TALES FROM WITCHWAY WOOD: Crash 'n' Bang (10 page)

‘Mind you,’ went on Scott, ‘I’ll have to consult my diary. I’m greatly in demand for public appearances. My latest film has received rave reviews.’

This was true. Scott’s career was currently at an all-time high. His personal life was good too, now that his ex-girlfriend had finally stopped sending him poison pen letters.

‘Ah.’ Ali nodded sympathetically. ‘It is the price of fame.’

‘You’ve
seen
my latest film, I take it?’

‘
Avenging Killer Poodles – The Final Chapter!
’ Ali clasped his plump hands together. ‘A masterpiece! Your greatest work. Three times I have been. Wonderful!’

He hadn’t seen it at all, actually. He was too busy making money to go to the cinema. But Ali knew how to flatter celebrities.

‘I have the reviews here somewhere.’ Scott dug into the pocket of his silken dressing gown. ‘You might like to . . . ?’

‘Sadly, I have no time.’ Ali sounded wretched. ‘Places to fly, people to see, you know how it is.’

‘Oh. Well, the critics love it. Mind you, making it left me quite, quite exhausted. Never act with animals, Mr Pali. Those poodles were
savages
.’

‘Tch, tch,’ tutted Ali. ‘What it is to suffer for the art. What you need is a day in the glorious sunshine.’

‘Hmm. Sludgehaven, you say? Why there, particularly?’

‘It is the only place with a big enough field,’ explained Ali. ‘We are expecting great crowds, you see.’

Scott thought about this. He had mixed memories of Sludgehaven. He had performed there once at the Pier Pavilion for a summer season. It had been the scene of one of his greatest triumphs. He wouldn’t mind revisiting it, for old times’ sake. But he didn’t want to seem too easy.

‘It’s hardly just round the corner, is it? How am I supposed to get there?’

‘I will send a limousine,’ Ali informed him smoothly. ‘Also, I have taken the liberty of booking you into the luxurious Ritz hotel. Arrive Friday, stay overnight, linger over the delicious breakfast in the morning, then be driven in style to the hospitality tent.’

‘A private one, I hope?’ put in Scott. ‘I hope I’m not expected to mix with the bands.’

‘Why, of course not! You are the star of stage and screen! There will be a special celebrity tent where you will recline on the shiny cushions eating grapes. Then a little light judging, sign a few autographs, pose with a few fans, large cheque in the post. What could be easier?’

‘Will it be spellovised?’ enquired Scott. Although principally a star of stage and the big screen, Scott loved seeing himself on spellovision.

‘Of course,’ said Ali. ‘This is the big day! The launch of
Genie Sounds
. It will be on prime time. And the press will be out in force. The
Sludgehaven News. The Daily Miracle. Famous and Fabulous
have promised to send along their top reporter.’

‘Well,’ said Scott, ‘as it happens, I think I
am
free on Saturday.’

‘A thousand rejoicings!’ Ali clapped his hands. ‘My work is done!’

‘Who else is on the judging panel?’ enquired Scott. ‘As well as me.’

‘Well, my humble self, of course. And the Mayor of Sludgehaven.’

‘Hardly a celebrity,’ scoffed Scott.

‘No,’ admitted Ali, ‘but it was the only way I could persuade him to hire out the field. He is afraid of hordes of music fans running amok in the streets of Sludgehaven, frightening the little children and kicking in the windows of the cream tea shops.’ Ali gave a little sigh, then brightened. ‘But no matter! I am in negotiations with another
proper
celebrity.’

‘Who?’ asked Scott sharply. ‘Not as famous as me, surely?’

‘No, no!’ cried Ali. ‘You are my shining star!’

‘Who, then?’

‘Ah.’ Ali tapped the side of his nose. ‘Big secret until all is confirmed. But rest assured you are the tops. And now, allow me to present you with the traditional gifts. It is the Genie way.’

He dived into the carpet bag, re-emerging with a small box of Turkish delight adorned with a red ribbon. This was followed by a sequinned belt, a small rubber camel that squirted water when you squeezed its hump, a bar of sandalwood soap, a plastic palm tree and a signed photograph of Ali himself, reclining on a bed of cushions next to his heated swimming pool.

It was an odd collection, and frankly a bit disappointing after all that talk of purses of gold.

‘You like?’ beamed Ali.

‘Er – well, um, yes. Thanks very much.’

‘It is my pleasure.’ Ali Pali stood up. ‘And now I must leave you. There is much to organise.’

‘Shall the butler order you a cab?’

‘No. I flew in. My carpet awaits. Farewell, my friend. I shall be in touch.’

Luscious Lulu Lamarre, star of stage and screen, sat at her dressing-room mirror, which was surrounded by twinkling lights. She wore a satin evening dress. Diamonds glittered at her neck. She was busily powdering her nose, getting ready for the matinee performance. From somewhere outside came the sound of the orchestra tuning up.

Life was good for Lulu. She was currently starring in a musical show entitled
Singalongalulu!
It was very popular with a certain weird section of the public. Every night was booked out. Fans queued at the stage door, their arms full of flowers, cards and chocolates. Even better, she had stopped writing poison pen letters to her ex-boyfriend and moved on. Yes, everything was good. Although she would have preferred it if her visitor had arrived
after
the performance. Lulu liked to allow plenty of time to pout at her reflection and plump up her hair before making her grand entrance.

The visitor sat beaming away in the background, plump little hands folded across his belly and carpet bag at his feet.

Lulu knew Ali Pali. He had once been her manager. Quite a good one, as it happened. They had both since moved on to other things, but she had to admit that he had done wonders for her career.

‘So, Lulu, my darling,’ said Ali. ‘Will you do it? What do you say?’

‘I don’t
know
.’ Lulu gave a petulant little wriggle of her shoulders. ‘It’s very short notice, Ali.’

‘Ah, come on. For Ali, eh? Remember Sludgehaven? The summer season at the Pier Pavilion? Back in the old days?’

‘I most certainly do.’ Lulu gave a little shudder. ‘But that’s all behind me. I’m a household name now.’

‘Exactly! All the households will be tuning in to see their favourite star on the spellovision. My top cameraman will be there. You will get all the big, lingering close-ups, I promise.’

‘But what about the show? I’m the star! You’ve seen it, I hope?’

‘I have,’ lied Ali. ‘Three times I have been. You were wonderful.’

‘I know. That’s what I’m saying. It’s always a full house on Saturdays. My public needs me.’

‘Send on the understudy,’ said Ali.

‘But it’s called
Singalongalulu!
’

‘Call it
Singalongatheunderstudy!
It’s only for one night.’ Ali was really wheedling now. ‘Darling. Sweetie. Help me out here. I really need you for this. I need glamour on the panel. Who is more glamorous than Luscious Lulu Lamarre?’

‘True,’ agreed Lulu. ‘I suppose you’re right. I take it there’s a fee?’

‘Of course. A most
generous
fee. I shall send a limousine for you, and I have booked you into the Ritz, of course. It will be a day of glorious sunshine and music. You will sit and smile for the camera and give everyone the benefit of your beauty and wisdom. Ah, say you will, darling. Be a Mystery Celebrity for Ali. Eh?’

‘W-e-e-l-l . . . Who else is on the panel?’

‘My humble self and the Mayor of Sludgehaven.’

‘Poo!’ Lulu gave a little pout. ‘You and some boring old Mayor. Is that all?’

‘Not quite. I am in negotiations with someone else.’

‘Who?’

‘Ah.’ Ali tapped his nose. ‘For now, big secret. Someone famous.’

‘Not as famous as me, though?’

‘No, no! You are my shining star!’

‘Well – all right, then. I suppose I’ll do it.’

‘A thousand rejoicings! Allow me to present you with the traditional gifts!’

‘Are they the same ones you always hand out? The Turkish delight and the soap and the cheap belt and the photo of you in your trunks?’

‘Yes.’

‘No, then.’

‘Not the amusing rubber camel that squirts the water when the hump is squeezed?’

‘No. I’ve already got one.’

‘Ah, well. It is your choice.’ Ali Pali stood up. ‘I shall leave you to prepare. I have another appointment. I must fly. Wonderful to see you, darling. I shall be in touch.’

Setting Off

‘Yeee-haaaaa!’ shouted TT, twirling the wheel deftly as the band van charged along the track. ‘See that, Gareth? See how I missed that tree? Woo-hooo!’

It was early Friday morning, and TT was in a terrific mood. He had finally found his calling! His life was back on track! He was the manager of an up-and-coming band with an amazing new singer and was off to Sludgehaven-on-Sea! Gareth was coming too in his bowl, which was firmly sticky-taped to the dashboard. He looked quite excited, for a fish.

TT had acquired the van the day before. It had been the first job on his list of things to do. The list went like this:

1. Get a van (how?)

2. Get some munny (how?)

3. Buy sum stuff (how?)

4. Get a roadie (who?)

5. Pak T-shirts

6. Pak Gareth’s fude

7. Pak Gareth

8. Arange for fan mail to be sent to hotel

9. Book hotel

There was a lot to organise, but TT thrived on being busy. The Boys were tied up with rehearsing the new singer, so TT had left them to it and set off to pay a visit to Helpful Bob.

Helpful Bob was the owner of a recently opened Emporium called Essential Necessities, which basically sold anything people thought they wanted. Bob’s big selling point was that there was no money down. You just took the goods and paid later, which didn’t hurt so much at the time, although later it hurt a
lot
. TT had worked briefly for Bob once. For one long, boring night, he had attempted to hand out Bob’s advertising fliers. After failing to shift more than one – and that to a stupid Goblin which ended up causing a lot of trouble – long story – TT had got fed up, dumped the fliers and gone home.