Dad said to me as we sat on the tube train on the way to the competition. “I never thought I’d be taking you to another audition so soon.” “It’s not an audition,” I said. “It’s a competition. I haven’t changed my mind. I want the school choir to do well. They’ve – we’ve – all really tried hard.” “And you’ve been a big help to them, I bet,” Dad said. “What with all your professional training.” “Not really,” I told him. “Although it is fun getting them to all act and move around the stage like a chorus. Plus Mr Petrelli is a good singing teacher. We sound pretty good now. Even I can carry a tune if I try hard. I’ve enjoyed being part of a group – a team.” “A pretty wacky team,” Dad said, referring to the ankle-length raincoat I’d borrowed from Mum. Anne-Marie, me and Nydia were both adamant that the whole choir should turn up in our costumes, and pack their uniforms in case of a Mr Petrelli meltdown. But the rest of the choir weren’t coming on the tube.
