Bryony Bell Tops the Bill (5 page)

Big Bob set the skates on top of some plant pots to dry and heaved himself up. But just as Bryony opened the shed door he motioned to her to come back to the tea-chest. Suddenly very serious, he sat down and took both her hands in his.

‘Before we go in, I want a word with you, Bryony lass,' he said. ‘A serious word.'

He cleared his throat a number of times and Bryony frowned down at him.

‘What is it, Dad?' she said. ‘What's wrong?'

In answer, Big Bob asked her a question. ‘All this
Singing Bells
telly stuff, Bryony — is it bothering you? You feeling a bit left out?'

Bryony hesitated. It was on the tip of her tongue to smile and say, ‘Not a bit of it, Dad — water off a duck's back!' as she would usually have done. But today the words stuck in her throat.

‘I don't care about not being in
The Singing Bells,'
she whispered, as much to herself as to Big Bob. ‘I don't care about not being on the telly and not getting a glitzy costume and not taking a big bow with Mum and the little ‘uns.' Her voice faltered. All the little dark clouds seemed to have merged into one huge one, which had squeezed itself into the potting shed to hang heavily above her head.

Big Bob gave her arms a gentle squeeze.

‘Because you know, lass,' he went on huskily, as though Bryony had not spoken at all, ‘that if you did mind, it would be quite OK. No harm in thinking about yourself now and then, Bryony … Mmmm?'

Bryony nodded, then gave a very loud, long sniff. In the distance, a gong called out to them across the garden, drowning out the birds'
evening songs then fading to an eerie echo. When Bryony looked back at Big Bob, she noticed with surprise how very blue his eyes were. Blue, like hers, she thought for the first time.

Filled with tears like hers, too.

‘I do, Dad,' Bryony admitted at last. ‘I mind.'

Big Bob nodded. That's my girl,' he said. ‘Better out than in.'

The gong's echo vanished and was replaced by a chorus of high-pitched voices trilling ‘It's time for tea!' tunefully. Big Bob got up, and they both moved slowly towards the door and out.

‘Remember what I said about actions speaking louder than words, Bryony?' Big Bob said, as he closed the shed door behind them. ‘Tomorrow morning, know what I reckon you should do?'

‘What, Dad?'

As they made their way along the path, Big Bob rested his stubbly chin on Bryony's shoulder and whispered in her ear. And, later, as she squeezed a fat worm of tomato ketchup onto her fish and chips, Bryony looked round the table and remembered everything he had said.

She smiled to herself as she munched her battered cod. Tomorrow morning was going to be different from all other mornings, she thought. Tomorrow morning, Bryony just knew, that big dark cloud was going to get itself a silver lining.

The next day was Saturday, and on Saturdays singing practice began an hour later than on weekdays because
The Singing Bells
needed their beauty sleep.

Bryony was up at the crack of dawn as usual, however. She had work to do. The night before, she had carefully extracted the middle pages from her Maths homework book, and pencilled in some ideas. Before breakfast these ideas had been revised, redrafted, and neatly rewritten in a variety of colours of felt tip pen.

That done, she held the completed sheet up and checked to see that it all worked properly. It did — like a dream. Bryony smiled with satisfaction. She had created a perfectly failsafe system, and the hour was fast approaching when she would put that system into action. Breaking off a small piece of Blu-Tak from the slab on her desk she set off downstairs with a spring in her step. Things were about to change
in the Bell household, she thought grimly. It wasn't going to be popular, but there was going to be a bit of equality at last. And a bit more time to call her own.

No sooner had she arrived in the kitchen than
The Singing Bells
began their practice. Bryony beamed as she watched the water gush into the kettle. She hummed to herself as she set out the cereal bowls, running a spoon along their sides in time with the voice exercises. Deftly, she caught the slices of toast as they shot into the air and juggled with them on their way to Clarissa's tray. And when the strains of the Bell Family Song rang out she joined in lustily, throwing an extra teabag into the pot, just to celebrate.

‘Morning, Bryony! How's my princess?'

Big Bob was first down for a change, the Viper 3000s box under his arm, and when he saw Bryony he gave her a ‘Well, then?' kind of look.

‘Mission accomplished, Dad,' Bryony grinned back, nodding in the direction of the toaster. The piece of paper and the Blu-Tak were hidden behind it, ready for the Moment of Truth.

‘Morning, Angelina,' Bryony brightly greeted the first sister to appear.

‘Good morning, Bryony,' Angelina said with frosty politeness, one eye on Big Bob.

‘I trust you slept well?' Bryony enquired. ‘You certainly sound in excellent voice.'

Angelina darted a suspicious look in Bryony's direction, but Bryony smiled charmingly as she passed her the milk jug.

All the other little Bells took their seats, each glaring at Bryony and then exchanging glances with one another. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.

They all began to eat in stony silence. ‘I think,' said Big Bob at last, putting his toast down wearily, ‘we might let the matter of the Viper 3000s rest now? They're here in their box, and I'm posting them back to Sk8s ‘R' Us this morning. Neither your sister nor I ever set out to rob you of your chances of fame and fortune, as I'm sure you know, and we deeply regret any anxiety our actions may have caused. ‘So -water under the bridge, Mmm? Bygones be bygones?'

He picked up the box and stood up.

‘Sure, Dad,' the little Bells chorussed primly, ‘No hard feelings at all.'

‘There'd better not be,' Big Bob replied, ‘or heads will roll.' And he backed out of the kitchen, his eyes never leaving them.

After Big Bob had left, the little Bells continued eating without a word to one another. Then, as though there had been a signal, Angelina stood up and pushed her chair back, and all the others, except Little Bob, did
the same. But
before they could
leave,
Bryony sprang
up, side-stepped towards the toaster, $$$
ytly
grabbed what was behind it, and as the procession moved towards the kitchen door she pushed past and stood, hands on hips and legs apart, barring their exit.

‘What's this?' whined Melissa.

‘We are in no mood for childish games, Bryony,' said Melody.

‘We're in a hurry, Bryony,' said Angelina, giving her a push. ‘We've a rehearsal to go to…'

‘We can't hang around all day playing,' Emmy-Lou put in, pulling at Bryony's right knee. ‘Not like some.'

But Bryony stood her ground. She held the piece of paper up to the wall and, very slowly and deliberately, stuck its four corners down with the Blu-Tak. The little Bells each gave a gasp as they surveyed it.

What on earth …?'

‘Over my dead body!'

‘Blimey!'

‘“Bell Family Duty Rota — Phase I — Mornings” … You have to be joking!'

‘No,' said Bryony simply. ‘I have never been more serious in my life.'

‘But-but-' Angelina began.

‘But
you
do breakfast!' whined Melissa, looking more like a Cairn terrier with distemper
than ever before.

‘Correction,' said Bryony, holding up one finger, which was a technique borrowed from Mrs Ogilvie. ‘I
did
breakfast. I've always done breakfast because you always have to do your singing practice. But something's come up. I have demands on my time too. So, until further notice, we're all going to chip in.'

The little Bells opened their mouths to protest, took one look at Bryony's finger, and closed them again. Little Bob started to wail.

‘Cut that out!' Bryony shouted, glaring at him and then at her sisters, as though they might start wailing too. She picked up Big Bob's cereal spoon, wiped it on her nightie, and pointed at the Duty Rota. ‘I want you all to listen very carefully — I will say this only once.' She tapped the chart.

‘You will see that this Duty Rota contains all the morning tasks,' she explained. ‘Each task has a code name and a specific colour. For example, “Set table” is denoted by the pink letters “S.T.”

‘“Wash dishes”, similarly, is denoted by the green letters “W.D”, and so on. In time, it is to be hoped, we will become so familiar with the system we will no longer need letters.

‘I may even introduce a series of coloured badges.'

There were four sharp intakes of breath and
one small gurgle. The little Bells looked at one another, aghast.

‘Now — down this side,' Bryony went on, running the spoon down the left column, ‘we have the days of the week, and across the top are our names. You will see that I have, for the moment, omitted Little Bob on grounds of age.' She flashed Little Bob a warning glance. ‘But as soon as he's potty-trained, he mucks in with the rest of us! Any questions?'

The atmosphere was electric. For a few sizzling seconds no one said anything, and then everyone spoke at once.

‘You mean to say you're expecting us to make breakfast and clear up?'

‘Where's everything kept?'

‘Wash dishes? What about our nails?