In a small storeroom at the side of the theatre, Abominatia Bunt stamped back and forth, rustling as she went. She was fuming with rage.
Snatching up a scorecard from the table, she looked at it again and howled. She was so angry her bony hand was shaking. How? How did that rhinoceros Bulch girl beat her wonderbunkin’ daughter?
Then something suddenly occurred to her, and she stopped stamping. I’m the only underling that’s seen the final result.
Making sure that no one was looking, Abominatia ripped the card in half and stuffed the pieces deep into a box of tatty old costumes.
‘Bye-bye, Bulchy,’ she whispered sneeringly to herself. Then she checked that her flytrap hair tower was beautifully in place, smoothed her bin liners and slunk off, muttering, ‘No one outperforms a Bunt. NO ONE!’
