He took his red handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his brow.
‘Of course,’ he continued, ‘Ron was livid. ‘You are an albatross around my neck, Ken!’ he said. And then he marched off, set up on his own, and I’ve never seen him since.’
Ken gave his nose three hearty blows. ‘Still can’t get a whiff of pigeon droppings,’ he said, ‘but I think of Ronaldo…’
For a while no one spoke. Then Abid did. ‘Mr Undrum,’ he said. ‘Do you know where Ron is?’
Ken nodded. ‘Runs a big Broadway theatre. They call him “The Great Ronaldo” now.’
At the words ‘Broadway theatre’, Bryony sat bolt upright.
‘Maybe,’ she said slowly, ‘if you met him again, he’d help you, like in the old days?’
But Ken stood up. ‘Nope,’ he said, taking off his cloak and giving it a resolute swipe. ‘It ain’t right, expecting someone to fight your battles for you.’ He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.
Abid cleared his throat. ‘I disagree, Mr Undrum,’ he said quietly. ‘I let Bryony fight my battles.’
Ken turned his back on them. ‘I said nope,’ he repeated. ‘And ‘nope’ is what I darn well mean.’
Unabashed, Bryony tugged his shirt hard. ‘Mr Undrum!’ she shouted. ‘We won’t take nope for an answer.’
There was still no movement. Bryony appealed to Abid, who lifted a few locks of russet hair and whispered the magic words into Ken’s ear.
‘I let Bryony fight my battles,’ he said simply, ‘’cause Bryony wins battles.’
Then, as Ken rolled round to face him, Abid added, in a perfect American accent, ‘Sometimes, Mr Undrum, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do…’
* * *
Bryony skated slowly home. All in all, she reflected, it had been a good day. She had been sawn in half; Ken had contacted his brother; and, best of all, the magic duo Ashraf and Bell – Magic on Wheels – had been born.
After Abid’s masterstroke, it had been easy to wheedle Ken round. They had found The Great Ronaldo’s website, and Ken had sent him an e-mail. Now all they could do was wait.
As she neared home, the sound of The Singing Bells wafted out on the spring air and Bryony poked her head through the Music Studio door. The sight she saw brought tears of pride to her eyes.
On the stage, Melody and Melissa and Emmy-Lou, wearing sugar-pink tap shoes and pink satin leotards, stood watching Clarissa expectantly. Little Bob, encased in a pink sequined babygrow and almost hidden by a big drum, was beating a steady rhythm and gurgling ‘Bobway or bust!’ in time with it. In the wings, Bryony could see Angelina waiting nervously. And when she saw how she was dressed, she drew a long admiring breath in through her teeth.
Clarissa tapped the fluorescent pink music stand with her baton. ‘Fairy Godmother number – take six!’ she announced. ‘I’m telling you,’ she murmured to Bryony as she came in, ‘if there’s a Broadway headhunter at the Empress, it’s our heads he’s going to hunt – sure as eggs!’
Then she pointed her baton at the chorusline, and they began, very slowly and quietly, to sing:
If your dress is needing changing
Or your pumpkin re-arranging
Or you want your mice turned into
something N-I-C-E…
As they held the last notes in a melodious chord, Clarissa pointed the baton at Little Bob, who banged his drum exactly in time to her mouthed words:
…two, three, FOUR…
On the last beat, Angelina made her entrance. And what an entrance it was! In the history of Fairy Godmothers, Bryony thought, there had never been a Fairy Godmother with as much style as Angelina Bell. Her catsuit was so white and frostily sparkling, she looked as though she had been dipped in sugar. Her braids were pinned up with dozens of tiny golden stars, and she had wings that shimmered like mother-of-pearl.
Best of all, she carried a large, glittery, star-topped wand, and when she saw it, Bryony almost drooled. That was what a wand should look like!
Backed by Melody, Melissa and Emmy-Lou, and ably accompanied by Little Bob on drum, Angelina kicked her feet in the air and launched into her show-stopping number:
Beat the drum! for the Fairy Godmother
Light the lights! ‘Cause there’s really no other
She’ll transform you if you’ll let her…
She can change things
for the b-e-t-t-e-r…
On cue from Clarissa, Little Bob beat his drum more slowly. Melody, Melissa and Emmy-Lou, linking arms, began a series of high kicks during which they rotated to finish on one knee, arms outstretched towards Anglina. And Angelina, basking in glory, stood centre stage waving her wand solemnly to and fro.
‘Bravo!’ said Clarissa. ‘Just watch the way you wave the wand though, Angelina. You’re changing a pumpkin into a coach – not serving at Wimbledon.’
Bryony jumped onto the stage where she patted Little Bob on the head and shook Melody and Melissa and Emmy-Lou heartily by the hand. Then, the past forgotten in a haze of sisterly love and professional admiration, she skated towards Angelina, arms outstretched.
But the hug never came. As Bryony approached her, Angelina side-stepped and swept past her.
‘I can not forgive you,’ she said haughtily. ‘The flies were the last straw. The flies were unforgivable.’
And she marched offstage, poking her head back through the curtains to add, ‘I will never speak to you again, Bryony Bell. As long as I live.’
Ten
For the next month, Ashraf and Bell – Magic on Wheels went from strength to strength. Abid, ably assisted by Bryony, became adept at the ‘Bread-on-a-Thread’ trick and even developed a method of singing with his mouth full which made it doubly impressive.
Bryony excelled at producing rabbits from a hat, and Abid’s confidence in sawing her in half soared to giddy heights. To cap it all, Mrs Ashraf made him a silk salwar kameez with a peacock-feather pattern which he wore with a gold lamé turban to great magical effect.
But best of all, The Great Ronaldo responded to Ken’s e-mail. By chance, he was just about to go on a UK tour and agreed to make the Empress Theatre his first stop to watch the new magic act.
The only fly in the ointment was Angelina. For four weeks, despite Bryony’s best efforts at a truce, not one word had passed between them. Bryony was hurt to the quick.
* * *
It was Saturday – the day of The Great Ronaldo’s arrival. No one in Bryony’s family, not even Big Bob, knew about it.
‘Come along, everyone!’ Clarissa shouted over the breakfast table. ‘Music Studio for Singing Practice – then rehearsal at the Empress!’
Little Bob bounced up and down in his high chair, drowning out everybody with his Bobway or busts. Taking his cue, Clarissa slapped her knees three times and led the whole family in a raucous rendering of the song. At the second chorus, Bryony heaved on her rucksack, laced up her Viper 3000s, and set off.
The Great Ronaldo was due to arrive at the Empress mid-morning, and Bryony was to meet Abid and Ken, with the magic equipment, there. When she skated in they had already set up the ‘sawing-a-lady-in-half’ box. It looked magnificent under the stage lights.
‘Great!’ breathed Bryony. ‘And it’s OK for us to use the stage?’
‘No one’s due for an hour,’ Ken said. ‘Mention The Great Ronaldo,’ he winked, ‘and the world’s your oyster!’
Bryony and Abid exchanged looks. Ken was very pale and worried-looking.
‘Ron wouldn’t have said he’d come if he hadn’t wanted to make it up, Mr Undrum,’
Bryony pointed out, but Ken remained unconvinced.
‘Such a long time,’ he kept muttering. ‘So much ill-feeling…’
Eventually Bryony and Abid let him be and went to look out for The Great Ronaldo. He was easy to spot.
‘Oh, Abid!’ cried Bryony. ‘Look at the car!’
A silver limousine purred to a halt and a white-uniformed chauffeur hopped out and held the d
oor open for The Great Ronaldo. Never in their lives had Bryony and Abid seen anyone so rich and successful.
The Great Ronaldo was at least six-feet tall and broad as a barn door. He wore a black-and-white striped suit, a white fur coat draped across his enormous shoulders, and a black stetson that hid most of his jet-black hair. When he smiled at them through his enormous black moustache, the sun glinted off a dozen gold fillings. And when he stretched his hand out to shake theirs, every finger held a jewelled ring.
‘You must be l’il ol’ Bryony Bell,’ he boomed as he pumped Bryony’s arm up and down. Then he gave Abid a slap that knocked him off balance. ‘And Ken’s rainbow – Abid Ashraf. Sure am mighty pleased to make your acquaintance!’
Bryony, lost for words, led the way into the theatre.
Ahead, she could see Ken standing alone in the spotlight, eyes down and shoulders hunched.
Before Ron could stride onto the stage, Bryony pulled his coat. ‘Mr Ronaldo,’ she whispered, ‘you know what my dad always says?’
Ron bent down. ‘What does your dad always say, Bryony?’ he asked.
‘He always says you should let bygones be bygones,’ Bryony said nervously.
Then she paused. A picture of Angelina flashed into her mind. ‘Though it takes two to tango,’ she added, ‘which is what my mum always says.’
Ron straightened up, nodding. ‘I reckon your dad’s got the right idea, Bryony,’ he said.
Then out on to the stage Ron walked, arms outstretched towards his little brother. Bryony glanced anxiously at Abid, but when she looked back Ron was hugging Ken so hard he raised him right off the ground, and when he finally put him down Bryony heard him say softly, ‘Oh, Ken, Ken – why did we wait this long?’
* * *
‘So,’ said The Great Ronaldo, sitting astride a chair and wiping a last tear from his eye, ‘you guys gonna let me see your act?’
He winked at Bryony and Abid. ‘Never was a magician like my kid brother, you know,’ he said, flashing a 20-carat smile at Ken. ‘OK, so maybe things went a bit wrong sometimes…’
Ken blushed.
‘…but that’s water under the bridge, isn’t it, Ken?’ he finished. ‘Gee – I just love the look of the new outfit. What’re you calling yourselves?’
‘Ashraf and Bell – Magic on Wheels,’ Bryony said promptly. ‘Mr Undrum is our manager. Abid does all the magic ’cept for the rabbits and sings the spells in a lovely soprano voice. And I’m the skating glamorous assistant.’
‘And we’re both dressed by none other than Shabana Ashraf, Designer to the Stars,’ Abid put in, adding proudly, ‘She’s my mum.’
‘Would you like to see Abid saw me in half, Mr Ronaldo?’ Bryony offered. Ron nodded, and, without further ado, they performed their tour de force more slickly than ever before. When they had finished, every gold filling in Ron’s mouth sparkled approval.
‘Great star potential,’ he beamed. ‘I reckon I could make you big on Broadway.’
‘Do you hear that, Bryony?’ Abid breathed, looking at Bryony ecstatically.
But Bryony’s mind, suddenly and unexpectedly, was elsewhere.
‘Thank you very much, Mr Ronaldo,’ she said politely, peering out into the auditorium. In the distance she could hear a gurgly little voice chanting breathlessly, ‘It’s Bobway or bust…’
All of a sudden, she pictured herself arriving in Broadway – the one and only Broadway Bell. Tears blurred her eyes.
‘Here’s the next act,’ The Great Ronaldo said, getting up. ‘Better be off…’
But Bryony held his arm. ‘Just a minute, please,’ she begged. She gazed out into the theatre’s darkness. Her thoughts turned somersaults.
‘Why did we wait so long?’ Ron had said.
Fifty years, thought Bryony. They had waited fifty years to let bygones be bygones. Suddenly she had a vision of two old ladies, one with white braids and one with pert white bunches done up with forget-me-not hair-ties, meeting under a faraway stage spotlight, hugging each other, and saying just the same thing.
The Singing Bells had reached the stage now and Clarissa was leading the way up. Angelina, already dressed in her Fairy Godmother costume, pushed past Bryony.
‘I might have known!’ she screamed, giving Ken a withering look and hauling the ‘sawing-a-lady-in-half’ box off its stools. ‘Bryony Bell messes things up yet again!’
‘Allow me, young lady,’ Ron said, as he lifted it onto his huge shoulders and carried it offstage. ‘We won’t delay you.’
Bryony sidled up to Clarissa. ‘Quick, Mum!’ she whispered. ‘Do the Fairy Godmother number, and give it everything you’ve got!’
She winked at Clarissa and nodded in the direction of The Great Ronaldo.
‘Mr Undrum’s big brother,’ she whispered. ‘And Broadway’s Mr Big!’
Leaving Clarissa open-mouthed she skated backstage, took Ron’s arm, and settled him in the front row. Abid, meanwhile, collected Ken and deposited him beside his brother. When both men were settled and The Singing Bells in position, Bryony poked her head between Ron and Ken.
‘Have a look at this,’ she whispered, ‘and tell me they don’t have star potential, too!’
* * *
In Luigi’s Pizza Parlour that afternoon, the biggest table in the house buzzed with Bells and Ashrafs. At its head The Great Ronaldo, whose treat it was, sat beside Ken, ordering pizzas the size of cartwheels for everyone.
Clarissa, her hair swept up into a luxurious creamy froth and her ruby earrings sparkling like tiny bright cherries, gazed incredulously at the Knickerbocker Glory Little Bob had just been given.
‘Bobway or bust,’ Little Bob muttered in a determined voice as he stood on his chair and dive-bombed the first layer of jelly with his spoon. Everyone raised their glasses and joined in, and Bryony, glowing with pride and happiness, nestled into Big Bob’s side.
They both looked over at Angelina. ‘Bryony could’ve gone to Broadway on her own, couldn’t she, Angelina?’ Big Bob said gently. ‘You Broadway Bells’ve got her, and Mr Undrum, to thank!’
Angelina examined her pizza crust. Then, flicking her braids back off her face, she gave Bryony the tiniest of smiles.
Ron stood up. ‘How many first-class tickets to Broadway then?’ he asked, and all the Bells, except Big Bob, cheered and clapped and shouted ‘Yee-hah!’ at the very tops of their voices.
Bryony turned to her dad. ‘Couldn’t you come too?’ she whispered, willing him to say ‘yes’. ‘Please?’
But Big Bob shook his head. ‘You’ll never get me on a plane, Bryony,’ he said. ‘You know that. And besides…’ He nodded towards Ken, ‘…someone needs to stay at home just now, don’t they?’
Bryony grinned. ‘Oh yes, Dad – of course,’ she said. ‘Nearly forgot!’ And she jumped off her chair and slipped out of the room.
When she came back, she was holding both hands in front of her with a bright-red silk scarf draped over them, and she wore a mysterious expression on her face. Pausing to wink at Big Bob, who winked back and whispered, ‘Go for it, princess!’ she walked slowly along the lines of silent people. Every eye in the place was on the shiny magical mound she carried. When she came to Angelina’s place, she stopped.
Angelina put the rest of her pizza crust down. She looked at Bryony with just a tinge of suspicion, but Bryony continued unabashed. ‘You got that brilliant Fairy Godmother wand with you, Angelina?’ she asked.
Angelina nodded. She reached below the table and picked it up. ‘Once the Summer Panto’s over,’ she said softly to Bryony, ‘perhaps you’d like to have it? As a thank-you present for getting us an audition with The Great Ronaldo?’
Bryony’s blue eyes sparkled with happiness. ‘Love to, Angelina,’ she said. ‘That sure is a wand with attitude!’ Then she held her red-silk-covered hands out to her sister. ‘I reckon you can do magic too, Angelina,’ she said, nodding toward the wand. ‘What do you think?’
Angelina looked down at the silk scarf. Its surface
was moving slightly, almost as if it were breathing. She looked at Big Bob, who raised his eyebrows and gave her a little nod.
‘Go on,’ urged Bryony. ‘Abid’ll tell you the magic words if you like.’
Angelina glanced over her shoulder to where Abid was grinning down at her. He bent and whispered the spell and when she heard it, Angelina smiled shyly at Bryony. Then she waved her wand.
‘Let bygones be bygones,’ she repeated as, slowly and dramatically, she pulled the scarf away.
The whole table joined Angelina in a sigh of perfect happiness. Then everyone stood.
‘Broadway or bust, and let bygones be bygones,’ they chorused, as they raised their glasses to the sugar-white baby rabbit that quivered its tiny whiskers and hopped into Angelina’s outstretched hand.
Then they sat down again. Only Big Bob remained standing, and he proposed another toast. ‘To our princess, Bryony,’ he said, tipping his glass of Newcastle Brown in Bryony’s direction. ‘The most magic Bell of all!’
About the Author
Franzeska G. Ewart was born in Stranraer – a small town by the sea in Galloway – and still likes to be there as often as she can. She loves the sea, the lochs, and the rivers. Most of the time, though, she lives in Glasgow where she has a part-time job teaching English as an Additional Language at Glendale Primary School.
When she’s not writing she likes to read, draw, and listen to music. She loves to play music too and has recently joined the Scottish National Recorder Orchestra where she plays tenor and treble recorder. The Bryony books are fun to write because there’s so much music in them, and they give her the chance to write lots of songs.
Franzeska has had over a dozen books for children published. These include Speak Up Spike, Shadowflight and The Pen-pal from Outer Space all of which were named Guardian Book of the Week.
Franzeska also loves looking after her white cat, Lily. While she was writing Under the Spell of Bryony Bell, she decided to call one of Ken Undrum’s white rabbits Lily too. She wanted Lily the cat to have kittens, so she decided that if she made Lily the rabbit have babies, it might bring Lily the cat luck – which indeed it did. Lily is now the proud mother of five kittens!
Under the Spell of Bryony Bell Page 5
