Page 61 of Clara's Secret Garden
The show is very cute – and it really is based on theGreat Marrow Heist of ’98.
When the children, all dressed in colourful vegetablecostumes, start singing, I find to my surprise that I remember the words,despite it being a really old song.
Don’t be cruel to a vegetabuel. Always take its part.Don’t be cruel to a vegetabuel. Don’t forget a lettuce has a heart.
Rory is looking at me in amazement as I’m singing along:Becareful what you say because the cabbage stalks. And even little radishes repeat.
My heart is brimming over as I sing. It’s not just that I’mdelighted for Elsie. It’s the song bringing back such lovely, poignant memoriesof Gran singing it to me when I was little.
My throat feels suddenly choked. Tears well up out ofnowhere, and one escapes and slips down my cheek.I could have lost her! Andshe’s still not out of the woods because she has to have an operation whenshe’s strong enough...
At that moment, an entire garden trug of cute lettuces andradishes pirouette onto the stage – Elsie and Lauren among them – and happysurprise takes the place of my fears for Gran. Rory and I exchange a smile andstart clapping harder than anyone.
By the end of the song, the entire audience – including Rory– have joined in and are singing their hearts out about not being cruel tovegetables. And I’m sitting there, thinking that if proof were needed of thetransformative power of movement and dance, it’s right here in front of me onthat stage.
Seeing Elsie earlier in her costume, laughing with Laurenand clearly looking forward to playing her part in the show, was a revelation.I could see the change in her – from the painfully shy little girl I met at thestart of the summer holidays. She’s still shy, letting Lauren do most of thetalking, but there’s a new self-assuredness about her. You can see it in theway she walks, with her head held high, instead of always trying to makeherself invisible by hiding behind Rory, the way she used to. It’s a subtledifference, but I can see it, because once upon a time, that was me.
I really want to help more kids like Elsie. Grown-ups, too,who’ve maybe lost their passion for life and need a boost of confidence andjoy. But isn’t my dream of opening a dance studio just pie-in-the-sky? Could itever really become a reality? I’d need to complete my diploma studies first andqualify as a teacher. And Dad’s inheritance is unlikely to stretch as far as myimagination and ambitions, so I’d need to take out a bank loan, which is quitea scary prospect in itself.
And what about Bertie? He’s my priority and he always willbe.
But Gran’s already offered to help. Maybe once Gran’s hadher operation and has spent time recovering and getting stronger, she couldhelp me look after Bertie. And I could commute daily to the college so Iwouldn’t have to be away during the week. It would be a bit of a slog for awhile, all that driving to and from the college, but it might be worth it.
Excitement surges up inside.
Could I actually make it happen?
My studio would be called ‘The Magic of Dance’ and it wouldbe a place where everyone was welcome – children and adults alike – and no onewas judged for not being ‘the right shape’ to be a dancer. The emphasis wouldbe on having fun and I’d have a little café with a balcony, where people could sitand watch the dancers and maybe get inspired to join in themselves...
‘Penny for them,’ says Rory, nudging me gently.
‘Oh. Sorry, I was miles away. Dreaming of my dance studio.’
‘Nice. Thanks for coming with me,’ he says, leaning close soI can hear him as the audience starts clapping. His breath against my ear sendsa little shiver of longing through me.
‘Oh, I’m really loving it.’ Carried away by the riot of emotionsI’m feeling, I beam up at him. ‘Thank you for asking me.’
Our eyes meet and hold, and the world seems to stand still.Then I look down and realise, to my horror, that my hand is resting on histhigh. Worse, I’m actually stroking his thigh, feeling the contrast of hardmuscle through the softness of the denim...
Shocked, I snatch away my hand as if from a burning hob.
‘Sorry about that.’ I try to laugh it off. ‘I’m a bit of anemotional wreck tonight, to be honest. Gran used to sing that vegetable song tome when I was little.’
I glimpse confusion in his eyes for a split-second as westare at each other.
But next moment, he’s shaking his head and saying there’snothing to apologise for. ‘Lettuces get me all emotional as well,’ he jokes.‘They always make me cry.’
‘Shouldn’t that be onions?’
Underneath the smiles, though, I’m trembling.
I can’t believe I just stroked Rory’s thigh. But I thinkI got away with it. No harm done. What if he tells Lois, though? She’d neverlet me forget it. But of course he won’t. Because there’s absolutely nothing totell... nothing at all...
My mobile rings and I scramble in my bag, realising I forgotto turn it off for the performance.
It’s Lois. And my bizarre and very guilty instant reactionis:She knows I stroked her boyfriend’s thigh!
I take a deep breath and answer the call. ‘Lois? Iseverything all right?’
