LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

      I wouldn’t actually mind being in the limelight. Being on stage. Having my name in the programme. Not that I exactly hanker after it. I’m just saying that I wouldn’t mind. I don’t have stage fright or anything. But I’ve come to the conclusion that there are backstage people and there are onstage people, and I’m just one of the backstage ones. Least, that’s what my family would say.

      “Hey! Will I still be around?” said Coop.

      “What, when the twins go there? Of course you will! It’s only two years away.”

      Two years for the twins, just a few months for me. I was supposed to be starting next term. They’d had all our names down for Summerfield practically ever since we were born. It’s like a sort of family tradition. On Dad’s side, that is.

      I took a breath. It was time I dropped my bombshell.

      “Actually—”

      “You never know,” said Coop, “I might be at music college by then.”

      “Not at the age of sixteen,” said Mum.

      “Not even if I’m a genius?”

      “You are a genius, darling, but you’re still staying on at school. I cannot possibly have you leaving till the twins are there. Imagine,” exulted Mum, “a whole dynasty. A McBride takeover!”

      I cleared my throat. Noisily.

      “ACTUALLY…” I said. I leaned forward. “I d—”

      “Five, all at once!”

      “I don’t—”

      “Five’s not the record,” said Dad. “When I was a boy, there were six of us at one time. Your Uncle Daniel – ” he nodded at us as he ticked names off on his fingers – “your Aunt Helen, me, plus three cousins: Will, Shula, Rory. All there at the same time!”

      Mum said, “Yes, but this will be five from just one family. I bet that’s never happened before! We ought to ask for reduced rates.”

      My heart began hammering. This was it! I had to get it out. Now. Before they went rushing off to demand reductions.

      I took another breath. Deeper this time.

      “As a matter of fact,” I said, “I don’t really—”

      “Bubbly!” Dad thumped again, on the table. “A bottle of bubbly. That’s what we need!”

      “Don’t really w—”

      “McBrides United!”

      “—really want to go to Summerfield!”

      I might just as well not have bothered. Nobody was listening.

      “What a team, eh?” Dad winked at Mum.

      “We are doing rather well,” agreed Mum.

      “Yeah, cos me and Flora – ” Fergus bounced boastfully on his chair – “we didn’t even have to take auditions! Everybody else did, but not us.”

      “That’s right.” Flora nodded. “Miss Marshall said she knew what we were capable of.”

      “Well, of course she did,” said Dad. “Chips off the old block, the pair of you!”

      I think what he meant was, they took after him. Well, and after Mum too, if it comes to that. Mum might not be on the radio, but she is every bit as theatrical as Dad. So are all the others. They are all chips off the old block. Except for me. I am like the cuckoo in the nest. The odd one out. It wouldn’t ever have occurred to Miss Marshall to say she knew what I was capable of. She didn’t even suggest I took the audition, even though I can sing in tune. Of course I could have asked her, if I’d really wanted. But I kept thinking how she’d look at me, with this air of doubt.

      “You, Peaches? I thought you’d be helping out backstage?”

      What I would have liked was for her to ask me. But even if she had I probably wouldn’t have been given anything, and then the twins would have told Mum, and Mum would have made a big fuss and hugged me and cried, “Oh, darling, don’t think you have to compete! You have your own thing.”

      It was like a sort of family myth, me having my own thing. Nobody ever said what it was, and I never quite liked to ask. It was just something Mum used to say to try and make me feel good.

      “I’ll tell you what!” Mum’s voice rang out, very clear and bell-like. Heads at the next table turned to stare. “If I hadn’t had you lot, I might have gone onstage myself.”

      Dad at once started to sing. He has a deep dark baritone. Very loud.

      “Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs Worthington—”

      Mum slapped at him. “I could have done!”

      “Of course you could, my angel.” Dad blew her a kiss across the table. “You could have done anything you wanted.”

      “Instead of which, I had this lot.”

      “Ah, but think how proud they’re going to make you!”

      “What I should like to think,” said Mum, “is that we could get a reduction in school fees. Dog breeders get reductions. Why can’t we? I mean, let’s face it, sending five of them…”

      I think at this point I must have made a little squeak of protest without realising it. Mum broke off and looked at me.

      “Did you say something, darling?”

      I opened my mouth. I don’t want to go to Summerfield! I’d been trying to say it for the last fifteen minutes. And now, just as I was on the point of actually doing so, Dad gave a joyful cry – “Here’s Raj!” – and Mum snatched up a menu and instructed everyone to order. The moment had passed.

      “What’ll we have? Who wants what?”

      “Poppadoms, anyone? Who’s for poppadoms?”

      And then they all started shouting at once.

      “Chicken tikka!”

      “Prawn masala!”

      “Lamb biryani!”

      Raj, who was used to us, stood calmly in the midst of it all writing things down.

      “Everyone ordered?” said Mum brightly.

      “Yes, yes.” Dad, impatient, gathered up the menus. “Don’t forget the bubbly!”

      It was Raj who noticed I hadn’t ordered anything.

      “And for the young lady?” he said.

      “Young lady?” said Mum. “Which young lady?”

      “Just Peachy,” said Coop.

      “What? She hasn’t ordered?”

      I’m not absolutely positive, but I think Raj may have winked at me. Sort of like showing sympathy. My family!

      “So what are you going to have?” said Mum. “If you had the chicken korma, we could mix and match.”

      “Yes, all right,” I said.

      “You’re sure?”

      I nodded. Raj stood gravely, his pen poised.

      “She’ll have the chicken korma,” said Mum. “Honestly, darling, you really must learn to speak up!”

      “Like on stage,” said Flora. “If you don’t SPEAK UP – ” her voice rose to a shriek – “no one’ll be able to hear you.”

      “Well, they’ll certainly be able to hear you, all right,” said Mum.

      Flora gave this little complacent smirk. “That’s why Miss Marshall chose us, cos we have these really BIG voices. There’s this one girl in our class

Скачать книгу