning to take shape. Next week we’ll run through Act Two with no scripts and start to think about bows and an encore.”

  “Oh I love the bows,” trilled Sam. “It’s the best bit. Everyone cheers and once, at the end of this play I was in, I even got a standing ovation.”

  I didn’t even know what a standing ovation was but it was obviously something amazing.

  “Are you sure they weren’t just standing up to leave?” said Monty B, and he winked at Mandy.

  “Well done those of you who didn’t need prompting today,” said Mandy, trying not to laugh. “But those of you who did – get working!”

  Just then Arthur turned up, and we finally found out why he’d had the hall painted turquoise. His amateur dramatics group, The Players, were putting on a play in two weeks’ time and it was called The Ocean Deep.

  “Actually, Mandy, my dear,” he said. “The play has nothing to do with the depth of the ocean at all – it’s about the deep, dark recesses of the human mind. The word ocean therefore, in this sense, is simply a metaphor.”

  “Fabulous,” said Mandy, a fixed smile on her face. “But you do know, Arthur, that we’re only weeks away from our show and you wouldn’t believe how hard all the children are working. So just as long as it doesn’t interfere with any of my rehearsals, or the deep, dark recesses of my mind, eh?”

  “Interfere!” Arthur roared, looking particularly deranged. “Of course it won’t interfere.” And with a quick tug of his beard, he strode out of the room.

  Monty B had stayed right out of my way since Polly and the kissing comment. I still caught him staring at me when he thought I wasn’t looking – but he hadn’t actually spoken to me or anything. I half-wanted to tell him what was going on with Polly. I just had this mad idea that if I told him everything we’d be able to work out a plan to get rid of her together. But then something terrible happened – and sorting out Polly Carter didn’t seem to matter at all.

  Sara started to feel ill at teatime the following Thursday. She threw up a couple of times and went to bed early. Her temperature shot up during the night and at about three o’clock Mum called an ambulance. She then rang Dad to come and stay with me, and by the time the ambulance arrived Sara was whimpering and her back and legs were covered in a horrible, purply red rash.

  Dad and I sat in the kitchen drinking tea and staring at the walls, and after what seemed like an age Mum rang Dad from the hospital and told him that it was suspected meningitis. I didn’t even know what meningitis was exactly, but I knew you could die from it and when Dad told me I burst out crying. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d said anything even a little bit nice to Sara and now she was in hospital dying!

  Dad called Gran and as soon as she arrived we all went up to see Sara.

  “It’s only suspected meningitis,” Dad kept saying in the car. “We’ve got to hang on to that thought and stay positive. That’s what Sara needs from us right now, Phoebs, lots of positive thoughts.”

  But it was a total nightmare. We sat around for hours and hours and hardly anyone would tell us what was going on or even talk to us. Mum was allowed in the room with Sara but every time she came out she was crying so much I couldn’t understand anything she said. Her eyes were so swollen up and puffy they were almost closed. The only words I could hear were, “My precious baby, my precious baby,” and every time she said it I started to cry again.

  I was sort of starving as well, but there was nothing to eat and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to swallow anything anyway. My throat felt completely stuffed up, like how the toilet gets sometimes when Sara uses too much loo paper. I sat there on this hard, plastic chair and thought about how I was going to make it up to her when she got better. I’d let her do anything she wanted: borrow my clothes, use my make-up, I’d even let her come in my room and listen to my Donny Dallesio CDs. I’d be the best big sister in the world.

  We sat and sat; hour after hour. The time crawled by so slowly I wanted to scream. At one point I thought I must be going mad or hallucinating or something because I caught a glimpse of Polly Carter at the end of the corridor clutching hold of a helium balloon. I shrank back in my chair so that she wouldn’t notice me – she was the last person I wanted to see. Her dad was walking behind her hurrying her along and she looked as miserable as ever.

  I blinked really hard and when I looked again she was gone. I wondered if I’d imagined the whole thing – I mean what were the chances of her being here on the same day as me anyway? But then I remembered about her half-brother. People always bought those helium balloons to the hospital when a new baby was born. I bet that’s why she looked so miserable; she was probably worried that her dad might love the new baby more than he loved her. I couldn’t even imagine how I’d f
eel if my dad went off and had a baby with someone new.

  “I’ll just go and find us some sandwiches or something,” Gran said, after another hour had crawled by. “What do you want, Phoebe? Cheese? Tuna?”

  I shook my head. “I am hungry, Gran, but my throat’s all stuffed up. I don’t think I could even manage a packet of crisps.”

  Dad popped his head round the door to ask Mum if she wanted a sandwich but she just hissed something at him. I couldn’t hear what it was – but it sounded bad.

  “Just a simple, ‘no thank you’ would do,” Dad muttered turning away from the door; and then Mum came storming out.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” she spat. “Is this really the time to be worried about sandwiches and manners and rubbish like that? Just do me a favour and leave me alone can’t you! Why do you have to be so utterly useless? I’m sick of the sight of you!”

  My tummy twisted up into the tightest knot and I felt like bashing their heads together. That’s what Mum always says to me and Sara when we argue over something. You’d think in a situation as awful as this they’d be able to get on for Sara’s sake – even if it was only for a few, measly hours.

  When Gran went off to get the sandwiches I told Dad I needed the loo and I slipped off to see if I could find Polly. I don’t even know why but it was like seeing her here at the hospital was completely different from seeing her at school or at drama. It was like being trapped in some sort of twilight zone where absolutely anything could happen.

  It took ages and ages but eventually I found her sitting at the end of a long corridor. She was holding her balloon in one hand and her phone in the other, staring at the screen as if it might have the answer to something.

  “Hey, Polly,” I said, walking up to her. “Has your new brother been born?”

  “Half-brother,” she snapped, not really looking at me. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  “My sister’s sick. She might be dying.” I don’t know why I told her. I don’t even know why I’d bothered to find her in the first place – it’s not as if she was going to care. It’s just that I was so tired and feeling so bad about everything. I nearly said, “Don’t worry about your dad loving the new baby more than you,” but I knew it would sound pathetic so I just stood there.

  “Sorry about your sister,” Polly said after a bit. She looked at me for a second and then back at her phone. “I hope she gets better.”

  I sat down next to her. “What are you doing anyway?”

  “Nothing really, just playing some dumb game to pass the time. I didn’t even want to come, but my dad forced me.”

  “Do your mum and dad get on any more?” I said. “My mum and dad are barely talking to each other.”

  She stabbed at the phone, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the game. “My mum hates my dad and my dad is so busy with his new girlfriend he doesn’t even notice I’m there half the time. He’d much rather have a brand-new baby than be stuck with me.”

  Suddenly I felt really sorry for her. It was crazy but I couldn’t help it. We sat there for a bit longer taking turns on her phone. I didn’t have a clue what the game was about – I was way too tired and worried to concentrate, but it was better than doing nothing.

  After a bit Polly’s dad came over and took her in to see the new baby.

  “See you, then,” she said, trailing after him with her balloon. Then just before she got to the door she turned round and said, “Sorry about your script, Phoebe. I only did it to make the others laugh.” And she disappeared behind the blue, hospital doors.

  I sat there in a daze. I couldn’t believe it. I thought about how every time Polly said something nasty to me, she was nearly always surrounded by her mates – and they were always laughing and sniggering as if she was the cleverest person alive. All this time I was convinced she hated me – but maybe she thought that being mean to me was the only way to impress her friends and keep them hanging round.

  I went back to find Gran and Dad, going over and over what Polly had said. I knew I should hate her but I couldn’t. It’s not like we were going to be best friends or anything but at least I kind of knew why she’d been so vile to me.

  Finally at about six in the evening a doctor came out to talk to us about Sara.

  “You’ve got a real fighter on your hands there,” he said, sort of smiling but not really, “and I’m delighted to say that we’ve had the test results back and it’s viral meningitis not bacterial.”

  “What does that mean exactly?” said Gran, her voice shaking a bit.

  “Well, we’ve done a lumbar puncture, that was the big injection in her spine, and the fluid has come back clear. She’s got a nasty virus and she’s not out of the woods yet, but thankfully it’s not as serious as we first thought. She’s got to have lots of rest but like I said, she’s a fighter and there’s no reason why she shouldn’t make a full recovery.”

  I felt so proud when he said that, about her being a fighter. I wanted to cheer or something, but I was too tired.

  “Now I know it’s difficult but I think it would be best if you were to go home and get a good night’s sleep and then come back in the morning.”

  Dad ended up staying at the hospital with Mum and I went home with Gran.

  When we got in I ran straight up to Sara’s room to get Barney. Gran started to make me some cheese on toast but I fell asleep on the couch – cuddled up with Barney – and slept there right through to the morning.

  I woke up when the phone rang. It was Mum. She said Sara had improved lots over night but that we wouldn’t be able to visit until later – then she started to cry again and I couldn’t understand the rest. I texted Ellie to let her know I wouldn’t be coming to drama, and then after breakfast we went up to the High Road to get some tastier food to take to the hospital.

  “Is everything okay?” Mrs. Burton called out as we passed her house. “Only I saw the ambulance arrive in the early hours and I’ve been worried sick. I don’t think my eyes closed for more than five minutes all night long.”

  “Thanks for your concern,” said Gran, speeding up, “but everything’s fine.”

  Suddenly I thought about Dad humming the other day and I started to giggle.

  “What’s so funny, Phoebs?” said Gran.

  “It was Dad,” I said. “Mrs. Burton was going on and on about the rubbish and the Council and stuff and he pretended we were in the middle of a deep transcendental meditation or something and then we both walked past her humming. Honestly, Gran, it was so funny, you should’ve seen her face.”

  Gran linked arms with me, chuckling, and for a tiny moment I pretended it was a normal day and we were just popping up to the shops to get something for lunch.

  “We must remember to take Barney up to the hospital,” I said, cuddling in to Gran. “If Sara wakes up she won’t understand where he is. You know she’s never spent a night away from him before and she’ll be so frightened.”

  “Don’t worry, love. We’ll take him up a bit later. Everything’s going to be all right. You’ll see.”

  Sara stayed in hospital for a few more days before they let her come home. Mum and Dad spent loads of time up there together but it didn’t seem to help them get on. By the time Mum brought Sara home they were more or less ignoring each other and I couldn’t imagine how they were ever going to sort things out.

  Mum seemed to blame Dad for everything. She went on and on and on about how selfish he was and how he should grow up and get a proper job so that she didn’t have to worry about everything all the time. But Dad didn’t say anything to defend himself or explain why it was so difficult for him to find a new job, he just spent more and more time at the Life centre and less and less time with us.

  When I got to Star Makers on Saturday, Mandy was busy handing out the rest of the costumes and it was such a relief to be back with everyone and away from all the dramas at home.

  Adam had already changed into his costume and he looked amazing. He was wearing a re
ally smart silver suit, a dark blue tie covered in silver stars and big silver boots. Neesha and the other Jelly-Skulls had black tops with a white outline of a skull on the front, and Monty B was prancing about in his pink tutu. But Sam looked the best. She had a blonde wig, these long, silver, high-heeled boots and a tiny, silver mini-dress.

  “Hey! Don’t even think about messing with the Ice Bomb,” she snarled, teetering around in her heels like a top fashion model.

  “Oh, you all look fantastic,” Mandy said, excitedly. “Adam and Monty B, pop onto the stage, will you, and get the other costumes down. I’d like to see you all in your costumes just once so that I know everything’s sorted for next week.”

  Adam and Monty B jumped onto the stage and disappeared behind the velvet curtains, a cloud of dust rising up behind them.

  “I’m just going to the loo to do my wig,” said Sam, and she staggered out of the room on her high-heels holding on to Ellie for support.

  “Hey, Mandy, we can’t see any dresses up here,” Adam called out a few seconds later.

  Mandy ran her hand through her hair, which was a sort of dark purple colour and very spiky. “They’re on the rail, boys, remember? Right at the back.”

  “No, the rail’s here,” Monty B popped his head back through the curtain, “but there are no dresses on it.”

  “Of course they’re there,” Mandy muttered. “Where else would they be?”

  She jumped onto the stage and then leaped straight off again, out through the double-doors and down the corridor to Arthur’s office. A minute later she stormed back into the hall with Arthur following a few steps behind. He had a hot drink in his hand and his beard was full of flaked-off bits of sausage roll or something.