Greta had never been to the school in Mapleville before. It hadn’t featured in the commercials, and she wondered what other places she had yet to discover in the town.
The school was constructed of terracotta and cream stone, imposing and grand, with towers that reminded her of the Tower of London. It looked like the kind of place that, in England, might be frequented by members of the royal family, children of pop stars, and future politicians.
Inside, the walls were all painted white without any chips or flakes. It was well-kept, unlike Lottie’s school in Longmill where small plastic bowls collected the rainwater dripping from the ceiling in the gym.
All the paintings on the walls were accomplished, as if done by professional artists rather than students. The parents in the hall wore polished shoes and neat suits, with no one slouching in a tracksuit or—as Greta had once spotted in Lottie’s school—pyjamas and slippers. A line of trophies sat on a table on the stage, as if every participant were guaranteed one regardless of their performance.
A banner hung above the stage that read Mapleville High School Talent Show.
Jim was already seated in the middle of a row, waiting for her to arrive. Greta sat down beside him.
There was already an excited buzz in the air, about the show and also the cloud. ‘Have you seen it?’ Jim said, pointing out of the window.
‘It’s a cloud, Jim. They’re supposed to be that colour,’ Greta said, opening the programme. Her stomach danced when she spotted Lottie’s name.
Charlotte Perks—Magic and Vocal Performance.
She showed the page to Jim, and they shared a proud look. Lottie’s was the final act.
The chatter died down when the headteacher walked onto the stage. She was dressed from head to toe in tweed, including a small cape that reminded Greta of Sherlock Holmes. After adjusting the microphone, she launched into her welcome speech, gushing about the students’ achievements. The Best School Award, a regional boat race championship, and the Excellence in Performing Arts Award were some of the many accolades.
During her speech, someone slipped into the seat next to Greta.
Greta barely noticed at first, her attention fixed on the stage. Until a familiar voice said, ‘I can’t wait to watch Lottie’s performance. She’s going to be wonderful.’
Greta stared ahead, her pulse almost stuttering to a standstill. The programme slipped from her fingers, dropping to the floor. Disbelief thundered through her, and her thoughts failed to make sense in her mind.
It can’t be.
Her breathing shallowed, and shock mingled with hope in her stomach. Could it really be the person she thought it was?
Slowly, Greta turned her head.
She saw the soft walnut curls first. Then the faux cream Chanel skirt suit, its shiny gold buttons glinting in the light as if freshly added. Greta hadn’t seen that outfit in years. It was unmistakable.
She was so shocked she could barely whisper.
‘Mum?’
‘Hello, love.’ Marjorie smiled sheepishly. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late. That’s never happened before.’
Greta’s mouth opened, then closed again. She felt jerky, as if someone had yanked her chair from behind. ‘What areyoudoing here?’
Her mum smiled warmly, as if they’d only seen each other yesterday. ‘For Lottie’s talent show, of course,’ she said, smoothing down her skirt. Her voice was so casual, so normal, it made Greta’s head spin. ‘Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Greta felt like she’d stumbled and kept on falling. ‘But, how . . . ?’
‘Shhh,’ Marjorie said. Holding a finger to her lips, she nodded toward the stage. ‘The show is starting.’
Greta stared ahead, her breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. A hurricane of emotions tore through her—disbelief, joy and something she couldn’t quite name. It made her want to stand up, throw her arms wide, and shout,‘My mum is here.’
On stage, the a cappella singers stepped into position, holding their boater hats to their chests. They seemed to look directly at Greta as they sang.
A very warm welcome to the show,
will you stay, or will you go?
The choice is yours, the stage is set,
