Bryony Bell Tops the Bill (2 page)

It wasn't so bad, Bryony thought, being the only non-singing Bell girl — not when you had a brilliant dad who bought you mega-brilliant rollerskates. But, it was simply out of the question to ask that brilliant dad to buy you anything else…

Bryony took a deep breath. Time to take the bull by the horns.

‘You know the play I'm in at school, Mum?' she said, leaning over to wipe a stray yolk dribble fom Clarissa's chins.

‘The one you're playing the lead in?' Clarissa said promptly. ‘Like the family motto says,' she beamed at Bryony, “always a Bell at the top of the bill”. You mark my words, Bryony — you'll shine at something, even if it isn't singing.'

Bryony wrinkled her nose. The play was another sore point. ‘Anyway, Mum,' she said, not wanting to dwell on it, ‘we're getting a disco after the last performance; it's going to be s-o-o-o-o-o cool. So …' She gritted her teeth.

Her mother read her mind.

‘You after a new dress, Bryony, love?'

Bryony nodded, but her mother shook her head sadly. ‘Sorry, Bryony — absolutely out of
the question. Your dad and I are going to have to spend every last penny in the Special Expenses Account on costumes for the little 'uns for
TV Family Star Turns
.

‘It's the most important performance ever, Bryony,' she said, eyes glowing. ‘The whole nation's going to see
The Singing Bells
for the very first time. And if we get the most votes, there's a recording contract and £50 000 in it. Just think of that!'

Bryony felt a guilty little shockwave zing up her back. She had never thought about
The Singing Bells
needing new outfits. And neither, evidently, had Dad. She felt her face glow red, right to the roots of her hair.

‘But everybody's going to have new clothes ‘cept me …' she began, then her voice faded away hopelessly. How could she even have thought of asking?

Clarissa was not listening. She gazed into the distance, hands outstretched, oblivious to the crumbs and drips of yolk she was shedding on to the duvet cover.

‘Just imagine it Bryony,' she murmured in a dreamy whisper, ‘Angelina and Melody and Melissa, and Emmy-Lou and me, all singing on the telly together, and then the public phoning in and voting. Makes me wobbly to think of it! We've got to look just right.

‘I fancy pink and sparkly myself,' she said decisively, ‘but that kind of thing doesn't come cheap as you well know, and money — as ever — is as tight as a badger's bottom.'

She clinked the teacup onto the saucer with a note of finality.

‘You'll just have to wear the blue one with the sailor's collar. Matches your eyes and sets off your hair.'

‘But Mum,' Bryony wailed despite herself, ‘the blue one's been handed down to Angelina!'

Clarissa wiped her mouth on the lace-trimmed napkin and replaced the eye mask. ‘Well, it'll just have to be handed back up again,' she said grimly, pulling the duvet up round her chin to indicate that breakfast, and the audience, was well and truly over.

Bryony gathered up the tray and plodded back downstairs with a heavy heart. Of course she couldn't have a new dress. Of course it was far more important that
The Singing Bells
looked just right.

Of course it was. But still, it was a crying shame.

* * *

‘Want a lift to school, Bryony, love?' Big Bob asked as she reached the hall.

Bryony shook her head. ‘Not today, thanks, Dad — I'll go on my old rollerskates.' She took
hold of Big Bob's arm and steered him away from the front door, where the rest of the family had assembled ready to be transported to their various destinations.

‘Dad?' she whispered worriedly, ‘can we really afford the Vipers?'

Big Bob laughed and ruffled her hair. “Course we can!' he said. ‘What else have I got to spend money on than my special princess?'

Bryony swallowed. ‘Costumes for
TV Family Star Turns?'
she said quietly, looking at her feet.

Big Bob's jaw dropped.

‘Oh my goodness, Bryony!' he gasped. ‘It never crossed my mind.'

‘They have to have costumes, Dad,' Bryony said. ‘And Mum says money is as tight as a badger's bottom.'

Big Bob's bald patch blushed bright crimson. ‘Well now,' he said, giving a little cough, ‘I wouldn't put it quite like that but …' He sighed and put a hand on Bryony's shoulder as though she might be about to fall. ‘Perhaps under the circumstances, Bryony, love, we'll have to return the Vipers for the time being.'

Then, looking utterly crestfallen, he turned towards the door, shooed the little Bells into the van and swept Little Bob up and under his arm. Bryony clung on to his belt and followed him, the full horror of what was about to happen suddenly hitting home.

‘But Dad …' she said, close to tears. ‘I haven't even tried them. I've only skated twice round the kitchen table!'

‘It's a sin, I know,' her father said, sliding the van door closed, ‘but it just can't be helped. We'll discuss it tonight.'

‘It says on the box you can return them after fourteen days if you're not entirely satisfied!' Bryony whispered desperately. ‘Can I not keep them for a bit? I'll not get them scuffed — I'll just use them in my bedroom… please Dad!'

‘All right, Bryony,' Big Bob hissed back at her with a wink, ‘they're yours for a fortnight. But don't breathe a word to the others, mind!'

‘Thanks Dad,' breathed Bryony gratefully. ‘I won't tell a living soul.'

Big Bob opened the driver's door and hauled himself up and in. When he had closed the door he rolled down the window and poked his head out.

‘And mark my words Bryony — one day they'll be yours for keeps,' he whispered under his breath, ‘or my name's not Bob Bell!'

Then, with a cough and a roar and a spray of gravel, he drove away.

* * *

Bryony fetched the Viper 3000s from the airing cupboard and took them upstairs, where she hid them under her bed. Sitting in front of her dressing table mirror, she brushed her long blonde curls vigorously and gathered them into two very pert bunches, each secured with a silky pink and white orchid. She smiled bravely at her reflection; and her reflection smiled bravely back at her, and winked.

It could be worse, she thought to herself. Some people never got to wear Viper 3000s — and she had them for a whole fortnight. And some people didn't even have a handed-back sailor dress to wear to a disco after their school play.

At the thought of the school play Bryony shook her head, got up, and strapped on her everyday black rollerskates. She wasn't even going to think about the school play. That could
really push her over the edge.

Humming tunelessly to keep her spirits up she set off for school, skating sedately along until she reached the end of the road. When she had turned the corner and was out of sight of prying neighbours' eyes, she picked up speed. Checking that the pavement was relatively empty, she balanced on the outside edges of her right foot, stretched her left leg straight out behind her, and glided towards the kerb where she jumped, spun in mid-air, and landed with her back to the road. Then, pushing off on her left foot and with her right leg in the air, she executed an elegant curve round the postman, finishing with a forward arabesque.

The postman stopped and watched her in admiration.

‘That's pure genius, Bryony Bell,' he said, putting his bag down in wonder. ‘Poetry in motion, that is. Going to let me see a spin, then?'

‘Sure,' said Bryony. ‘Hang on!' She handed him her schoolbag and skated backwards. Then she stopped, struck a pose with one arm in the air and the other across her waist, and pushed off hard. When she was within a metre of the postman's feet she stretched her arms out wide, moved her right foot in front of her left, snapped her arms against her sides, and spun so fast her
hair looked like a big blonde blur.

When Bryony finally unwound herself, the postman applauded loudly.

‘You're going to be a star, Bryony Bell, and no mistake,' he told her admiringly, handing her back the schoolbag as though it was a gold cup.

‘Thanks,' said Bryony, giving a little bow. ‘I intend to be.'

And she glided down the street, negotiated her way between the schoolchildren milling around outside the school gates, and made her entrance — backwards — into the playground of Peachtree Primary.

For the rest of the week all Bryony thought about was getting home from school to try the Viper 3000s.

Her bedroom carpet was not the best surface for skating, but even on shagpile the Vipers were wonderful. Taking care not to scuff the boots, she worked out a routine in front of the wardrobe mirror and, with one eye on her reflection, practised it to perfection. And every time she took the Vipers off and laid them back in their box, she felt a sharp pang of regret as she thought how little time she had left with them.

On Friday morning she set off sadly for school and, as she always did, scanned the playground for the towering figure of Abid Ashraf. Abid, who was Bryony's closest friend, was possibly the largest boy of his age anywhere in the universe. He was also one of the most solemn. This morning he looked more than usually miserable.

'What's wrong, Abid?' Bryony asked. ‘You do look peaky.'

Abid looked down at Bryony, his brown eyes deeply melancholic. ‘Don't look so perky yourself, Bryony. Anything wrong?'

Bryony shook her head and grinned. ‘Oh, I'm OK,' she told Abid. ‘You know me — nothing gets me down for long!'

The line moved towards the door and Abid followed it, trailing his big feet. Bryony skated behind him, pushing, as she did every morning.

Secretly Bryony was sure that, without her steady pressure, Abid would never ever make it to the boys' cloakroom.

‘It's my asthma, Bryony,' he told her gloomily,
‘and my excema. They're awful just now. I sneeze and itch and wheeze and sneeze and itch and wheeze — and nothing my father gives me does any good!'

‘You'd think having a father who's a doctor would mean you were never ill, but it doesn't seem to work in your case,' Bryony observed. ‘Come to think of it, mine's a joiner and all our doors squeak.'

‘Well, of course you know what's causing it, don't you?' Abid said pointedly.

Bryony nodded. She knew all right. And when she thought about it, she felt another dark cloud descend to add to the ones that hung over the Viper 3000s and the blue sailor dress.

For what seemed like a lifetime, Bryony and Abid's class had been practising their end-of-term musical play,
The Ugly Duckling
. It was to be performed next week and today was the first full dress rehearsal, so as soon as the register had been called they all lined up with their costumes and were marched to the hall. Bryony trailed along at the back, the little dark clouds following her, and Abid trailed even more slowly behind her, looking as though he was going to have all his teeth extracted.

The stage had been transformed into a lakeside scene. There was a vivid blue backdrop with bright green trees and crimson flowers, and
a very yellow sun. A blue cloth had been spread on the floor, with larger-than-life bulrushes growing round its edge and big pink waterlilies arranged on its surface. It all looked most effective.

They were given a few minutes to get into their costumes. In the past weeks Bryony had managed to keep an eye on Abid during this procedure, and had pinned his costume on as best she could, but today Mrs Ogilvie, the class teacher, insisted that boys change on one side of the stage and girls on the other. With a grim expression on her face, and a pincushion attached to her wrist, she had led Abid away into the darkness behind the curtains. Abid looked back, managing a brave smile and a ‘thumbs up' sign. As the lights dimmed, the words ‘lamb to the slaughter' popped into Bryony's head.