Luz and Tracee switched off Blue’s mother’s white noise and put on some pop music.
They jiggled around their makeshift dancefloor. Hands on thighs, they poked their bottoms out and moved them around in a washing-machine swish.
‘Come on, Blue, come shake your MABUNGO! You can’t shake your mabungo and feel bad at the same time, trust me,’ said Luz.
But Blue wasn’t in the mood to dance, let alone shake her mabungo. Eventually, Luz and Tracee gave up. Pop music still blaring from their iPhones, they went back to bathroom twelve to study.
Blue headed outside and sat down under the fence. Mrs Taylor was yelling so loudly Blue could hear her from inside the Taylors’ house.
‘SOMEONE GET ME OFF THIS SHIP OF FOOLS!’ screamed Mrs Taylor. ‘CARROTS WON’T GROW IN A BLOODY BATH! AND BESIDES, HOW ARE WE GOING TO WASH ALL THAT DIRT OFF NOW THAT YOU’VE TURNED OUR BATH INTO A VEGIE GARDEN? ANSWER ME THAT, MR NED FRANCIS SMARTYPANTS TAYLOR!’
‘Oh. I didn’t think of that,’ said Ned. ‘But you can’t move it now. I’ve already planted potatoes, sweet peas, baby tomatoes, and that’s Vietnamese mint … I know, we can take a bath in the kitchen sink! Problem solved!’
‘No, Ned, I will not be bathing in the kitchen sink! Now, get a shovel and get that dirt out of my bath!’
‘But look, an inbuilt watering system! See?’ Blue heard Ned turn on the handheld shower hose. ‘You’ve got to admit that’s pretty handy.’ Ned sounded completely chuffed with his invention.
‘Ned Francis Taylor, I’m only going to say this one more time – GET THAT DIRT OUT OF MY BATH!’
‘Nope.’
‘I’ll count to three, Ned. One … two …’
Ned was by far the smartest of the Taylor children. He’d worked out that the only thing that came after the number three was the number four.
‘THREE!’
Silence. Blue could imagine the Mexican stand-off taking place in the Taylor bathroom.
‘I’m not finished with you, Ned Francis Taylor! I’ve got to take your brothers to karate. If that bath’s still full of dirt by the time I get back, you won’t believe how much bloody trouble you’re in!’
Blue heard a door slam and Mrs Taylor corralling her ship of fools out the front and into the family wagon.
Instead of removing his vegie garden from the bath as instructed, Ned Taylor must have picked up his guitar. He began to play. Although there was much room for improvement, he wasn’t half bad, especially when he was in the mood. Despite being separated by the especially high fence, Blue could feel the sound of Ned’s guitar as it came towards her.
She pulled out her castanets from her pocket. She looked at the painted flamenco dancers. Their magnificent skirts reminded her of Bessie.
Her hands began to flick and click the castanets together.
Clack-clickety-clickety clickety clack-clickety-clickety clickety clack.
Blue clicked them above her head, she clicked them behind her back, she clicked them out to the side. Ned’s guitar wrapped itself around the sound of her castanets until, somehow, a song fell upon them both like a falling star. Unable to see each other but joined through song, they played together perfectly. Blue danced. Her plain white skirt became a sea of red ruffles. Her heart lifted. This time, she could feel the wings attach. Snap, snap.
And only when she noticed the time on her watch was she yanked back down to earth.
2.15 pm.
The sale had begun.
Blue shoved the castanets in her pocket and ran to the front door.
CHAPTER 17
The Biggest Instrument Sale on Earth
Word had spread quickly about the biggest instrument sale on Earth. Musicians and private collectors came from around the world. Museums and auction houses sent their best instrument specialists. Many were here for the swan-bone flute alone. Rumours swirled that it could fetch nearly half a million dollars.
Dr Boogaloo’s enormous collection had been removed from the shed and spread across the sprawling lawns so buyers could inspect the instruments. There were fields of them, as far as the eye could see.
At precisely two o’clock, the auction began.
First up were the strings, the very heart of the Doctor’s collection.
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ said the auctioneer, an inflatable-looking gentleman. His pants, which were slightly too short, revealed he followed the popular but peculiar trend of wearing no socks.
‘Let’s begin with this magnificent cigar-box guitar,’ continued the auctioneer. ‘Built in 1886, most likely from the deep south of the Americas. I guarantee you won’t find another like it. It’s in mint condition. Now, who’s going to get this auction started?’
Dr Boogaloo and Bessie stood at the back of the crowd.
‘That was one of Grandfather’s finds. I hope it goes to a good home,’ said Dr Boogaloo to Bessie. ‘Works wonders for folks who can only walk in straight lines.’
‘You used to play it for me on warm summer nights when we were done for the day. Do you remember, Toots?’
Dr Boogaloo nodded and smiled at the memory.
‘Fifty!’ said a man barely visible beneath the double bass strapped to his back.
‘Five hundred!’ said a tall man up the front. When he raised his hand to bid, the Doctor noticed the man was wearing white gloves.
‘Why’s he wearing gloves, Bess?’ said the Doctor. ‘They’re not going to lock it up in a display cabinet, are they? That instrument needs to be played! That’s what it was built for!’
‘I have a feeling they are,’ said Bessie. ‘Look around. Most of these people are from museums.’
Dr Boogaloo looked around the crowd.
Bessie was right. Nearly everyone was wearing white gloves. The only ones who weren’t were clearly musicians, none of whom looked like they had two cents to rub together. It was obvious they would all be outbid by the wealthy collectors and museums specialists, whose temperature-controlled packing crates could be heard humming from the car park.
‘I can’t watch!’ said Dr Boogaloo, horrified. ‘Instruments are for making music. They’re for playing, not
