Bryony Bell Tops the Bill (3 page)

When Mrs Ogilvie announced that all was ready, Mrs Quigg the music teacher, played three loud notes on the piano and in the semi-darkness two yellow ducklings made their entrances and shuffled about, whispering nervously. Bryony gritted her teeth and pulled her mask over her head.

‘Where is the Ugly Duckling?' Mrs Quigg shouted, playing the cue music again. ‘Where is Bryony Bell?'

Slowly, Bryony waddled on. Like the two
yellow ducklings, she wore a big duck mask and orange tights. Unlike the yellow ducklings, she wore a costume made of grey-brown leathers.

‘You have missed your cue again, Bryony,' Mrs Quigg told her angrily. ‘Remember, you are the star of the show. Now, sing!'

Bryony flapped her grey-brown wings gloomily as the music began, and hung her head down so low that her chin was on her chest.

‘That's right,' said Mrs Quigg happily. ‘Look miserable.'

‘Oh I'm an Ugly Duckling,'
sang Bryony, in a gravelly monotone,

‘And no one wants me near
.
My drab and dowdy feathers
Make all the ducklings sneer!'

The yellow ducklings waddled round the lake, making spitting noises and pointing rudely at Bryony. At the edge of the pond was a log which had been made by covering two benches with painted corrugated paper and artificial flowers. On it sat a line of six children dressed as frogs in green lycra costumes, flippers, and wide-mouthed, large-eyed masks. At this point in the play they all had to nudge one another and laugh at Bryony, which they always did extremely enthusiastically — so much so that,
more often than not, one of them fell off the log. Mrs Quigg had high hopes that as long as they didn't overdo it, this part of the show would bring the house down.

Suddenly something inside Bryony snapped. She pushed her mask to the back of her head, put her hands on her hips, marched to the front of the stage, and glared down at the music teacher.

‘The Ugly Duckling isn't the star part, Mrs Quigg,' she said firmly. ‘The swan is the star part. Please, Mrs Quigg, can't I please be the swan?' And under her breath she muttered, ‘Ducks suck.'

Mrs Quigg sighed. ‘Look, Bryony,' she said, ‘I've told you a dozen times — Abid is the swan. Abid has a lovely big swan voice, Abid knows all
the words of
The Swan Song
and sings it so sweetly it brings tears to the eyes, and Abid never, ever misses his cues.'

She sat down on the piano stool heavily. ‘Furthermore,' she added wearily, ‘Abid is the only person big enough for the swan costume. Now let that be an end to it.' And she played three ferocious chords, just to make the point.

Bryony stood her ground, wondering whether to fall to her knees and plead for the part, which was the only tactic she had not yet used. Everyone knew that Mrs Quigg, unlike Mrs Ogilvie, was open to wheedling, but so far all Bryony's attempts to wrest the swan part from Abid had failed. Finally, as Mrs Quigg continued to thump the piano keys ever more violently, Bryony admitted defeat.

She moved slowly back into her position centre stage and glanced over into the wings where, in the gloom, the huge, white, feathery shape of Abid stood waiting for his entrance. To her horror, she noticed that he had his legs tightly crossed.

‘Cue
The Frogs' Chorus!'
Mrs Quigg yelled. ‘And pick Jeremy up this instant!' She thumped the first bars and the six frogs began to croak in unison. Bryony edged closer to the side of the stage and hissed at Abid, ‘What's the matter?'

Abid sneezed twice, wheezed painfully, and
muttered miserably, ‘I need the toilet Bryony — and she's sewn me in!'

Bryony looked desperately around, but Mrs Ogilvie had temporarily vanished. Below the stage she could see Mrs Quigg's grey curls, bouncing gaily in time to the music. The frogs were well into their stride, bobbing up and down as they croaked.

‘Mrs Quigg!' she called, flapping her stubby little brown wings.

Mrs Quigg, however, was soaring on the wings of song and remained oblivious.

‘Mrs Quigg!' Bryony yelled again. ‘Nature calls! The swan can not make his entrance!'

That was the last straw. With a hysterical roar the music teacher froze mid-chord. Then she slammed down the piano lid, and with a tearful toss of her head flounced out of the hall.

‘YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO GO BEFORE YOU COME!' she shrieked as she made her exit. ‘I can not work with all these interruptions. It's simply ruining my creative flow!'

And she disappeared, leaving the rehearsal in the stouter hands of Mrs Ogilvie who had appeared in the very nick of time.

As soon as Mrs Quigg had gone, the atmosphere on stage eased as Mrs Ogilvie took charge.

‘Take five!' she told them, brandishing the pinking shears in the direction of Abid's seams.

Five minutes later, Bryony and a muchrelieved Abid were sitting together on the frogs' log, waiting to be told what to do next. Abid's abandoned downy-white costume lay at their feet.

‘I can't bear being the swan,' Abid sighed, shaking his head in abject misery. ‘I'm scared I'll forget the words of the song, and I'm scared I'll need the toilet, and I'm scared I'll start to sneeze. They can say what they like Bryony,' he went on miserably, ‘I'm not cut out for show business. I want to be an accountant or a brain surgeon. I just hate people looking at me, you know?'

‘Ironic, isn't it,' Bryony said, nodding sympathetically. ‘I'd just love to be the swan, as
you well know. Makes shivers run down my spine just thinking about making that entrance and singing
The Swan Song
. Except I can't sing.' She sighed deeply. ‘You know, Abid — sometimes it seems to me that you don't get anywhere in this life if you can't sing.'

She gave the grey-brown feathers of her duck costume a swipe. ‘And I just hate this costume,' she growled. ‘Not one ounce of star quality!' Then she ran her fingers through the bright silvery-white swan feathers and gave a shiver of delight. ‘It must be wonderful to wear your one — like being inside a wedding cake!'

Abid shuddered. ‘It's not. It's awful! I can't breathe in the mask, and bits of feather keep wafting up and making me sneeze. That's what's going for my tubes, Bryony — I know it. That and nerves.'

‘Then tell her,' said Bryony, giving Abid's orange knee a little thump with her wing. ‘Tell her you can't be a swan on medical grounds. Tell her you're more suited to a frog part. I would.'

Abid shook his head in misery. ‘I can't, Bryony. She's got her heart set on having a great big swan soprano, and I just can't let her down.'

He gazed down at his huge orange feet. ‘It has to be faced, Bryony — there's no one who can step into my shoes.'

They sat in silence for a while, meditating on
the unfairness of life. Then, in an attempt to cheer Abid up, Bryony said brightly, ‘What are you wearing for the party?'

It had the opposite effect. Abid's head sunk further on to his chest.

‘A green salwar kameez with gold and silver trim,' he told her gloomily, adding by way of explanation. ‘Mum's made it.'

‘Oh,' Bryony said. She couldn't think of anything better than having a mother who sewed beautiful silky clothes with glittery trimmings. ‘Sounds cool to me. Better than last season's sailor dress that smelly Angelina's worn, anyway!'

Abid considered this for a moment. ‘Just between ourselves, Bryony,' he said confidentially, ‘I think it's a bit ostentatious. I'd rather wear a plain grey one, or jeans and a t-shirt. But you know how it is — you can't hurt their feelings, can you?'

Bryony nodded. For a while they sat in silence, watching Jeremy peel off his green lycra. Jeremy was a rather small child and his ‘one-size-fits-all' costume did not cling like the other frogs' did, but hung in wrinkles round his waist and knees. The costumes fastened down the back with velcro and each frog was supposed to help another out and in, but Jeremy had been abandoned and was lying on his back with his
legs in the air, rocking helplessly. Bryony wandered over and ripped him free.

‘You wouldn't get me in jeans for any money,' she said as she rejoined Abid. ‘I'm just a sucker for silk. Bright pink silk—' she went on dreamily, ‘—all wafty and floaty, with lace and bows and sequins …'

Mrs Quigg, blotchy-faced and swollen-eyed, had returned and was dabbing her nose with a lacy handkerchief and banging the lid of the piano up and down.

‘Places, please, for Scene Three!' she shouted, and everyone sighed and moved into position again. Neither Abid nor Bryony were on stage till the very end, so they prepared to shuffle off.

‘Guess what, Abid,' Bryony whispered as she helped Abid scoop up his feathers. ‘I'm not really supposed to tell a living soul, but that doesn't include you, of course: I've got new rollerskates. White ones. Viper 3000s — the best rollerskates in the world!'

Abid tried to look cheerful.

‘Oh, that's wonderful, Bryony,' he said. ‘Will they make you skate even better?'

‘Not half,' said Bryony, holding the curtain aside to let Abid into the wings. ‘They've got extra ball-bearings for really smooth wheel action, and fibreglass composite uppers, combining lightness with strength. Imagine — they even go on shagpile!

‘They're wonderful,' she said, then sighed. ‘But they've got to go back in a week. Every penny has to go to getting
The Singing Bells
their glitzy costumes for the telly. I'm trying to look on the bright side, but it's not easy.'

To Abid's surprise Bryony took off her duck mask, threw back her head, and balanced on one leg. She stretched the other one out behind her as high as she could, clasping both hands to her chest.

‘Doesn't this look elegant, Abid?' she shouted over the noise of the Farmyard Chorus on stage. ‘And just imagine how much more elegant it looks with sparkling-white roller boots …'

Abid opened his mouth to assure Bryony that it looked extremely elegant, and sneezed instead. But Bryony wasn't listening. She had had the most incredible flash of inspiration.

‘There's no-one can step into my shoes,' Abid had said. All of a sudden, Bryony wasn't so sure. She peeked through the curtain to make sure she wasn't missing her next cue, then moved closer to Abid.

‘Know what, Abid,' she whispered mysteriously, tapping the side of her nose. ‘I think your troubles may be over.

‘I have hit on the most breathtakingly-brilliant, scintillating-surefire gem of an idea …'

All the way home Bryony thought about the idea. Abid had smiled as enthusiastically as he ever did when he heard it, and had said politely that it really was a breathtakingly-brilliant, scintillatingly-surefire gem of an idea and that he would be eternally grateful to her. She was, he had added, the very best and cleverest friend anyone could ever have.

She skated slowly, pausing every so often to do a thoughtful little pirouette. Abid's gratitude put a lot of pressure on her to make the gem-of-an-idea work, and now, in the clear light of day, she realised it was not going to be all that easy. There was very little time left, and a great deal of work to do. And it was fraught with risks and complications — but then, she told herself as she neared the house, weren't all breathtakingly-brilliant, scintillatingly-surefire plans?

Today's practice was already under way, and through the open window drifted the strains of
the song that Angelina, Melody, Melissa and Emmy-Lou did on their own. It was called
Devoted Sisters
.

At the end of that song, Angelina would announce, ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for. Please welcome …'

And each sister in turn would wheel round to face stage left, go down on one knee, and sing a syllable — each syllable higher than the one before so they formed a chord: