For the rest of the afternoon, Blue practised her gymnastics in the garden. With a bit of luck, her dad would Skype her any day now. She couldn’t wait to tell him about Dr Boogaloo and show him her newly mastered back-walkover-into-a-handstand-splits-in-the-middle-then-into-a-cartwheel-front-flip-backflip routine.
Next door, the Taylor boys had resumed airborne combat on the trampoline.
‘The battle of the flying foam monsters has begun,’ declared Ned.
Blue peeked through a hole in the fence to see what a battle of flying foam monsters actually looked like.
Just to spice things up, the Taylor boys had put the sprinkler underneath the trampoline and poured a bottle of washing-up liquid on top. Ned, Riley and Tom were covered head to toe in bubbles.
‘You’re on my team, Tom,’ said Ned.
‘Then Moose is on mine,’ said Riley, scrambling out and hauling the family dog up onto the trampoline. Moose slid and rolled through the white foam, barking at the bubbles. Before long, they were all knee-deep.
How Blue wished she could join in. It looked like so much fun.
That night, Nell, the family’s personal chef, cooked Blue her favourite meal: chicken schnitzel, corn on the cob and white chocolate mousse. That in itself wasn’t unusual. Nell always cooked Blue her favourite meal. What was unusual was the crackly feeling that had steadily filled Blue’s tummy since visiting the Boogaloo Family Clinic of Musical Cures.
Lying awake in bed, her mind hummed. She imagined the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she might get her laughter back. Not being able to laugh was hard to describe to people who could. Things still looked funny. And sounded funny. But they didn’t feel funny anymore. It was as if a cocoon was ever so slowly being wrapped around her. With each and every layer, the world became a little bit more muffled and distant. Although she knew there were much more important wishes to be had – like world peace or an end to global warming – Blue only ever had one wish.
She wanted her laughter back.
She didn’t need uncontrollable laughing fits or full-blown belly laughs. Just an occasional giggle would do.
Before that cocoon sealed her off completely.
CHAPTER 4
Bessie
Promised I’d get round to it, didn’t I? Now, the wonderful Bessie … where to begin?
Well, you already know Bessie is Dr Boogaloo’s wife. According to Dr Boogaloo, Bessie was the magic in his wand. Not that Dr Boogaloo actually used a wand. It was just his way of saying how INDISPENSABLE Bessie was to the Boogaloo Family Clinic of Musical Cures. ‘Thank goodness for Bessie,’ he’d say at least ten times a day. ‘Without Bessie, there’d be no curing anyone!’
Now, apart from his shiny silver suits, Dr Boogaloo looked very much like any other doctor. You know, sensible. Neat and tidy hair, necktie, that sort of thing. And apart from his secret love of jalapeño-pickle-and-fish-flavoured snow cones, he was a fairly ordinary sort of fellow.
Bessie, on the other hand, was anything but. With a fairy-floss cloud of mandarin-orange hair exploding out from under her striped beanie, Bessie was like a rainbow caught up inside a tornado – a firecracker of colour and sound! Her long thin arms were a tangle of bangles, beads and bells, which jingled and chinked as she moved. She wore long peasant skirts that made a gentle but rhythmic swooshing noise as they swept along the floor. Wherever she went, a jingle-jangle-swish-swoosh sound would herald her arrival.
Few people noticed, but inside the folds and ruffles of Bessie’s skirts lived a small family of pygmy possums. In case you’ve never seen a pygmy possum, they’re no bigger than an egg, with impossibly cute microscopic pink hands and feet – all four of which would fit on your thumbnail! Bessie had sewn pockets onto her bright floral aprons so that the little fellows, being nocturnal creatures, had somewhere to sleep. But come night-time, those cinnamon balls with whiskers would emerge. They’d tumble and scramble about, hanging and swinging by their long tails. And if you listened very, very closely to most cures, you could hear their teeny, tiny tuneful squeaks. Indeed, Bessie was convinced her musical marsupials were often the magical note.
That morning, as Blue sat waiting for Bessie, her ears were not yet familiar with the jingle-jangle-swish-swoosh sound that came floating down the corridor and into the waiting room. In fact, Blue didn’t even notice. She’d lost a battle with her better self and surrendered completely to bad manners. Blue was staring mercilessly at a girl whose toes were growing out of her nose. Not that the girl seemed to mind at all. She was happily painting her nose toes with a bright shade of red nail polish.
‘What do you think? Too much? I’ve got a pale pink,’ said the girl. She pulled out a bottle of pixie-dust pink polish and showed it to Blue.
‘Er, um, no, the red’s lovely,’ replied Blue, trying to appear unfazed, as if she’d seen nose toes a million times before. She was so busy seeming unastonished she didn’t even hear Bessie call her name.
‘Good morning, Blue!’ said Bessie a second time and just a little louder.
Startled, Blue looked up to see the glowing mandarin-haired Bessie, her jingle-jangle hand outstretched.
‘I’m Bessie, lovely to meet you,’ she said with a warm smile.
Bessie was wearing a magnificent green velvet skirt with pink flowers and a red-ribbon trim. As Blue shook Bessie’s tuneful hand, out of the corner of her eye she saw two brown furry smudges flip their way up Bessie’s skirt and into her apron pocket.
‘Hello. Um … ah … I think I just saw two mice run up your skirt,’ said Blue, as politely as she could.
‘Oh, ah! Not mice, dear – possums. That’s Dolly and Makeba. They’re just getting themselves comfy for their morning nap, otherwise I’d introduce you. Now, you’re with me today, luv,’ said Bessie. ‘We’re off to
