“Come on, Boleyn. Let’s see what you’ve got,” barked Mandy.

Boleyn put her iPhone into the speaker and stood centre stage, looking small and timid behind the microphone.

I recognised the song immediately; it was Adele’s ‘Someone Like You’. Mandy and I looked at each other and cringed. It was a tough song, even for the best and most seasoned of singers.

Boleyn moved to the mic and looked up, staring straight ahead – confidence transforming her face.

Wow.

Her voice was velvet. She began to sing, and from her little mouth came the voice of an angel. It was breath-taking. Move over Charlotte Church!

Mandy dropped her pencil and grabbed my arm, her mouth hitting the floor. All I could do was stare – stare and listen. Stare as the shy, introverted girl was gone, transformed into the embodiment of confidence, owning the stage and captivating us, the audience. She was outstanding. I had never heard anything so beautiful.

Beside me, I heard sniffling, and saw the janitor had stopped her cleaning of the studio to watch with tears streaming down her cheeks, mesmerised by the timid little Boleyn girl lighting up the room.

I had found my Fantine, and Boleyn had found her passion, and by the looks of it, the key to her salvation. She looked so… happy.

The song ended and silence descended on the room. Boleyn, once again head-down and trembling, asked softly, “Ms. Munro, was that okay?”

I walked up to the stage, noticing that the whole time she was watching her shuffling feet. “Boleyn Jones. Where have you been hiding that? You were perfect. Look at me.”

She glanced up shyly.

“You were perfect,” I repeated in all sincerity. She smiled and whispered her thanks.

In my best X-Factor voice, I took her hand and shouted, “Boleyn, with two yeses, you are going through to boot camp! You are my top choice for Fantine!”

Three days later, I posted the cast list, and Boleyn suddenly found she had a new family of friends. Casts are always close, and The Calgary School of Excellence performance crew immediately took her under their protective wing. It was rewarding to see.

Later that afternoon after school, a knock on my classroom door interrupted me from the marking of a million essays on the Black Death that I had to get done by the next day.

As I opened the door, I was greeted by a fifty-something-year-old woman with dark brown hair and a kind smile.

“Ms. Munro?” she enquired.

“Yes, please come in. Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m Mrs Nor–,… erm I mean Mrs. Jones.” she announced, a little flustered.

“Oh, you must be Boleyn’s mother?” I asked, shaking her hand.

“Yes. I really just wanted to come and see you and meet the woman who is changing my daughter’s life,” she said, smiling.

“Excuse me, I don’t understand. You mean me?” I questioned, shocked.

“Ms. Munro, since you came to this school and started working with her she is a completely different person. She smiles. She’s happy, she sings all day, and I didn’t even know she could sing.

“Boleyn doesn’t have an easy time at home, and has to live an unusual and, let’s say, unique life. She moved against her wishes to Calgary two years ago, and has been in two schools already, and hasn’t responded to anyone as she has done to you,” she announced kindly, with a face full of gratitude.

With a lump in my throat I replied, “I don’t know what to say. Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I confided.

Getting up, Pamela took my hand again and pulled me in for a hug. “I know it may be your job, but it's her life and it's got a whole lot better since you came along,” she flattered, patting my hand.

With that, she turned and walked out of the studio. I waited two minutes, and then began shimmying around my classroom with ‘Spice Up Your Life’ playing in my head. I grabbed my bag, and decided to ditch the rest of the marking; this called for a hot tub celebration!

As I headed to the door, I punched a Breakfast Club-style arm up in the air, and with a loud shout of, “She shoots, she scores!” ran to my Smart car, eager to tell all to the other Oink Fairy.

Chapter 6

The beginning of the Tudor reign

Les Miserables was shaping up to be the best production I had ever put on, and I couldn’t have been happier, but the stupidly long hours and huge pressure made me look forward to the October break like I’d never looked forward to a holiday before.

With only getting a week off school, I had decided not to go home for a visit – it took me four bloomin’ days to beat the jet-lag anyhow – so I planned to have a nice chill-out week in Calgary, all kicked off with a night on the razz with Tink.

I arrived home at five o’clock after finishing some paperwork, and I was excited as hell for a good night of drinking. Tink was at the restaurant and wouldn’t finish until ten that night, and I was to meet him there, prepped and ready to go.

In true Geordie style, the beauty regime had started the previous night with a soak in the bath for about an hour, using a good exfoliating brush to get my skin as smooth as Bruce Willis’ head. I’d then applied fake tan, a Natasha Munro-trademark three times, to make sure I was totally tan-tastic, although the outside observer may say that I resembled a recently creosoted fence. Yes, my sheets were completely ruined, but vanity costs, people!

So, the perfect night-out colour achieved and a large glass of pinot grigio in hand, I concentrated on meticulously curling both my hair and my 18-inch clip-in hair extensions; applying lots of helpings of bronzer; gluing two layers of fabulous strip lashes firmly in place (anymore and your eyelids will struggle to function, believe me); sticking on nails like talons; adding a thick coat of scarlet red lipstick; and finally, whacking on the shortest dress I owned and the highest sky-scraper heels you can imagine! I was good to go.