Melody Trumpet Page 9

  ‘See,’ said Clementine to Melody, ‘that wasn’t so bad, was it?’

  Melody looked at the audience’s faces from under her baseball cap. They were all beaming from one ear to the other. She hadn’t dared to sing, not even back-up vocals with Freddie, but she had faced her fear of public speaking and introduced the song. Clementine had told her it would be good practice to break down her fear of performing at the Debut Gala.

  Clementine was so excited, she called out to the crowd, ‘Keyboard by Freddie Bloom, vocals by me, and songwriting by the great and wonderful Mel—’

  ‘Melanie,’ Melody said before Clementine accidentally outed her. ‘She always forgets my name. Too many lyrics and guitar chords rattling around in her head.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Clementine said, before mouthing sorry to Melody. ‘Luckily Melanie is here to set things straight.’

  ‘Play another!’ an old man yelled, waving his walking cane in the air. ‘I’ve got gold coins to give away, but not for nothing!’

  Clementine raised an eyebrow and Moe barked three times. ‘Gold coins, you say, sir?’ She settled down with her guitar, and gave Freddie the nod. ‘Melo— ah, Melanie, maybe you can do the introduction for us again?’

  She held up Melody’s notebook turned to the page that Melody had been scribbling on at The Workshop. The new poem.

  ‘Here?’ Melody asked, blushing.

  It was still hard to believe that Clementine and Freddie knew her poems so well. Poems that she had never dared to show anyone before. Well, she’d tried to show her parents a long time ago, but they’d always been too busy. In a moment, child. I’m just sending the King and Queen of Lavenia one hundred and forty ostriches for an anniversary present, Mr Trumpet had said. Right after I’m done here, Mrs Trumpet had said as she posed with a bejewelled crown on her head for yet another portrait to hang in the manor.

  ‘Yes, here,’ Clementine said. ‘It’s what the audience wants. And this is a good place to test out some new material.’

  ‘But you haven’t practised this one. I don’t even know if the words work with music.’

  ‘Then we’ll make it work,’ assured Freddie, fake-grinning at the waiting audience who were now shuffling and whispering among themselves.

  ‘What if everyone laughs at us?’ Melody asked.

  Clementine smiled. ‘Then we’ll keep going with their laughter ringing in our ears.’

  Melody couldn’t believe it. Clementine made her feel like she could do anything — and it didn’t matter if she didn’t do it perfectly.

  ‘Okay . . . let’s do it,’ she said.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ Clementine said. ‘Remember, you’re part of The Workshop now. We’re a family and we work together.’

  Freddie cracked his knuckles. ‘What are you thinking for this one, Clementine? F minor?’

  ‘Love it,’ Clementine said.

  Melody blinked. She still didn’t really understand what F minor meant, even after years of Mr Pizzicato trying to teach her chords and scales. Somehow, they’d never stuck in her mind.

  ‘Quick, Melody, say a little something before the gold coins roll in,’ Clementine urged. ‘Because they will roll in. And, Freddie, when she’s finished, kick things off!’

  Melody turned towards the crowd, which had squashed in closer around them.

  ‘Hello, everyone,’ she croaked. ‘I’m Mel . . . Melanie.’ She cleared her throat, then stood a little straighter and tilted her chin higher. ‘This is a new poem . . . ah . . . song about how one day can change everything. And how even on that day you may not realise it’s a special one-in-a-million moment. I hope you like it.’

  Moe barked, signalling they had stalled for long enough. It was time to play Melody’s brand new song.

  Clementine and Freddie nodded at each other and began.

  Here we are,

  Just us four,

  Hours in the sun,

  Together on this day.

  How long I have dreamed,

  For a place such as this,

  Where time disappears,

  And adventure can begin.

  It was all messy and new,

  They smiled so I smiled too,

  Everything to gain,

  And nothing to prove,

  On this day.

  Clementine’s voice quivered over the final line, and Freddie finished off the song with a note from his guitar that hung in the air.

  They bowed in unison, and there was complete silence.

  Melody’s face felt hot with the embarrassment of everyone seeing straight into her heart. She wondered whether she should hurl herself face first into the water fountain in the middle of Town Square.

  More silence — and then the crowd erupted, cheering and wrapping their arms around each other. The old man with the cane sobbed with happiness. Two little girls linked arms and danced in a circle, singing the song over and over in their sweet, squeaky voices.

  Gold and silver coins rained into Clementine’s guitar case. Thump, shring, clink! There were too many to count.

  ‘You did this, Melody,’ said Clementine. ‘This is all because of you.’

  ‘Because of us,’ Melody insisted.

  ‘Without your words, there’d be no music.’

  ‘Without your music, no one would hear the words.’

  Clementine grinned. ‘Officially partners then.’

  ‘Oi, where do I fit in?’ asked Freddie.

  Clementine smirked. ‘You fit in just fine. Consider it the triangle of happiness.’

  Moe barked, and licked Clementine’s hand once, twice, a third time in case she missed it.

  ‘We haven’t forgotten you, fluffy one,’ she told him, rolling her eyes. ‘Rectangle of happiness.’

  ‘Or rhombus,’ offered Freddie.

  Melody smiled. ‘A square of happiness.’

  ‘It certainly is!’ Clementine said, punching the air as coins and notes fell into the guitar case, some jumping over the sides onto the pavement.

  Forget Trumpet Manor, the lavish pool, her four-poster bed — Melody didn’t think she’d ever seen a sight so lovely as all those people caring about and connecting to their music.

  As the last person drifted away singing a mish-mashed version of their songs, Clementine, Melody and Freddie hugged each other with excitement. Moe barked and ran around them in circles. Melody high-fived the others, even Moe. In that moment, she felt invincible.

  Clementine tipped coins and notes into Melody’s and Freddie’s palms. ‘We all earned this, so we all split it. Fair’s fair.’

  Melody stared at the coins. ‘But I don’t need the money. Freddie, tell her. You both need it more than I do.’

  He shrugged. ‘Leave me out of it.’

  ‘But why?’ Clementine asked her. ‘You earned it. You should take your share.’

  Melody thought of how grand Trumpet Manor was compared to the small terrace house where Clementine and the others lived, and Freddie’s humble family home where he shared a bedroom with his brother and sister.

  ‘I don’t deserve it,’ she said.

  ‘Of course you do,’ Clementine said, forcing more coins into Melody’s hand. ‘None of this would have happened without you.’

  Melody shook her head and emptied the coins back into the guitar case. ‘You know who I am,’ she whispered. ‘I have so much.’ She crossed her arms, refusing to budge.

  Freddie laughed. ‘She does have a wing all to herself.’

  Clementine raised an eyebrow. ‘Fine. I can see we’re not getting anywhere today.’ She held up one shiny gold coin. ‘Take this. Frame it, save it, spend it — whatever you want. Just please take it as a memory of today.’

  Melody held out her palm. ‘Okay, just that one. Thank you.’

  Freddie elbowed her. ‘When do we get to see inside that wing of yours?’

  ‘One day,’ Melody said, hope tingeing her voice. ‘Hopefully one day soon.’

  Smiling, she slipped the coin into her jacket pock
et.

  18.

  Silly Mr Trumpet

  Freddie threw a football high in the air and ran backwards towards the garden hedge with his arms and hands braced in position. He caught the ball with a grunt and said, ‘We’ve got all weekend till we see Clementine again. She’s got her tricks, and I’ve got mine. I’m sure I can teach you how to kick in that time.’

  Whack! His foot connected with the ball, sending it flying towards Melody. She focused on it whizzing towards her, stretched her arms out and hoped for the best.

  Thump! The ball made contact. She’d caught it first go.

  ‘Not bad,’ Freddie said.

  Melody kicked the ball, sending it soaring high and far. It sailed over the hedge, over Trumpet Manor’s high-security fence and out into the street.

  Freddie’s jaw dropped.

  She flexed her muscles as a joke. ‘Beginner’s luck!’

  ‘Well done, well done,’ Freddie said, as they plopped down onto a soft patch of grass by the maze. ‘So what’s the plan for Monday? Town Square at lunchtime again? Shall we play another new song?’

  Melody nodded. ‘I’m working on something.’

  She reached into her backpack and pulled out her notebook, then neatly tore out the page with her most recent poem scribbled on it. She slipped it into his hand. ‘Here, take this. You can learn it before Monday.’

  ‘Cool,’ Freddie said, scanning the page.

  Someone cleared their throat behind them. Melody’s heart raced. They turned to see Mr Trumpet standing there, his thick arms folded over his chest.

  ‘What’s going on here, child?’ he asked Melody, completely ignoring Freddie’s presence even though his father had looked after the manor gardens for fifteen years.

  Any children belonging to the Trumpets’ staff were supposed to be rarely seen and never heard. Panicking, Freddie faked a cough and slipped the piece of paper covered in Melody’s words into his mouth. Melody’s jaw dropped in shock.

  ‘Answer me, child! You should be in your wing, not out here,’ Mr Trumpet added, twanging his suspenders in frustration.

  ‘Sorry, Father,’ Melody said. ‘I . . . I . . . he . . . he was just looking for his ball. I think it went over the fence.’

  Freddie shot Mr Trumpet an apologetic, closed-mouth smile.

  ‘Very well, but he knows he shouldn’t be in the gardens unsupervised. On your way, boy,’ Mr Trumpet said. ‘We’ve no time for games and silliness here. Melody needs to focus on her brilliant performance for the Debut Gala.’

  Freddie nodded, gave an awkward bow and ambled off in the opposite direction. But as soon as Mr Trumpet’s back was turned, he stuck his tongue out at Melody, revealing the page of words in his mouth. Melody breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that Freddie hadn’t swallowed her only copy of the new song.

  ‘Inside now, child,’ Mr Trumpet scolded Melody as he shooed Freddie on his way. ‘We can’t have you out here cavorting with the staff. Oh, and before I forget: your mother wanted me to ask you how your practice is going? More improvements, I assume?’

  Melody grimaced at the thought of Mr Pizzicato’s abandoned studio. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘it’s been a weird few days —’

  ‘Splendid! Wonderful! Fantastic! I knew he’d be full of praise,’ Mr Trumpet exclaimed as he looked at his watch.

  ‘No, a weird few days. Father, I have to tell you something.’ Melody sucked in a breath, preparing to confess that Mr Pizzicato had disappeared.

  Mr Trumpet raised an eyebrow. ‘For heaven’s sake, Melody, I’m meeting your mother at an alumni soiree soon. I don’t have time to stand around and gasbag with you.’

  ‘Please. Let me say one thing. It’s important.’

  Mr Trumpet squatted down so they were eye to eye. ‘Look, I’ll tell you what’s important. Your mother and I haven’t always done everything right — we know that — but we’ve just wanted what was best for us. I mean, for you. The Debut Gala is just around the corner, and the Prince and Princess of Zanjia are so thrilled to be meeting you. Giving them the performance of a lifetime has to be your first priority,’ he continued. ‘It’s time for you to take centre stage after all these years.’

  ‘Mr Pizzicato is missing!’ Melody blurted out. ‘He’s gone on holiday somewhere. I have no idea where, but I’m guessing the beach.’

  Mr Trumpet raised an eyebrow, then erupted into high-pitched giggles. ‘Mr Pizzicato on holiday? That’s a good one, Melody. Now, we’ve chit-chatted enough and I’d better rush. Your mother will have Miss Sprinkles cook me up for dinner if I’m late again.’ He patted her on the head, before trundling off still laughing. ‘Next thing you’ll be telling me you still can’t sing. What a hoot!’

  ‘I still can’t sing,’ Melody called after him.

  His laughter became even louder. ‘Well done, my girl, you’re quite the joker. Still can’t sing. Oh, it’s good to laugh.’

  His phone burst to life and he stopped to answer it. ‘The Prince and Princess,’ he mouthed to Melody and gave her a thumbs-up. ‘Hello there, dear friends,’ he boomed into the phone. ‘We are so looking forward to welcoming you to Battyville. Melody was just telling me she can’t wait to perform for you . . . Yes, her debut promises to be a most dazzling performance . . . Yes, yes, I quite agree. It will absolutely be something that people will talk about for years to come.’

  Melody cringed as Mr Trumpet left the garden, still talking.

  Her father wasn’t wrong. If she was forced to go through with the Debut Gala, people would definitely be talking about her performance for years to come.

  19.

  A visit from Principal Sharp

  Melody and her parents relaxed in the sunshine by their outdoor pool. It was twice the size of an Olympic pool, shaped like a musical note, surrounded by lush palm trees and heated to the perfect temperature all year round. Melody had only ever paddled in the pool on her own before, but today her mother had invited her to join her and her father for a late-afternoon swim. It was a reward for Melody’s hard work with Mr Pizzicato in the lead-up to the Debut Gala.

  After her failed attempt to tell Mr Trumpet the truth, Melody hadn’t tried again. It was too nice to spend time together as a family — she didn’t want to spoil it.

  Mrs and Mr Trumpet lay on sun lounges in matching leopard-print robes, while Melody splashed in the water on a giant inflatable guitar, sipping lemonade from a coconut and listening to the birds chirping in the trees above. There was no tutoring, no expectations, no pressure. It was all she had ever wanted.

  As she gulped down another fizzy mouthful, Melody spotted Miss Sprinkles hurrying towards the pool.

  ‘Excuse me, Mrs Trumpet, Mr Trumpet . . . you have . . . a visitor,’ Miss Sprinkles said, struggling to catch her breath. ‘Principal Sharp is here!’

  ‘Cripes with cream!’ Mrs Trumpet said, tightening her robe. ‘What does she want?’

  ‘Principal Sharp is here? At the manor?’ asked Melody. ‘Like . . . right now?’

  ‘Yes,’ Miss Sprinkles said. ‘She was most insistent that she talks to you. Apparently it’s about the Debut Gala.’

  ‘Oh,’ Melody said, taking another big gulp of lemonade. That didn’t sound good. It didn’t sound good at all.

  ‘Ma’am, Royce is with Principal Sharp in the foyer now, awaiting your orders,’ Miss Sprinkles said. ‘What should I tell him?’

  ‘I don’t understand this woman,’ said Mrs Trumpet. ‘Everything is perfectly under control. Mr Pizzicato is making progress with the child, and Melody has her gown from Claudette Rouge. Her debut performance is going to be a spectacular success.’ She turned to Mr Trumpet. ‘What do you think could be so important, my sweet cherry plum?’

  ‘What was that, darling?’ Mr Trumpet asked. He was preoccupied with struggling to roll around to face them all.

  ‘Allegra Sharp,’ huffed Mrs Trumpet. ‘She’s here. She’s obsessed with us.’

  ‘Who wouldn’t be obsessed with you, my love?’ Mr Trumpet cooed.
‘The woman is only human.’

  Mrs Trumpet sighed and fluffed her hair. ‘It is a blessing and a curse. But hasn’t she heard of a little thing called privacy? Oh, bring her here, Miss Sprinkles. Let’s get this over with.’

  ‘I’ll let Royce know, ma’am,’ Miss Sprinkles said, and bowed before scurrying back to the manor.

  Melody sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling cornered. She took in the complicated garden maze to her left, the larger-than-life-sized gold statues of her parents by the pool, the high-security fence to her right. There was no escape. She was trapped.

  Principal Sharp greeted them all with a tight smile.

  ‘Hello, Allegra, welcome to our humble home,’ said Mrs Trumpet, clicking into the gushing mode she usually saved for the grey-haired members of the Opera Board during awards season. ‘I was just saying to Barry that we haven’t seen you in what feels like forever. You’ve been missed.’

  ‘That’s far too kind of you,’ Principal Sharp said. ‘I won’t stay long though.’

  ‘What a shame,’ Mrs Trumpet lied. ‘Anyway, how can we be of help?’

  ‘As you know, we’re days away from the Debut Gala so I’m doing the rounds of every child’s family to make sure things are on track,’ Principal Sharp said. ‘It can be a nerve-racking time for our brilliant students and their parents.’

  ‘Nerves? From a Trumpet? Never!’ chimed in Mr Trumpet. ‘In fact, Melody is exceeding expectations.’

  Mrs Trumpet jutted out her chin. ‘The Prince and Princess of Zanjia will be positively dazzled, we assure you. It’s shaping up to be an event to remember.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Principal Sharp said. ‘I’d expect nothing less from the Trumpet heir. What an honour for us to finally experience her prodigious talent in person. And to think she’s achieved it all without Mr —’

  ‘Yes, yes, the child is wonderful, she can’t stop achieving, you’re all up-to-date,’ said Mrs Trumpet, gently leading Principal Sharp back towards the manor. ‘If we’re all done here . . .?’

  Melody thought she was safe — until Principal Sharp added, ‘I must say, Viola, between you and me I’m relieved Melody is still shining. I wasn’t sure what to expect when Mr Pizzicato went on holiday so suddenly.’