Chapter 36
ROBYN
July
‘Miss, were we all right? Was I all right?’ Lucy Earnshaw, red faced and breathless, came off stage, pulling the back of her hand across her forehead. ‘Blimey, Miss, it’s so hot out there. I’m drenched.’
‘You were fabulous, Lucy!’ Robyn smiled, holding up her hand in salute. ‘Get some water, keep yourself hydrated, but be ready for “We Go Together” – the final number. I want it to bring the house down.’
‘Did you have to pick the hottest day of the year for this last performance?’ Mason was at her side with a glass of ice and fruit.
‘What’s this?’ Robyn looked at it suspiciously. ‘Ribena?’
‘Pimm’s.’ Mason grinned. ‘It’s for the audience at the end of the show.’
‘Blimey, pushing the boat out.’ Robyn drank deeply, enjoying the cold alcoholic hit. ‘Can we afford it? And make sure you don’t give the parents free rein of it – it’s pretty strong stuff.’
‘Not me. George.’
‘George?’ Robyn raised an eye over the bobbing ice. ‘So…’ She broke off as a roar of approval, clapping and whistling rended the air.
‘Hang on, I want to watch them for the final time,’ Mason said, hurrying off. ‘Hope Petra’s out there with the video.’
From the wings, Robyn just stood, hand clasped around the cold glass as she watched Sorrel and Joel perform the iconic ‘You’re The One That I Want’ for the last time.
She suddenly found tears were rolling down her face, so utterly proud was she of the pair of them.
In the three months her little sister had been away, Sorrel had blossomed into what Robyn could only think of as a professional: spot on with every move, note and word, confident, assertive and in no doubt of her own ability. Sorrel Allen was going places.
And Joel too. Their duet came to an end, the audience whooping and hollering, but it wasn’t over. Robyn had altered the score, choreographing for Joel a dance solo in order to showcase his amazing talent.
Sorrel came off stage, leaving Joel to dance.
She adjusted her blonde wig, grabbing Robyn’s Pimm’s and sinking most of its contents before realising what it was.
‘Jeez, what’s that?’ She pulled a face, handing it back.
‘Thought it was blackcurrant…’ And then she was back on, joining Joel once more to finish the duet.
‘OK,’ Robyn mouthed to the rest of the kids gathered impatiently and excitedly behind her. She held up a warning hand as Sorrel and Joel made their exit towards the opposite wing and then nodded, shouting, ‘Go! Go on and enjoy!’
And they did, the whole cast on stage once more for the final time, the Rydell kids ending the show with the gang joining forces for the wonderful doo-wop mega-medley of ‘We Go Together’.
And then Daisy Slater and Isla Boothroyd were beside her, pulling at her hand.
Protesting, she tried to dig in her heels, shaking her head, but Joel and Noah Dyson had joined the two girls and she had no choice but to go with them.
A bouquet of flowers, more applause and stamping of feet and Robyn was pushed, none too gently, to the front of the stage.
‘Thank you, all.’ She finally managed to be heard above the whistling and cheering.
‘It’s been a bit of a roller coaster of a journey since Mr Donoghue first suggested St Mede’s could put on a production of this kind…
’ Robyn stopped, spotting her mum, Kamran, Jess, Jayden, Lola and Fabian, as well as George right at the back of the hall in the audience.
She started again but, hearing her voice break, she took a deep breath.
‘I didn’t believe him…’ More deep breaths.
‘But these are your children, your talented kids, your school…’
Overwhelmed with emotion, she found she couldn’t continue.
And then Mason Donoghue was at her side.
He put up a hand as if he were taking Monday morning assembly, and eventually the audience stilled and quietened.
‘You will, of course,’ Mason said, ‘be aware of the threat to the very existence of St Mede’s here in Little Micklethwaite.
The local council, being short of the readies—’
‘Aren’t we all…?’ an elderly man at the front interrupted.
‘—determined to sell off the site; our children – your children – being farmed out to whichever school has the capacity to take them.’
‘Bastards!’
‘Shame!’
‘Always the bloody same with that lot…!’
‘Our school’ – Mason put up a hand once more before continuing – ‘will be demolished in the not-too-distant future—’
‘Get up a petition!’
‘Go after ’em!’
‘It’s them bloody Sattars again. Bloody foreigners coming ’ere tekking our school from under us feet…’
More hand-waving from Mason. ‘—but not before a new school will’ – Mason paused for effect – ‘rise, phoenix-like, from the ashes…’
‘The Phoenix? The pub down on Bentley Street…?’
‘Whose ashes? Whose bloody ashes? Them Sattars…?’
Robyn could see, if he wasn’t careful, Mason was in danger of being mobbed.
She moved forward, the actor in her taking over the situation.
She raised her own hand. ‘Mums and dads, what Mr Donoghue is trying to tell you is that St Mede’s isn’t going anywhere…
’ She scanned the audience for George sitting somewhat nervously with Jess.
‘Mr Sattar, George, please, if you would?’
There was a concentrated silence, a craning of necks as George reluctantly stood and made his way up onto the stage.
‘Mums and dads,’ Robyn repeated. She waved a hand towards George, who was looking pale.
‘This is George Sattar. Many of you will know him for being an international tennis player, representing this country as a youth. And yes, the school is to be demolished, but as Mr Donoghue was trying to tell you…’
Mason stepped forward, tutting. ‘Can’t get the staff to behave themselves these days.
’ He grinned, nudging Robyn in the ribs.
‘Look, I’ve been sworn to secrecy over the past few months,’ he went on, ‘but I’m absolutely delighted to be able to tell you that a brand-new school, sponsored by the local, national and international company, Frozen, will be built behind the current building.
Once it’s up and running, this place’ – Mason waved a hand towards the hall’s peeling paintwork – ‘will then be demolished.’
‘What did he just say…?’
‘A new school…?’
‘That’s a bit of all right, then…’
‘Always said them Sattars were good for the area…’
It was George’s turn to step forward. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m so pleased to have this all out in the open now.
My father’s family came here from Mirpur in Pakistan and were given the opportunity, through hard work, to do well.
My mum, Shirley, was born right here in Little Micklethwaite; myself and my brothers in neighbouring Beddingfield.
Our family has long since wanted to offer something back to these villages that have given us so much.
The new school will be designated a Physical Education and Performing Arts School…
’ George turned to the performers behind him and then to pupils sitting in the audience.
‘I’m afraid, kids, that doesn’t mean you get out of doing your usual maths, English and the rest.’
Laughter now from the audience as well as some good-natured cat-calling and boos from the St Mede’s children themselves.
‘But tonight, I’m also announcing that my family will fund an annual scholarship to wherever one chosen, outstanding student would most benefit.
This could, for example, be a sports scholarship to an independent school, significantly boosting the prospects of a driven young athlete who may otherwise not have the access or the means to pursue a sporting career.
It could be for entry to a football academy, swimming, athletics, ballet…
’ George paused before continuing. ‘…tennis…’
‘Blimey!’
‘Good on him…’
‘Our Nemesis’s always wanted to get into Man U…’
George held up a hand. ‘I think you’ll all agree with me, amongst all these talented children, there’s one individual who has stood out in this performance.
One incredibly talented individual who will be the first to benefit from such a scholarship.
’ George looked towards Robyn and Mason, and together all three turned to Joel.
‘It gives me the greatest of pleasure to award this very first St Mede’s scholarship to Joel Sinclair, who will use it to further his career either in musical theatre or, I believe, in ballet. ’
‘Building will begin as soon as humanly possible.’ George smiled. ‘Until then, I suggest we give three cheers to the school, to Ms Allen here, but, most importantly, to these fantastic children of yours… And then, I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to a glass of Pimm’s.’