How you holding up with Cecil B. DeMille? :)
Ha ha. Not.
Missing you
You too
Don’t let it get to you. Storm in a teacup.
I know. Xxxxx
Xxxxxx
That was all fine, except if you were stuck in said teacup, it still felt like you were drowning.
* * *
Hurrying down the corridor towards the classroom, she spotted her friend Maggie up ahead, her copper ringlets bouncing with her energetic gait. Cassie ran to catch up with her.
‘Maggie, I don’t like to be a pest, but can I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’
‘You have an SNA .?.?. I mean, is she your assistant, or .?.?.?’ She couldn’t help herself. ‘Junior or sort of .?.?. servant?’
Maggie gazed at her in astonishment, then a look of realisation dawned.
‘God, no. I couldn’t do my work without her. We’re a team. I see her as my equal, of course. We’re colleagues.’
Why, oh, why hadn’t she been assigned to 4A? Where things would’ve been lovely and friendly and .?.?. respectful.
‘That’s what I thought. Thanks. See you at break time.’
Marisha was dressed all in black: leggings and a T-shirt dress, with her hair in a bohemian-looking messy bun. Cassie had no doubt the whole image was carefully assembled.
‘Good morning, boys and girls, Cassie will go round and collect your homework and then we’ll start on the auditions for our play.’
This promised to be about as much fun as an ice-bucket challenge, thought Cassie grimly.
Marisha had chosen a traditional fairy tale,Jack and the Beanstalk, nothing too controversial to piss off any of the fussy parents. The script appeared to have been written some decades ago and there was certainly no mention of diversity; however, it was a solid enough idea and they might as well get on with it. Marisha, of course, was highly conscientious and had photocopied a pile of scripts for the children.
‘Now, boys and girls, I want you all to move your chairs around in a circle so we can all see each other.’
Crikey, this was shaping up to be a nightmare for the shyer children. Marisha started out by asking the boys, in turn, to read for the part of Jack, so the whole process turned out to be more of a public reading test than a search for acting ability. To her dismay, it became clear that Rowley wasn’t a great reader and was possibly dyslexic, which wasn’t uncommon in creative people. He stuttered through his lines, obviously wracked with nerves. Halfway through the scene, Marisha raised her hand in exasperation.
‘That’s enough, Rowley. Thank you, you can play villager 2.’
His whole body slumped. A wave of indignation surged through Cassie. Moments like this were life-defining. All they did was show a child what they couldn’t do – how many talented people’s dreams had been dashed by moments like these?
The part of Jack’s mother was almost automatically given to Sophie. The part of Jack was given to Trevor – a quick, talented lad – while Ahmed, who sang boy soprano in the school choir, was cast as the harp. It all made sense but, at the same time, the whole affair had a dispiriting feel that the kids who were already doing well were being given more, while everybody else was relegated to the back row.
The part of the giant was assigned to Martin, the tallest boy in the class, who blushed beetroot every time he had to open his mouth. The poor child delivered his iconicfee-fi-fo-fumline in a flat, conversational tone moresuited to the stock-market report than a boisterous fairy tale. All in all, fairly standard stuff for a school play. Cassie sighed to herself. Shame, there was potential here for something spectacular.
* * *
‘Well, did you bring my favourite chocolate Swiss roll?’ said Mam the moment she opened the door.
‘They only had the lemon one, sorry.’
