Family Fan Club. Jean Ure

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СКАЧАТЬ know! Going to church and saying grace and not swearing, and stuff like that.”

      “And girls behaving like girls,” said Rose. She screwed up her face. “All prim and proper.”

      “It’s how they were in those days. But it doesn’t mean they weren’t real people! What you have to do,” said Jazz, “you have to pretend that you were living then, not now.”

      “Maybe it would help if we had costumes,” said Laurel.

      “Yes!” Daisy clapped her hands. “Let’s have costumes!”

      “Well …” Jazz sounded doubtful. She hadn’t planned on being quite so ambitious. If you’ll be responsible for them—”

      “I’ll help, I’ll help!” cried Daisy.

      “What did they wear?” said Laurel. “Was it crinolines? We could make hoops out of bits of wire and put them under our skirts and drape bedspreads over them and wear our school blouses with some of Mum’s big scarves and—”

      “Now see what you’ve done!” said Rose. “You’ve gone and turned it into a full-scale production!”

      “That’s all right,” said Jazz.

      “It’s not all right! I haven’t got time for all this. Costume fittings. Dress rehearsals. Read-throughs. Photo calls. I have work to do,” said Rose, all self-important.

      “What work?” said Laurel.

      “I’m writing a book, if you must know.”

      “A book? About what?”

      “Please!” Jazz waved her arms. “If we’re going to do it, let’s get started.”

      “I just wanted to know what she could possibly be writing a book about.”

      “She can tell us later. Let’s take it from the top! Christmas won’t be Christmas. We’re all sitting round the fire—”

      “It’s about a colony of ants, actually,” said Rose.

      “A colony of ants?”

      “Look, please!” said Jazz.

      “Sorry, sorry!” Laurel sank down, cross-legged, on the floor. Rose bumped down beside her.

      “Different-coloured ants,” she hissed. “Black ants, red ants, white ants, b—”

      “Christmas,” said Jazz, very loudly, looking hard at Rose, “won’t be Christmas without any presents.”

      “Sorry,” said Rose.

      This time, they managed to get through all six pages of the script. It was Laurel who had the final speech.

      “No, it’s the toasting frok, sorry, fork, with Mother’s shoe on it instead of the beard. Beard??? Oh, bread! Silly me!” Laurel giggled. “With Mother’s shoe on it instead of the bread. Phew!” She fanned herself with her script. “Is that the end?”

      “Yes, because that’s where Marmee comes in.”

      “Thank goodness for that! I don’t know how I’m supposed to find time to learn all these lines,” said Rose.

      “Learn them?” Daisy sounded startled. “Have we got to learn them?”

      “Only if you can,” said Jazz, kindly. “But don’t worry if you can’t.”

      “I won’t,” said Rose.

      “I didn’t mean you!” Jazz swung round. “I meant Daisy.”

      Rose heaved an exaggerated sigh, but she didn’t try to argue. It was accepted in the family that Daisy was treated more gently than the others.

      “Know what?” said Jazz. “We actually are quite like the girls in Little Women. We are!” she said, as Rose opened her mouth. “In spite of what you say.”

      “How?” said Laurel. “How are we like them?”

      “Well, if you think about it … their dad’s away from home—”

      “Their dad’s fighting in a war,” said Rose.

      “Yes, well, so’s ours, in a way. Except he’s fighting it against Mum. Trying to prove to her that he can make it as an actor. The point is,” said Jazz, a touch testily, “he’s away from home.” She really couldn’t stand it when people would insist on interrupting with their little niggles and nitpicks when she was off on one of her flights of fancy. “Their dad’s not there. Right?”

      Daisy nodded, rather tremulously.

      “And they’re all dead worried in case he doesn’t come back.”

      Daisy’s eyes grew big. Her lower lip began to tremble. Really! thought Laurel. Jazz could be so dumb at times.

      “It’s all right,” she said, squeezing Daisy’s arm. “He does come back, in the end.”

      “Oh. Right! Yes,” said Jazz. “Soon as the war’s over … he comes back to them. Wars don’t last for ever! So. As I was saying. There’s four of them, yes? Just like us. They live with their mum. They don’t have much money—”

      “Tell us about it!” said Laurel.

      “I’m trying to, if you’d only listen! We’re just the same as they are, only in another age. Meg’s the oldest, right? And she really cares about the way she looks.”

      “She’s mumsy,” said Laurel. Meg was her part. She didn’t think she wanted to be compared to Meg.

      “She’s not!” said Jazz. “She’s pretty – like you. And she enjoys being pretty.” Jazz warmed to her theme. This was what being a director was all about! Giving your cast something to work on. “She only gets mumsy when she gets married. Like you probably will.”

      “I will not!” Laurel was indignant. She was going to be a top fashion model. She wasn’t going to get mumsy!

      “Well, anyway, you’re both pretty,” said Jazz. Everyone acknowledged that if Rose was the brains of the family, Laurel was the beauty. “And you both like to wear nice clothes. You can’t deny it! You’re always going on about clothes.”

      “Clothes are important,” said Laurel.

      “Yes, but they’re specially important to you. The rest of us don’t care so much. Wouldn’t bother me,” said Jazz, “if I didn’t ever wear anything but dungarees.”

      “Now you’re making me sound like a fribble!”

      “You’re not a fribble. It just happens to be something you’re interested in. We’d probably be interested, as well,” said Jazz, “if we looked like you.”

      “Hm!” СКАЧАТЬ