Brave New Girl (13 page)

“Seren! I am so sorry!” Sherifa hugged me hello. In the back seats I could see the girls strapped in.
“Ohmigod! I am so sorry, we are running late. I had to pick the girls up from their mates'.” She checked her watch. “And we should be at Drama. Now.”

I hovered on the doorstep while Sherifa shot in, picked up a bag and shot out again.

“Seren, get in, we'll drop the girls, then I'll take you out.”

I climbed into the passenger seat and waved at the girls. I thought they had grown so much, but I didn't say it in case I sounded like some old lady.

“I'll be in Year Six next year!” Gamze said.

“I thought you did Drama on a Wednesday?” I said.

“No.” Sherifa drove back up the road to the High Street. “That's Music, or is it Dance?”

“Mum!” said Ayshe. “It's Dance on Wednesday and Music on Saturday.”

“Trampolining on Monday!” said Gamze.

“When do you get to veg out in front of the telly?” I said.

“Oh, they still manage to get enough TV time, believe me,” Sherifa said.

We didn't drive for long. In fact, I thought we could have walked it quicker, cos the traffic in the High Street was solid. Sherifa pulled into a tiny street I'd
never seen and there was a theatre. Honest. A proper theatre. I thought it was just an old warehouse first, but round the entrance were posters – the play they had on was called
The Cherry Orchard
, and one of the actresses in it had been on the telly, cos I recognised her picture.

“I never knew this was here!” I said.

“Yeah, the Arcola. It's brilliant. One of my mates set it up, they just bought this old coat factory and practically built it themselves.”

I was speechless. Why didn't I know about it?

“And they do great classes,” Sherifa said. “Don't they, girls?”

The girls looked particularly unexcited. Ayshe was combing her Bratz doll's hair and Gamze looked as if she would rather be somewhere, anywhere, else.

“You love it, don't you, girls?” Sherifa said brightly.

They so didn't. I could see that a mile off.

The classes weren't in the main theatre, but in studios upstairs. The girls were both in the middle age group, 7-12s. On the way up we passed an older group. I looked in through the square glass window. About ten kids my age. I would have given anything to go in.

Instead I walked up another flight with Sherifa and watched as she apologised for being late. Ayshe really didn't want to go and I felt sorry for the two tutors.

“Right, Seren, we've got the best part of an hour. I said to your dad I'd take you out. How about a dash round the shops in Spitalfields? Whatever you want. We can come and pick the girls up on the way home.”

Sherifa looked tired too. Although she had good make-up on, there were dark circles under her eyes. When Mum looked like that, really done in after a shift on the buses, the last thing she wanted was to go round the shops. What worked for her was the latest Jenny Darling and a cup of tea. And even though the idea of a lush new top was great, I knew I'd really rather just hang out here.

“Tell you what, Sherifa,” I said. “Why don't you go home and put your feet up. I'll hang out here and bring the girls home.”

Sherifa looked shocked. “On your own? It's dark now.”

“Come on, it's not far, and I'd love a look in at the older class.”

“Seren, darling, they're not just going to let you
walk in. I mean, we had the girls down on waiting lists for months.”

“I know, but you've been at work all day, and I've been at school. Thanks for the offer, for the shopping and that, though.”

“You're sure?” Sherifa looked as if she couldn't wait to get back into the car.

I nodded.

After she'd gone I went back to the older class. They looked as if they were doing some kind of improvisation in four groups. The sort of thing we do in school, but all the kids here were really good. I thought I recognised a boy from my school, from Year Ten, but I wasn't sure. There weren't any Sanjays or Eds mucking around, no Christinas with hands like plastic spoons. They all wanted to be there. I took three deep breaths and pushed the door open, and went in. Everyone stopped and looked.

“Can I help?” One of the tutors smiled at me. I knew he was a tutor because he was older, with a bit of a beard.

I pretended I had loads of confidence and smiled back. The groups went back to their work.

“Seren Campbell Ali,” I said. “I was wondering if I
could, you know, watch, or maybe join in? I'm just visiting, I've got sisters in the other class.” I said it quickly so he wouldn't stop me and chuck me out.

I saw the tutor flick a look at a woman – the other tutor – but he showed me a seat. I couldn't help feeling a tiny bit disappointed. I would have loved to join in, to be a part of it. But then these kids probably had parents who could afford to pay whatever the classes cost. Mum had never been able to fork out for extras. We'd never had all those singing and dancing and breathing lessons my two little sisters had. We did all the free stuff in the summer holidays. You know, in the libraries or at the swimming pool. I'd even done Drama one time with Summer Uni but it was full of girls who wanted to be Hannah Montana. It was nothing like this.

All the groups came up with brilliant scenes. The performances were so good! So much better than school. They'd been given the theme of ‘endings' and every group's performance was different. One group acted as a class of Year Elevens on the last day of school, another was a family breaking up, mother leaving father.

My favourite was the scene the last group did. It was two brothers arguing over who would inherit
the family farm. One shouted horrible things at the other, hurting, hateful things, and suddenly I felt my throat dry and catchy, and I thought I was going to cry.

I realised I felt so choked up because it made me think of me and Sasha, and I knew, more than anything, that I had to make it up with Sasha, even if she didn't want me to. Even if I couldn't see how to do it right now.

The time went so fast, I suddenly realised the girls' session was over. I dashed upstairs and took hold of one bored, tired little girl in each hand and dashed back to try and talk to the tutors.

“Just wait, I won't be a second,” I said. Ayshe looked as if she could curl up on the hard, plastic chair and fall asleep right there.

“Excuse me again,” I said, and asked about the class. If this had been on telly it would have happened like this. He would have let me join in the class, seen how absolutely fantastic I was at acting and asked, no, begged, me to come every week for nothing. But as this was real life he just gave me a leaflet.

We walked back in the dark and the girls really perked up.

“Don't you want to do Drama, then?” I said.

“Classes are boring,” Ayshe said. “They go on and on.”

“Gabriella in
High School Musical
does Drama, I bet,” I said.

“No, Dur-brain! Gabriella does Maths! She does Science! She doesn't do Drama!”

“Ayshe,” Gamze said, all big-sister know-it-all. “Gabriella is fictional.”

That was me told.

We got back to the house and the girls ran in through the wood-floored hall and away upstairs, each begging me to come and see her bedroom first.

Sherifa was in the kitchen stirring something in a saucepan, drinking a glass of red wine. “You must come more often. When things aren't in such a rush.”

“Isn't it like this all the time? The girls said they have classes every night,” I said.

“It keeps them busy. And me and your dad have too much work.”

“He does seem really tired at the moment, Dad.”

Sherifa shot me a look.

“Oh and you do too, you both do. I bet you're both working very hard.” I was starting to gabble. I took a breath. “Couldn't Nene have them more often?”

Sherifa looked at me again and made a face, and I smiled. “Oh,” I said.

“Oh. Exactly. Would you want your daughters spending more time with her than absolutely necessary?”

“I thought it was just me,” I said.

“Oh no!” Sherifa said, “I am the devil in human form as far as Nene is concerned.”

“Now you're way off. That is my mother.”

We laughed. She told me some of the things Nene had said about her drinking. “I have the odd glass of wine. If you listened to her you'd think I was on my back in the gutter draining crates of the stuff! And of course she hates me working. Very traditional is Nene. Can't stand it that I earn more than your dad.” Then Sherifa told me how Nene also hated the way they brought up the girls, and banged on about how they should all move to Cyprus with her.

“Ohmigod!” I suddenly remembered the empty front room. “You're not moving, are you? Only Mehmet in the cafe was sort of talking about it, and Dad's been really funny and given my big sister the sack....”

“Slow down, love. Listen, we are not going anywhere. Especially not to Cyprus with Nene. Wild
horses would have to drag me. I don't mind a holiday, in the spring when it's not too hot, but all year round? No way! I know your dad's been a bit... well... I don't know how long he can keep that place open.”

“So you're not packing up and moving?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

I told her everything, about the front room, about knowing the restaurant was losing money and that Dad might have to sell up. “I thought he'd leave me and I'd never see him again.”

Sherifa smiled. “Oh, Seren! Love! That's not it at all. We're just having the front room redecorated.” She came over to me and took my hand. “And another thing. Your dad loves you. He wouldn't leave you. I know he's got me and the girls, but you're special to him, you know that. And to me for that matter.”

I wanted to say, ‘No, I don't know that.' I wanted to say, ‘Gamze and Ayshe get classes in stuff they don't want and holidays in the sun and I get nothing.' But I didn't. I did say, in a small, six-year-old's voice, “If you went to Cyprus I'd never see him because Nene would be there all the time.”

“Seren, when that woman has gone, my life, our lives, will be much easier, you know that.”

Sherifa told me again that no way would they ever
be moving. Nene, however, was moving just as soon as she sold her flat in Wood Green, and she had tried, and failed, to persuade the whole family to go with her.

“Your dad might have to sell, love, but believe me, he's not going anywhere.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it. Have you seen the jobs available in northern Cyprus? It would be a miracle if I got something that paid half as well out there.” Sherifa hugged me tight. She smelled delicious: perfume, cooking and red wine. I felt exhausted.

I wanted to go home. But I played two rounds of
High School Musical
the computer game with the girls, out of sisterly duty, first.

On the bus on the way back I read the leaflet. Arcola Theatre Youth Drama Group. Seniors, 13-18. How much did it cost? I flipped the leaflet and read, Classes cost £20 for a 12-week term. That worked out at less than £2 a week. I imagined the future, with Nene in Cyprus, and Sherifa paying me to babysit or take the girls to Music or Dancing or Origami or whatever, and me going to Drama classes. Nene was leaving! I leant my head against the glass and shut my eyes and smiled.

I hardly saw Sasha, not at school or at home. I had used her computer to send an email to the theatre about classes and they emailed back almost right away. I was on the list for next term!

Keith said he thought it was a brilliant idea about Drama classes. He said I looked much happier, and I told him what had happened with my dad and what Sherifa said.

“See, Seren? Isn't that what I said? You have to talk to people! You should talk to your mum too. I bet she is so worried, just cos you've been worried.”