The Bed and Breakfast Star Read online

  We had a new teacher in the hall in the afternoon to take us for singing. It was a relief to be free of the Fishy-Eye and I was all set to sing my cares away. I didn’t know many of the songs but I’ve always been good at improvising. So I threw back my head and let rip. But the teacher stopped playing the piano. Her face was all screwed up as if she had a terrible headache.

  ‘Who is making that . . . noise?’ she asked.

  We stared at her. What did she mean? We were all making a noise. We were singing.

  Only she didn’t seem to appreciate that. She made us start again, this time without the piano. I decided not to let this faze me. I sang out joyfully. The teacher shuddered.

  ‘You!’ she said, pointing.

  I peered round. No, it wasn’t anyone else. She was pointing at me.

  ‘Yes, you. The little bed-and-breakfast girl.’

  The other children around me sniggered. I felt my face start to burn, like the Royal Hotel’s toast.

  ‘Could you try not to sing so loudly, please?’ said the teacher.

  ‘Why?’ I said, astonished.

  ‘Because you’re singing rather flat, dear. And completely out of tune. In fact, it might be better if you didn’t sing at all, even softly. How about just nodding your head in time to the music?’

  The other kids collapsed, nudging each other and tittering.

  ‘Some stage star, eh! She can’t even sing in tune,’ they hissed.

  I had to spend the whole singing lesson with my mouth shut, nid-nodding away like Little Noddy. I didn’t feel much like making a noise after that. I hardly said anything on the way home from school. Funny-Face kept having a go at me, but I didn’t respond.

  ‘What’s up, Elsa?’ said Naomi, putting her arm round me. ‘Here, I’m sorry my mum got mad at you. It wasn’t really fair for her to pick on you.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. That’s what everyone does. Pick on me,’ I said gloomily.

  ‘Hey, don’t be like that. You’re always so cheerful. I can’t bear it when you’re all sad. Tell us a joke, go on.’

  But for the first time in my life I didn’t even feel like telling jokes. Mum gave me a big hug when I went up to room 608. She sent Mack out for a special Kentucky chicken tea.

  ‘To make up for last night, lovie,’ said Mum. ‘Sorry about that. And Mack’s sorry he got snappy too. He’s feeling better now.’

  Mack might be feeling better, Mum might be feeling better. I didn’t feel better at all.

  I normally love Kentucky chicken takeaways. I like to sit cross-legged on the floor with Pippa and kid on we’re American pioneers like in Little House on the Prairie, and we’re eating a chicken our Pa has raised and there are prowling bears outside who can smell it cooking but we’re safe inside our little log cabin.

  ‘Play our game,’ Pippa commanded, but somehow I couldn’t make it work.

  I usually finish off the game by pretending Hank is a baby bear cub and we all feed him bits of chicken (Hank loves this game too) and then we have a jolly sing-song. But now I didn’t feel I ever wanted to sing again.

  I didn’t want to say anything.

  I didn’t want to tell jokes.

  I didn’t want to be me.

  ‘Do try and cheer up, Elsa,’ said Mum. ‘Come on, you’re going to have to go to bed if you sulk around the room like this.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ I said.

  So I went to bed really early, before Pippa – even before Hank. Of course it was difficult to get to sleep when the light was on and the telly was loud and there were two and a half people and a baby still racketing round the room, but I put my head way down under the covers and curled up in a little ball with my hands over my ears.

  When I woke up I couldn’t hear anything even when I took my hands away. I stuck my head out the covers. I could hardly see anything either in the dark. It seemed like the middle of the night.

  And yet . . . someone was cooking supper somewhere. I could smell chips. People sometimes stayed up really late and made midnight snacks. I licked my lips. I hadn’t eaten all my Kentucky chicken because I’d felt so fed up. I could do with a little snack now myself.

  I wondered who was cooking in the kitchen. I’d got to know most of our sixth floor by now. Most of them were quite matey with me. I wondered if they’d consider sharing a chip or two.

  I eased myself out of bed. Pippa mumbled something in her sleep, but didn’t wake up. I picked my way across the crowded floor, tripping over Pippa’s My Little Pony and stepping straight into a Kentucky chicken carton, but eventually reached the door. I opened it very slowly so that it wouldn’t make any noise and crept outside into the corridor. Then I stood still, puzzled. There was a much stronger smell now. And there was a strange flickering light coming from right down the end, in the kitchen. And smoke. You don’t get smoke without . . . FIRE!

  For just one second I stood still, staring. And then I threw back my head and gave a great lion roar.

  ‘FIRE!’ I shouted. ‘FIRE FIRE FIRE!’

  I banged on room 612,1 banged on room 611, I banged on room 610, I banged on room 609, charging wildly back down the corridor and bellowing all the while.

  ‘FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE!’

  I shouted so long and so loud it felt as if there was a fire in my own head, red and roaring. And then I got to room 608 and I went hurtling inside, screaming and shouting as I snapped on the light.

  ‘FIRE!’ I flew to Mum and shook her shoulder hard. Mack propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes bleary. ‘Shut that racket!’ he mumbled.

  ‘I can’t! There’s a fire along in the kitchen. Oh, quick, quick, Mum, wake up! Pippa, get up, come on, out of bed.’

  Mum sat up, shaking her head, still half-asleep. It was Mack who suddenly shot straight out, grabbing Hank from one bed, Pippa from the other.

  ‘It’s OK, Elsa. I’ll get them out. You wake the others along the corridor,’ he said, busy and brisk.

  ‘Oh good lord, what are we going to do?’ Mum said, stumbling out of bed, frantic. ‘Quick kids, get dressed as soon as you can – I’ll do Hank.’

  ‘No, no, there’s no time. We’ve just got to get out,’ said Mack. ‘No clothes, no toys, no messing about – OUT!’

  ‘Baby Pillow!’ Pippa yelled, struggling, but Mack held her tight.

  ‘I’ve got him,’ I said, snatching Baby Pillow from Pippa’s bed.

  Then I went charging down the corridor, calling, ‘FIRE FIRE FIRE!’ all over again.

  The smoke was stronger now, and I could hear this awful crackling sound down the corridor. One of the men went running towards the kitchen in his pyjamas, but when he got near he slowed down and then backed away.

  ‘Get everyone out!’ he shouted. ‘The whole kitchen’s ablaze. Keep yelling, little kid. Wake them all up, loud as you can.’

  I took a huge breath and roared the dreadful warning over and over again. Some people came running out straight away. Others shouted back, and someone started screaming that we were all going to be burnt alive.

  ‘No-one will be burnt alive if you all just stop panicking,’ Mack shouted, charging down the corridor, Pippa under one arm, Hank under the other, Mum stumbling along in her nightie behind them. Mack was only wearing his vest and pants and any other time in the world I’d have rolled around laughing, he looked such a sight.

  But we all looked sights. People came blundering out of their bedrooms in nighties and pyjamas and T-shirts and underwear. Some were clutching handbags, some had carrier bags, several had shoved their possessions in blankets and were dragging them along the corridor.

  ‘Leave all your bits and bobs behind. Let’s just get out down the stairs. Carry the kids. Come on, get cracking!’ Mack yelled. He banged his fist against the fire alarm at the end of the corridor and it started ringing.

  ‘You nip down to the fifth floor and get that alarm going too, Elsa!’ Mack yelled. ‘And keep calling “Fire!” to get that dozy lot woken up properly. Go on, pal, you