‘She sounds like a really horrible witch,’ Jemima says, smiling spitefully at me. ‘We are extremely proud of our heritage here, Miss. When will auditions be, Miss? I mean, Gwyneth.’
Jemima is all angelic golden-halo hair and I feel my face crease like a raisin.
‘We have the rest of the day to cast. I have these for you.’ She hands out photocopies of the script. ‘Practise. Auditions shall begin anon.’
Dorcas pipes up, ‘Which could be an abbreviation of anonymous but in this context means soon.’
‘Thank you, Dorcas.’
‘I’m completely ready, Gwyneth,’ Jemima smugs as she has never smugged before.
‘One is never completely ready, Jemima. One can always improve.’
I feel a nasty sense of satisfaction as Jemima turns ketchup red from her neck to her fringe.
‘Ten minutes of preparation, then let battle commence!’
People busy themselves with their audition pieces. I sulk on my own and pretend to be reading through lines: ‘I am a terrible witch. A hideous hag. I am ruthless and heartless, and I hang my head in shame.’
I can hear Jemima projecting the same lines loudly outside the curtain of leaves. They suit her.
I’m going to let Gwyneth know that I’d like to help with directing, scriptwriting, stage management, or anything offstage, but before I get a chance she goes to get some more water from the canteen and leaves us on our own, which I’m pretty certain is Not Allowed.
‘That was very weird, wasn’t it, girls?’
The Sleeks come through the willow curtain on cue and move in my direction.
‘All those birds in one place.’
‘And when she went inside, they all disappeared.’
‘As if she could control them or something.’
‘A witch could do that. Control things.’
‘A real witch.’ Holly and Ivy burst out laughing.
‘Stay well away from her.’ Jemima’s voice is glacial. ‘Careful, don’t go too close. She might put a spell on you.’
The twins shriek away, laughing and pretending to be zombies. Jemima glides away, a swan made of ice. I hear anger fizzing in my ears.
‘Hang the witch,’ someone shouts. The floor swoops beneath me.
Gwyneth comes back into the wavering green looking less than pleased. ‘Right, Year Six. Come and sit down.’
Everyone carries on as if she hasn’t said anything.
‘Come and SIT DOWN, I said.’
Everyone sits. Except Lewis, who carries on rehearsing his lines until he notices, about a minute later, that everyone is smirking at him.
‘See, Miss Gwyneth? That’s why I should have the main part. I’ve already got an audience, haven’t I?’ He bows and everyone cheers.
Gwyneth takes out a huge folder and puts on some thick-rimmed black glasses. Auditions start. There’s no way I’m auditioning. I want to work backstage, then at least no one will be looking at me.
When the hilarity of the first few auditions is over, it becomes a bit boring. Dorcas’s very enthusiastic reading brings me out of my stupor for a bit. I am forced to stumble through a couple of lines. Jemima takes herself way too seriously, but is irritatingly good. A couple of the others make a decent job of it, but my attention is waning fast.
When Mum and Mae used to put on plays, it was for fun. They used every inch of the garden as a theatre and invited friends and relatives. One year, the year Dad fell in love with Mum, they put on A Midsummer Night’s Dream and floated candles on the pond and strung fairy lights in the trees. Dad says he was as enchanted by my mum as if he had really had the love-in-idleness flower squeezed into his eyes by a meddlesome fairy.
They stuck with Shakespeare because it was so successful; with Mum and Mae playing lots of roles at all their garden parties. Mum didn’t want to do it professionally, so when Mae went off to drama college, she stayed behind and was a seamstress. She was planning to do a PhD on Shakespeare with the Open University. She never did in the end. I wonder if she would have had a more exciting life if she hadn’t settled down with Dad and had me. I wonder if she would have gone off and seen the world like I’m going to. If she could foresee things like Mae said, did she know what was going to happen to her? Could she see the future me?
Eventually, Gwyneth gives us a two-minute break while she casts. I stay in the same spot, so I won’t have to chat to anyone. I try not to think about all the things that have happened lately. I try to empty my mind, like they taught us to do in mindfulness breaks in my last school. Instead of emptying, my brain immediately fills with a tsunami of thoughts, curses, screams, vicious claws grabbing for me, and birds, millions of birds, taking me up into the sky, then dropping me like a stone.
Gwyneth claps her hands.
‘It’s been a difficult job casting. Each and every one of you was superb in your own way.’ She paces the stage area. ‘I’ve tried to be fair and give an accurate reflection of talent, ability and commitment, whilst also suiting the person to the role as creatively and cleverly as is humanly possible.’
We sit and wait.
‘“A Witch called Winter” – the cast!’ She lists the parts. Ivy is cast as Winter and stands to punch the air. Holly is one of the seven. Lewis gets the part of the woodcutter and asks if that means he can have a real axe. He’s told no. Dorcas is the woodcutter’s wife, which she looks happy with. Lewis asks if that means they have to argue all the time. He’s told no. The others are all given parts they seem content with. Even Susan Stevens smiles.
‘Wilde, you will be the hangman.’
I put my hand up shakily. ‘Miss, I don’t want to be onstage. I’d like to help direct or…’
‘Impossible, I’m afraid. We need everyone to take part. The executioner will be your role.’
‘But, Miss, I don’t feel comfortable onstage.’ Or with being the executioner.
‘Then I will give you some extra tuition.’ Her eyes are magnified by her glasses.
I put my hand down. I don’t want extra tuition. I don’t want to be in the play.
I’ll be off sick. I’ll explain to Mae that it’s all too stressful for me. She’ll understand and if she doesn’t, I’ll hide. Or I’ll drink saltwater to make myself throw up. I’ve done it before, it’s not that bad.
A thin, hesitant voice calls out. ‘Miss.’ It’s Jemima. ‘You didn’t call me out.’
‘Ah, yes. What’s your name again?’
‘Jemima, Miss. You said you were keeping an eye on me, Miss. I mean, Gwyneth.’
Jemima is visibly shaking. Her face is taut, her cheeks pinched. This is really, really unfair.
‘Erm.’ Gwyneth scans through her list a few times, then takes her pen from behind her ear and writes. ‘Third woodcutter from the left.’
Even I can see that is wrong. Jemima may be a horrible person, but she shines when she is acting. A light glows inside her.