Melody Trumpet Read online

  ‘And I’m Freddie!’ Freddie added.

  Slack wrapped an arm around the wiry girl. ‘Nice to meet you. That was Gaff, and this is my twin, Allira. Although sometimes I wonder if we’re even related. She’s such a party pooper.’

  Allira rolled her eyes. ‘Fine! I’m coming down.’

  She jumped up on top of the balcony railing, chin lifted and arms stretched wide, and swung her right leg back and forth, building up momentum. Melody gasped.

  ‘Show-off,’ drawled Slack, leaning on the railing next to his twin, a lopsided smirk at the corner of his mouth.

  Allira winked at her brother, then dived off the railing. Her body coiled into a tight somersault before landing softly, knees bent, on the rug in front of Melody and Freddie.

  Melody and Freddie clapped, their jaws dropped in delight.

  Allira sucked in a breath, then stretched out her long, graceful arms to accept the applause.

  ‘Every time,’ Slack laughed, skipping down the stairs.

  ‘That was incredible,’ Melody said.

  ‘No, that was Allira,’ Slack said, sticking out his hand for Melody and Freddie to shake.

  ‘I see the party has begun,’ Mumma Rose said, entering the room on the shoulders of a short stocky woman with long flowing blonde hair and muscles nearly bursting out of her clothes.

  Clementine trailed behind them, holding a jug of water, her mouth stretched into a grin at the sight of Melody’s and Freddie’s stunned faces.

  ‘And they haven’t even met our resident mime artist, magician, human statue or knife thrower yet, or seen Gaff on a pair of stilts,’ added Slack with a laugh.

  ‘Helga, pop me down by our guests, please,’ Mumma Rose said. She held up a plate each of caramel slice and oatmeal biscuits as the blonde woman lifted her above her head five times, grunting and flexing her biceps, then lowered her to the floor. ‘Yes, that’s lovely. Thank you, my dear.’

  Helga gave Melody and Freddie a short sharp nod, then left the room.

  ‘She doesn’t say much but she’s got a heart of gold, our Helga,’ Clementine said. ‘Ten-time Olympic weightlifter and a former circus strongwoman.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ said Freddie, still shaking his head at Helga’s strength. He accepted a biscuit and stuffed it into his mouth, sending crumbs flying everywhere as he added, ‘So what do you do at The Workshop, Mumma Rose?’

  ‘Other than boss us around?’ Slack joked.

  He suddenly threw five paintbrushes and a small unopened paint tin at Mumma Rose. Her arms stretched out like tentacles to catch them with ease, then she juggled them, twirling and bouncing and spinning them above her head without skipping a beat. Even Allira clapped along.

  ‘Are you seeing what I’m seeing?’ Freddie murmured to Melody, who was gaping in amazement.

  Slack stood with his hands on his hips. ‘Yeah, yeah, but who’s going to ask me what I do?’

  Allira smirked. ‘We’re waiting for you to show us, silly.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Slack, climbing up the staircase. Halfway along, he hoisted himself onto the railing.

  ‘Not you too!’ Melody said, peeking through her fingers.

  ‘He’s too close to the ground to flip . . .’ Freddie said.

  ‘Just . . . wait . . .’ Slack muttered, biting his lip in concentration. He sprang into the air and wrapped his fingers around the bottom of a giant hoop that Melody hadn’t even noticed hanging from the ceiling in the cluttered and colourful room. He huffed and puffed as he hoisted himself up, wriggling and writhing until he was balanced inside it.

  Melody and Freddie clapped.

  ‘Not yet,’ he groaned. ‘There’s more.’

  ‘Now who’s showing off?’ Allira remarked, shaking her head.

  Slack swung on the hoop, building up enough momentum for it to fly across to the other side of the room. With a sudden shout of glee, Slack launched himself from the hoop and soared through the air too. His fingers wrapped around a long brown rope dangling from the ceiling, which he used to pull himself up to a wooden platform in the highest corner of the room.

  ‘Couldn’t have just taken the stairs like a normal human being, could he?’ muttered Allira.

  ‘What’s so good about normal?’ Slack called out, before walking across a high wire that was strung across the room.

  ‘Okay, okay, I think that’s enough excitement for one afternoon,’ Clementine said, chomping on a biscuit. She turned to Melody and Freddie. ‘Let’s go to the studio out back. I’ve got something else to show you.’

  * * *

  They followed Clementine into a dark and poky room with a low ceiling that was crammed with wooden desks, artworks, circus equipment and guitars.

  ‘Just ask her if you’re that interested,’ whispered Freddie to Melody.

  ‘I’m not that interested,’ Melody murmured back.

  ‘Yes, you are! You couldn’t stop staring.’

  Clementine grinned. ‘Ask me what?’

  Freddie nudged Melody but she didn’t say anything.

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll ask. That big wall in the other room — why is it empty? It looks so plain.’

  Clementine struck a match and lit a row of candles on top of a broken old piano, sending a warm glow through the room. ‘That wall isn’t plain. It’s a reminder that there’s always space for something magical to happen in the world.’

  Freddie crossed his arms over his chest. ‘It just looked like an ordinary wall to me.’

  Clementine shrugged. ‘To you it may be ordinary. To me it says we create something out of nothing every day. I look at that blank wall and think of the endless ways I could colour it in. Isn’t that exciting? We can all make the ordinary extraordinary in some way.’

  ‘I guess so,’ Freddie said, and he wandered off to examine a wire sculpture in the far corner of the studio.

  ‘Did you say . . . extraordinary?’ Melody asked Clementine, her heart fluttering.

  ‘Well, yeah. Just look around you. Everything in here was created by someone from The Workshop. They brought something into the world that wasn’t here before. Don’t you think that’s extraordinary?’ She cleared her throat. ‘It’s like you and your writing. You took those words out of your head and put them on the page. Now they exist in the world!’

  ‘They weren’t meant to though,’ Melody said. ‘They were just meant for me. You took them, remember?’

  ‘Found them, as I recall it. Someone had thrown them away.’

  Melody pursed her lips. ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Well, anyway, that notebook is your own way of leaving a mark, don’t you think?’ Clementine stepped forward. ‘Speaking of which . . . I think we could really make something magic together.’

  ‘But I can’t paint or draw.’

  ‘Forget that. I’m talking about music. Lyrics, songs, melodies . . . Melody!’ Clementine grinned, and held up a ukulele that was sitting on a pile of dusty old books.

  ‘I definitely can’t do music,’ Melody said, remembering her disastrous classes with Mr Pizzicato. ‘Forget my name. My teacher tried everything — vocal lessons, every instrument in the world.’

  Clementine scoffed. ‘You do have music in you! You just haven’t found your thing yet. Although if you ask me, maybe you already have . . .’ She walked over to a music stand and picked up a sauce-stained brown leather-bound notebook. ‘Here. As promised.’

  Melody’s eyes lit up at the sight of her most treasured possession.

  Clementine passed it to her. ‘Thank you so much for lending it to me.’

  ‘I didn’t lend —’ She stopped as she took in Clementine’s warm, friendly expression. ‘You’re welcome.’

  She clutched the notebook to her chest, already feeling like a missing piece of her was back in place. She turned to Freddie. ‘Ah, okay, I got my notebook back . . . so maybe we should go now?’

  ‘Just a second,’ Clementine said. ‘I meant what I said, Melody. You write beautiful lyrics. You
should see the crowds I’ve been pulling. People are connecting with your words. Last week I made more money in one afternoon than I did all last month. I even saw a grown man crying into his potato and gravy.’

  Melody shrugged. ‘That’s because of your performances. Your music and voice bring the words to life.’

  ‘No, Melody, your words speak to people.’

  ‘They do?’ Melody blushed, and glanced in Freddie’s direction.

  He was curled up in a velvet armchair and flipping through a book of guitar sheet music. When he caught her gaze, he grinned. ‘Listen to her!’

  ‘Tell me this, Melody,’ Clementine continued. ‘When you have the kind of important thought you don’t want to disappear into the air like it never happened, where does it go? Do you say it out loud in the dark? Do you yell it to your friends at school? Do you tell your parents across the dinner table?’

  Melody paused. ‘No. None of that.’

  ‘So what do you do?’

  ‘I write it down in my notebook.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Clementine clapped her hands. ‘And that’s why your words connect with people. They’re real. People relate to them. They get what you’re saying. They get you. And more than that, they feel like you understand. In a world where everyone’s trying to find their place, you make people feel like they belong. Do you have any idea how hard that is?’ Clementine’s wide eyes locked with Melody’s. ‘That’s why I brought you here today. I want us to keep doing that — together. You write the lyrics, and I’ll write the music. Here, let me show you . . .’

  She pulled the ukulele in close to her chest and, closing her eyes, sang more of Melody’s words.

  Waiting and hoping,

  For someone to see,

  The girl in the tower,

  And what she could be.

  But life just goes on,

  And things stay the same,

  So from a distance she watches,

  Away from the game.

  Yet one day she’s certain,

  That someone will see,

  The girl in the tower,

  And what she will be.

  Melody had to admit that her words sounded beautiful and eerie with Clementine’s music. And she couldn’t help noticing Freddie swaying along.

  But none of this changed the fact that she didn’t have the first clue about writing songs. All she knew was she had to get the words out of her head and into her notebook to feel normal. Otherwise she feared she might self-combust.

  ‘I’m not sure, Clementine. That sounded good, but I don’t think I’m the right person for this.’

  ‘But you’re already doing it,’ Clementine said, ‘and you’re not even trying. The truth is . . . I’m all out of lyrics. I need more! My audience wants more original songs. We can be a team.’

  Melody swallowed. She’d never been part of a team before.

  ‘So how about it, Melody?’ Clementine smiled. ‘Are we going to make music together or what?’

  16.

  The magic begins

  ‘Anything flowing yet, Melody?’ Mumma Rose asked as she entered the studio with a jug fizzing with lemonade and a stack of colourful cups. ‘This should keep everyone’s creativity popping and crackling!’

  Melody looked up from her notebook. She’d been staring at a blank page for ten minutes. ‘I’m trying to write, but the words seem to have disappeared. I think I’ve scared them away.’

  ‘They’ll come back,’ Mumma Rose said, handing Melody a cup. ‘They’re just taking a break, I’m sure.’

  Freddie, squeezed next to Melody on an old velvet couch, was admiring the ceiling and its elaborate mural painted in every colour imaginable. ‘I’ve got a word for you,’ he said, clicking his fingers. ‘Codswallop. Wackadoodle. Crackerjack, bombastic, gizmo!’

  ‘Righto, Mr Dictionary,’ Clementine said. ‘Look out, world, we’ve got the creative dream team right here.’

  Moe barked at this suggestion, causing Clementine to smile. ‘Don’t worry, Moe, you’re part of the team, too. Geez, suddenly the prospect of not being in the spotlight goes to the fluffy little guy’s head, doesn’t it?’ she teased, brushing her hand through his fur. Moe growled with pleasure, rolling on to his back to bare his stomach.

  ‘These things can take time, Melody — much longer than you think,’ Mumma Rose said with a reassuring smile. ‘Keep trying. Clementine has shown me your scribblings and you’re onto something special.’

  A flush of embarrassment stained Melody’s cheeks. She hadn’t had this much attention for a long time. Well, positive attention. It was quite different from Mr Pizzicato’s sighs whenever she played something on one of the instruments in his studio. She could almost hear his voice ringing in her ears: I thought I’d heard everything that could go wrong by now, my dear Melody, but this . . . this is obscene! Let’s try again from the top.

  She bit her lip, shuddering as she remembered Mr Pizzicato’s abrupt disappearance. Thanks to Clementine and The Workshop, she’d almost forgotten about the Debut Gala but now it was all she could think about again. No wonder the words had abandoned her.

  ‘Something on your mind?’ Clementine asked, snapping Melody back into the real world.

  ‘Um . . . have you heard of the Battyville Elite School For Musically Gifted Children’s Debut Gala?’

  ‘Sheesh, you rich folks love a fancy name, don’t you? That sounds like the sort of event where Moe and I would get kicked out for breathing the same air as you lot.’

  Moe gave a haughty bark.

  ‘Just kidding, little bud, we know you’re a dapper gent.’ Clementine smirked. ‘So, tell me more about this Gala.’

  ‘It’s a really important music recital — and the Prince and Princess of Zanjia are coming to watch.’

  ‘I’ve seen them on the telly!’ Clementine exclaimed. ‘I watch the one in the window at Battyville Electrical sometimes. A real-life Prince and Princess — that’s amazing. I heard the Princess can speak seven languages.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Melody said. ‘And it’s not amazing, it’s terrifying! They’re coming to watch me — and like I’ve told you, I’m not musical, remember? My lack of talent has been a family secret for ten years, but once I get up on stage, it won’t be a secret for much longer! My parents will never forgive me for destroying the Trumpet reputation.’

  ‘Maybe you can’t conduct orchestras like your father, but you’ve got something different,’ said Clementine.

  Mumma Rose nodded. ‘Everyone has creativity inside them somewhere.’

  ‘Not me. My music teacher, Mr Pizzicato, gave up on me after years of trying. He’s mid-breakdown right now, probably drooling on a beach chair somewhere. I’m ordinary. And there’s nothing my parents despise more than ordinary.’

  ‘No one on this planet is ordinary,’ Clementine scoffed. ‘Everyone has something that makes them extraordinary. It just takes some people longer to find out what their something is.’

  Melody sighed. ‘That was a good speech, but this performance is going to be a disaster. I can’t play the violin, the cello, the piano, the drums, the flugelhorn —’

  ‘Whoa! Now you’re just making up instruments!’ Clementine said. ‘Fine, so you’re not going to be a world-famous flugelhorn player. But maybe you could sing? Surely with your mother’s genes . . .?’

  Melody cleared her throat and launched into a shaky rendition of one of her songs, her voice crackling. ‘Just once I’d like to be, in the kind of place that’s in my head, the perfect place for me . . .’

  Clementine scratched her chin, failing to hide her horror. ‘Are you sure the flugelhorn isn’t out of the question?’

  Melody hung her head. ‘It’s hopeless.’

  Clementine’s finger found Melody’s chin and gently lifted up her head. ‘Not even close to hopeless. You know why? You’re not alone any more. We’ll find a way through this together, okay?’

  ‘Clementine’s right,’ Mumma Rose said. ‘You’re part of The Workshop now.
And when we work as a team, anything is possible. Now get back to that blank page. This poem isn’t going to write itself.’

  Melody curled up on the couch with her notebook, doodling in the top corner of the page. She thought about everything that had happened since Mr Pizzicato had abandoned her.

  Meeting Freddie and sharing her secrets.

  Visiting Town Square for the first time.

  Riding through Battyville on the tandem bicycle with Clementine and Moe.

  Discovering the magic of The Workshop.

  And then suddenly the words came to her. First, a trickle or two; a sentence here, a verse there. And then a gushing flow of words that didn’t stop.

  As she wrote and rewrote, cutting out lines and shifting words around, she lost track of time and place. Nothing else mattered in the moment. All she could see were her pen scratchings in the notebook. All she could hear were the sentences dancing in her mind.

  Before she knew it, she had scribbled down the first draft of a poem. It was messy, it wasn’t perfect, but it was the start of something. The blank page was no longer empty. It held possibilities.

  Clementine cheered when Melody read the words out loud. ‘A new song already! I can’t wait to come up with some music and perform it soon.’

  ‘Really?’ Melody murmured.

  ‘Really. You’ll have to come with me to Town Square to see it in action. You too, Freddie. But now I’d better get you back to school before the Trumpets send out a search party.’

  Clementine took Melody and Freddie back through the main room so they could say goodbye to everyone. Slack was doing a jig on the high wire; Allira was practising headstands on the staircase; Gaff was striding around on two-metre-tall stilts; and Mumma Rose was juggling twelve golf balls while hopping on one leg.

  ‘Have we run away and joined the circus?’ whispered Freddie.

  Flushed with excitement, Melody clutched her notebook to her chest. ‘Maybe.’

  She wasn’t quite sure what they had done, but she wanted to keep feeling this way.

  17.

  One extraordinary day

  The crowd cheered as Melody and Clementine gave another bow. Freddie tipped his hat, then settled back down at his keyboard.