Billie's Big Audition. Kimberly Wyatt

with the usual mix of workers from the nearby industrial estate and mums with their toddlers.

      Her mum was wearing her normal cafe ‘uniform’ of jeans, T-shirt and black apron with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. ‘Any news, love?’ she asked, adding a sprig of watercress to a cheese sandwich.

      ‘No.’ Billie sighed. Today was the day WEDA were letting people know if they’d passed their audition. She fished her phone from her apron pocket. No new notifications. She went back into the kitchen and headed over to the sink. There was no point getting her hopes up. In the two months that had passed since the audition, she’d become convinced she hadn’t got in. The only things she could seem to remember were the things that had gone wrong. Having no shoes, the way Cassandra had outshone her in the group dance, Miss Murphy overhearing her saying, ‘What if you’re not good enough?’ Billie’s face still burned at the memory.

      She started rinsing the last of the dirty breakfast plates. Out in the cafe she heard her mum humming the tune to ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’. Billie wished she were somewhere over the rainbow, in that place where dreams really did come true, instead of scraping congealed egg off plates. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.

      It’s probably not them, she told herself as she dried her hands.

      But it was a message from WEDA. The title of the email was: Your recent audition.

      Billie stared down at the screen. The second she opened the email she would know her future for sure – and the grain of hope she’d been clinging to would be gone. Her hands started trembling. She couldn’t open this on her own. She headed back into the cafe.

      ‘Mum . . .’

      Her mum turned and looked at her. ‘Yes, love . . . Oh my God, have you heard?’

      Billie nodded.

      ‘What did they say?’

      ‘I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.’

      Her mum placed her hands on Billie’s shoulders. ‘Do you want me to do it?’

      ‘No, I’ll do it. I just need you to be here.’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Any chance of a refill?’ Tony, one of the cafe regulars called from the other side of the counter, holding out his empty tea mug.

      ‘In a minute, Tony!’ Billie’s mum said, not moving her gaze from Billie. ‘Billie’s just heard from the dance academy. Go on, love, open it.’

      ‘Blimey, this is better than watching Britain’s Got Talent,’ Tony said with a chuckle.

      Billie opened the email and squinted at the screen, barely able to look. Please, please, please, she thought as she scanned the words.

      Delighted to inform . . . offer you a place . . . start date . . . swam before her eyes.

      Billie gasped.

      ‘Have you got in?’ her mum said, shakily.

      Billie nodded, unable to speak.

      ‘You have?’ She grabbed Billie in a hug. ‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it. I knew it!

      ‘She got in!’ she called to the entire cafe. ‘She got in!’

      ‘Brilliant!’ Tony exclaimed and all the other regulars started to cheer.

      Billie leaned against the counter, unable to stop grinning as she tried to take it all in. She read the email again, just to check she hadn’t been dreaming or had misread anything. But it was all there in black and white. She had passed her audition. She had a place at WEDA – one of the top dance academies in the world.

      Her mum rooted around beneath the counter and pulled out a silver gift bag. ‘Congratulations, Billie,’ she said, handing it to her.

      ‘But – how did you know I was going to get in?’

      ‘I always knew you’d do it,’ her mum said, beaming with pride.

      Billie fumbled through the ivory tissue paper inside and pulled out a beautiful pair of brand new ballet shoes in pale rose-pink leather. ‘Mum! How did you afford these?’

      ‘I’ve been saving up my tips for months,’ her mum said.

      ‘Yeah, and who’s your number-one tipper?’ Tony said with a grin.

      ‘That would be you, Tony,’ she replied.

      ‘Thank you!’ Billie said, grinning at him.

      ‘No problem. Now, any chance of a cuppa, or is your number-one tipper going to die of thirst?’

      ‘I’ll get you your cuppa,’ Billie’s mum said, laughing.

      As Billie turned the ballet shoes over in her hands, stroking the satin ribbons, she couldn’t remember ever feeling happier. It was as if she’d stepped out of the cafe and over the rainbow, into that magical place where dreams really did come true.