The Amazing Mind of Alice Makin by Alan Shea Read Free Book Online Page A

Fingers of fire caress the wood. Magicians’ fingers, coaxing it into flame. On top of the bonfire the Guy’s clothes shrivel in the heat. The warmth of the fire hugs me. I can feel its heat on my face, taste the smoke. It gets into my eyes and makes them water. I can smell it on my clothes.
    I look round at Reggie and Granddad and Mrs Gilbey. It’s funny, a while ago I was thinking things couldn’t get any worse. That they’d never get better. Shows how wrong you can be. Standing here is the best.
    The bonfire collapses in on itself, spits and hisses at us like some angry dragon. Other people, attracted by the fire, begin to drift across. Granddad rakes over the white-hot diamonds of wood. They burst into flames as he touches them.
    I’m hungry now. I look at the jacket potatoes. Reggie fishes one out and gives it to me.
    I break it. Let it cool. Steam folds into the air; smells great. My tummy waters. My mouth says ‘wait for me’. The sweet white inside blisters into flavour on my tongue.
    Granddad takes out a small piece of newspaper, twisted into a spiral, filled with salt. He offers it around. This is great. Being here in the cold and dark, crunching into our potatoes. The only thing missing is the fireworks. But at least we’ve got our bonfire, and you have to be grateful for what you’ve got, Mum says. That’s only common sense, because you can’t be grateful for what you haven’t got, can you?
    I start thinking about how brilliant it would have been to have had our own fireworks. I imagine the noise and the colour and the sky alight with flaming stars . . .
    A rocket splits the darkness. Explodes in the sky. Out of the blue. Out of the dark. Unexpected. It makes me jump. Another launches, so close I can feel it as it sears past me. It tears the darkness, shedding a silver spray, shredding a path upwards through the sky. Then another. Their paths dissect and cascade into a pattern of light and sound; beautiful music that patters down on our heads like singing rain.
    I call out, ‘Look at that!’
    Granddad sucks in his breath.
    â€˜Well I never.’
    Mrs Gilbey sighs. ‘They’re beautiful!’
    It’s just what I imagined our fireworks would be like. The best! Only thing is, we don’t have any. But they’re coming from somewhere. Lots of them. The night explodes. Firework colours paint the night: red, blue, green, silver, gold. The sky fizzes; wriggles and writheswith a life of its own. Rockets whisper secrets upwards. Bangers crack like rifles. Mrs Gilbey looks up into the night.
    â€˜You are a tease, Alice. I thought you said you didn’t have any?’
    â€˜We didn’t . . . at least, I didn’t think we did.’
    â€˜Well, it’s a lovely surprise.’
    Firework follows firework. Tail-chasing, star-gazing, sky-blowing, mind-filling fireworks.
    â€˜Best I’ve ever seen. They’re wonderful!’ Granddad yells. ‘Where are they coming from?’
    Good question. I look around to ask Reggie. He’s gone. I peer into the darkness. I can just see him crouching by the light of the fire. I half expect him to be lighting the fireworks. Funny thing is he doesn’t seem to be doing anything. I mean, he’s just staring into the sky too. Maybe he ran around lighting them all before, so that they went off one after another. It’s the only explanation I can think of.
    I go across. Just as I reach him, a Roman candle whooshes fireballs of colour. Fills the darkness with globes of fire. It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.
    â€˜Blimey, these are brilliant! Where d’you get ’em from?’
    He looks at me. He’s got this puzzled look on his face.
    â€˜I didn’t. They’re k-kind of just here.’
    â€˜What d’you mean, “kind of just here”?’
    He shrugs. Reggie’s good at shrugging. He could give lessons in