we can’t go on. I can’t work without her, she’s my everything.’
Fizz patted the Doctor on the shoulder and said that everyone needed an evening off now and then. Besides, come the morning, of course Flopples would be back to her old self.
But he wasn’t nearly as sure as he sounded.
Dr Surprise wasn’t in the mood for a history lesson that morning, and (not unusually) neither was Fizz, so he made his apologies and left the Doctor to wait for the vet.
Fizz was sat on the steps outside Dr Surprise’s caravan, thinking about the poorly rabbit and his mum’s missing nose, when a sudden cry split the sunny morning and echoed round the circus. It was a horrible wail of pain and was accompanied by a quieter crunching sound and then by a crash and then by a whimper.
He looked all around, trying to work out where it had come from. And then he ran off in search of the source, leaving us hanging around here at the end of the chapter waiting for someone to turn the page and read on.
Chapter Seven
In which a Strongman is weakened and in which a trick is revealed
Fizz arrived at the scene of the scream just in time to find his dad being lowered onto a stretcher by a pair of first aid-giving clowns.
‘Ooh,’ said Mr Stump painfully as they laid him down on the canvas and put a blanket over his chest.
The clowns took up positions at either end of the stricken strongman, bent down and lifted the poles that supported the stretcher.
There was a ripping sound and they walked off in the direction of Mr Stump’s caravan with the poles, but without the stretcher and Mr Stump, who were still on the ground.
When they were safely out of the way, Mr Stump said, ‘Fizz, help me up will you?’
Fizz took his dad’s hand and helped him hobble to his feet.
The strongman pressed one of his great big hands to the small of his back and tried stretching.
‘Aarggh.’
‘Have you done your back in, dad?’ asked Fizz. ‘Was that what the scream was?’
‘Scream?’
‘Yeah, I heard a scream.’
By now a small crowd had gathered round the two Stumps.
Two more clowns came forward with a big bag of first aid gear. One of them pulled a stethoscope out and tried to listen to the side of Fizz’s head. Fizz brushed him away. The other one was already tangled up in the bandages he’d begun unrolling and ten seconds later was lying on the floor looking like a muddy mummy with a quietly honking horn and a red nose poking out between the wrappings.
‘I don’t scream,’ Mr Stump said firmly. ‘That was Madame Plume de Matant. I was lifting her up.’
Madame Plume de Matant was the circus’s fortune teller. She had a little tent of her own that visitors could visit before they went into the Big Top. She would tell them their futures, which mainly involved saying, ‘You are going to see a circus,’ in a French accent. (People sometimes complained that that wasn’t what they’d paid a pound to hear, but however much they argued, they couldn’t fault her predictions.)
‘You dropped her?’
‘I don’t drop things,’ Mr Stump said, sounding like he was either cross or in pain or both.
‘Why did she scream then?’
‘Because she fell,’ Mr Stump said quietly.
‘Because you dropped her, dad?’
‘Sort of. Ooh.’
The strongman was tottering back to his caravan leaning on Fizz’s shoulder. He was a big man and Fizz was only a short lad, so they were moving quite slowly. His back was obviously badly twisted.
‘Why did you drop her?’ Fizz asked. ‘I mean, “sort of” drop her.’
Mr Stump stopped walking and his son stopped with him.
He looked down into the boy’s eyes and said, ‘You mustn’t tell anyone, Fizz. They’ll laugh at me.’
‘Okay. I promise.’
‘I lifted her up, and was just getting ready to start juggling, when I was . . . tickled.’
‘Tickled? You told me you weren’t ticklish. You said grownups aren’t ticklish, that it’s something kids grow out of!’
‘Well,
Fizz patted the Doctor on the shoulder and said that everyone needed an evening off now and then. Besides, come the morning, of course Flopples would be back to her old self.
But he wasn’t nearly as sure as he sounded.
Dr Surprise wasn’t in the mood for a history lesson that morning, and (not unusually) neither was Fizz, so he made his apologies and left the Doctor to wait for the vet.
Fizz was sat on the steps outside Dr Surprise’s caravan, thinking about the poorly rabbit and his mum’s missing nose, when a sudden cry split the sunny morning and echoed round the circus. It was a horrible wail of pain and was accompanied by a quieter crunching sound and then by a crash and then by a whimper.
He looked all around, trying to work out where it had come from. And then he ran off in search of the source, leaving us hanging around here at the end of the chapter waiting for someone to turn the page and read on.
Chapter Seven
In which a Strongman is weakened and in which a trick is revealed
Fizz arrived at the scene of the scream just in time to find his dad being lowered onto a stretcher by a pair of first aid-giving clowns.
‘Ooh,’ said Mr Stump painfully as they laid him down on the canvas and put a blanket over his chest.
The clowns took up positions at either end of the stricken strongman, bent down and lifted the poles that supported the stretcher.
There was a ripping sound and they walked off in the direction of Mr Stump’s caravan with the poles, but without the stretcher and Mr Stump, who were still on the ground.
When they were safely out of the way, Mr Stump said, ‘Fizz, help me up will you?’
Fizz took his dad’s hand and helped him hobble to his feet.
The strongman pressed one of his great big hands to the small of his back and tried stretching.
‘Aarggh.’
‘Have you done your back in, dad?’ asked Fizz. ‘Was that what the scream was?’
‘Scream?’
‘Yeah, I heard a scream.’
By now a small crowd had gathered round the two Stumps.
Two more clowns came forward with a big bag of first aid gear. One of them pulled a stethoscope out and tried to listen to the side of Fizz’s head. Fizz brushed him away. The other one was already tangled up in the bandages he’d begun unrolling and ten seconds later was lying on the floor looking like a muddy mummy with a quietly honking horn and a red nose poking out between the wrappings.
‘I don’t scream,’ Mr Stump said firmly. ‘That was Madame Plume de Matant. I was lifting her up.’
Madame Plume de Matant was the circus’s fortune teller. She had a little tent of her own that visitors could visit before they went into the Big Top. She would tell them their futures, which mainly involved saying, ‘You are going to see a circus,’ in a French accent. (People sometimes complained that that wasn’t what they’d paid a pound to hear, but however much they argued, they couldn’t fault her predictions.)
‘You dropped her?’
‘I don’t drop things,’ Mr Stump said, sounding like he was either cross or in pain or both.
‘Why did she scream then?’
‘Because she fell,’ Mr Stump said quietly.
‘Because you dropped her, dad?’
‘Sort of. Ooh.’
The strongman was tottering back to his caravan leaning on Fizz’s shoulder. He was a big man and Fizz was only a short lad, so they were moving quite slowly. His back was obviously badly twisted.
‘Why did you drop her?’ Fizz asked. ‘I mean, “sort of” drop her.’
Mr Stump stopped walking and his son stopped with him.
He looked down into the boy’s eyes and said, ‘You mustn’t tell anyone, Fizz. They’ll laugh at me.’
‘Okay. I promise.’
‘I lifted her up, and was just getting ready to start juggling, when I was . . . tickled.’
‘Tickled? You told me you weren’t ticklish. You said grownups aren’t ticklish, that it’s something kids grow out of!’
‘Well,
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