‘Crikey, luv,’ said Bessie, looking at Blue’s enormous mansion. ‘You could house the Doctor’s instrument collection in there. Come on, then, jump on.’
Blue threaded herself through the instruments and sat down behind Bessie. Off they went. The gospel choir started up again. Blue thought their joyful voices were the perfect accompaniment to the soft warmth of the morning sun.
‘They go together like jam on toast, don’t they?’ said Bessie, who was obviously thinking the same thing.
Now, clearly, there was no choir on Bessie’s iBike. And for the life of her, Blue couldn’t work out how they could hear one.
‘Excuse me, Bessie. How exactly does the iBike work?’ asked Blue.
‘The iBike? Oh, that’s easy. It’s magic,’ replied Bessie, all matter-of-fact. ‘Magic is the only logical answer.’
As they rode along, Blue could feel the voices swirling inside her ribcage. Before long, her eyes drifted shut. And as soon as her top eyelashes kissed her bottom eyelashes, the weirdest things began to happen.
First, the bumps on the road disappeared. It became as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Next, she felt the iBike pick up speed and tilt upwards. Her plaits flying out behind her, Blue was sure the iBike had lifted up off the ground and climbed into the sky. She quickly opened her eyes, half-expecting to see clouds. But they were still bumping along the road, dodging potholes and cars.
How strange! thought Blue, although it made perfect sense to be exactly where they were, whereas half-expecting to see clouds did not! Perhaps I’m just getting carried away by the music?
Before long, Blue’s eyes drifted shut again. The bumps disappeared once more. The iBike picked up speed and tilted sharply. Scared she might fall off the back, Blue squeezed Bessie tight. She opened her eyes. No. They were still on the road, in among the morning peak-hour snarl of buses and cars.
Blue remembered what Bessie had said.
She shut her eyes. Tight. And this time she kept them shut. Immediately, the bumps disappeared. The iBike tilted up and began to climb. The noise of traffic faded below them.
Blue was certain. With eyes closed, they were flying; eyes open, they weren’t. She didn’t stop to think how that was possible. She just kept her eyes firmly shut and her arms wrapped around Bessie’s waist. It was just like a magic carpet ride. As they flew along, time seemed locked in a dance with the music. Tumbling and soaring, moving fast and slow, hopping from note to note. At one point, as Bessie pedalled through the air, it felt as if time no longer existed. As if it had shattered into a billion pieces and they were floating through space and the only thing that did exist was music.
CLUNK!
A jolt rippled up through Blue’s body from her feet to her head. The smell of burning rubber made her nostrils tingle. The bumps returned. Blue felt it was safe to open her eyes.
Sure enough, they were pedalling along a country road lined on one side with bright yellow canola and the other with six-feet-high green corn.
‘Ah, corn!’ said Bessie. ‘Makes wonderful neighbours. It might have big ears, but it never complains about the noise!’ she laughed.
Blue could tell it was an old joke. One she had told a zillion times before but still clearly enjoyed.
Up ahead a big sign came into view:
WELCOME TO THE BOOGALOO FAMILY CLINIC OF MUSICAL CURES
Blue’s heart flipped like a fish. She suddenly felt nervous. She took a deep breath. ‘Here we go!’
CHAPTER 8
Treatment Begins
Bessie turned down the long dirt driveway lined with purple jacarandas. Running towards them came two huge dogs, tails blurred in a frenzied wind-screen-wiping wag.
‘Fats and Dizzie, meet Blue.’
The giant mutts galloped alongside the iBike. Their saggy, baggy jowls flopped and sloshed as they ran.
At the very end of the driveway stood Dr Boogaloo. Smiling in his trademark shiny silver suit, he glinted in the sun like mercury in an old-school thermometer.
‘Morning, morning, welcome to the Boogaloo Family Clinic of Musical Cures. I trust you enjoyed your flight, I mean, ride?’
‘Oh yes, thank you, Dr Boogaloo. It’s the most amazing bike I’ve ever seen!’ said Blue.
‘Or heard, I imagine! I remember the man I bought it from. Quite a fellow. He was very pleased the iBike would be carrying on his own good work.’
‘Was he a musical doctor too?’ asked Blue.
‘No, no. Busker. Same line of trade. Prevention rather than cure, of course. Such dedicated fellows, buskers. Out there in the field, working on the front line. We’d be swamped around the clock in here if they weren’t out there trying to keep everyone in tune. It would be an absolute disaster!’
Bessie parked the iBike on a purple carpet of fallen flowers.
‘I’ll go and get the instruments, shall I, Toots?’ asked Bessie. Bessie always called the Doctor ‘Toots’.
‘How right you are, Bess. Let’s not waste time standing around chatting. Do you think you could find my Bulgarian bugle for me? And my recorder? The wooden one. Oh, and my sitar, please, Bess.’
‘Coming right up, Toots. Meet you in the music lounge. Come along, Blue, you can give me a hand.’
Bessie strode off in a variation of her tuneful jingle-jangle-swish-swoosh: Ting-clickety-ting-clickety, clickety-swoosh-ting!
Together, Dr Boogaloo and Bessie had run the Boogaloo Family Clinic of Musical Cures for more than forty years. The Boogaloo family had been musical doctors for as long as anyone could remember. Dr Boogaloo had taken over the clinic from his mother, who’d taken it over from her father and so on and so on.
Apart from being the magic in Dr Boogaloo’s wand, Bessie’s job was to look after the Doctor’s vast instrument collection. Bessie knew the name of every single instrument. And how to tune it and where to find it! All TWO HUNDRED AND FORTY-THREE THOUSAND of them! (And counting.)
‘Here we are,’ said Bessie, as she shoved open the door of what
