Read The Secret Hen House Theatre for Free Online

slumped on the sagging Victorian sofa and picked at the torn gold brocade. “I can’t believe he won’t let us have the loft. It would have been so amazing to enter the festival. He never even uses it! I bet he hasn’t been up there for years.”
    Lottie wandered over to the mantelpiece and picked up one of the ornate silver candlesticks. “Wow, it’s really heavy. Are they real silver?”
    “Oh, be careful with those,” said Hannah. “They were my great-granny’s.”
    Lottie put the candlestick back. “Why did your dad get so mad just now? I didn’t think he’d go that crazy just because you asked to use the loft.”
    Hannah shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s weird. He’s so moody at the moment. He hates the new landlord. That always sets him off on one. But I never mentioned the landlord, did I?”
    Lottie drew in her breath sharply.
    “What?” said Hannah.
    Lottie grabbed Hannah’s arm. “I forgot. I meant to tell you. My mum’s friend – you know, Jeanette, she’s a real gossip – came round last night. And – and I know this can’t be true – but … it’s just … I heard her telling my mum that your new landlord wants todemolish the farm. And build houses on it.”
    Hannah burst out laughing. “Don’t be stupid! He can’t do that – we live here!”
    Lottie’s shoulders relaxed. “I know. I told you it was just a silly rumour.” She dusted off a baby photograph of Hannah. “Look at those fat cheeks!”
    Hannah ignored this. She picked up a picture of her father and grandfather standing outside the granary. They were dressed identically in patched blue dungarees with leather belts. They both had their heads thrown back, laughing. Her dad must have been about fourteen. Shortly after that picture was taken, Grandfather died and Dad left school to take over the farm. Usually the picture made Hannah feel sorry for him, but today she just felt cross.
    “I can’t believe he won’t let us have a theatre. How can I get to be an actress if I can’t do any acting? It’s so rubbish that we don’t do drama at school.”
    “We can’t just give up. Isn’t there anywhere else we could use?”
    “Everywhere’s full of stuff. Animals or machinery or feed. Well, there’s the old stables, I suppose.”
    “They wouldn’t work,” said Lottie. “There’s partitions everywhere.”
    “Anyway,” said Hannah, “they’re right in the middle of the yard. If we tried to turn them into a theatre he’d notice straightaway.”
    Lottie took a breath as if she was going to speak. Then she shut her mouth again. She wandered over to the window sill and drew patterns in the dust with her fingers.
    “What?” said Hannah.
    Lottie hesitated. “It’s just – well, Mum said I could join the Linford Youth Theatre if I wanted. You know, the one Miranda and Emily go to. It’s supposed to be really good.”
    Hannah stared at Lottie.
    “I’d only join if you came too,” Lottie said.
    Hannah shook her head. “I can’t. You know I can’t. You have to pay to join.”
    “My mum would pay for you.”
    Hannah’s voice came out louder than usual, as it always did when she was irritated. “I wouldn’t let her do that. And neither would Dad. And he wouldn’t let me go anyway. Drama is a waste of time, remember? And I have to be home to get the tea ready, you know that.”
    “All right, don’t bite my head off. It was only an offer. It’s your dad you’re mad at, not me, remember?”
    Lottie wiped the dust off a faded photo with her sleeve. Then she frowned and peered closely at it. She took it into the middle of the room and stared at it under the light.
    “What are you doing?” said Hannah.
    “Hannah, what’s that?”
    Hannah looked at the photo. Then she looked at Lottie. How could she be so insensitive?
    “It’s my mum.”
    “I know it’s your mum. I meant, what’s that behind her?”
    Hannah took the faded photograph. Her mother stood in a field, a bucket in one hand and babyHannah