Authors: Iman Sid
‘
The specials range from Tieguanyin (The Iron Goddess) at fifteen pounds a cup to Da Hong Pao (Big Red Robe) at eleven and a half thousand pounds a cup,’ she listed robotically.
What?
! Who in their right mind would pay eleven and a half grand for a cup of tea? I mean, imagine all the things you could buy with that kind of money! I’d not only be able buy back my Mini, but probably buy another two
classic
Minis, too.
‘
No thanks,’ I said, managing to choke out a smile. ‘I think I’ll just have an ordinary Earl Grey, please.’
‘
I’ll have what she’s having,’ Henry added, winking at me.
There was that wink again!
But, just as I’d ordered the tea, my phone started ringing. The caller ID read Murphy Richards.
Why was Murphy calling? What did he want now?
Reluctantly, I picked up.
‘
Good evening, Phoenix. How were your first couple of days at the academy?’
‘
Yeah, good,’ I replied airily. ‘Really interesting.’ Standard reply.
‘
Whereabouts are you at the moment?’
‘
The Tea Garden in Chinatown.’
‘
Fantastic. I’ll see you there in twenty minutes.’
Before I had the chance to ask him why, the phone went dead.
‘Great,’ I breathed out in frustration. ‘That was the fairy godfather on the phone. He wants to meet up in twenty minutes and I have no idea why. What do I do?’
‘
Nothing. Simply relax, drink Earl Grey and pretend you’re in a rural village somewhere in China.’
So, that
’s exactly what I did. I sat back, relaxed and watched as a tea sommelier brought out a tea cart filled with jars containing all kinds of exotic mixtures, which he sniffed, tasted, then mixed into a perfect concoction.
But
twenty minutes later, it wasn’t Murphy who walked through the door. It was Pinkie. And she was headed directly towards me like a raging bull.
Pinkie examined the table for a moment.
‘I think you’ll find you’re sitting at my table. Can’t you read? It’s been reserved,’ Pinkie huffed, pointing at a ‘Reserved’ place card.
There was a silence.
I suddenly realised everyone in the entire room had stopped whatever it was they were doing and turned to watch as the scene unfolded.
This time, I
’m not falling into her trap
, I thought to myself.
But as soon as I stood up to leave, I was blinded by a succession of bright white flashes that caused me to
crash into a nearby tea cart. As the flashes died down, I was just about able to make out a familiar figure – it was Ahmed. I knew it! This was all Murphy’s doing!
A
fter recovering from my temporary blindness, I was deafened by a high-pitched scream that filled my ears. I sucked air through my teeth, my eyes widening in panic as I realised the tea had spilled all over Pinkie.
‘
You idiot! Look what you’ve done! You’ve just spilled caffeine all over my brand new Nicole Farhi! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!’ Pinkie screamed like a spoilt toddler, her face turning a deeper shade of maroon.
I had to get away ASAP.
Before Pinkie had the chance to pounce on me, I legged it out of the Tea Garden and into the street, leaving Henry to pick up his pace in an attempt to catch up behind me.
It was raining outside, but I didn
’t care. There was only one thing on my mind – RUN!
‘
Anna, wait,’ Henry puffed, scooting ahead of me. ‘Slow down.’
It was pouring now, but I just increased my speed
, hoping that the pace I injected into my steps would deter him from following me down the street.
Henry
pulled me into a doorway. ‘Just hold on, will you?’
I took a moment to catch my breath
, tears welling up in my eyes. ‘I can’t believe it,’ I sobbed. ‘I’ve been set up.’
‘
Anna,’ he comforted, his hands on my shoulders, ‘it wasn’t your fault.’
‘
I can’t do this anymore, Henry,’ I said, trying hard to hold back the tears.
‘
Of course you can,’ he said. ‘Look, I know this must be really difficult for you right now. But you can get through this. As long as you know who you are, then that’s all that matters. Fame is just part of the game.’
‘
But that’s exactly it. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m losing myself to the point where I’m actually starting to believe that I
am
Phoenix Valentine.’
Henry paused for a moment.
‘I know who you are. You are Anna Borgström: intelligent, funny, talented... beautiful.’
Now, I
’m a Libra. Flatter me and my defences go down. Especially when I feel about as attractive as Pumba.
‘
You think I’m... beautiful?’ I blushed.
‘
I, um, I...’ Henry mumbled, struggling for words. ‘Look, Phoenix Valentine is just a character,’ he continued in an attempt to change the subject. ‘You need to know who you really are. Otherwise, you’ll lose a lot more than yourself in the process. Stand for nothing, fall for nothing, as they say.’
I nodded, determined to feel determined again.
Henry was right. I was selling my soul to the devil, succumbing to the dark side. In order to remember who I was, I needed to remind myself of the reason I wanted to enter the contest in the first place. It wasn’t just about winning.
It was about revenge.
16
Red Leather, Yellow Leather
WEDNESDAY
, 27th APRIL
As the rays of the early morning sun radiated my bedroom, I couldn’t stop replaying my day with Henry yesterday – sightseeing on a Segway, riding on a tuk-tuk, taking tea at the Tea Garden, Pinkie’s tantrum, being ambushed by paparazzi. It all seemed so surreal in retrospect.
I was still wearing Henry
’s jumper, the lingering scent of his aftershave igniting my senses. I nuzzled it as I daydreamed about his hands on my shoulders in the doorway, the rain beating mercilessly around us.
Whoa! What was I th
inking? This was Henry.
Henry is your friend.
Man, I needed to get out more.
Once I
’d got washed and dressed, the phone rang. It was Mum.
‘
Good morning, darling. How are you?’ Mum carolled.
‘
Tired,’ I mumbled, clearing the tiredness from my throat.
‘
How’s work?’
There was an uncomfortable silence.
Mum and Dad didn’t have a clue about what was happening on my side of the toast. So, I had to think of an answer, and fast.
‘
Oh, you know, the usual,’ I croaked.
‘
Darling,’ she paused for a moment before continuing, ‘is there something you’re not telling me?’
Uh-
oh. Did she know? No, that was impossible. She was all the way in South America. I doubt the British press would have reached that far, surely?
‘
No. I’m fine,’ I lied.
‘
It’s just that your father and I picked up a copy of the
Daily Mail
this morning and couldn’t help noticing a picture of a girl on the front page who looked an awful lot like you. Dad almost choked on his tea when he saw it. But I told him it couldn’t have been you, because, firstly, Phoenix Valentine isn’t your name; secondly, you would never enter the Miss Manners contest; and thirdly, the Tea Garden is one of the priciest places in London.’
‘
Maybe it’s my long-lost twin?’ I joked nervously.
I hated lying to my
mum, but I hated being lectured more. She would probably have a fit if I told her the truth. No job. No money. No car.
‘
Okay, darling,’ she sighed. ‘The main thing is that you’re okay.’
‘
Thanks, Mum,’ I said. ‘Anyway, whereabouts are you and Dad at the moment?’
‘
Bolivia. We’re about to be given a lesson on how to play the panpipes.’
‘
Wow, that sounds exciting! I’ll leave you to it, then. Speak to you soon. Send my love to Dad. And stop worrying. I’m fine.’
As soon as I ended the
call, Felicity burst into the room, holding a copy of the
Daily Mail
and the
Daily Express
.
‘
You’ll never guess what,’ Felicity panted. ‘You’re on the front page of the
Daily Mail
!’ She handed me the paper, pointing to the front page.
I stared at the headline:
Pinkie and Phoenix Fight for a Table
‘
What!?’ I screeched. ‘I was NOT fighting for a table. I was there first. Then she stomped in claiming it was reserved for her!’ I was so angry.
‘
Hideous,’ Felicity said.
‘
I know. But no amount of cosmetic surgery is going to make any difference,’ I hissed.
‘
I was referring to your jumper.’ Felicity smiled, pointing to the picture in the article.
Okay, so I have to admit, I did look a little unkempt: greasy hair, scruffy clothes, no make-up.
‘Look, I wasn’t expecting to be photographed,’ I said.
‘
A little rule of thumb: always expect the unexpected,’ she announced. ‘Especially now that you’re a Miss Manners contestant. I mean, let’s face it, now that you’ve sold your soul to the devil, you’d better start getting used to clicks and flashes. Except, you’re not going to rise from the ashes looking like Bridget Jones. You need to become a trendsetter, which means no more baggy jumpers, saggy trousers and trainers out and about.’
‘
By “trendsetter”, you mean do a Lady GaGa and wear a dress made out of meat?’ I joked.
‘
No,’ she said. ‘I mean you’re an intern at
Couture
, which means you have access to all the latest trends.’
I thought for a moment.
‘Danko,’ I offered. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind letting me borrow some clothes from the
Couture
closet. I can go see him later today.’
‘
Remember, you’re going to be papped a whole lot more after yesterday’s charade,’ warned Felicity, beetling her brows like Groucho Marx. ‘Here,’ she said, handing me a copy of the
Daily Express
. ‘There’s an entire page dedicated to you on page six.’
It felt so odd seeing myself in a newspaper. It was almost like I was seeing myself for the very first time, but through someone else
’s eyes.
Brie the prude entered the academy fashionably late that morning. ‘Good morning, girls,’ she crooned. ‘Today, we will be taking a look at voice, which will include accent, diction, intonation and vocabulary. So, it is with great pleasure I announce that here with us today are dialect coach, Eve Hamilton, and chairman of the Queen’s English Society, Margaret Upton.’
Eve and
Margaret were both sitting behind the table like a pair of hungry dragons. Meanwhile, all the girls looked at me knowingly, whereas Pinkie stared at me as if she wanted to cut me up and serve me to Tinkerbell for dinner.
I looked for a fire exit, but there wasn
’t one.
‘
Now, the first thing we are going to focus on is accent,’ Brie said mellifluously. ‘As you know, first impressions are lasting impressions. It takes just a few seconds for someone to evaluate you when you meet for the first time. And in this short time, the other person forms an opinion about you based on your appearance, body language, demeanour, mannerisms, clothes and accent.’
‘
So what about if you have a French accent like
moi
?’ asked Genevieve.
‘
Well,’ Brie replied, ‘it doesn’t matter whether your accent is foreign or native, it always sounds better refined.’
Brie walked over to the laptop in front of the projection screen and fiddled about with it until a split screen comprising
eight photos of different people appeared.
‘
Now, I’m going to ask you to listen to recordings of each of these people talking, then I want you to match the accents to the pictures you see in front of you.’
I felt like I was in Year
Three, matching words to pictures.
The first
voice we heard was a man speaking in a strong, Russian accent that sounded like a mafia boss.
‘
Can anyone guess who this accent belongs to?’ Brie asked, gesturing towards the photos.
‘
Photo six,’ Pinkie said, pointing at a photo of a rough-looking, burly middle-aged man.
‘
Anymore guesses?’ Brie asked the rest of the group.
The girls stood in silent accordance with Pinkie
’s suggestion.
I bet this is a trick question
, I thought to myself.
‘
Wrong answer.’ Brie smirked, the corners of her lips curling. ‘The correct answer, believe it or not, is photo three.’
Photo
three was an image of a dapper, pristine man in his twenties dressed in a well-cut suit and cravat.
‘
Now, as you can see, the accent clashes with the image. The face of a prince and the voice of a pauper. So, now that you are aware of this young man’s accent, has your perception of him changed in any way?’
‘
Yes,’ chimed Pinkie.
‘
In what way?’ asked Brie.
‘
Bad breeding.’
‘
Interesting.’ Brie raised her eyebrows. ‘Now for the second recording.’
Next, we heard a woman speaking in a refined, velvety French accent.
‘How about this one. Which picture would you match it to?’ Brie asked.
Another trick question.
‘Photo two,’ said Genevieve.
Photo
two was of a beautifully dressed, chic girl in her twenties. Obviously, the group still hadn’t got the hang of this simple game.
‘
Once again, wrong answer,’ said Brie victoriously. ‘The correct answer is photo seven.’
Photo
seven was an image of an unkempt, hay-haired woman in her thirties, who resembled a pre-makeover Camilla Parker Bowles.
After
the group had tried to guess a few more, Brie left the screen and walked back toward the group.
‘
It is safe to say that with impressions come expectations. Although we are told never to judge a book by its cover, unfortunately, in today’s society, we do. So, in order to fit in we must live up to the expectations imposed by society.’
I couldn
’t help thinking that my accent was fitting of my appearance right now, considering I felt like a fresh cowpat.
‘
So,’ Brie continued, ‘we’re going to look at how to adopt an accent to fit a particular image. It’s no good having the face of
Sense and Sensibility
and the voice of
EastEnders
, now is it? For that, I’ll hand you over to our fantastic dialect coach, Eve Hamilton.’ Brie clapped, smiling like a spasmodic fish.
Eve, a not-so-plain woman in her fifties, was wearing a white t-shirt, flowery cardigan, black trousers and a pair of flowery high wedges to match. The whole ensemble was very fifties.
‘Good morning, girls,’ Eve said, as if doing an impression of the Queen. ‘Now, before we start, hands up if you’ve seen
My Fair Lady
?’
Everyone, except for me, put their hands up. Eve frowned at me, a puzzled expression sweeping across her face.
‘You haven’t seen
My Fair Lady
? It’s a classic. It’s like saying you haven’t seen
Gone with the Wind
.’
I hadn
’t seen
Gone with the Wind
, either.
‘
Well, for those of you who
haven’t
seen
My Fair Lady
,’ she continued, her gaze firmly fixed on me, ‘Eliza Doolittle’s accent manages to shift from SE1 to SW1 via the use of speech exercises. So, right now, we shall be relearning the alphabet, as if learning a new language.’ Eve walked over to the laptop, then projected the letter ‘A’ onto the screen. I actually felt like I was in pre-school again.
After a few hours of alphabet agony, Eve
left the laptop and stood in front of us again. ‘Now that we’ve touched on accent, let us take a look at diction. Now, diction is not about changing your accent, but rather
clarity
. And the most commonly used diction exercises are tongue-twisters. Can anyone give me examples of any tongue-twisters?’
Frunella put her hand up excitedly.
‘Yes, Frunella?’ Eve said.
‘
The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain,’ Frunella accented, slower than a snail.
‘
I’m sure Professor Higgins would be very proud,’ Eve said with a smile. ‘But that isn’t actually a tongue-twister. Now, to warm up our tongues, repeat after me, ‘Red leather, yellow leather.’
‘
Red leather, yellow leather,’ the group repeated in unison.
‘
Very good,’ said Eve encouragingly. ‘Now, girls, we’re going to take a look at diction exercises for words containing the following letters...’ A projection shined onto the screen, which she prodded with her long stick. ‘B, D, F, H, J, K, L words, N and U sounds, and P, Q, R, S, T and V words. Starting with B words, repeat after me:
“Betty bought a bit of butter,
but
she found the butter bitter.
So Betty bought a bit of better butter
to make the bitter butter better.”’
Whilst everyone went ahead with the exercise, I attempted to lip sync. Except the plan was flawed because, when Eve came to check, she noticed no sound coming out of my mouth. So I mumbled ‘Betta-botta-bitta-butta’ until she moved on to the next girl.
‘
Now,’ Eve continued, ‘I’ve developed a little technique to help you really articulate those letters. I’ve brought you all a little something.’ Brie unlaced a velvet bag, then placed her hand inside. ‘Gobstoppers.’