The Magician's Daughter, page 1
For Gwenno, Erin and Abigail.
You three are magic!
‘The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious’ – Albert Einstein
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER ONE
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, what you are about to witness is a magical feat which has been a year in the making! A treat for the imagination, the likes of which has NEVER been seen at Sunny Haven Holiday Park before. A splendiferous illusion that will knock your socks off …’
Abby watched breathlessly through the red velvet curtains at the side of the stage, her stomach in a knot as Dad slipped his magic wand from his trouser waistband and waved it mysteriously over the box on the rickety table in front of him. Although the stage lights were blinding, Abby could still make out the sweat on her dad’s forehead, the tension in his jaw and, to her left, the dozens of expectant upturned faces in the crowd. The younger kids were, as usual, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the front. Their older brothers and sisters were chewing gum and looking at their phones, and behind them were the usual frazzled mixture of sun-burned mums, dads, grandads, aunts and uncles who were hoping that the onsite entertainment would at least give them an hour’s peace from their energetic families and a nice sit down.
‘As you can see,’ continued Dad mysteriously, picking up the box and sweeping it dramatically from side to side, ‘this box is completely empty. Can you please confirm to me that it is empty?’
There was no reply, just the sound of coughing and crinkly crisp packets and the odd baby crying.
‘I said, can you see that it is empty?’ he asked again, louder this time, while cupping his hand behind his ear theatrically.
‘Yes!’ came the bedraggled response. Dad smiled and returned to the table and placed the box down again with a flourish, but Abby could tell by his breathing that he was nervous.
Ever since Little Mike, the holiday park site manager, had threatened to sack him if he didn’t up his magical game. Barbara the cabaret singer had had to modernize her song choices from Songs That Won the War to chart-topping hits, the ballroom dancers had been dropped for a street dancing group and Dad, well, Dad was on thin ice. This was the first show of the season, and his last chance to impress Little Mike, who was now standing on a box in the back of the entertainment hall so he could see over the heads of the audience. His twice-dyed hair was slicked down and his suit was so sharp it could draw blood. And even in the low light, Abby could see Little Mike’s over-whitened teeth shine against his tanned face, practically glowing in the dark.
Abby watched as Dad waved his magic wand over and around the box in order to show that there were no tricks or wires, that there wasn’t anything suspicious going on … Then, when he was ready, he grabbed the box and threw it into the air before catching it again and this time, he reached into the box and pulled out Abby’s white rabbit Ta-da, who blinked uncertainly in the spotlights.
There came a small ripple of clapping from the audience and the little children started laughing and pointing.
‘Now!’ said Dad gaining confidence, ‘I’m going to make this rabbit disappear again!’
Dad stroked Ta-da before putting him back in the box and picking it up once again. Then, as he had practised, he threw it into the air. Abby heard the audience gasp as it sailed upwards as if in slow motion, before landing back in her father’s hands.
This time, there was absolute silence. Some of the little ones in front had their hands over their mouths in shock. And then, with a broadening smile, Dad showed them … the empty box. Ta-da had disappeared!
There came some proper applause this time, and Abby could just about make out Little Mike looking pleased. Abby’s shoulders relaxed as she watched Dad hit his stride.
‘Now!’ he said, ‘YOU! Madam in the front.’
The old woman who was knitting in the second row looked up over her glasses.
‘Yes, you. May I have your bag, please?’
The old woman looked around like someone who had been singled out by a teacher.
‘May I have your bag?’
The old lady stuffed her knitting into her pocket and hauled herself to her feet. She picked up her bag and walked through the gaggle of children on the floor who parted like the red sea with her every step. They watched her as she handed her bag to Dad.
Dad took it and thanked her before waving his magic wand over the bag and reaching in. First, he took out a small flask of tea. The old lady blushed at that, but Abby couldn’t blame her, the prices they charged for a cup of tea around here were extortionate.
Then came a half-eaten scone with jam, a pair of reading glasses, a puzzle book, a handkerchief, and eventually … a fluffy pair of ears … as Dad pulled out … Ta-da, who looked positively disgruntled having spent the last five minutes in an old lady’s handbag.
The old woman gasped and the crowd started to clap enthusiastically. There were even a few cheers!
‘And now for the grand finale!’ he announced. The audience were starting to eat out of Dad’s hands by now, and Abby could see that he was feeding off the energy. When a show was going well, her dad would glow. It was like he transformed somehow into the Great Ronaldo. Not Dad, not the one who made her food or told her to do her homework, but a black-silk-cape-wearing, redribboned-top-hat-doffing magician.
Dad grinned at the audience as he placed Ta-da gently back in the box and replaced the lid. Then he swirled the magic wand around as if stirring some kind of mystical soup.
‘This rabbit will take flight. It will become at one with the air!’ he announced.
This was the hardest bit of the routine. Abby knew that. Dad knew that. All kinds of things could go wrong and had gone wrong in practice. Abby watched, suddenly tense again. A respectful hush had now fallen over the audience and even Little Mike looked like he was holding his breath.
‘Go on little rabbit! FLY!’ Dad shouted at last, flicking his wand upwards dramatically.
Suddenly, there was a green-and-red flash and a bang loud enough to blow your granny’s socks off. Then came the smoke. Abby’s heart beat painfully as she watched. The bang was supposed to happen, the flash too, but then the lid was supposed to come off the box. It was supposed to come off! But it looked as if it was jammed shut. It was then that the box started to move, jittering about on the table back and forth. Abby looked on as her dad started to panic. The little children at the front began to cough as rolling waves of smoke billowed their way off the stage towards them.
Dad tried again. ‘Go little rabbit! FLY!’ he shouted, waving his wand in the air.
Abby’s heart sank. She could hardly see him now. The smoke cylinder had gone haywire and was spewing thick, choking smoke. There was some jeering from the crowd. The box was bouncing. Up and down and up and down as Dad fought to prise the lid off. Some of the littlest children were crying and the knitting lady was holding her handkerchief to her mouth.
‘What’s wrong with this thing?’ She heard Dad’s strangled voice say as he wrestled with the box.
Then, eventually, he managed to prise the lid off and, as he did, six pigeons burst from the box in a blind panic, feathers flying everywhere as they wheeled about in the smoke, disorientated. The boos were getting louder now, and Abby could see Dad trying to whistle to the pigeons to calm them down. Most magicians used doves, but since they were so expensive, Dad had plumped for pigeons and, because he’d bought them from an ex-racing-pigeon man, they weren’t exactly cooperative. The bang had obviously given them the fright of their lives, and they were flying upwards, trying to get away as quickly as possible. The whole ordeal had obviously upset their tummies too, and Abby watched in horror as they splatted the audience below with their wet birdy poop.
‘ARGHHH! NOOOO!’ Shrieks arose from the audience as mums started gathering up their bags, and dads and uncles scooped up children left, right and centre, while the older children laughed hysterically.
Dad looked on in silent terror, as children and adults screamed. Little Mike was looking furious; he’d gone from a deep mahogany tan to a puce, and was pulling at his starched little collar. He was shouting at someone to put the lights on and waving his hands over his head.
It was then that Abby realized that some of the pigeons had singed their tail feathers. The spark that was supposed to ignite the small amount of gunpowder they used for the bang and light effect must have se
What happened next seemed to play out in slow motion. Abby and Dad watched, hearts in mouths, as the sprinkler system switched on, sending water raining down on everyone beneath. Then, one sprinkler set off another and another until it looked like it was pouring with rain inside the entertainment hall. The fire alarms started blaring and Little Mike stood, mouth agape as the holidaymakers pushed past him, soggy and coughing and covered in bird poo, looking to all the world like they’d just survived the sinking of the Titanic.
Abby slipped through the curtains and caught Ta-da, who had reappeared and gone to hide under the table. She pulled him out and held him as he pushed his head under her armpit. Abby and Dad looked out at the empty hall, the rain still falling from the sky and where Little Mike stood, his suit soaking wet, looking like he was just about to explode.
CHAPTER TWO
It had taken them HOURS to clean up and to coax the pigeons back into their cage. Ta-da was now sleeping in Abby’s lap in the front seat of the van and the pigeons were cooing resentfully in the back, still smelling a bit smoky. Abby looked up to see Dad making his way across the car park, his shoes still full of water, each squelchy step a reminder of what had just happened. He got in and closed the door without saying a word.
‘I mean …’ started Abby, ‘I mean, it wasn’t that bad … The first part was excellent. I thought you and Ta-da did brilliantly …’
Abby stroked Ta-da’s ears thoughtfully.
‘It was only the last bit that was a tad … underwhelming …’
She could almost hear Dad considering her words, ‘Underwhelming? Underwhelming?!’
He rubbed his face with his palms, ‘It was absolutely awful, Abby … I mean it couldn’t really have gone any worse.’
He looked at her then, and Abby figured she may as well level with him, ‘Actually you’re right, Dad. It was awful. It was … diabolical … A shambles … An absolute disaster. To be honest, if there’d been a bucket of sand there, I’d have stuck my head into it like an ostrich and pretended I didn’t exist.’
Dad grinned broadly at her and they held each other’s gaze a moment. ‘So, I’m guessing Little Mike doesn’t want us back?’ asked Abby, finally.
‘I think we’re actually pretty lucky he doesn’t want to sue us … But no, we won’t be coming back.’
Abby thought about this for a minute. How their income depended on getting a regular show. Children’s birthday parties were all well and good, but it was difficult to make plans without regular money coming in.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ said Dad gently, ‘we’ll work something out.’
Abby nodded.
‘Right,’ said Dad wearily, ‘let’s go home.’
Dad started the engine and Abby leant her head on the window and watched as the night flickered by. Although she could never imagine taking to the stage herself, she’d always loved going to work with Dad. Watching the sleight of hand he used to switch objects, the illusions and decoys. The way things worked, how a show was put together. She also loved hanging around in the green room watching dancers get ready. Looking at their costumes. Playing cards with the comedians and learning all of their really corny jokes. It was like all these people would come together as a kind of family. A night-time family. One that got together backstage at theatres and caravan parks and night clubs. When Abby was small, it felt like they were always surrounded by people, but now with all the flashy magic around on the telly and the street magic on the internet it felt like there were fewer and fewer live shows happening. It seemed like everyone was getting a bit jaded and, well, harder to impress.
Abby’s favourite part had always been what they called in the business, the ‘get-ins’ and the ‘get-outs’. The preparation the day before, planning the routine, and carrying all the equipment into the rusty old van. Then the drive, finding the venue, pulling all of the equipment out of the van and setting up the stage, and carrying the equipment back into the van at the end of the night and then the journey home. Just the two of them, talking about how well the night had gone, what they’d do differently next time. They’d learnt over the years to plan their stops, always somewhere they knew there’d be a chip shop open at midnight, and then they’d buy bottles of lemonade and drink them, Abby’s feet up on the dashboard, both too full of adrenaline and applause and fizziness to be tired.
More recently though, Dad had become quieter. He’d have fewer new ideas and Abby knew that tonight had hurt. She could tell that he was getting kind of tired of the same old routines and the same faint applause. She could understand it too. The world which had seemed to her so glossy and shiny and sequinney when she was small just felt a little faded. A little threadbare. Tonight had felt like Dad’s last real chance of making something of his magic; now it just felt like the end of something.
Abby listened to the van’s engine struggling up a hill as her dad changed gear. The pigeons had gone quiet now and Abby felt Ta-da’s warmth in her lap.
‘I never liked that Little Mike anyway …’ she murmured.
‘Thanks, Abby-cadabra …’ Dad looked over and smiled.
‘We’ll be ok you know, I promise …’ he said.
Abby smiled softly back.
‘I know.’
CHAPTER THREE
Abby opened her eyes and stretched lazily. Judging by the light, she’d slept in a bit, and she could hear noises outside the bus. She hauled herself onto her elbow, pulled back the curtain and saw Dad carrying things out of the back of the van and into the rickety old shed he had built in order to store all his magical equipment. She listened as he walked back and forth from the van to the shed, talking to himself ten to the dozen as he usually did when he was trying to figure something out.
Abby and Dad lived on a bus. A real actual bus. Mum and Dad had bought it before Abby was born, partly because they couldn’t afford to buy an actual house and partly because they were planning on saving up some money to spend a couple of years exploring the world together. And it must have been a very impressive bus when it was new. It was the square old-fashioned type, bright blue, with a red stripe running down the outside that kind of matched the old van.
In the back of the bus there was a bed on each side with a curtain in between for privacy and a shelf under the window for Abby’s books. They’d lived there perfectly happy as a family and had almost saved up enough money for the big trip when Mum, well … she just died. Abby still couldn’t believe it sometimes. One minute she was there and the next, poof! She was gone. Disappeared. Abby was still small and her dad had explained to her that something had happened in her brain. The only thing Abby really remembered about that time was asking Dad to magic her back, and Dad saying that it didn’t work that way.
So the bus had stayed in the same place, the tyres had gone flat and they kind of got used to the idea of staying put. Dad had built a shed next to the bus to work on his magical equipment and soon it was time for Abby to start in the local school, and that was that.
Abby stretched out again before swinging her legs over the side of the bed and plopping to the floor. She walked to the front of the bus squeezing past Dad’s still-soggy cape that he’d hung up to dry.
‘Morning,’ said Abby as she emerged from the bus and sat on the bottom step, squinting in the bright light. Dad didn’t even look up; he was so preoccupied talking to himself he hadn’t heard her. Abby watched as he pulled out a ‘saw a person in half’ box from the back of the van before disappearing back into the dusty old shed.
‘Oh!’ he said when he finally reappeared, ‘there you are!’ He smiled distractedly before moving towards the back of the van once more.
‘What are you doing?’ Abby asked.
The mumbling started again as he disappeared into the echoey van.
The van was slowly rusting and the massive magic wand painted on the side with the words, ‘The Great Ronaldo’ looked a bit flaky, but it still had a certain charm. They used it for carrying everything they needed to and from shows. It might be chains and a straitjacket for escape tricks, or it could be card tricks, or boxes for switching tricks. When Mum was around, there were more too; she specialized in using silver cups and balls for disappearing tricks and there was also a wooden box which she made Dad sit in while she dramatically slid swords into it.
