Bryony Bell Tops the Bill Read Online Free PDF Page B

Big Bob held them up hopefully.
    â€˜Well…’ said Bryony, ‘I suppose they’ll have to do. Oh — by the way, Dad — dinner must be ready. We’d better not be late.’
    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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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?’
    â€˜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.

Chapter: Seven
    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