Mirroring

Chapter 6 part 1

I wake up before my alarm in the morning because my back is cold. I have moved around in my sleep and most of the quilt and blanket has slunk to the bedroom floor. I think I dreamt about Steve, Abby’s sports science teacher, but I don’t remember any details. I heard that people dream most during REM sleep, and that this is light sleep. If that’s true, I’ve slept a lot lighter since starting my ‘A’ levels. Hardly any of my dreams are about Russell, though.

On my way downstairs I catch sight of myself in the hall mirror. My hair is doing its own thing and I have pillow-cheek. Mum and Dad are eating cereal at the table, and I get myself a bowl of muesli and join them. Mum has received a mobile phone bill and they are talking about whether or not she should change providers. They have the same conversation regularly, and Mum will end up deciding she will stick with her current provider.

‘Morning.’ Dad smiles, showing off all his wrinkles, and looks at me. ‘What’s happened to your face? Have you been in a fight?’

My reaction times are slow before breakfast, but Mum assesses my appearance and explains it. I like this kind of conversation, where I don’t have to say anything, especially when it’s early morning and I am groggy. I scoop up some muesli and look out the living room window to see one of the neighbour’s trees shiver under a breeze.

‘Big day for you today, Kerry.’ Mum remembers it is audition day. She’s like everyone’s diary. Dad is the opposite, though I think this is because with Mum around he doesn’t need to keep note of appointments or birthdays or any other kind of event, and it makes that part of his brain lazy. He has trouble just remembering how old any of us are, including himself.

I think about the audition and cham on my breakfast. ‘Mm-hmm.’

‘You’re still going, then?’ Mum puts her glasses on and looks over her phone bill, doing her best impression of someone who’s not that bothered. I swallow my mouthful of muesli so I can answer her. ‘Yeah.’

‘Good.’

‘Unless I change my mind,’ I add. I won’t change my mind, I just felt the need to say that then.

Mum looks up, straight at me, and my face hots up but I don’t look away. I know she wants to react and it makes me nervous but I can’t give in. Then Dad says, ‘It’s your life, isn’t it?’ and Mum snaps, ‘Don’t, Pete. Don’t rise to it,’ and gets up from the table to take her breakfast things out to the kitchen.

Dad sighs, swirls his tea around in his mug then tips his head back to drink the last mouthful. ‘Well, I’m off.’ He gets up. ‘Break a leg.’

I know I should put my bowl in the dishwasher but I leave it on the table and trudge upstairs to do battle with my hair.

After school, I am sitting in one of the flip-up seats at the back of the assembly hall. Mrs Burton and Mr Kensington are milling around near the stage and the hall is busy with students reading over their lines. I am not nervous. In my mind I am already past the audition and picturing how good this could be, down there on that stage, the enormous navy curtains drawn across the enormous windows and the lights dimmed. For the first time I really want to be in this show. Anyone auditioning is guaranteed a part, and I’ll be happy just to be in the chorus.

A bag dropping by my feet makes me jump, and I snap out of it. When Helena sits down next to me I see her cheeks are tinged with rosy circles and she is breathing heavily.

‘Did you run here?’ I wonder what the rush is since she isn’t late. ‘It’s all right, they haven’t started yet.’

‘No, I’m just out of breath.’ Helena pats her chest. ‘Maybe I’m a bit asthmatic. Or very unfit.’

There was a girl at primary school, Jenny, who was asthmatic and had to carry an inhaler around all the time so she didn’t have a potentially dangerous attack. I think if Helena has asthma she would know by now. My guess is she is nervous, but won’t admit it. I saw a programme on TV once where someone was hyperventilating and another character told them to put their head between their knees, so I suggest the same for Helena. It actually works.

‘I hope I’ll be able to sing.’ The redness is fading from her cheeks.

‘You’ll be fine,’ I say.

Mrs Burton calls a hush and says we will be asked up to audition alphabetically. One by one students go up and each of their turns is over in a couple of minutes, first a reading then a verse and the chorus of the title song. Some mumble their way through, others are more confident and move about the stage gesturing and making faces. One boy catches everyone’s attention. His name is Sean and he moved to our school last year, but that’s all I know about him. His voice is clear and he manages to sound angry and jealous and sad all at the same time. When he sings, he has no trouble reaching the high or low notes, unlike the other boys so far.

‘He’s good,’ I whisper to Helena.

‘I know. Sean’s bound to get the Phantom.’

When it’s Helena’s turn to go up I ask her if she is feeling better.

‘A bit,’ she says.

‘Good luck!’ I show her my crossed fingers.

Helena makes her way to the stage and waits for Mrs Burton’s signal to begin. She’s really good, unexpectedly good. I thought she’d hold back, the way she kind of does in real life, but she is giving it her all. Whatever she says, she really wants the part of Christine. Mrs Burton thanks her and she trots off the stage and back to her seat.

‘You were brilliant!’ I tell her.

She looks happy now, and the breathlessness has gone. Next up is Kathryn. There’s a big difference between the two sisters. Kathryn’s eyes never move from the script, which she reads as though it were all one sentence. The singing is so quiet I can barely hear it.

‘She’s doing badly on purpose so she won’t get a big part,’ Helena whispers. ‘She can’t be bothered with the extra rehearsals and memorising her lines.’

Surely she wouldn’t bother to audition at all if that’s the case, but I go along with Helena’s story. I think she might even believe it herself.

When it’s my turn, I think about how different it is being up here on the stage compared to in my bedroom, facing Sid. I am a bit thrown and have to look at the script a couple of times to regain my place, even though I have learnt the lines off by heart. I still sound like a newsreader – I am like one with breaking news just in, slightly ruffled. But I do OK. My singing hits the right notes, I think, but I instinctively quieten my voice at the top and bottom ends of the scale.

‘That doesn’t matter.’ Helena swings her knees round to let me get to the seat next to her. ‘It’s better than screeching the notes out.’ I think she is trying to cheer me up, which is funny because I really don’t mind. I don’t want a big part, but not because I don’t want the extra auditions. Who wants to watch Christine describing her love-life torment as though she’s talking about a visit from the Prime Minister?

I’m aware of a shadow and a creaking noise, and Sean, the boy whose audition we were admiring earlier, kneels one-kneed on a chair in the row in front, facing us.

‘Hi.’ His sand-coloured hair looks soft and a little overgrown and from this close up I can see he has freckles.

‘Hi.’ We say it together.

Sean says, ‘You were both really good.’

I let Helena say thanks, knowing that the comment was obviously aimed more at her than me. I feel like a spectator.

‘Do you think he’s good?’ Sean frowns, chews his bottom lip. Helena is rifling through her bag, not listening, and I don’t know if Sean realises this. I catch her wincing, but the way she is curled over her bag and turned away tells me she doesn’t want anyone to see. I focus on the audition taking place – Ashley Young is on stage. He is good. ‘A bit of competition, eh?’

Sean looks away, caught, and laughs at himself. ‘“O, beware, my lord, of jealousy”.

Helena sits up awkwardly and chuckles along with him, and I smile as though I get the reference, hoping there won’t be any more quotes.

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