The Secret Hen House Theatre (6 page)

Chapter Eleven

The Man With the Angel Tattoo

Hannah raced past Martha and down the path, her heart thumping against her ribs. She sprinted up the field, the others at her heels. Sam was hurtling down the field towards them, his eyes wide with fear.

Hannah grabbed his shoulders and crouched beside him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“They’re stealing Daddy’s Field Marshall!”

“What?”

“There’s two men in the yard and they’re putting it on a lorry.”

“They can’t be.”

“They are! Come and stop them, quick!” He tugged at Hannah’s hand with both of his.

All five children ran up the field like a tribe of warriors. They turned, panting, on to the track and raced into the yard, Jasper trotting behind them.

An enormous flatbed lorry, spurting black fumes and juddering with menace, straddled the yard. It dwarfed the ancient buildings and the farm machinery. Their father’s Field Marshall sat hunched on the back of it, strapped up like a captive. It looked tiny up there.

A bulky man with a shaved head was throwing a long canvas strap over the Marshall to a second man standing on the other side of the lorry.

“Ratchet it in tight,” shouted the first man. On the back of his thick neck was a tattoo of a pair of angels’ wings. “It looks like a heap of scrap but it’s worth a few grand.”

Hannah’s whole body tingled with rage. She strode up to the man with the tattoo.

“Hey! Take my dad’s tractor off that lorry!”

He didn’t even turn round. He couldn’t have heard her over the noise of the engine.

Hannah felt as if she was about to explode with anger. She grabbed the man’s arm. “What are you doing? You’re stealing my dad’s tractor!”

He turned and looked down at her. He glanced at the others, and at Jasper, gasping for breath. A dribble of saliva plopped from Jasper’s mouth on to the man’s oily wellington boot. He looked at it in disgust and shrugged his arm out of Hannah’s grip. “Out of the way. We’ve got a job to do.”

Lottie stepped up to him, her hands on her hips. “We know exactly what sort of job you’re doing. How dare you come up here and attempt to commit robbery in broad daylight? I hereby do make a citizen’s arrest. You do not have to speak but anything you do say may be taken down and—”

He had already turned his back on her. He picked up another strap. “Ready, Barry?” he shouted. The strap thudded on to the smooth curved bonnet of the old tractor.

“Jasper, attack!” hissed Jo.

Jasper sat down.

“Stop playing games!” cried Hannah. “This is serious. We have to stop them.” She looked around the yard wildly. “Where’s Dad?”

“All done,” shouted the man on the other side of the lorry.

Suddenly Martha jumped up and down in her sparkly heels. “I know! Stand in front of the lorry. All of us, in a line. Then they can’t move.”

Hannah stared at Martha in amazement. “Genius!” she said. “Come on!”

As one person, they sprinted to the front of the lorry. Then Jo turned around. “Where’s Sam?”

Hannah stopped in her tracks. Where
was
Sam?

The lorry’s engine cut out.

Everybody looked up at the cab. And there was Sam, bouncing up and down on the driver’s seat, throwing his head back and laughing, waving the ignition key in his hand.

Hannah laughed in delight. Jo and Martha cheered.

“Sam!” shouted Lottie. “That’s fantastic!”

“You cheeky blighter!” yelled the tattooed driver. “Get out of my cab!”

Sam pushed the key deep into his jeans pocket and climbed down the steps. The others ran round to meet him.

“Come here, Sammy,” said Hannah. She lifted him off the steps and gave him a huge squeeze. “Well done! You’re brilliant.”

Jasper nuzzled Sam in approval and Sam ruffled his wool.

The driver barged through the children and held an oily hand out to Sam. “Right, sonny boy, stop horsing around and give us that key.”

Sam looked up at him with his big blue eyes. “No,” he said. “Not until you take Daddy’s tractor off the lorry.”

The man’s face darkened. Hannah saw his hands curl into fists.

“Get the key off him.”

“No,” they all said.

Sam’s face was pale now, but he didn’t move. The driver lunged towards him. Hannah leapt between them and spread her arms out wide.

The others were all shouting at once.

“No!”

“Leave him alone!”

“Get off, you big fat bully!” Martha ducked under Hannah’s arm and kicked the man hard on the leg.

“OW!” he yelled, grabbing his shin. “Jeez, what was that?!” He glared at Martha’s mud-caked red stiletto and raised his arm. “You little—”

With superhuman strength, Jo shoved Jasper forward. Crushed in the throng, Jasper planted one big front hoof squarely down on the man’s wellington boot.

“OWWWW!! What the—” Judging by the swearing, Jasper was pretty much resting his entire weight on that hoof.

Suddenly a voice behind Hannah said, “What on
earth’s going on?”

She swung round. There was Dad, hands on hips, staring open-mouthed at the scene in front of him.

Jasper took his hoof off the man’s boot and sat down, unblinking, as the man clutched his foot and hopped up and down. “Your blasted kids! Bunch of hooligans!”

Sam ran to his father. “Daddy, we saved your Marshall!”

Dad looked blankly at him.

“Look!” said Hannah, pointing to the tractor. “They were stealing it. We’ve stopped them.”

Dad shifted his gaze so that he seemed to be looking far away across the fields. When he spoke, his words sounded flat and final.

“Nobody’s stealing it.”

“Yes, they are. Look!”

“They’re not stealing it. I’ve sold it.”

“What?” said Hannah. What was he talking about?

“Right,” said the driver. “So give me that key.”

Sam looked at Dad, who was still staring out across the meadows. He turned to Hannah.

Hannah put her hand on Dad’s arm. “What’s going on? I don’t understand. You can’t sell your Marshall. It was Grandfather’s. And you love it.”

She looked into his face, trying to meet his gaze, willing him to say something that would put it all right.

But he didn’t move.

The driver blew out his cheeks. “Are we taking
this thing or not?”

Dad kept his eyes fixed on the silver horizon as he spoke. “Give him the key.”

Sam, white-faced and bewildered, looked at Hannah. Feeling sick, she nodded.

The driver snatched the key from Sam’s palm and swung himself up into the cab. The other man climbed into the passenger seat. The engine roared into life.

The children watched the Field Marshall get smaller and smaller as it bumped away up the track. Then Hannah turned to her father.

“You sold your Marshall, Dad? Why?”

For a brief moment, he met her gaze. “Got to pay the rent,” he said.

Then he turned away. He ruffled up Sam’s golden hair with his huge rough hand.

“Come on, boy. Let’s go and milk those cows.”

Chapter Twelve

The Changing Room

The freezing wind cut Hannah’s cheeks like a whip as she walked off the hockey pitch. The other girls were talking and laughing, congratulating each other on goals scored and gossiping about the other team. Hannah kept at the back of the group. Her head was a tangled mess of worry and she was desperately trying to unravel the knots.

Why on earth would Dad need to sell his Field Marshall?

What was going on?

And then she remembered.

That afternoon when they had asked Dad for the tractor-shed loft. His harsh voice on the phone as they crept along the corridor.

“
You’re saying he has every right to double the rent and there’s nothing we can do about it?
”

The new landlord had doubled the rent!

Hannah’s mind whirled. That couldn’t be true, could it? People couldn’t just double things like that. If you went into a shop and everything was twice the price of the day before and they said, we’ve doubled the prices … I mean, people just couldn’t do that,
could they?

Could they?

It seemed like they could.

But how can someone suddenly pay twice the rent they were paying before?

And if they can’t … then what happens?

From deep down where she had tried to bury them, Hannah heard Lottie’s words in the sitting room that day.

“
Your new landlord wants to demolish the farm. And build houses on it.
”

No.

It’s not true.

It can’t be true.

He can’t do that.

He won’t be allowed to.

I mustn’t think about it.

Dad will sort it out.

She buried the words again.

In the changing room, Hannah took off her boots and picked her way through the muddy hockey sticks, smelly socks and random bits of clothing.

There was nothing worse than communal showers.

Still in her kit, Hannah stood as far back as she could from the shower head and briefly stuck her head under the jet of hot water. She shook out her hair like a spaniel after a paddle in a pond and walked back to the changing room. That would be enough to convince Frostbite if she came in for one of her interrogations.

“What’s up, Emily?” asked Priya, who had had a
proper shower and was now getting dressed. “You’ve been really quiet all day.”

Emily was sitting on the slatted wooden bench, carefully folding her hockey kit. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just a bit worried about Starlight.”

“Your horse?”

“Yes. It’s just, the stables where I keep him – they told me yesterday they’re closing down. And there’s nowhere else round here – all the other places are too far to walk or cycle to, or they’re too expensive. I don’t know what—”

“Oh, Ems,” said Miranda in a voice that could have shattered crystal. “I forgot to tell you
the
most exciting thing. I’m going skiing at Easter!”

“Oh, wow, lucky you,” said Emily.

“I know, isn’t that just so cool? Mummy booked it last night. Daddy sold this painting at Sotheby’s yesterday and he made a fortune. We’re staying in this amazing chalet in the Italian Alps with a cook and everything. Come round to mine before drama tonight and I’ll show you the website.”

“OK, cool. Can you believe we’ve got a dress rehearsal on Saturday, though? We’re nowhere near ready.”

Dress rehearsal? This Saturday? Hannah shot Lottie a horrified look. They hadn’t even got fabric for costumes yet, and they hadn’t had a single proper rehearsal.

Miranda arranged herself in front of the mirror and started to brush her glossy hair. “I think it’s exactly what we need. Last week’s rehearsal was a
mess. I mean, half the cast haven’t even learned their lines yet. It’s pathetic. They need a dress rehearsal in front of an audience to make them take it seriously.”

“Yes, you’re right,” said Emily. “That is so true. I was thinking—”

“Oh, and did I tell you Jack’s going to come?” Miranda flicked a glance at Hannah, who felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She leaned over the bench to fold her hockey kit so that her hair covered her face.

“To the dress rehearsal?” said Emily. “Oh, no, how embarrassing.”

“That’s the whole point though, isn’t it? It’ll make people learn their lines at last. Anyway, I asked him and he said he’d come. Right, let’s go.” Miranda tossed her hair back and wafted across the changing room. Emily picked up her bags and scurried out after her.

“Oh, by the way, Hannah,” said Miranda, turning at the door so that Emily nearly skidded into her, “I
love
your trousers.”

“Cow,” said Lottie as the door banged shut.

“What’s wrong with my trousers?”

“Nothing. She’s just evil. What are you doing?”

Hannah’s voice came out muffled from beneath the bench. “I can’t find my sock.”

“Oh, Hannah, can you never get changed without losing something? Hurry up, we’re last again.”

The door burst open as if a cannon had fired at it and their PE teacher, Mrs Frost, launched herself into the changing room. She looked like she was made from pipe cleaners, but despite that she somehow
seemed to fill the room.

“Come on, you two!” she barked. “Always the same ones, isn’t it? I’ve never seen such slowcoaches. Hannah Roberts, you’ve got mud on your face. I hope you’ve had a shower, young lady.”

“Yes, miss,” Hannah said. She raised her head from under the bench and pointed to her damp fringe.

“Huh. Well, get a move on. The caretaker’s locking up in ten minutes. And put those hockey sticks in the basket on your way out. Well played on the wing today, Charlotte,” she called as the door swung shut behind her.

“How come she never loses her voice?” asked Lottie. “How can a person shout non-stop for eight hours a day and not get a sore throat?”

Hannah scrambled to her feet, red-faced, her hair standing out all around her head.

“It’s nowhere. How can a sock just completely disappear? That was the only pair I had without holes in.”

“Is this it?” said Lottie, holding out a grubby grey sock between her thumb and forefinger.

Hannah took it gratefully and pulled it on.

From the corridor came the sound of jangling keys.

“Let’s go,” said Lottie.

Hannah took her coat off her peg and headed for the door.

“Aren’t you going to take your bag?”

Hannah turned round. Her school bag was still hanging on the peg. She heaved it on to her shoulder.
It was heavier than usual – she had several textbooks and a science project in there as well as all her exercise books. She noticed that the stitching was unravelling on the strap. She must sew it up tonight.

Except she knew she wouldn’t. Last night she had started reading the most fantastic book and there was no way she was doing any mending until she’d finished it.

Dusk was falling as they left the PE building and walked towards the school gates. The wind stung Hannah’s face. She pulled her gloves out of her coat pocket. “Do you want a lift home? My dad’s at a meeting – he said he’ll pick me up from the bus stop at six.”

“No, I’m going into Linford to meet my mum, remember. She’s getting an early train for once.”

They walked past the bike sheds towards the main entrance. Attached to the railings was a laminated poster for the Scout jumble sale on Saturday. Lottie stopped to read it. “Hey, why don’t we go? I bet there’ll be loads of stuff for costumes.”

Hannah hesitated. She was planning to go anyway, if Dad would give her some money to get clothes for Sam, but she couldn’t spend that money on costumes, and she didn’t want Lottie to have to spend her pocket money when she herself could contribute nothing. She couldn’t wait to be fourteen so she could get a Saturday job.

Oh, but wait a minute. She still had five pounds left from her Christmas money.

“That would be great. I’ll probably have to bring
the others, though.”

“That’s OK,” said Lottie. “They can help us find stuff.”

“I think we should have a dress rehearsal,” said Hannah, not quite knowing what she was saying or why she was saying it. “With an audience.”

“With an audience! Hannah, we’re not the Linford Youth Theatre. I can’t believe you’re trying to copy Miranda.”

“I’m not. I just think it’s a good idea. It will give us something to aim for – make us more organised.”

“But the competition’s in three weeks.”

“So let’s have the dress rehearsal in two weeks.”

“But we haven’t made a single costume!”

“I’ll come to yours every night after I’ve put Sam to bed and help you make them.”

Lizzie snorted with laughter. “You! What use would you be?”

“I can sew! I’m always sewing.”

“Sewing buttons back on doesn’t count. And you haven’t even sewn on a name tape since my mum gave you that fabric marker. Anyway, there’s no point arguing. There’s no way we can be ready in two weeks. I mean, the queen alone has three costumes, and Esmeralda—”

“You can show me what to do,” said Hannah. “I’ll help you with anything I can. I’ll really concentrate, I promise. And it doesn’t matter if they’re not all finished – we’ll have another week before the actual performance.”

“Well, we’re not doing it to an audience if the
costumes aren’t finished. It would look ridiculous.”

“We
need
a rehearsal in front of an audience, Lottie. We need to get used to people watching it. We can’t perform for the first time to an audience on the day the judge comes. And at least it will force Martha to learn her lines.”

“But who will we invite? And what if your dad sees them arriving? No, it’s a crazy idea, Hannah. No. No way. The end.”

“There’s your bus,” said Hannah. “Go on. We’ll work it all out tomorrow. Have a good evening!”