Bryony Bell Tops the Bill (7 page)

The toast was spread thickly with a lumpy brown substance studded with pink and orange sugary shapes, and Melissa had a rather odd expression on her face as she ate.

‘…though you'll find we don't actually need mango chutney or crystallised fruits at breakfast,' Bryony observed.

Melissa paused mid-bite, peered through her fringe at the toast, then continued to eat in bemused silence.

‘So when is this performance you're starring in, Bryony?' Melody asked through a mouthful of cereal. ‘Some little school thing, is it?'

Bryony reached for the crystal flower-vase and poured milk from it into her tea. ‘It may be a “little school thing”, Melody,' she told her, ‘but you mark my words — it's going to be a groundbreaking “little school thing”.'

‘And you're the star?' Emmy-Lou asked, gazing at Bryony with eyes like big blue plates. She turned to Melody. ‘But Bryony can't sing…' she said quizzically. ‘Can't be a star if you can't sing, sure you can't?'

Bryony swallowed a few mouthfuls of cereal and rose from the table just as Big Bob came in with Little Bob at his heels.

‘All right if I leave the washing-up this morning, Dad?' she asked. Melissa and Melody and Emmy-Lou's mouths opened in unison, but Big Bob winked and nodded.

‘No problem, Bryony,' he said. ‘Special dispensation this week — your dad'll do your duties for you. Least he can do!'

And, to a chorus of That's not f-a-i-r', Bryony marched haughtily out.

* * *

At the gates of Peachtree Primary, Abid was waiting nervously.

‘All set, Abid?' Bryony said, giving his big arm a gentle punch, and Abid wheezed and nodded in reply. He appeared to have lost the power of speech. ‘Come on then,' Bryony went on, pulling him by the sleeve, ‘to the staffroom, before it fills up. You know what they say, — “The early bird catches the worm”!'

The ‘worm', in the shape of Mrs Quigg, was the only teacher in place at that time of the morning, and when Bryony knocked she called ‘You may enter!' and glared over her little half-moon spectacles at her.

‘Might Abid and I have a quick word, Mrs Quigg?' Bryony said, as calmly as she could.

‘If it's about the ‘Swan' part, Bryony,' Mrs Quigg said wearily, picking up a large mug of coffee and taking several slugs, ‘I shall be extremely annoyed.'

Bryony paused. You had to hand it to her, she thought — Mrs Quigg was one sharp lady.

‘Well…' she began. ‘It is, and it isn't…'

At this, Mrs Quigg rolled her eyes heavenward. For a moment, Bryony thought she was going to shout at her. But instead she
did something far, far worse.

‘You, Bryony Bell,' she said tremulously, ‘do not understand the artistic soul. You are simply unable to appreciate the months of creative work that went in to writing
The Ugly Duckling.'
She withdrew a crumpled handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her nose and eyes. ‘The pain,' she continued, ‘the heartache, the burning of the midnight oil …

‘And you …' Mrs Quigg struggled to her feet and pointed a trembling finger at Bryony, ‘… you would ruin it! You would trample the fruits of my labour under your feet! You would burst my bubbles, bring my dreams tumbling down…'

Abid, who had crept into the staffroom behind Bryony, took a few steps towards Mrs Quigg.

‘You wrote the play, Mrs Quigg?' he said, in tones of wonder. Mrs Quigg blew her nose and nodded.

‘And the songs?' Bryony gasped.

Mrs Quigg nodded again.

‘Wow!' exclaimed Abid.

‘Awesome!' breathed Bryony.

‘And I don't mind telling you both,' Mrs Quigg went on, a little more calmly, ‘that I consider
The Swan Song
to be my
tour de force.'

Bryony and Abid exchanged puzzled looks.

‘My crowning achievement,' Mrs Quigg explained. ‘The minute I found that swan costume in the Oxfam shop, I was inspired. It spoke to me.'

She sighed, slumped back down on her chair, and took a few more gulps of coffee.

‘To see Abid wearing it, and singing so divinely,' she went on, ‘means more to me than words can say…'

There was a long and awkward silence, then Bryony spoke.

‘I'm really, really sorry, Mrs Quigg,' she said. ‘I never wanted to ruin the play. I wanted to make it better. It's a brilliant play, and I think it's just wicked that you wrote it—'

Bryony stopped, mid-sentence, and stared. She could hardly believe her eyes. Abid, without a hint of a wheeze or a cough, was stepping boldly right up to the music teacher and putting a large hand on her shoulder.

‘We're with you all the way, Mrs Quigg,' he said, looking at her steadily. ‘Why don't you come to the hall with us? Just keep an open mind — please?'

They both looked imploringly at Mrs Quigg.

‘We've been burning the midnight oil too,' Bryony said, coming to stand opposite Abid. They each slipped a hand under the teacher's
arms and eased her up.

‘We've got artistic souls too, Bryony and me,' Abid added unexpectedly, steering Mrs Quigg gently in the direction of the door.

Much to their surprise and relief, Mrs Quigg allowed herself to be led out of the staffroom and along the corridor to the hall, where Bryony and Abid sat her down at the piano.

‘Give us three minutes to get ready, Mrs Quigg,' whispered Bryony. ‘Then play the introduction to the Swan Song.'

Like someone in a hypnotic trance Mrs Quigg sat, hands hovering above the piano keys, gazing up at the empty stage.

‘We've got a bit of a
tour de force
too,' explained Abid, lifting the piano lid and setting
The Ugly Duckling
music in position.

‘So prepare to be blown away.'

On the night of
The Ugly Duckling
show, the hall of Peachtree Primary was filled to maximum capacity. Mrs Quigg, nicely done up in a high-collared white blouse and with her curls an interesting shade of blue, played a medley of
Ugly Duckling
songs to get everyone in the mood as they settled into their seats.

In the front row sat Big Bob, Angelina, Melody, Melissa, Emmy-Lou, and Clarissa with Little Bob on her lap. Mrs Ashraf, looking more elegant than ever in a lavender and gold salwar kameez, was sandwiched between Clarissa and Dr Ashraf, both of whom took up rather more than one seat. Everyone was full of excited anticipation, although the little Bell girls were careful not to appear too keen. Their icy feelings had all but defrosted, but there was still a bit of a nip in the air.

From time to time, Big Bob would dab the perspiration off his brow and dart worried
glances at his family. Something was weighing heavily on his mind. Alter tea that evening he had taken Bryony to one side and, without a word, had led her to the potting shed. Bryony, bewildered, had watched the door swing slowly open and when she saw what was sitting inside she had been quite unable to speak.

‘I couldn't do it, Bryony,' Big Bob had said at last. ‘I know it was wrong of me, but the longer I stood in the queue at the Post Office the more I thought I just couldn't hand them over. Tonight's your big night, and I'd never forgive myself if you didn't have your Vipers …

‘I've the wrapping all ready, lass, and as soon as the show's over they go straight back in the box and away. There's still two days' approval, and one performance won't harm them.'

Bryony had not known what to say. The Viper 3000s, sitting on top of their box, looked even whiter and ligher and shinier than she remembered — and she was going to wear them, one last time, for
The Swan Song!
It was too much to take in.

‘Now don't you worry, Bryony,' Big Bob had told her as he handed her the Vipers. ‘You just do your very best — and if there's any trouble, your Dad'll take the flack.'

‘OK, Dad,' Bryony had whispered at last, cradling the skates. ‘I'll give it my all.'

* * *

The blue velvet stage curtains twitched open to reveal a very small boy wearing a shiny grey suit and red bow tie. Jeremy, who had fallen off the log so often that his mother had filed an official complaint, had had his frog suit taken from him and been given the important job of Master of Ceremonies and Narrator.

‘Good evening, ladies, gentlemen and children,' he announced carefully, ‘and welcome to our show. It's called
The Ugly Duckling
and …' He looked down desperately.

‘We hope you …' came Mrs Quigg's stage-whisper.

‘We hope you will enjoy it,' Jeremy finished with a sigh of relief. Then he side-stepped off with his right arm outstretched, and as he did the curtains swished open to reveal the first scene where the farmyard animals were telling each other about the strange egg that was about to crack.

Next came the part by the lake and the frogs' log. Mrs Quigg played the opening bars of the Frogs' Chorus with gusto, and they all began to sing. And when Bryony made her entrance as the Ugly Duckling and the frogs bounced up and down and laughed at her, there was no risk of anyone falling off the log, for Abid had been persuaded to don
Jeremy's green Lycra and sit at the end, acting as balast.

This part, as hoped, brought the house down, and when it was over the audience applauded with vigour. There were a number of other songs as the Ugly Duckling was made to feel more and more miserable, and at last it was time for the winter scene. The lights dimmed and a big white sheet, cunningly concealed behind the log, was carefully unrolled and draped over everything to create the impression of snow. Two little girls dressed as snowflakes tiptoed on and scattered white glitter, and above it all Jeremy's voice told how the Ugly Duckling had hidden itself away, unable to bear the constant humiliation. It was all very poignant.

‘But when the spring came, and the snow melted …' Jeremy went on, pausing to let the snowflakes skip back in and remove the sheet, ‘… something very strange, and very wonderful, happened …'

One by one all the frogs except Abid hopped back onstage and repositioned themselves on the log. Then the lights came on, bathing everyone in a beautiful rosy light. Mrs Quigg glanced up to make sure the stage was set, then played the rippling introduction to
The Swan Song
.

And then, like a smoothly shimmering dream, Bryony Bell made her entrance.

Never, as Clarissa said afterwards, was an entrance so entrancing! The whole hall seemed to take a big breath and hold it as the swan glided in balanced on one leg with the other held out behind her, straight as a die. The huge swan costume had been well and truly redesigned by Abid's mother who, happily accepting the challenge, had removed its feathers and had attached them to a sparkling-white bodice onto which she had sewn a silver-sequined swan. The sleeves were long and tight-fitting and culminated in white feathery cuffs that wafted delicately about as Bryony sped across the stage; and in her hair there nestled a feathery silver-and-white tiara, which glistened under the lights.

More gracefully and silently than ever a swan swam, Bryony floated round the stage and past the frog log, where she stopped, turned on one foot, and rotated faster and faster with her head flung back.

Then, skating backwards to the edge of the stage so fast that everyone in the front row gasped and lifted their feet onto their chairs, she went into a spin dangerously near Mrs Quigg's head, to finish with both arms in the air, as still as a statue. Practising the routine in Abid's
marble hall with her old skates had been wonderful — but being on a wooden stage with the Vipers was quite out of this world. There was no resistance at all. It was like skating on air.

For a moment Bryony paused and surveyed her audience, then pushed off again to centre stage where she sank down on the blue cloth lake and inclined her head to one side, looking into the wings. Automatically everyone in the audience followed her gaze, and then the first strains of Abid's song rang out more purely and clearly and confidently than ever before.

I look at my reflection
, Abid sang,

And it looks back at me

And what I see there in the lake

Is what I want to see

Mrs Quigg played a few little tinkly bars during which Bryony took a last lingering look at herself in the blue cloth, unfolded her legs, and stood up. As the next verse was sung she circled the log, giving each frog in turn a little pat. At rehearsal, Bryony had argued the case for banging all their heads together, but Mrs Quigg had warned her she had to ‘chastise them with decorum' for fear of more complaints from parents.

I had such dowdy feathers
, Abid's voice rang out,

You laughed and laughed at me

But now I'm very beau-ti-ful

As you can plainly see…

During the next tinkly bit, Bryony skated round to face the audience. As Abid sang the last verse, she looked all along the front row and smiled at each member of her family in turn, noting happily that every one of them smiled back at her in utter admiration.

And so here is my message
, Abid trilled,

Don't ever try to hide

Just hold your head up, show the world

The ‘swan' you've got inside!

Bryony turned to the logful of frogs and they all got up, gripped her round the knees, and hoisted her high above their heads. All around them, the stage began to fill as farmyard ducks and goats and geese and chickens filed in, and when the whole cast was on stage everyone sang the last verse again, very slowly and loudly. As they did they joined hands to form an arch through which Abid, his frog mask under his arm, made his entrance and modestly bowed.