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think I’m going to be understudy too long,’ she would say.
    â€˜You’ll be fine, Fay,’ Donald would say, coming over to me and going over the lines with me again.
    When Monica was out of earshot one afternoon I asked him, ‘Why exactly did you pick me, sir? I’m rubbish.’ I whispered the last bit. Didn’t want Monica to know I agreed with her.
    Donald shook his head. ‘You are not rubbish, Fay. Far from it. I think you’ve a quality that suits your name. Fey. One minute I look at you and you’re so quiet and still, and the next, the anger just flashes out and you can be quite scary. That’s the quality I want you to bring to the part.’ He patted my shoulder. ‘You’ll be fine, Fay,’ he said again.
    However, I wasn’t the only one who was having bother. The three witches kept giggling, and Macduff kept tripping over his sword. After one disastrous readthrough Donald had had enough. He clapped his hands together to get our attention. ‘Right, tomorrow after school you’re all staying behind for an extra rehearsal.’
    There was a communal groan.
    â€˜It’ll be too dark, sir,’ one of the boys shouted.
    â€˜We’ll get the girls to see you home, to protect you,’ Donald told him sarcastically.
    â€˜My mum won’t let me stay behind,’ one of the girls said.
    He had an answer for that, too. ‘Permission slips will be sent out to all the parents, or I’ll phone personally. We’ll arrange transport for those of you who can’t get picked up afterwards. A door-to-door service.’
    He glared around us. ‘You really are a bunch of wimps,’ he said.
    Monica smirked at me. ‘Well, some of us are anyway.’
    I should have sniped back at her, ‘You won’t have to stay back, Monica. After all you’re only the understudy. Who needs you?’ But by the time I had thought of itshe’d moved off with her friends, leaving me standing with a red face once again.
    Drew Fraser was watching me and he shook his head and muttered as he passed me, ‘Some Lady Macbeth!’
    I’d show him, I thought. I was going to be so good at this rehearsal that I would shock them all.
    And I did.
    But it had nothing to do with the rehearsal.

Chapter Seven
    Daft Donald spent the first half hour of the rehearsal doing his best to help us understand the plot of
Macbeth
.
    â€˜We know what it is, sir,’ Drew Fraser shouted. ‘Handsome king, mad wife.’ He glanced at me and lifted an eyebrow. ‘Some pantomime witches and a ghost . . . oh, and a couple of murders.’
    Everyone laughed as if he had said something wildly funny. Everyone except me and Donald.
    â€˜Hey, Drew, you’re making it sound interesting,’ someone shouted.
    â€˜You’ve got to understand the mo-tiv-ation, Drew,’ Donald spoke slowly and carefully as if Drew was an idiot. Which, of course, he was. ‘If you understand the mo-tiv-ation of the characters, why they behave as they do, then you will understand the words . . . the beautiful words.’
    It was the ‘beautiful words’ I had the most trouble with. Why couldn’t they just talk like real people? All that wouldst, and shouldst. No wonder I could never remember what I was supposed to say.
    When it came to my first scene I could tell Donald was getting fed up with me. And not only Donald. Monica kept chipping in: correcting me when I was wrong, cueing me when I hesitated.
    â€˜Shut your gob!’ I wanted to yell at her.
    Finally, Donald drew his hands through his hair in exasperation. ‘Fay, honestly, this is Lady Macbeth’s entrance. It’s a really important scene.’
    â€˜It’s an awfully long speech, sir,’ I moaned. ‘Could you not cut it down a bit?’
    Monica sniggered behind me. ‘If he cuts it down any more you’ll be coming in and saying “Hi,” and walking