The Secret Hen House Theatre by Helen Peters Page B

that on the … no, surely not.
    Oh, my sweet lord, it really is. Please let this be a nightmare. Earth, please swallow me up. Right now. Oh, please don’t let Jack see it. Please .
    “Flipping heck,” said Jack. “ What is that thing on the roof of his car?”
     
    “No way,” said Lottie. “You have got to be kidding.”
    It was eight thirty on Tuesday morning and they were huddled against the hot-water pipes in the girls’ cloakroom.
    “Oh, if only I were,” said Hannah. “Can you imagine it?”
    “That is unbelievable. A dead duck. No way.”
    “A massive dead Muscovy duck. Huge. Just sprawled across the roof of the car with its giant wings outstretched. I nearly died.”
    “But why did he have it up there?”
    “He said he’d found it in the yard – a fox had got it – and he’d slung it there to stop the dogs eating it, until he got a chance to bury it. And then he’d just forgotten all about it. I mean, what sort of person just forgets they have a dead duck on the roof of their car? It was the most embarrassing moment of my entire life. And that’s saying something. And it’s going to be all round the school by lunchtime.”
    Hannah curled up and buried her head in her hands. Lottie hugged her.
    Don’t be nice to me, thought Hannah. I haven’t told you everything. If you knew that I’d invited Jack Adamson to watch our non-existent dress rehearsal, you wouldn’t be comforting me right now. You’d be strangling me to death with your bare hands.

Chapter Fourteen
Secrets and Threats
    Hannah sat on a wobbly milking stool in the auditorium and opened her notebook. “I hereby declare this meeting of the Secret Hen House Theatre open. Date: Sunday 7th March. Present: all members of the theatre.  
    “Item one: Programme. To be produced by Miss Lottie Perfect, as agreed at the meeting of Saturday 6th March.”  
    Lottie, perched on the udder-barrel on the other side of the circle, reached into her bag and took out a folded piece of straw-coloured paper.  
    “Wow,” said Hannah. “That looks so professional.”  
    “Cool,” agreed the Beans. They were sharing an upturned chicken crate and using Jasper, sprawled in front of them, as a giant woolly footstool.  
    Martha glanced up briefly from her magazine, curled her top lip and said nothing.  
    Lottie had drawn a border of brambles around the edge of the cover. Inside the border was typed:
     
    The Secret Hen House Theatre Presents
    By Her Majesty’s Appointment
    Saturday 20th March
    3.00 p.m.
     
    In the bottom right-hand corner she had drawn a hen wearing dark glasses and carrying binoculars under one wing.
    “Why does the hen have sunglasses and binoculars?” asked Sam.
    “Because we’re the Secret Hen House Theatre. She’s a secret hen.”
    The Beans giggled. Martha flipped over the page of her magazine with a vicious crack.
    “And then inside,” said Lottie, opening the programme, “there’s the list of scenes and the cast list.” She started to read it out. “Cast, in order of appearance: Queen Matilda – Hannah Roberts; Lady’s maid – Lottie Perfect; Footman—”
    “Oh, surprise, surprise, yours and Hannah’s names are first,” said Martha.
    “They’re in order of appearance,” said Lottie through gritted teeth. “Like it says. I’ll do extra programmes for the dress rehearsal. Since apparently we’re now having a dress rehearsal. With an audience.”
    She raised her eyebrows at Hannah. Hannah smiled innocently. It had taken a bit of persuasion, but she’d known Lottie would come round in the end. Hannah had just needed to convince her that a dress rehearsal would make the play more professional.Professionalism mattered. To both of them.
    There was one thing she hadn’t told Lottie, though.
    One really quite major thing.
    And that wasn’t very professional, was it?
    “Who’s going to be in the audience?” asked Sam.
    Hannah’s stomach churned. She couldn’t believe she’d invited Jack. It was such a