The Magical Peppers and the Island of Invention. Sian Pattenden

your fingers very tightly into your palms, then open them one by one, starting with the forefinger. Then try opening alternate fingers – second finger, little finger, forefinger, third finger and so on {see fig. 1}.

      Hold your hand up straight and separate your fingers as illustrated. Now change positions as quickly as you can {see fig. 2}.

      Touch the tip of your little finger with the tip of your forefinger – first at the back, then quickly at the front {see fig. 3}.

      In all totality,

      Dr Pompkins

      

      “Do my eyes deceive me or am I getting a sneak preview of the performance?” said the man. He had in his hand a poster for Potty’s magic show.

      The assembled crew turned towards the darkness.

      “You sneaky little ladies,” the man said, wagging a finger at the Table sisters. “You didn’t tell me you were planning another magic show. How wonderful!” He smiled round at everyone, although Esmé couldn’t help but notice that his smile looked a little forced. More like a grimace, she thought to herself.

      “And you must be the Potty Magician…”

      “Yes, that’s me,” said Potty, walking forwards, squinting into the shadowy auditorium.

      The man walked up to the stage and shook Potty’s hand, then waved uncomfortably at Esmé and Monty. He was not used to children.

      Twinkle and Tabitha rushed up to greet him.

      “How nice to see you, Mr Portobello,” said Tabitha, trying not to flinch as he kissed her cheek, then Twinkle’s.

      “Tea?” asked Twinkle.

      “No, thanks, Twinks,” said Mr Portobello, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

      So this is the man who wanted to buy the Sea Spray, thought Esmé.

      Mr Portobello had greased-back hair and wore a shiny suit that was clearly one size too small for him. Esmé wondered what it was about him that made her feel uncomfortable, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. But the man was, for the Table sisters, all important, so Esmé kept smiling and decided to be as charming as she could.

      “Potty’s act is going to be fantastic, Mr Portobello,” Esmé said.

      “Please, call me Ronnie,” oozed Mr Portobello.

      “Keith’s been helping us out too and we’ve come up with some great ideas,” Esmé continued.

      “Keith… hmm, interesting,” Mr Portobello mused, stroking his chin while staring hard at Keith. He turned to Esmé. “And are you his delightful young assistant?”

      “No, I am, Mr Portobello,” said Monty, a little annoyed.

      “Wonderful!” replied the businessman, looking him up and down. “Nice swimming costume.”

      Mr Portobello walked up to the ladder and leant heavily upon it with a shiny elbow. “I love a magic show,” he said. “I’ve seen all the greats – Mark Daniels, Terry Cooper, Ray Preston. Love ’em all. And I can see you’re doing something really special here, in the great tradition of… um…”

      “Houdini? Ali Bongo? Dante the Magician – Sim Sala Bim?” asked Potty.

      “Bless you! Ha ha ha!” replied Mr Portobello, laughing loudly at his own joke. “Anyway, you’re doing a great job, kids. I know that this show is going to be incomprehensible!”

      Esmé wondered if he had meant to say ‘incredible’. Looking around, everyone else was still smiling at Mr Portobello, each with a slightly glazed look in their eyes.

      “And if the show is any good,” boomed the businessman, “I’m going to buy this theatre for lots of money, renovate it and turn it into a fantastic venue that the Queen and Pete Middleton can enjoy.”

      “We’re so glad you’re behind the show,” said Twinkle, simpering slightly. Esmé could tell how desperate she was to sell the theatre.

      “Oh, I am,” oozed Mr Portobello. “And now Keith has workshop space over at Crab Pie Island, where I live. He can see to your props there, when things are not exploding…”

      “That was just a minor glitch, Mr Portobello,” Keith reassured him. “I was having problems with the pincer… it’s all sorted now.”

      Esmé realised that must have been the first explosion they had heard this morning.

      “Good, good,” said Mr Portobello. “And I simply insist you use the space there to construct your gadgets for Potty. It’s the least I can do. That way I can keep an eye… I mean, help you,” said Mr Portobello, correcting himself quickly.

      But Esmé had heard the slip up, and didn’t like the sound of it. Why does Mr Portobello want to keep an eye on Keith? she wondered.

      Potty, however, seemed completely oblivious to the comment. “What a wonderful setting it must be, Keith,” he said. “Your workshop must be an idyll in an otherwise crazy world. To turn your dreams into reality… To create and create and create!”

      “You’ll have to visit some day,” said Mr Portobello. “See my collection of luxury boats.”

      “Yes, please,” said Monty, who had caught some of Potty’s enthusiasm.

      “And of course,” added Mr Portobello, “you can see some of Keith’s incomprehensible creations.”

      Just then a mobile phone rang.

      “Ah, David,” shouted Mr Portobello into his device. “Yes. Yes, I’ve heard. Oh, straight away. Hm. All right, see you in a minute.” He put the phone back in his pocket and sighed.

      “Right, I must be off,” he announced abruptly. “I have a meeting with my accountant. See you all soon.”