Read Online Star Crazy Me by Jean Ure - Free Book Online Page B

do you a peppermint tea. I think you’ll find it very refreshing.”
    While she was out of the room I took theopportunity to examine some of the photographs and posters. The photographs mostly seemed to be of the same person, starting off young and gradually getting older. In some she was dressed up like for a performance on stage; others were studio portraits. (I think that is what they are known as.) All very dead glamorous, though she wasn’t ever pretty; and in lots of them she was wearing fur . I hate when people wear fur!
    The posters were theatrical ones, advertising operas. La Bohème and La Traviata and stuff. Then there were the names of singers, and one name which appeared in all of them: Liliana Pruszynski. So I guessed that this weird old woman must once have been famous, which accounted for the way she dressed, and the way she spoke – terribly grand and sure of herself.
    I went back and peered more closely at the photographs, and in some of the later ones I could just about see the resemblance – she hadn’t yet become prunelike and withered. But definitely it was the same old woman.
    I heard her returning with the tea and hastily perched myself on the edge of one of the pale green chairs.
    â€œThere you are… peppermint tea. Made with fresh-picked mint.”
    It had leaves floating in it. I wondered what I was supposed to do with them.
    â€œGive them a few minutes, then just take them out and put them in the bowl. Have you not had mint tea before? It’s a good habit. You can grow the mint yourself – indoors, in a pot, if you have no garden. You should ask your mother to get some.”
    Yeah, I could just picture Mum’s face if I suggested we started drinking peppermint tea! Come under the heading of “cranky”, that would. Mum’s into her tea in a big way. She likes it deep dark brown and bitter. Horrible, if you ask me, but it’s what she’s used to.
    â€œSo, my dear…” The old woman settled herself in the chair opposite. The chair was so big, and she wasso small, she practically disappeared. “Why are you not in school?”
    I thought, Here we go . Carelessly, I said, “It’s half term.”
    â€œAlready?”
    â€œYup.” I nodded. “We have two weeks.”
    Terrible how the lies can just pour out of you. But come Monday it would be half term, so it wasn’t such a big lie as all that. In any case, what business was it of hers?
    â€œWhich school do you go to? It can’t be Holy Cross, I know they’re not on half term yet. It must be Ravenspark.”
    I toyed for a moment with the idea of making up a name, but I wasn’t quick enough. By the time I’d got my brain into gear, she was off again. “I understand you’re going to be putting on some kind of talent contest later in the term. For aspiring pop stars?”
    She cocked an eyebrow at me. I muttered, “Yeah.” How did she know about it?
    She smiled, as if reading my thoughts. “Believe it or not, I was asked to be one of the judges, but oh, my dear, what do I know of pop music? It’s for the young. Like you! I take it you’ll be entering?”
    â€œMm-mm.” I shook my head.
    â€œNo? Why ever not? I would have thought it was right up your street.”
    I didn’t say anything to that; I didn’t want to talk about the talent contest. I busied myself fishing leaves out of my cup and flobbing them into a dinky little green bowl. Everything was green. The cups were green. The tea was green.
    â€œYou do have a very good voice, you know.” She leaned forward and ever so delicately picked up her tea cup. She had a lot of style, in spite of being so ancient. “Well, you obviously do know, don’t you? How could you avoid knowing? No one has a voice of that quality without realising they’ve been given a very special gift.”
    That melted me, I have to admit. But then she had