Taylah's Got Talent

By Paul Richardson

Taylah Bingham was a naturally gifted girl. She could do almost anything.

She enjoyed school and did well in most subjects. She was more than capable on a sports field and excelled at whatever she played.

But her greatest love was singing.

As a twelve-almost-thirteen-year-old she had a bright future and was expected to be successful in life, regardless of where her interests took her and what pathway she chose.

Taylah lived in Cairns with her mother, her stepfather Mick, and her young half-sister Krissy. Taylah’s own father had died before Taylah had been born.

As her school’s Talent Show loomed Taylah prepared for what her friends predicted would be a winning performance. She rehearsed with her mother, who was also a talented singer. However, when home life became complicated, Taylah encountered challenges far beyond being able to win a talent show.

Thrust into turmoil on the night of the show, Taylah’s world was turned upside down. But she had friends. Good friends, young and old. With their help she was given the chance she thought had been lost.

In the end, it was Taylah’s talent that rewarded those who had faith in her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781716926501

Paul Richardson

Paul Richardson owns and manages a small farm and vineyard in western Spain. He is also the author of Our Lady of the Sewers and Other Adventures in Deep Spain, Cornucopia: A Gastronomic Tour of Britain, Indulgence: One Man's Selfless Search for the Best Chocolate in the World, and Williams-Sonoma Barcelona.

Book preview

Grandad.

CHAPTER 1

Taylah loved it when her mother sang.

Mum’s voice was sweet and silky. She played the guitar like it was part of her. As she sang, her fingers danced over the frets as if her hand and the strings had become one.

As a young child the lullabies and ditties used to have Taylah crying out, More Mummy, more! Her mother would sing. Taylah would listen. After each song, Taylah asked for more. Her mother would sing again. At bedtime her mother also sang to her. No guitar; just whisper-soft tones that helped Taylah’s head sink into her pillow and surrender to sleep.

Now, almost-thirteen, Taylah joined in. She sang the choruses while her mother joined her in harmony. Sometimes they sang favourites. Other times they sang songs her mother had made up. Sometimes the songs were nonsense verse. Other times they were sweet ballads.

While she didn’t understand the meanings, often she would join in as her mother sang in a traditional language of the Kareldi people.

Taylah often asked, Why didn’t you become a professional singer, Mum?

Taylah was often told, Nah. Who would want to pay a skinny girl from the bush like me?

Taylah would often reply, You are not skinny! And I would pay you.

Taylah would often get teased, So what are you gunna pay me with Girlie? I definitely would be skinny if I had to live off your pocket money.

Taylah loved the repartee.

When her mother had moved in with Mick, there was less singing time. There was even less when Krissy was born. However, while there were a few months when her mother focused on the new baby, and while the increasing fights between her mother and Mick were a distraction, there were still moments like this, when mother and daughter sat at the kitchen table and sang together.

This song was about Krissy. Mum sang low. Taylah sang high. She found it easy to reach the notes and often sang an octave higher than she needed. Krissy could barely walk, but she could dance. Her soft legs seemed to be sprung at the knees. Her disposable nappy wobbled on her hips. Her hands came together in a clap motion. The tangles of her dusty blonde hair wobbled as she pranced about.

Mum pulled her hand down across the strings and slapped the polished timber on the guitar. The song was over.

Krissy called out, More Mamma more! She called out again, More Tay-wah more!

Taylah hugged her mother. She said, You are the best singer ever Mum!

Her mother said, I don’t think so. I know at least one person who is better than me.

Taylah leaned back. Who?

Her mother smiled. She said, You. You are better than me.

Taylah disagreed. Aw, no I am not! You are way better!

Taylah added, But one day, I want to be the best singer in the entire world!

He mother frowned.

Taylah asked, What?

He mother said, You know what I think about things like that.

Taylah shrugged, Yes. I know. I just need to be the best I can be. It doesn’t matter if anyone else is better.

Krissy said, Mamma poo! Mamma, Kwissy done a poo!

Taylah screwed up her face. Taylah’s mother leaned the guitar up against the table leg. She stood. She reached down to Krissy, put her hands under her armpits and lifted her in an arc above her head. Krissy squealed. Taylah’s mother said, Looks like the concert is over. Seems our number one fan has done a number two in her duds!

CHAPTER 2

Taylah Bingham!

Taylah’s name was always called second. Anthony Aldridge was first.

Taylah walked to the front of the room. Miss Scricha handed over the assignment. Taylah gave a slight nod and a hint of a curtsey. She said, Thank you Miss. She turned and walked back to her seat.

Taylah placed the stapled pages on her desk. She fell into her chair.

Relief.

At the top of the front page, near the assignment title, there was a large red A. It had a swish-of-a-pen circle around it. Taylah smiled. She knew she had written a good story and now, the teacher’s rating had confirmed this. Taylah slid out her desk-drawer. She pushed the assignment in, like it was a letter sliding into a letter box. She nudged the drawer closed with her palms.

She heard, Hey Taylah! What did you get?

Behind her.

A whisper. No, louder than a whisper, but most likely meant to be a whisper.

Taylah turned. Renee Rodriguez held her own test paper high. She pointed at the top of the front page. There was a large red A+ beside her assignment title. It too was inside a hastily scribbled red circle.

Renee challenged Taylah, Well, what did the teacher’s pet get for her assignment?

Taylah felt her face flush. She retaliated. I am not the teacher’s pet! She added, And I got an A.

Renee pretended to giggle. Only an A? I thought you were the best storywriter in the class. Looks like you are not. Perhaps my A Plus means that I am!

Taylah turned back to face the front. She slid her desk-drawer in and out, and in and out. She was angry. Not because Renee Rodriguez had a higher grade. Taylah was more than happy with her A, and besides, it didn’t matter what other students had scored. It is not about being the best, it is always about doing your best.

Taylah felt she had done well with this assignment. She was happy she had told the story of Timothy, a lonely and sick turtle. She felt she had created strong characters, and the conclusion she had written was not all about happy-ever-afters. It was a message that promoted the need for a cleaner marine-environment for all sea creatures, not just turtles. The teacher had liked it enough to grade it as an A. So, it didn’t matter to her what other students scored, especially Renee Rodriguez.

Miss Scricha interrupted Taylah’s thoughts. She had passed out the last of the assignments and was making general comments to the class. She told the group she was happy with the general standard of writing submitted. She had concluded that most of the students in the class must have paid attention in her English lessons. The teacher congratulated those who scored highly. Then she added, Taylah, as usual, your writing was good, but as I had just read Renee’s story about Timothy the sick turtle before yours, I was a little disappointed. What you wrote was almost identical. Maybe next time you will try to be original and not copy other student’s ideas. Then perhaps, you too may get A Plus.

Taylah was crestfallen. What did the teacher mean? Her story about Timothy was original. It had been her idea. How could Miss Scricha have accused her of copying?

Taylah turned and sneered at Renee. Renee grinned. She wrinkled her nose and poked out her tongue. Taylah tried to cut into Renee with her eyes. Taylah whispered. No, louder than a whisper, but it had been meant to be a whisper. You stole my story. I shared my ideas with you last week. You said they were stupid. Then you went ahead and copied them. You are a literary thief!

The teacher called from the front of the classroom. Her voice was high-pitched and aggressive, Taylah Bingham! Turn around and face the front! Stop being so rude!

Miss Scricha added, Obviously, you are jealous. You will not improve your writing by being jealous.

Taylah felt her face get warmer. She raised her hand and her voice. She protested, "But Miss, Timothy the Turtle is my. . ." She was cut off.

Enough young lady! Stop calling out. I don’t know what has gotten into you lately.

Taylah spoke back. Nothing has gotten into me. I am just saying Renee copied me. I didn’t copy her.

Miss Scricha’s response was vexed. She yelled across the front rows. Why, you are an ungrateful little miss! Because of your attitude you can stay back during recess tomorrow for detention. And while you are here, perhaps we can discuss whether your assignment should remain at an A or whether it should be re-graded back to a B, or a C!

The school bell rang.

The teacher lowered her voice. Calmly, she said Okay class, I will repeat. Overall, your results were good. Next English lesson you will receive your next assignment. It will be due a few days after that. Good afternoon class.

Collectively the students chanted, Good afternoon Miss Scricha!

Chairs scraped. Children stood. Desk-drawers opened. Things were shuffled about as personal belongings were collected. As if syncopated, drawers banged as they closed.

Above the burble of movement, the teacher raised her voice, Children! I forgot to give you a message. Students froze in their spots and looked toward the teacher. Miss Scricha shouted, For those who may be interested in entering this year’s School Talent Show, nomination forms are available from Miss Accapela at the music room. She wants you to collect them on your way out this afternoon. Don’t forget to get a parent to sign your nomination. Oh, and nominations are due in by Friday this week.

Taylah usually met up with Shareez after class so they could walk home together, but this afternoon she waited back. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to dig a big hole and climb into it. She was angry. She was embarrassed. Why had she been given detention? Why did her teacher accuse her of being a cheat? She needed to think about how she would respond to the accusation. For now, however, all Taylah wanted to do was go home. Arms folded, head held high, and last out, she left the room.

Near the bag storage shelves, a group of children had gathered in a loosely formed circle. Shareez stood in the centre of the group. Taylah collected her school bag. She listened.

Nick de Bruin told the children about his assignment grade. Nick was considered the class clown. He found great pleasure in making his classmates laugh. He was slightly taller than the other children. Nick’s South African accent was noticeable. As he spoke his papers waved above people’s heads. Hey, I got a D. But it’s okay, because, when I give the assignment to Ma, I will tell her the D stands for Distinction! That should get me a few bucks from the old girl. She will be so proud. I reckon I will get at least twenty.

Shareez asked Nick, But what happens when your mother finds out you did not get a Distinction?

Nick was philosophical. Ah, Ma will probably try to give me a good hiding. He added, But it is okay. I will have spent the money before that happens.

Some of the children laughed.

Renee Rodriguez, who was in the circle directly in front of Taylah, redirected the conversation. She asked, Shareez, what will you be doing for the Talent Show?

Shareez smiled.

She said, This.

Shareez motioned children to spread out and allow her space. They did. Shareez demonstrated the moves she would use when she performed a traditional Indian dance. Taylah watched Shareez’s arms as they waved above her head. Shareez’s hands curled, and her elbows bent. She lowered her hips but kept her back straight. Her stocky body moved, up and down, and side to side in a swivel-like motion, but her head remained steady. The sheen remained, just above her fringe as her jet-black hair stayed tucked behind her ears. Her dark brown eyes focused on something far away as she stared out through the group. Shareez stopped. Children clapped.

Nick de Bruin whistled. He said, Shareez, you are a cool dancer. The parents will love your act at the Talent Show. He added, "But you have no chance against my jokes and funny