The Secret Hen House Theatre by Helen Peters Read Free Book Online Page A

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