Bryony Bell's Star Turn (4 page)

Abid solemnly watched Bryony, racking his brains for something comforting to say. Finally he gave up and changed the subject. ‘I thought for a minute Mr Undrum was going to tell Trish why he came back to England,' he said.

‘Clammed up, as usual,' Bryony agreed. ‘He's a hard nut to crack.'

Abid hesitated. ‘I've got a bit of a clue though,' he said slowly. ‘About the affair of the heart…'

‘A clue?' Bryony brightened up.

‘A
heart-shaped
clue,' Abid said, mysteriously.

‘Come on then,' Bryony said, kneeling down and thumping his knees with her fists. ‘Spit it out!'

‘It was last night, when I took him his malted milk,' Abid said slowly. ‘I saw him shove something under his pillow. Then this morning it was on his bedside table, and I got a good look.'

‘So…' Bryony urged. ‘What was it?'

‘A picture of a woman,' Abid whispered excitedly. ‘In a gold, heart-shaped frame.'

‘A love interest!' Bryony gasped. ‘Was she exquisitely beautiful, Abid?'

‘A vision of loveliness,' Abid replied. ‘Long, wavy, red hair, rosy cheeks and a very alluring smile. For a moment I thought—'

‘Abid!' Clarissa was calling from downstairs. ‘Mr Undrum's ready to go!'

Abid pulled himself up.

‘What did you think for a moment?' Bryony asked impatiently, as she followed him downstairs.

‘Oh…' shrugged Abid. ‘Nothing really.'

Bryony unhooked Ken's coat and scarf from the stand and began to open the living room door. ‘Tell me anyway?' she pleaded.

‘Well…' Abid said doubtfully. ‘The vision of loveliness reminded me of someone.'

‘Who?' gasped Bryony.

‘Just a little…' Abid added cautiously.

‘
Who
?' Bryony repeated.

‘Probably just a trick of the light,' Abid answered dismissively. ‘The picture's very faded.'

But Bryony's mind was racing. ‘Someone I know too?' she asked.

Abid nodded, but before he could say any more, Clarissa led Ken gently out into the hall and took his coat and scarf from Bryony.

‘All this stardom,' Clarissa said apologetically as she helped Ken into his coat, ‘has made our Angelina forget her manners. There will be strong words later, I promise.'

‘No, no, dear lady,' Ken said, shaking his head mournfully. ‘It is I who am entirely to blame.'

Clarissa opened the front door. A little flurry of snowflakes swirled into the hall.

‘Do please assure Angelina,' Ken went on, as Abid joined him on the doorstep, ‘that I have hung up my onions forever.'

Bryony squeezed past Clarissa. ‘I won't get a wink of sleep if you don't tell me,' she hissed desperately in Abid's ear. ‘Someone at school?'

She held him by his scarf, but Abid peered out into the darkness where Ken was disappearing fast into the snow. With a quick nod to Bryony he shook himself free and slithered after him, and in a moment the snowstorm had swallowed the two figures. To Bryony's frustration they vanished into the night, taking their secret with them.

When Bryony arrived at school on Monday morning, she was puzzled to find the playground deserted.

She was also annoyed, because she was dying to talk to Abid. After several phone calls that weekend he had finally told her who he thought the beautiful woman in the gold, heart-shaped frame was. Bryony wasn't quite sure she believed him. If he was right, it would be incredibly cool, but it seemed too much of a coincidence. She was, however, open to persuasion.

Then she remembered why no one was about. Now that the Nativity play was less than two weeks away, Mrs Quigg had insisted on extra early-morning rehearsals. Bending to avoid the Christmas decorations, Bryony flew down the corridor as fast as her skates would carry her, and glided into the hall as inconspicuously as she could.

The atmosphere was tenser than ever. Mrs Quigg was playing some edgy scales and Abid, looking miserable, was on stage beside Jeremy and Shehzad, two of the smallest and shyest boys in the school. Shehzad was standing nervously in front of Jeremy with his back to him, and Jeremy was bent over with his arms round Shehzad's waist and the top of his head pressed against his bottom. As Bryony appeared, Abid motioned to the two boys to walk across the stage beside him. Both took a couple of steps, staggered, and fell over.

‘It's no good, Mrs Quigg,' Abid sighed. ‘We'll never make a donkey out of them.'

‘
We have to
!' said Mrs Quigg, accompanying each word with a loud staccato note. ‘I've hired the costume. Now – get up at once!'

Bryony gazed at Jeremy and Shehzad, the full horror of the situation dawning. ‘Oh no, Mrs Quigg,' she pleaded. ‘Not all the way to Bethlehem…'

Desperately, Bryony racked her brains. The thought of wearing tea towels and riding on the back of two small boys was quite unendurable.

‘Couldn't I do it on skates?' she ventured wildly.

Bryony hadn't been very hopeful, but Mrs Quigg's reaction was even worse than she'd anticipated. Leaning forward with a strangled cry, she laid her head on the piano keys. A soft, despairing chord echoed round the hall. Then, at last, she straightened up.

‘The Virgin Mary was great with child,' she told Bryony wearily. ‘She
plodded
to Bethlehem. She did not glide. And she most certainly did not perform any spins, triple jumps, or pirouettes.

‘Now, get yourself up on that donkey's back this instant, Bryony Bell,' she continued, ‘and kindly remember we are no longer on Broadway.'

Defeated, Bryony took off her skates and climbed gingerly on top of Jeremy. Everyone wobbled precariously and Abid placed a steadying hand on Shehzad's head.

‘So …
you've
been on Broadway, too, have you, Mrs Quigg?' he asked politely, with a wink at Bryony.

Mrs Quigg stopped mid-scale and the air in the hall seemed to freeze. ‘As a matter of fact, Abid,' Mrs Quigg said quietly, ‘I have.'

Suddenly Bryony realised the significance of Abid's question. ‘Were you a singing star, Mrs
Quigg?' she asked, a shiver of excitement running up her neck.

Mrs Quigg nodded. Then, one by one, she removed the hairpins that held her purple waves in place and shook her head so that her hair cascaded down onto her shoulders. Everything was so quiet, you could have heard a snowflake land. Only a low moan of pain from Jeremy broke the silence.

‘“The English Nightingale”, they used to call me, on account of the sweet, liquid quality of my voice.' Mrs Quigg patted her hair. ‘Titian, this was,' she told them. ‘That's red. The kind of red the Italian artists loved to paint.' And she began to play a soft little melody.

Head still spinning, Bryony listened. The tune seemed familiar. Hadn't she heard Mr Undrum hum it? But before Bryony could think what it was, it stopped; and Mrs Quigg gazed forlornly into the distance.

‘That song,' she sighed, ‘is like a butterfly in the sky of my memory. Each time I feel it within my grasp, off it flutters once more. I just know it would make the perfect Big Number, but I fear I will never remember what it is. It's lost forever in the mists of time.'

Abid edged forward and looked down at Mrs Quigg. ‘Have you any idea,' he said gently, ‘what the song's about?'

‘A star, Abid,' Mrs Quigg answered promptly. ‘I know it's about a star. And a dream.'

She stared down at the piano keys as though they could unlock the secret.

‘A dream…' she repeated, sighing again.

Still keeping his eyes on Mrs Quigg, Abid backed off till he was once more beside Bryony. Glowing with excitement, Bryony placed a foot gently but firmly on top of his. ‘We've got to help her,' Byrony hissed. ‘We've simply got to…'

Abid nodded solemnly. ‘Whether she's the English Nightingale or not,' he hissed back, ‘she's perilously close to breaking point.'

‘Should we say something?' Byrony hissed again. But Abid shook his head.

‘Not yet,' he said. ‘Not till we're quite sure.'

The bell rang and Mrs Quigg, looking suddenly embarrassed, gave herself a shake. Sitting up straight, she pinned back her hair and glared at Mary, Joseph, and both halves of the donkey. ‘Take it from where Joseph looks up at Mary, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and compassion,' she told them. ‘And give it all you've got!'

‘Ignore the bell,' she added crisply. ‘
This
is art.'

Suddenly determined to bring Mrs Quigg a shred of comfort in her hour of need, Abid turned to Bryony and gave her an intense look. ‘Not much longer now, my love,' he said, his voice welling over with emotion like never before. ‘For lo! I see the star ahead.'

That evening the sky was gunmetal grey as Bryony skated up the path to Big Bob's frost-encrusted potting shed. As she pushed open the door and saw him bent over his workbench in a warm little pool of light, her flagging spirits rose slightly.

‘How's my princess?' he asked, sitting on his gold-padded tea chest and patting his lap. ‘Things not so good?'

Bryony struggled not to wobble off Big Bob's knees. She stretched out her long legs and wiggled her Viper 3000s. The thought struck her that soon she'd be too tall to sit on her dad's lap. ‘They've been better, Dad,' she admitted. ‘Angelina's really getting me down, and the Nativity play's hit an all-time low.'

Big Bob gave Bryony a squeeze. ‘Not always easy,' he said slowly, ‘being the second oldest.'

Bryony looked down at him in surprise. ‘How do you mean, Dad?' she asked. ‘Angelina always thinks she's better than me. Being a singer and an actor and all that…'

Big Bob whistled thoughtfully through the gap in his front teeth. ‘Is that how you see it, love?' he asked at last, and when Bryony nodded, he shook his head. ‘Always looked up to you, Angelina has,' he said quietly. ‘After all, lass –
all
the Bells 'cept us can sing. Angelina's not that special really, when you come to think about it.'

Bryony jumped off Big Bob's lap and stood facing him. She could hardly take in what he was saying.

‘Our Angelina always felt you lumped her together with the other little 'uns,' Big Bob went on. ‘Always wanted to do your own thing without her, you know.'

Bryony opened her mouth to protest, caught sight of Big Bob's sad blue eyes, and closed it again.

You had to admit, she suddenly thought, that there was some truth in what he'd said. But it had never occurred to her before that Angelina might want to be included in any of
her
plans. Come to think of it, the only time she and Angelina
had
got on well together was when they were both looking after Starburst. And now even that was gone. Hot tears began to roll down Bryony's cheeks. There was something oddly comforting about the feeling.

‘Angelina looks up to me?' she breathed at last. ‘Angelina
wants
to do things with me?' It sounded unbelievable, but Big Bob nodded.

‘Thinks you're the bee's knees, Bryony,' he said gently. ‘Though I'll grant you she's got some funny ways of showing it.'

The dinner gong echoed through the crisp air. Big Bob stood up and began to tidy away his tools. ‘Told me she thinks it's a crying shame
you can't skate in that Nativity play, too,' he added. ‘Though don't you be telling her I said that, or there'll be hell to pay.'

Bryony opened the potting shed door and peered out into the moonlit whiteness. Somewhere in the back of her mind, an idea was beginning to glimmer.

Angelina felt left out, did she?

Angelina wanted Bryony to include her in her plans, did she?

Well maybe – just maybe – there
was
something she and Angelina could do together! Something that urgently needed doing…

On the way towards the house, Big Bob pointed up at the sky. ‘Just look at those stars, Bryony,' he said. And then, very softly, he began to hum.

Bryony stopped and spun round. She'd heard that tune – or the beginnings of it – today already.

‘What are you humming, Dad?' she asked, and Big Bob laughed and stroked his moustache.

‘Don't suppose it sounds much like it,' he said, ‘but it was supposed to be the one Mr Undrum sang today at his Star Interview. On location, in Abid's conservatory.'

‘Really, Dad?' Bryony said in surprise. ‘You went along?'

Big Bob nodded. ‘Trish wanted me to stand by with my screwdriver in case of emergencies.'

‘But why was Mr Undrum singing?' Bryony asked.

‘You'll find out tomorrow, lass,' Big Bob said, opening the door. ‘When the first breakfast show goes on air. But, while I remember,' he added, stepping into the cosy kitchen, ‘the song was called “When You Wish Upon A Star”.'

Bryony watched Big Bob swing Little Bob up onto his shoulders and let him give his head three whacks with his hammer. But she didn't follow him inside. Instead she stayed on the doorstep, looking up again at the star-studded sky.