The Secret Hen House Theatre (5 page)

Chapter Nine

Curtains

When Hannah got to the theatre on Saturday morning Lottie was already there, perched on an upturned barrel of Cooper’s Dairy Ointment (The Number One Udder Cream), drawing in her red notebook. Shafts of sunlight poured through the gaps in the walls and illuminated her work.

“You’re early!”

“I know,” said Lottie. “My mum was still asleep and it’s so boring at home. What’s udder cream? It sounds really gross.”

“There’s nothing wrong with udder cream. It’s what you rub on cows’ udders if they get sore when they’re being milked or when their calves are sucking from them.”

“Cow moisturiser?”

“Exactly. Also a cure for every human skin problem, according to my dad. What are you drawing?”

Lottie held out her notebook. “An idea I had for the queen’s costume.”

“Wow,” said Hannah. “That’s amazing.”

She took the notebook reverently. The page was filled with a detailed design of a full-length gown:
a riot of clashing colours and patterns, frills, bows and lace.

“I thought it would suit the queen’s over-the-top personality,” said Lottie. “She has no taste so she just goes for the gaudiest design possible and she thinks she looks great.”

Hannah stroked the paper. She imagined how it would feel to act Queen Matilda in that dress: the way she would draw herself to her fullest height; the arrogant tilt of her head as she looked down her nose at the poor maid; the rustle of silk as she paraded across the stage.

“It’s fabulous,” she said. “Are you really going to make it?”

“Sure. We’ll need to go to jumble sales and get material, then I’ll use Mum’s sewing machine.”

“It’ll be amazing.” Hannah hesitated. “Have you thought about costume changes, though? We’re going to have to change really quickly, with just the two of us doing all the parts.”

“Don’t worry,” said Lottie. “I’ll use Velcro. So what’s in that file?”

Hannah had read in one of her mother’s theatre books that the director of a play keeps a file of notes about every aspect of the play she is working on. So she had gone to the newsagent’s after school yesterday and spent half of Granny’s Christmas money on a shiny purple ring binder, a pad of paper and some brightly coloured dividers. She had labelled each section: Costumes, Props, Scenery, Hair and Make-Up. In the last section, labelled The Play, she had
filed a photocopy of the script, single-sided to keep the facing pages blank for her director’s notes on the actors’ movements and gestures.

Lottie nodded in approval. “Cool. Let’s get started.”

They spent the morning making two tall frames out of fence posts. They nailed hessian sacking over them so they looked like huge artists’ canvases. Then they wedged the frames vertically on either side of the shed, from floor to ceiling, to make two side walls for the front of the stage.

“There!” said Hannah, standing out in the auditorium to admire the effect. “Our proscenium arch. We’ll have wings behind the side walls for our exits and entrances – we’ll make them the same way as we did the proscenium – then hang a backcloth at the back, and then, between the front walls – swish!” With a grand sweep of her hands, she mimed a pair of curtains opening.

Lottie frowned. “Where are we going to get curtains?”

Hannah paused, her hands still in mid-air. “Hmm. Has your mum got some old ones somewhere?”

“Definitely not. She doesn’t keep anything old. It’s a miracle I haven’t ever been bagged up for the wheelie bin in one of her clear-outs. Don’t you have any old ones?”

“All ours are old,” said Hannah. “But they’re all torn. And they’re all still on the windows.”

Then she stared at Lottie. “Oh, but—”

“What?”

Hannah clapped her hands. “What about the sitting-room ones? They’re not torn. And they’re red and silky. They’d look amazing.”

Lottie stared at her. “You have got to be joking.”

“No one will notice. Nobody ever goes in there.”

“Hannah, you can’t take your dad’s curtains. That’s stealing.”

“It’s not stealing, it’s just borrowing. We’ll put them back for Christmas; that’s the only time the room’s used. He’ll never know.”

“They
would
look amazing,” said Lottie, looking at the bare proscenium arch.

“Exactly.”

“What if he finds out, though? He’d kill us.”

“He’d only kill me. And he’ll never find out.”

The sitting room had two wide windows, each hung with crimson curtains.

“Which pair shall we take?” whispered Lottie.

“These ones,” said Hannah. “They’re not so faded.”

She dragged a carved mahogany chair dotted with woodworm holes over to the furthest window and climbed on to the torn velvet seat.

A shrivelled holly branch sat on top of the curtain rail. When Hannah’s mother was alive, the whole room sparkled at Christmas. There was always a huge tree covered in lights and an enormous log fire that crackled and shot sparks up the chimney. Candles burned on the mantelpiece and silver tinsel glittered on the picture rail. Her father cut down
great swathes of ivy and holly branches to drape over the gilt picture frames.

He still decorated the house with greenery and they still made a show of having a happy Christmas. But everybody knew it wasn’t the same.

Lottie folded each curtain carefully as Hannah handed it to her. Then they carried them through the silent house and into the yard.

“Oh, no!” said Hannah. Tess, her father’s springer spaniel, was bounding towards her, tail waving like a windmill. “Dad must be around.”

As she was speaking, her father strode around the corner from the milking parlour.

“Quick! Hide them!” hissed Lottie.

Hannah looked around frantically. A dented wheelbarrow, coated with dried-up pig dung, stood outside the garden gate.

“In there!”

They threw the curtains into the wheelbarrow. Hannah pulled her coat off and flung it on top of them.

“Look casual,” she muttered. “We’ve been cleaning out the guinea pigs, OK?”

They strolled through the yard, trundling the barrow in front of them. Dad passed them and turned up the path towards the pigsties without a glance.

“Phew,” mouthed Hannah.

“Oh, no – look.”

Hannah looked up towards the farm track. The farm’s one working gate was bolted shut across the
track. Sitting on the gate, grinning triumphantly, were Jo and Sam. In front of the gate sprawled Jasper, a sheep so fat that he looked like a giant snowball. Jo had looked after him since he was orphaned at two days old, and now he followed her everywhere. He even had his own pet, a half-grown duck called Lucy, who spent her days riding around on Jasper’s back. She was there now, tucked into her vast woolly nest.

“Uh-oh,” said Hannah. “What are they up to?”

Jo and Sam didn’t take their eyes off Lottie and Hannah as they approached with the wheelbarrow. When they were nearly at the gate, Jo thrust out her arm, palm up towards Hannah.

“Stop, in the name of Bean!”

“What?”

“The correct password is required to pass through this gate.”

Hannah rolled her eyes and looked around her.

“Pig dung?”

“Incorrect password.”

“Big fat sheep?” suggested Lottie.

Jo narrowed her eyes at Lottie. “Incorrect password. Also rude and hurtful.”

Hannah sighed. “Crazy mad people who call each other bean names?”

“Incorrect password and an insult to the great and mighty Society of Bean.”

Hannah turned to her brother. “Sam, please let us through. It’s important.”

Sam looked at Jo. Jo gave him a stern stare.

“Do not relent, French Bean. The question is,
why 
is it important? And
what
is important? That is what the Society of Bean must find out.”

Hannah blew out her cheeks impatiently. “Sam, why do you do this mad Bean thing?”

Sam shrugged. “She makes me.”

“All password attempts unsuccessful,” said Jo. “Entry denied.”

From the pigsties came a sound of clattering metal, followed by, “Get down, girl! Behave!”

Lottie glanced fearfully towards the pigsties. “Just stop being so stupid and let us through.”

She grabbed the bolt and tugged it. It didn’t move.

“There’s no point,” said Hannah. “It won’t budge with those two sitting on it and Jasper in front like a great fat door stop.”

“Don’t listen to them, Jasper!” cried Jo.

“Let us through,” said Lottie in as menacing a voice as she could manage. “Or the sheep gets it.”

Jo laughed. “I wouldn’t threaten Jasper if I were you. He’s a trained killer. He butts people I don’t like.”

“Oh, please,” said Lottie.

There was the sound of wood being dragged across concrete. Dad was shutting the pigsty door.

“Let us
through
!” hissed Lottie, glancing at the wheelbarrow.

Jo caught the glance. “If you want to get through, show us what you’ve got in that barrow.”

Hannah said, in a higher voice than she’d intended, “We’ve been cleaning out the guinea pigs.”

Jo snorted. “You?!”

“Why have you put your coat on top of guinea-pig droppings?” said Sam.

“Good point, French Bean,” said Jo. “Let’s see what’s under it.”

She jumped down from the gate and reached for the coat.

Hannah spreadeagled herself across the barrow. “No! Get off!”

“Guess I’ll have to call Dad then.” Jo opened her mouth wide and took a deep breath.

“No!” shouted Hannah and Lottie together.

Jo folded her arms and looked at them through narrowed eyes. “So. Here’s the deal. We won’t call Dad and we’ll let you through this gate if you show us what’s in that wheelbarrow.”

“And,” said Sam, “you have to tell us what you’ve been doing all morning.”

Hannah looked at Lottie in despair. Was the theatre over before it had even begun?

Clomp, clomp, clomp. Dad’s boots coming down the path towards them.

“Hannah!” he shouted. “Have you taken my barrow?”

Jo cocked her head and smiled sweetly. “Shall I talk to him?”

“Fine,” spat Hannah. “You win. Now open up.”

As Jo unbolted the gate, Hannah and Lottie grabbed the curtains from the barrow and sprinted off up the track.

“Hey!” called Jo. “Come back! I’m telling Dad!”

“Just follow us!” shouted Hannah. “Quick!”

Chapter Ten

Spying

The curtains, strung on a length of washing line that Hannah had taken from the garden, glimmered and danced as they caught the winter sunlight. Hannah gave a long murmur of contentment. “Now it’s really starting to look like a theatre.”

“We can attach strings to them so we can open and close them from the wings,” said Lottie, her hands clasped in admiration.

“I guess that’s one good thing about having the Beans in the theatre. We couldn’t do the curtains
and
be on stage.”

“And if Jo’s in the play, at least we won’t have to do so many costume changes.”

“She’ll be good as Prince Rallentando too.”

“The hardest thing,” said Lottie, “is how I’m going to manage the costume changes from the maid to the princess.”

“I can always write some extra lines for the queen to say while you’re changing.”

“Or the footman can come on. Although we’d better not give Sam too many lines.”

“Sshh,” said Hannah, putting a hand on Lottie’s
shoulder.

They froze and listened. Twigs snapped and cracked in the thicket. Something or someone was outside the theatre.

“Push harder, Baked Bean; it’s stuck.”

It was Jo’s voice. Hannah breathed again. She pushed the stage door open. She had oiled it this morning and now it moved a lot more easily.

Jo was staggering up the path, dragging a large piece of furniture. Behind it Hannah could see Sam’s little face, his cheeks red with effort.

“Look what we’ve got,” said Jo.

She stepped aside so Hannah and Lottie could see. It was a pine chest of drawers without any drawers in it.

“The drawers are down there,” said Jo, pointing to the bottom of the thicket. “We had to bring them over separately.”

“Have you two just dragged a chest of drawers across the yard?” said Hannah. “Don’t you remember what we said? About keeping the theatre secret and not letting Dad suspect anything?”

“Don’t worry,” said Jo. “He didn’t mind.”

“What?!” Hannah’s voice rose about an octave. “You
asked
him?”

“No, of course not. But he saw us taking it across the yard and he didn’t say anything.”

Hannah and Lottie looked at each other. This made no sense.

“Did he see you coming down here?” asked Lottie.

“No,” said Jo. “He was going to the milking
parlour.”

“But Mar—” began Sam.

“Shut up,” hissed Jo.

“What?” asked Hannah. “What were you going to say, Sam?”

Sam looked at Jo, who was glaring at him.

“Nothing,” they both said.

Hannah looked at them suspiciously. “If you two get us caught…” She tailed off, unable to think of a single punishment severe enough for that offence.

An enormous woolly ball with a duck on its back squeezed along the path and nuzzled up to Jo.

“No way, Jo!” said Hannah. “I told you yesterday, this is a theatre, not a farm. Do you think they let sheep into the Old Vic?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been there,” said Jo. “Don’t be mean, Hannah. It’s bad enough that he’s alone all day when I’m at school. He has to be with me at weekends, otherwise he pines. Animals can pine to death, you know.”

“Not ones with as much fat on as that.”

Jo put her arms round Jasper and her cheek on his huge woolly back. She stroked Lucy’s glossy feathers sadly.

“Oh, OK, fine,” said Hannah. “But you clear up after them. That’s the rule at the Old Vic too.”

Lottie had moved past Jo to get a proper look at the chest of drawers.

“This thing is disgusting. What’s all that stuck to the top of it?”

Hannah looked. Three large mounds of dried-up
bird droppings sat on the pine surface.

“We found it in the bottom stable,” said Jo. “There were swallows’ nests above it.”

“Great,” said Lottie. “You’ve brought us a swallows’ toilet.”

Jo fixed her hardest stare on Lottie. “You’re very rude and ungrateful sometimes, Lottie Perfect. We’re going to clean it and paint it and then we can keep things in it.”

Hannah clapped her hands together, her eyes shining. “Yes! It’s perfect for backstage! For make-up and hair stuff. We can put a mirror on top and it can be our dressing table. It will be like a proper theatre dressing room!”

Lottie raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “You’re all mad. It’s gross.”

Hannah rubbed a filthy drawer handle with her sleeve. “These are china. They’re gorgeous. It’ll be lovely when it’s cleaned up.”

“Exactly,” said Jo. “Come on, Baked Bean.”

“I thought he was French Bean,” said Lottie.

“That was
this morning
,” said Jo, as if she were talking to a particularly dim toddler. She lifted one end of the chest.

“Oh, no,” protested Lottie. “You’re not bringing that inside the theatre until it’s completely clean. We just swept the floor.”

Jo sighed. “Fine, we’ll do it outside.”

“I’ll go and get you a bucket of water and some rags,” said Hannah.

“We’ll go,” said Jo.

“No. Martha’s back. I saw Jade’s mum driving down the track. You might give something away.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“Well, I’m going on my own.” She walked towards the front-of-house door. Then she stopped and turned round. “Actually, Sam, will you be lookout? With Dad and Martha around, we need someone to stand guard at the top of the field.”

“Cool!” said Sam, beaming with excitement and importance. “I’ll get my stick. And my binoculars.” He hurried down the path. His trousers flapped around his ankles. I must go to the Scouts’ jumble sale next Saturday and get him some new clothes, Hannah thought.

“Can you bring me some nails too, Han?” asked Lottie, who was patching up gaps in the theatre’s walls. “I’ve nearly run out.”

“Sure,” said Hannah. She pushed the front-of-house door hard. She had oiled this one yesterday too.

“Owwww!” came a piercing screech from outside. “Owwww!”

No! Oh, no!

Martha!

It was over.

All over.

Everything was ruined.

Hannah couldn’t bear it. She turned to Lottie, who was frozen to the spot, her hammer in mid-bang, staring at the door in disbelief.

Martha appeared in the doorway, a vision of
fury, hopping on one foot and clutching the other. There were red scratches all over her bare legs. She obviously hadn’t found the path.

“You evil pig, you did that on purpose!”

Lottie unfroze. “What are you doing here?” she asked, striding to the door.

“Ha! I’ve been spying on those two idiots ever since I got home, and I followed them here.”

Hannah remembered Sam’s “But Mar—”, and Jo hastily shutting him up.

So they knew Martha was spying on them and they’d still lugged a chest of drawers across the farmyard to the theatre in broad daylight.

“I knew it!” she burst out. “I knew we couldn’t trust them!”

How could they have been so stupid? After she and Lottie had been so careful, creeping about in the dark for a week. She should have known it would never work, having the Beans in the theatre.

“So now I know everything,” Martha said. “And now I can just go and tell Dad and—” She stopped in her tracks, her eyes fixed on the curtains that hung so splendidly across the proscenium arch. For a fraction of a second Hannah thought she saw in her sister’s face something like excitement, admiration even. Then her eyes and mouth opened wide with a dawning realisation.

“Whoa,” she said. “The sitting-room curtains. You’ve taken the sitting-room curtains that Mum made. Dad’s going to go so mental.”

“Martha, don’t tell him. Please.” Even as Hannah
said this, she knew it was useless. Of course Martha would tell him.

“You’ve set up a whole theatre without me, you horrible pig. You’ve all been doing your pathetic secret things and you’ve left me out of everything. You’ve even got stupid little Sam in it, and he’s only six. You’re mean and evil and I hate you and I’m going to tell Dad all about it, so there.”

She turned and started to push her way out through the brambles. Hannah stood there, unable to move or speak. Their wonderful secret theatre, the chance to perform their own play in a real drama competition – all destroyed. Back to muddy grey reality with nothing to look forward to.

But suddenly Lottie ran to the door. She called out, “Martha!”

“What?” snapped Martha, still pushing through the brambles.

“Martha,” asked Lottie, “would you like to be in the theatre?”

Martha turned her head. “What?”

“WHAT?!” shrieked Hannah.

“Would you like to be in the theatre? We need someone to play the princess.”

“Why would I want to be in your stupid poxy theatre? You don’t even like me.”

“Esmeralda wears really beautiful dresses,” said Lottie. “Actually, she wears the nicest clothes of any of the characters.”

“Shut up,” said Martha. “You’re lying. You don’t want me in your stupid theatre.”

“Actually,” said Lottie, “we were just saying how we really need someone to do hair and make-up.”

No we weren’t, thought Hannah. Has she gone mad? Does she want to ruin the theatre?

“No, you weren’t,” said Martha. “I never heard you say that.”

“Well, it must have been before you started spying on us. The Beans found this chest of drawers, you see, for our make-up and hair things, but none of us is any good at it, and we thought you’d be the best.”

“You haven’t even got any make-up.”

“No, but we’re going to get some. Please, Martha, we really do need you. And then it will be
our
secret.”

And then Hannah realised what Lottie was doing. Of course. Clever Lottie. If Martha was in the theatre, she would have to keep it secret from Dad. She would be on their side.

Martha opened her mouth to speak. But it wasn’t her voice they heard.

“Help! Hannah, come here! Help!”

It was Sam. It sounded like he was running. He sounded breathless – and he sounded as if he was crying. And Sam never cried.