Page 27 of Lessons in Life

9

ROBYN

I was determined that Sorrel was going to get through the audition at the Susan Yates Theatre School with ease, and so was intent on putting her through the three set pieces for her audition in London towards the end of January.

‘Come on, Sorrel,’ I chided, glancing at my watch. I knew I was being irritable, but time was of the essence. ‘There’s only twenty minutes left of lunchtime, and I’m teaching Year 7 after that. What? What is it? I’m telling you now, you carry on like this, looking like you have no enthusiasm for what you’re doing, and there’s absolutely no chance of your landing a scholarship. You won’t be the only one being auditioned, you know. I mean,’ I went on when Sorrel didn’t appear to be listening, ‘do you realise just howluckyyou’ve been to get this chance…?’

‘Luck?’ Sorrel muttered, her head down as she started to untie her footwear. ‘Are you implying it’s all down toluckrather than any actual ability I may have? In that case, I might as well call in at the corner shop on my way home and buy some scratch cards and win the lottery. You know, if it’s all down to justluck…’ She trailed off, continuing to slowly take off her trainers and socks before reaching for her black leather dance shoes, and I felt my irritation mount.

‘Look, have you gone off the whole idea or what? There’s still work to do, you know. Your Sandy piece fromGreaseis just about perfect – you’ve worked on that for the school production for weeks. Mind you, you’ll find in this game, you can never sit back and rest on your laurels: there’s always a director narkily suggesting you could do better; always someone in the wings snapping at your heels just waiting for the opportunity to take a part from you. Believe me, I’ve been there…’ I stopped talking as Sorrel lifted her face towards me but gave no response. She eventually stood and moved over to the makeshift barre I’d managed to persuade Jobsworth Ken to put up for us, albeit with many accompanying words of doom and gloom about the school not being around much longer, never mind this bloody cold cellar I insisted on calling a drama studio.

Sorrel moved through a series of stretches and exercises, limbering up, pacing herself, but seemingly without a great deal of enthusiasm for the task. The sparkle, the verve, the downright talent and gusto Sorrel was capable of showing when dancing appeared strangely lacking this lunchtime.

Swallowing the unspoken words of censure on my lips, I crossed the studio floor for my phone, finding the music that accompanied the part of Sandy inGrease. ‘OK, Sorrel, let’s take it from the top.’

‘From the top?’ Sorrel did little to suppress a tired snigger. ‘This is St Mede’s comp in West Yorkshire, Robyn, not the effing London Palladium.’ Throwing a withering look in my direction, she positioned herself and, once the chords started, began her set piece. Just thirty seconds in, she stopped. ‘I need the loo,’ she muttered, setting off towards the three wooden steps that led to the lavatory set aside for use of staff.

‘You won’t be able to have a pee in the middle of a piece next week,’ I shouted after her but Sorrel was already out of earshot.

‘Have you got a rehearsal?’ Mason Donoghue had come into the studio, making his way over to where I stood waiting for Sorrel’s reappearance. ‘The kids not turned up?’

‘Just spending fifteen minutes – ten now – trying to get Sorrel up to speed for her audition in London.’

‘Right, OK. Couple of things.’

‘Oh?’ I turned to look directly at Mason. ‘You’re not about to tell me I can’t have the day off to go with Sorrel to London?’

‘I was thinking maybe someone else might go with her. Your mum? Or Jess?’ Mason looked hopeful.

‘I want to go.I’mthe one who knows about this stuff, Mason. I know London too.’

‘We’re so short-staffed…’

‘Well, get some money spent and get some supply staff in.’

‘I’m already over budget.’ Mason sighed gloomily. ‘And, as you well know, getting supply staff to stay even for the day, never mind return for another, is almost impossible.’

‘Not really my problem,’ I said irritably. Sometimes I forgot Mason, my ex-lover, was still my boss. ‘What else did you want?’ I glanced at my watch and then the wooden steps. How long did it take for someone to have a pee, for heaven’s sake?

‘You all right, Sorrel?’ Mason had turned to see Sorrel make her way over towards her bag and trainers rather than back to where she’d been about to perform.

‘Don’t feel too good,’ she muttered, avoiding looking at me. ‘I’m going home. It’s only general studies and then RE. Seeing I don’t believe in any god, I don’t reckon Allah or Jesus will give a flying whatsit if I don’t turn up for them.’

‘Sorrel?’ I moved towards her, concerned.

‘Sorrel, you need to go down to matron’s room,’ Mason started. ‘If you’re not well.’

‘Not much point in doing that,’ Sorrel retorted over her shoulder. ‘We’ve not had a matron, have we, since Blane Higson nicked all the paracetamol and Night Nurse from her cupboard?’

‘I didn’t think anyone knew about that,’ Mason whispered in my direction as I began to follow Sorrel’s determined exit from the studio.

‘Mason,everyoneknows.’

‘Actually, it was about Blane I was coming to see you.’

‘What’s he done now? Apart from getting high on matron’s drugs?’

‘He appears to have gone missing. He’s in 9CL –yourtutor group.’ Mason’s tone was accusatory, as if it were my fault the kid wasn’t in school.

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