Wonderland by Joanna Nadin Read Free Book Online

head.
    “Yes way. I dare you to say something about that skirt.”
    I sigh. “Good or bad?”
    “Whatever. Just say something.”
    Mrs. Penleaze comes to the counter with the beans and a
Western Daily.
Total, £1.10. I don’t need to look at the price tags. Know what everything costs. The thought saddens and sickens me.
    She hands over some coins. Stella elbows me.
    I can’t say anything bad. Just can’t. But I have to say something. What comes out is, “That’s a lovely skirt.” It’s pathetic, and I know it. And so does Stella. But I have done the dare, and that’s what matters.
    Mrs. Penleaze looks down, confused.
    “Oh . . . um . . . thank you, Jude.”
    “It’s a . . . er . . . bold choice. Suits you.” I drop ten pence into her hand and slam the till drawer shut.
    “So. Tell your dad hello.” She tries out a smile.
    “I will. Call again soon.” I am choking down the laughter.
    “Have a nice day,” adds Stella. Perfect all-American service with a smile.
    The door closes and Stella and I shriek.
    “You’ve probably made her day,” says Stella. “I bet she hasn’t had a compliment for years. Poor cow. Not that she deserves one in that getup.”
    “Not as bad as Mr. Penleaze, though. Have you seen his ears?”
    “God. Imagine them in bed,” ponders Stella.
    “That’s gross, Stella. I don’t want to.”
    “Oh, Janet,” she pants. “I love you, Janet. Do it to me, Janet!”
    “Shut up!”
    “You’re right. They probably don’t bother. Just pick each other’s corns or something.”
    “Stop it now.” I hit her with a copy of
Cosmopolitan,
but she still has
Vogue.
Twice as heavy.
    The cowbells go again. We stop and look up. I’m praying it’s not Mrs. Applegate, all Barbour jacket and Hunters, fighting a losing battle against the scales. Or Mental Nigel, who comes in for sweets and magazines.
Playboy
and penny chews. Stella would have a field day. But it’s neither. It’s the postman. How stupid is that? That the post gets delivered here. To a post office. They should drop it off when they open up the mailbox in the morning or something. Different jobs, Jude, Dad says. But it still seems dumb to me.
    “All right, Jude?” The postman nods. “One for you here.” He hands over a stack of envelopes. Bills. Except for one. Thick, white vellum, A4 size, logo printed on the top left-hand corner. The Lab. My legs feel weak. And I’m not sure if it’s because I’m scared that I haven’t gotten an audition or scared that I have.
    “I hope it’s good news. Anyway, best be off. No rest for the wicked, eh?” He laughs, a throaty, guttural sound. “See you later, love.”
    But I am still staring at the envelope.
    “Earth to Jude . . .” he says.
    “What?” I look up. He’s smiling at me, waiting. “Oh, right. Yeah . . . See you . . . Thanks.”
    “Another world,” he mutters as he leaves.
    The envelope feels hot in my hand. Dangerous. Life-changing. The opposite of Mrs. Penleaze’s beans.
    “Jesus! Would you just open it, Jude?”
    But I can’t. Not in front of Stella. I don’t want her to see if I don’t get in. Don’t want to be a nobody in front of her.
    “Well, if you won’t . . .” Stella snatches the envelope from me.
    “Give it back. It’s private.”
    She tuts. “What do you mean, private? I tell you everything.”
    “Stella! Come on, give it back.”
    She’s holding it above her head. “You didn’t say, ‘Simon says.’ ”
    “What?”
    Stella raises an eyebrow.
    “Oh, for . . . Simon says, ‘Give it back.’ ”
    “Only if you open it now.”
    “OK . . . God!”
    Stella holds it out. I snatch it. Still hot. My fingers are shaking as I run them under the flap and pull out the two stapled sheets.
    “What?” Stella demands.
    “Wait.” I scan down the page for the bad news. And again to make sure. But it isn’t there. They want to see me.
    I look up. “I’ve got an audition.”
    “Let me see!”
    I hand it over.
    “Oh, my God. Look at the