The Secret Hen House Theatre (4 page)

Chapter Seven

The Search

The farmyard was pitch-black except for a dim light in the pig shed. Through the darkness came muffled grunts and snuffles from the sties. Hannah heard the distant clanking of buckets and her father’s voice saying, “There you go, old girl. That’ll sort you out.”

She couldn’t risk switching her torch on yet. She let her eyes adjust to the dark and then she crept through the yard and on to the track.

A sudden shriek pierced the night and made her gasp.

Only a Little Owl, she told herself. Get a grip.

She ducked under the fence into North Meadow and climbed on to the orchard railings to wait for Lottie.

It was a really dark night. No moon and no stars. She was still too near the pigsties to use her torch. The icy wind cut right through to her skin. She pulled her scarf up over her mouth.

What was that?

Something rustled in the long grass at the edge of the field. All Hannah’s muscles tensed. Please not a rat. What if she stepped on it in the dark? What if it
ran up her leg? She drew her legs up higher on the railings.

Come on, Lottie. Please don’t be late tonight.

A light appeared at the top of the track. Was it a bike light or a torch? The track was a public footpath and people used it to walk their dogs. It could be anyone.

But then the light started to swerve madly from one side of the road to the other. Hannah relaxed. Definitely Lottie on her bicycle. No one but Lottie would swerve around in that crazy way just to avoid a bit of mud on their clothes.

Hannah listened to make sure her dad was still in the pigsties and then flashed her torch on and off three times. Lottie braked at the railings.

“Bring your bike into the field,” whispered Hannah. “Dad might see it if you leave it there.”

“It’s so dark up here,” whispered Lottie as they lifted her bicycle over the fence. “It’s spooky.”

“It’s fine,” said Hannah. She felt much braver now she wasn’t alone. “Have you got a torch?”

Lottie took one out of her pocket and switched it on. “So where’s the shed?” She shone the torch around in every direction.

Hannah grabbed her arm. “Don’t do that!” she hissed. “Dad’ll see it!”

“Oops, sorry.”

Hannah shone her own torch down the field. The beam illuminated a dense black tangle of bushes in the bottom corner of the meadow.

“See there?”

“You think the shed’s in there?”

Hannah reached into her other coat pocket and took out the framed photograph of her mother. She moved the light on to it.

“See? There’s the orchard railings and there’s the wood behind. And there’s that big oak tree by the bottom fence.”

Lottie shone her torch beam on to the thicket and shuddered. “No way am I going into those bushes.”

“Lottie! Don’t be crazy. Imagine how amazing it would be if we found a building in there. Our own secret theatre that no one else even knows exists!”

“But it’s so dark. Anything might be lurking in the bushes.”

An image of glinting rodent eyes flashed into Hannah’s head. She forced it out again. “There won’t be anything bad. Come on.”

Hannah didn’t voice her worst fear, because she didn’t even want to think it.

What if the shed had been demolished?

Or blown down in a storm?

What if there was nothing there at all?

Lottie stayed close to Hannah as they stumbled down the muddy field. The wind whipped against their faces and made strange noises in the treetops. They kept their torch beams trained on the treacherous ground, where rabbit holes and molehills lay ready to send them sprawling into cowpats at every step.

Hannah caught a rabbit’s eyes in the beam of her torch. It froze for a second, then bolted away. Something fluttered across their path. Lottie
screamed and jumped backwards.

“Sssh,” said Hannah. “Do you want Dad to find us? It was only a bat.”

She hoped Lottie hadn’t noticed how the bat had made her jump. Bats were a little too close to mice for Hannah’s liking.

“What was your mum doing down here anyway?” asked Lottie.

Hannah shrugged. “I think she kept chickens once.”

“Why did she stop?”

“A monster crawled out of the woods one night – a dark February night, very like this one – and devoured all the chickens.”

“Stop it!”

A piercing shriek split the darkness.

“What was that?” cried Lottie. She grabbed Hannah’s arm so tightly it hurt.

Hannah was glad of the distraction. She didn’t want to talk about her mother. “It’s a Little Owl. Your dad would love it.”

Lottie laughed. “Yes, he’d be recording it in his notebook right now.”

Lottie’s dad was a mad-keen birdwatcher. His monthly Clayhill Bird Survey was the highlight of Hannah’s dad’s life. The two of them would discuss the results for hours – how many species there were that month and whether some exciting new bird had been spotted on the farm.

They had reached the edge of the thicket now. They stopped, and Lottie tightened her grip on Hannah’s
arm even more. Funny how Lottie, so confident at school, could turn into a gibbering wreck when put into a field at night.

Hannah shone her torch over the thicket. It was a mass of bare black thorny twigs, crowded together like living barbed wire.

“There must be a way in somewhere. Let’s investigate.”

They walked the whole way around the thicket, scanning it from top to bottom with their torches. But there was no way in.

“I don’t understand,” said Lottie. “Your mum must’ve got in to feed the chickens.”

“That was ten years ago. It’s just got really overgrown, I guess. We’ll have to push our way through.”

“But there’s no gaps.”

“Follow me.”

Hannah ducked under a branch. Holding the torch in her mouth, she inched forward, snapping twigs and moving brambles aside with her gloved hands. The gloves were thin and the thorns pierced through them. Brambles clawed into her coat and hat and she had to keep stopping to pull herself free. Lottie followed her, letting out shrieks and moans as twigs sprang back and scratched her face.

“What will they say at school tomorrow? We’re going to look like we’ve been in the First World War trenches.”

Hannah wriggled under a hawthorn bush and out the other side. She shone her torch in front of her,
expecting more brambles. But the beam illuminated what looked like a hedge of ivy.

Hannah’s heart raced. “Quick. Shine it over here.”

Lottie squeezed through the bush and got to her feet, rubbing her bleeding face. She moved the beam of her torch up and along the ivy-covered surface.

“Oooh!”

“Do you think it is?”

Lottie pulled at the ivy tendrils.

“Look! A wooden wall! It’s a shed, I know it is!”

She turned to Hannah. They could just see each other’s faces in the glow from the torchlight.

“I can’t believe it,” said Lottie. “It’s been here all this time and we never knew it existed.”

Hannah said nothing. Goose pimples sprang up all over her body.

“We have to find the door,” said Lottie.

They felt their way along the low ivy-covered wall, shining their torches slowly all over its surface. Suddenly Hannah’s beam lit up a metal runner, near to the ground. Her heart thumping, she moved the light to the top of the wall. Another runner. She zigzagged the beam downwards and across, searching, searching.

And then she saw it. A rusty iron door handle.

“Here! It’s here!”

Hannah held the torch steady and they stood there for a few seconds, just staring at the handle.

“Wow,” said Lottie.

Hannah looked at the door, her stomach churning. What was inside?

“Do you dare to open it?” whispered Lottie.

“You do it.”

“No way. It’s your farm. You do it.”

It was clear from Lottie’s tone that she wasn’t going to change her mind. Hannah would have to go in first.

It was only rats that frightened her. If there weren’t rats, it would be all right.

She banged hard on the door with her fist and held her breath.

No sound at all. She banged again. Still silent.

“OK. I’m going in.” She grasped the handle and braced herself to pull the door along its runners. But it didn’t move.

“It won’t budge. There’s too much ivy.”

They started to rip off the clinging tendrils. And then, reaching out to grasp a stem, Hannah’s gloved hand hit metal. She shone her torch on to it.

It was a horseshoe. A large iron horseshoe, carefully nailed to the door.

A lucky horseshoe.

It was a sign.

A sign from Mum.

This had been Mum’s shed.

And now it was meant to be theirs.

Suddenly Hannah was desperate to get inside. She had to see what was there. She grasped the handle again and yanked it.

“It still won’t budge. It must be rusted up.”

She dug her heels into the ground as if for a tug of war and pulled with all her strength. Slowly she felt
the door start to give. It creaked back on its rusty runners, centimetre by reluctant centimetre.

Hannah’s heart was thumping so fast now she was sure she could hear it.

“Go on,” whispered Lottie. “Shine your torch in.”

But now Hannah didn’t dare. Because as long as she didn’t look inside, she could still imagine it was going to be perfect.

What if the roof had fallen in?

What if there was only this one wall and the rest of the shed had collapsed?

It had been ten years, after all.

A lot could happen in ten years.

“I can’t,” she said. “What if it’s all fallen down?”

“OK, let’s do it together. One, two, three…”

Hannah took a deep breath and shone her light into the blackness.

For a moment there was complete silence. Then Hannah spoke, so quietly it was barely even a whisper.

“It’s here,” she breathed. “It’s still here.”

In hushed reverence, as if they were entering a great cathedral, they stepped inside and shone their torches around.

“Oh my goodness,” said Lottie. She was fidgeting with excitement. “It’s perfect!”

She paced the shed, shining her torch along the walls and on to the ceiling.

“It’s really big – we can divide it into three to make a dressing room and a stage and an auditorium. And look, there’s a door at the other end for the audience.
There’s a few gaps in the walls, but we can easily mend them. And the floor’s dry, so the roof doesn’t leak. It’s perfect!”

The strangest sensation flooded over Hannah.

It felt like coming home.

This was Mum’s shed, she thought. She left it here for us to find.

“What shall we call it?” said Lottie. “We need a name. Then I can e-mail the form off when I get home. I can’t believe it! We can enter the festival! What about the Theatre in the Shed? Or, I know, the Rusty Horseshoe Theatre?”

“No,” said Hannah. “I already know what it’s called.”

“What? Tell me! Tell me!” Lottie shone her torch directly into Hannah’s eyes. “Tell me, Hannah Roberts, or there will be consequences.”

Hannah smiled and grabbed Lottie’s hands. “This was my mum’s hen house. So it’s called the Secret Hen House Theatre. What do you think?”

Lottie tried it out. “The Secret Hen House Theatre. Yes. It sounds just right.”

Chapter Eight

A Letter

Friday morning, eight thirty-five. Hannah sat in the far corner of 7B’s tutor room, racing through her history homework and trying not to be distracted by the presence of Jack Adamson, who for some reason was perched on the edge of Miranda’s desk.

“Hey, Miranda,” said Emily. “Did you know the prize money’s gone up? For the festival? Five hundred pounds for the winning theatre!”

Five hundred pounds!

Imagine having five hundred pounds to spend on the theatre.

Red velvet chairs in the auditorium…

A huge dressing-room mirror with lights all around it…

Gold curtains…

“Five hundred pounds?” said Miranda. “How strange, that’s the same amount I had for my birthday.” She gave a little tinkling laugh.

Imagine Miranda’s dumbstruck face when the Secret Hen House Theatre won the five hundred-pound prize…

“You know what else is strange?” said Jack.

Hannah glanced up. Jack sounded deeply thoughtful.

“Ronaldo’s transfer fee is eighty million pounds,” he said, “and that’s the same amount
I
had for
my
birthday.”

Hannah giggled. So did everyone else. Miranda looked unsure whether to be offended or join in the laughter. She settled for a tight little smile and a toss of her head.

Lottie walked in and Hannah wiped the smile off her face. Lottie flung her bag on to the classroom table, sat down and dropped an envelope in Hannah’s lap. “Look at this,” she murmured. “The post came just as I was leaving.”

Hannah glanced at the clock. Still ten minutes to go and she was on the last question. There was plenty of time.

She picked up the plain white envelope. “What is it?”

“Look and see,” whispered Lottie. She drummed her fingers on the table in excitement.

Hannah prised the letter out of its envelope.

“What!” Hannah jerked her head up, wide-eyed. “That’s only—”

“Three weeks. I know. Keep your voice down – Miranda will hear.”

“Three weeks!” whispered Hannah. “There’s no way we’ll be ready by then. We haven’t even had one rehearsal. Oh, my goodness, I can’t believe we’ve entered this.”

“Think of how much we’ve already done, though. The theatre’s nearly ready, isn’t it?”

They had spent every evening since Monday hacking a path from the back of the thicket to what they now called the stage door, and then smuggling all the junk out of the shed and concealing it around the farm.

“It’s not exactly ready,” said Hannah. “We haven’t even built the proscenium arch yet.”

“The what?”

“Proscenium arch. You know, the walls at the front of the stage, either side of the curtains. Can you come for the whole day tomorrow? We can make the arch with fence posts and sacking.”

“Won’t the others be around, though?”

“Martha’s going to Jade’s house in the morning.”

“Jade? Danny’s sister Jade?”

“Yeah, can you believe it? Typical Martha to be
best friends with Danny’s sister. But at least she’ll be out of the way.”

“Cool,” said Lottie. “Then on Sunday we can start rehearsing. And the performance date’s a week into the Easter holidays, so we can rehearse every day then. Oh, and the new script’s brilliant.”

“Really? You like it?”

“It’s great. Although I didn’t understand half the words the queen uses.”

“I did use my thesaurus a lot. Good words though, aren’t they? My favourite was ‘mellifluous’. And ‘serendipity’. And ‘solipsistic’.”

Lottie shook her head. “Your granny should never have given you that thesaurus. It’s like a deadly weapon in your hands.”

Hannah looked at the letter again.

“What do you think the judge will think?” said Lottie. “When she comes and finds a theatre in a hen house?”

“She’ll love it. It’s original. And we’re doing everything ourselves.”

“Yeah. All two of us.”

“Exactly! I bet Miranda’s group has adults doing everything for them.”

Miranda had drifted across the room and was flicking through a magazine with Emily. At the mention of her name she turned round.

Lottie slapped her hand over the letter and slid it off the table, but not before Miranda had seen the logo at the top.

“The Linford Arts Festival. How come you’ve got a letter from them?”

“Mind your own business, Little Miss Nosy,” said Lottie.

Miranda narrowed her eyes. “Are you entering? Are you in a drama group?”

“Oh, which one?” asked Emily.

“Yes, which one?” said Miranda, her eyes fixed on Hannah. “I didn’t know you went to a drama group, Hannah. Is it a special group for farm animals?” Her eyes lit up. “What play are you doing?
Animal Farm
?” She nudged Emily, who giggled on cue.

Hannah felt a blush rise from deep inside her and start to spread all over her cheeks. Oh, why couldn’t she control it?

Lottie tilted her chin and challenged Miranda’s stare. “It’s none of your business which group
we’re in, Miranda. And we’re certainly not going to tell you.”

Miranda tossed her head like a mare in a temper. Hannah could almost see her stamp her hoof. “Well, I wouldn’t bother entering the festival if I were you. Our group’s won it for the last three years and my mum’s written the best play ever this year, hasn’t she, Ems? And she’s got her friend who’s a professional West End director to help direct it. No one else stands a chance.”

“Really?” said Lottie. “Well, you’d better prepare for a disappointment, because you might just have some competition this time.”

Miranda smirked. “I very much doubt that, Charlotte. I can’t imagine that our group is going to be seriously challenged by you two losers and a bunch of farm animals.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and turned back to the magazine.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” retorted Lottie. “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”