Hey Baby! Page 3

  “Hello, girls,” he said. But I could tell he only spoke to us because we were in the hall admiring his baby and he couldn’t avoid us. After that, he hung around looking dead bored, while Mrs Quormby made Tiffany stick hundreds of emergency phone numbers on the fridge. She even gave Tiff the number of her mobile, in case the Harrisons’ phone was out of order!!! The Quormbys used to live in London, so I suppose Cuddington is practically the Third World to them.

  Finally she gave Tiffany this bag bulging with spare clothes, nappies, bottles, toys and stuff. “Just a precaution. Morgan’s a very good baby really – always sleeps right through.”

  Mr Quormby carried the cot into the living room. Rosie’s mum came downstairs while Mrs Quormby was tucking Morgan up for the night. She looked so-o glamorous – Rosie’s mum, I mean. And really shy. I don’t think she’d been out for ages, except for college.

  “Ready, everyone?” she said. “Don’t worry. Tiff is totally trustworthy.”

  “Come ON, Lyn,” moaned Mr Quormby, like a little kid. “We’ll be late for the party.”

  I don’t know why he was in such a rush. He didn’t seem like a party animal to me. But Mrs Quormby glanced back nervously and I realised I was still clutching the bubble sword.

  “It’s just for bubbles,” I called hastily. “Not whacking people.”

  As soon as they’d gone, we went to look at the baby. It was still wide awake, staring round the room with a slightly surprised expression.

  “Aaaah,” we said again. The baby gave a happy wriggle, as if we were the coolest thing it had seen for ages.

  “Tiff,” said Rosie. “If we watch Morgan, will you make us some popcorn?”

  “Well, I suppose I—” Tiff began.

  Then the phone rang. Rosie answered it.

  “It’s for you, Tiff,” she said. “Spud says if he’s not allowed to come round tonight, can he talk to you for a bit.”

  “Ooooh,” we giggled. Tiff went pink.

  “Shall I tell him you can’t, because you’re making our popcorn?” asked Rosie daringly.

  “I’ll talk as long as I want, thanks,” snapped Tiff. “I’ll take it upstairs.” She sprinted off.

  Rosie was still holding the receiver. “Oh, hiya Spud,” we heard Tiff say.

  We crowded round the phone, earwigging like mad. Unfortunately Rosie lost her balance and clunked the phone on the wall.

  “Put it DOWN!” Tiff yelled downstairs. “Can’t I have any PRIVACY?”

  We went back to the living room. Morgan was chatting away in there.

  “Aren’t you sleepy?” said Fliss, stroking Morgan’s cheek.

  “Do you think that’s like, a real language?” said Kenny. “I mean, can other babies understand it?”

  “Who cares!” I said. “Let’s cuddle it before Tiff gets back.”

  “She didn’t say we could,” said Rosie, looking doubtful.

  “She didn’t say we couldn’t either,” Kenny grinned.

  I lifted the baby out of its cot. It smelled of very clean towelling. “Hey, you’re heavy, Morgan,” I said.

  The baby broke into a huge amazed smile.

  “Clever thing. It knows its name!” said Fliss. “Hello, Morgan,” she cooed.

  “Hello, Morgan,” said the others.

  Each time we said its name, the baby beamed from ear to ear. So we kept saying it, till Lyndz made us stop. “You’ll make its little face ache. And it’s got such an adorable little face. Yes, you have!”

  (Have you noticed how everyone totally loses their marbles the moment they set eyes on a baby? Why is that?)

  “Hope it doesn’t grow up like Mr Quormby,” I said darkly.

  “Look at its gorgeous clothes,” whispered Rosie.

  “They’re OshKosh B’Gosh,” said Fliss.

  “Osh kosh who?” scowled Kenny.

  “They make really cool clothes for babies,” Fliss explained.

  “Let me hold it, Frankie,” pleaded Rosie.

  “But it likes me.”

  “Don’t be mean. You’ll have your own baby soon.”

  “Yeah,” said Kenny. “We all want a go.”

  But as I handed the baby to Rosie, its expression changed. It didn’t look unhappy. Just thoughtful. Then it started making really PRIVATE sounds.

  “Uh-oh,” said Lyndz. “Put it down, quick.”

  “Why, what’s happening?” asked Rosie nervously.

  Kenny turned pale. “Can anyone smell a terrible pong?”

  “Oh per-leaze.” I rushed to the phone and picked it up. Tiff was still gabbing to Spud on the other end. “Tiff,” I panted. “Get down here! It’s serious babysitter business. We’re running out of oxygen fast.”

  “Get OFF the phone, Frankie. I’ll come down in a MINUTE,” barked Tiffany. But she stayed exactly where she was, flirting. Totally trustworthy, eh? Yeah, right!

  Look, I’m sorry. I know it’s rude to talk about, you know, poo. But don’t go, or you’ll miss the best bit. Because it wasn’t Tiff who came to our rescue. You’ll never guess who did!

  Get ready to be amazed!

  You know that whingeing babies do? Not really crying – more like someone sawing metal? That’s the noise Morgan was making.

  Kenny stuck her fingers in her ears. “Tell Tiff to make it stop!”

  Rosie shook her head. “She won’t come till she’s ready. Tiff’s dead stubborn.”

  “Great,” said Lyndz.

  “The poor thing just needs changing,” said Fliss.

  “Duh,” I said. “Like we didn’t know! Go on, Lyndz. You do it.”

  “Uh-uh,” said Lyndz. “Poo is strictly for grown-ups.”

  “Kenny?” I said hopefully.

  She swallowed hard. “Sorry,” she said. “I lurve blood and gore, but I don’t much go for you-know-what.”

  I sighed. “Then I volunteer Rosie, OK? It’s her house.”

  “Hear that, Rosie?” said Lyndz. “You’re Tiff’s stunt double.”

  “Go girl, go girl,” we chanted.

  “All right,” said Rosie unhappily. She dashed out of the room and we heard her rooting in cupboards.

  When she came back, we fell about. Rosie is totally weird. I mean, I don’t blame her for sticking a peg on her nose. I can even see why she put on big rubber gloves. But swimming goggles!!!

  “Don’t forget the baby wipes,” said Fliss.

  Rosie didn’t move, so I fetched them.

  “Now you need the baby,” said Fliss encouragingly.

  Rosie started towards the cot, like someone in a ve-ry slow action replay.

  “Durn durn DURN – nappy disposal squad moving in,” I whispered.

  “Watch out, Rosie. It might explode,” Kenny giggled.

  “It already DID,” said Lyndz, pinching her nose.

  The minute the baby saw Rosie, it stopped crying, as if someone had switched it off at the mains. Then its mouth turned down, like a cartoon baby, and it sucked in a HUGE breath.

  “Yikes, it’s going to scream!” warned Lyndz.

  It did. It screamed itself sky-blue purple.

  “Hey, I can see its tiny tonsils wiggling,” said Kenny.

  It was the worst noise I ever heard. Worse than Dad’s car alarm. If our baby cries like that, forget silver curtains. I’m having my room soundproofed!

  “Can babies BURST?” I asked anxiously.

  Rosie didn’t know what to do. She just stood there flapping her hands. Which looks dead weird when you’re wearing goggles, orange Marigolds and a bright pink clothes peg!

  “I dode thig Borgan liges be,” she wailed.

  Meanwhile, totally trustworthy Tiffany was still on the phone. We could hear her between screams. I know love makes you blind. But I didn’t know it made you deaf as well. Boy, is the Sleepover Club ever out of its depth this time, I thought.

  Then suddenly Fliss gave a tiny cough. “I think Morgan’s a bit scared of your goggles, Rosie,” she said shyly. “Shall I change her?”

  Are you amaz
ed? WE were! I don’t know why she waited so long, mind you. It’s not like the rest of us were falling over ourselves for the honour, or anything! But Fliss really had the magic touch. The minute she unfastened its little sleepsuit, the baby went all quiet and trusting.

  I’ll spare you the gruesome details. Except to say we had scientific PROOF that Morgan Quormby is a girl baby. (I couldn’t tell till then. Probably you couldn’t either?) And finally the baby was burbling happily in her cot again. Major relief!

  “Fliss, you’re a star!” I said. I was ashamed, to tell you the truth. We’re always having a go at Fliss for being such an airhead. But when it came to it, she was the only one who didn’t freak out!

  “I didn’t mind,” Fliss said, going as pink as Rosie’s clothes peg. “I’ve helped Maria with Posy loads of times.” (Did you remember that Maria is Fliss’s dad’s wife and Posy is their new baby? You did? Excellent!)

  But Rosie was working herself into a major strop. Suddenly she grabbed the phone and screamed down the line, “Tiff! It’s not fair. You’re supposed to be babysitting. Not us!”

  “In a MINUTE!” Tiff screamed back. “This is IMPORTANT, OK! This is my FUTURE!”

  Rosie slammed the phone back down. “I can’t believe my sister!”

  “And she never made our popcorn,” I said grumpily.

  Fliss gave a cheeky little grin. “Never mind,” she said. “Spud’s cake smells amazing. And all of a sudden I feel dead hungry, don’t you?”

  I don’t know what’s come over Fliss! She used to be the Sleepover Club goody-goody.

  “Is she thinking what I think she’s thinking?” I asked the others.

  “WICKED!” we all yelled and charged into the kitchen. Rosie flung open the larder door and there was Tiffany’s cake.

  “Wow!” said everyone.

  It was an awesome triple-layer chocolate sponge, stuffed with whipped cream and smothered with gooey icing. Piped across it were the words: TO SPUD – FOREVER LOVE.

  “If Spud eats all that, he’ll be really ill,” said Fliss primly.

  “Boys don’t appreciate cake,” I said. “It’s a known fact.”

  “And that cake deserves appreciating,” sighed Kenny.

  “Hmm,” said Rosie. “Would it help if someone cut it into slices?”

  We only meant to sample it, honestly. But Rosie must have been really mad with her sister, because she carved us these huge slices.

  “Are you sure we should have all this?” I asked nervously.

  Finally Fliss took the knife off her. “Stop it, Rosie. There won’t be any left for Spud.”

  “I don’t care,” said Rosie sulkily. “Tiff shouldn’t be so mean.”

  None of us really knew what to do. But we couldn’t glue the cake back together, could we? So we took our plates into the living room and totally stuffed our faces.

  “This cake is to die for, Rosie,” Lyndz mumbled.

  “We might have to,” I pointed out.

  Of course Fliss said she could only manage half hers. Even though nicking Spud’s cake was her idea! Fliss has this stoopid thing about dieting. We’re always on at her about it.

  Anyway, by this time, Morgan was whingeing again. “Maybe she’s bored,” said Fliss. So we took her out of her cot and played with her. First we did ‘This little piggy’, which Morgan thought was totally ace. Then we got her toys out and she played with those for a bit. Then Kenny decided we should teach Morgan some Sleepover Club words.

  We spent ages getting her to say “Cool”. First she giggled like anything. Then she got really fed up. So we bounced her on our knees and sang nursery rhymes. That kept her happy. Well, for a bit. That’s the trouble with babies. Nothing works for long. In no time Morgan was grizzling again.

  “You’re the baby expert, Fliss. What’s wrong now?” I asked grumpily.

  “She’s probably thirsty,” said Fliss.

  I was cheesed off with Fliss being such a know-all, so I said I’d give Morgan her bottle. You should have seen her sucking away. Just like the baby in The Simpsons! I’ll be a BRILLIANT sister, I thought. No problemo. Seré una hermana estupenda. But when the milk was gone, Morgan just whinged harder than ever. Babies are SUCH hard work, it’s unbelievable! And suddenly I felt totally stressed out. I mean, when our baby was born, how were my parents going to find any time for ME?!

  Here’s a riddle. How can one small baby make five big girls run round in circles? No, I don’t know the answer either. But it’s true!

  Then I had a brainwave! “Morgan’s hungry,” I said. “Bet you anything.” Heh heh heh. One – nil to me. I beat know-all Fliss that time.

  “What do babies eat?” asked Kenny.

  “Rusks and things,” said Fliss, looking vague.

  “Bananas,” said Lyndz. “And my baby brother is crazy about fish fingers.”

  Rosie rushed off. A few minutes later she came back with some mashed-up banana, and toast and jam cut into soldiers. Morgan’s face lit up and she made sweet little yummy-yummy noises. Mind you, she didn’t exactly eat the food. More squodged it, then crammed fistfuls of goo into her mouth. A lot of it went in her hair!

  “Gross,” shuddered Kenny.

  All at once Morgan stretched out her sticky hands longingly towards Fliss’s left-over cake and did her yummy-yummy song.

  “Do you want some yummy choccy cake?” I asked.

  Do you know what Morgan did next? She opened her mouth like a baby bird and shouted: “CAKE!”

  She’d only been with the Sleepover Club for an hour and a half and she’d learned her first word! Well, we had to give her some, didn’t we? After she’d been so clever.

  Then we heard Tiffany on the move upstairs. I suppose she had to come off the phone some time, but it still gave us a jolt.

  “Uh-oh,” said Kenny. “Run for it!”

  “Rosie!” Tiff yelled down. “Spud’s coming round to see his cake in a few minutes. I’m just going to get ready, OK. Then I’ll make the popcorn for you.”

  Are you wondering why her Royal Prissiness was being so matey suddenly? My guess is, now she’d sorted out her love life, she felt bad about making us do her babysitting for her. Unfortunately she was a teensy bit too late.

  We looked guiltily at the remains of Spud’s cake.

  “I’m dead,” Rosie gulped. “Totally, totally dead.”

  “Is Morgan OK?” Tiff called. “I heard her crying.”

  Morgan beamed happily, dribbling chocolate everywhere. Her sleepsuit was splattered with milk, chocolate cake, jam and mashed banana. She looked like those modern paintings Dad goes bonkers over.

  “Morgan’s fine,” called Rosie feebly. “She just wanted her milk.”

  “Take as long as you like, Tiff,” Kenny yelled.

  We heard Tiff run the shower. Rosie threw herself on the sofa. “I’m going to be in doom for ever when Tiff finds out,” she wailed.

  Fliss mopped up Morgan’s face and hands with the baby wipes. She looked a lot cleaner but it put her in a terrible mood.

  “Maybe we should sing to her. Posy lurves being sung to,” said Fliss.

  But we were too shattered, so Lyndz suggested the radio. We fiddled with the stereo till we found a local music station.

  “Hey, they’re playing Forever Love,” said Kenny.

  Honestly, Morgan is such a cool baby. She started singing along with Juice. “Ooh-ooh-ooh.” Cute or what? Then the DJ came on. And guess who was in the studio, wittering about how tough it is being famous? It was Juice himself!

  The station was running some competition. If you were the first person to phone in with the answer to Juice’s question, he popped along to your house and you had to make him a cup of tea. Runners up got Juice CDs and a cap with his autograph on it.

  “Great big hairy deal,” said Kenny.

  “Who’d want Juice to come to their house anyway?” I said. Then we fell about laughing. “The M&Ms!” we yelled.

  Rosie sighed. “If we won those CDs, Tiff would totally fo
rgive me! She lurves Juice.”

  We stared at her, while the DJ droned on about getting permission to use the phone.

  “Rosie, you’re brilliant!” I said, hugging her.

  “Yeah, that’s such a cool idea!” said Kenny.

  “It could work,” agreed Lyndz.

  Rosie’s eyes went like saucers. “You don’t mean, phone in?”

  “Sssh,” we hissed at her. “We’ll miss Juice’s question.”

  “Stand by your phones,” said Juice in his new pop star voice. “Can anyone tell me the name of a famous Leicestershire giant?”

  “DANIEL LAMBERT!” we shrieked.

  “You stoopid wally,” added Kenny.

  “That’s lemon squeezy,” I agreed. Every kid in Leicestershire knows about Daniel Lambert!

  “Phone in, Rosie,” said Fliss.

  “But I haven’t got permission!” Rosie wailed.

  “Oh, per-lease,” I said, in disgust. “It’s only a total emergency. It’s only the phone call which is going to save your LIFE!”

  Rosie finally caved in. “All right. But you all heard me ask Tiff first, OK?” Then she whispered, “Tiff, please can I use the phone?”

  “I think I heard her say ‘yes’,” I said.

  “Me too,” said Kenny.

  “Definitely,” the others nodded.

  Rosie made us go out of the room while she phoned in. We earwigged through the door, killing ourselves laughing.

  “I’m shaking,” she giggled, when we went back in. “Won’t it be brilliant if we get those CDs?”

  “We will,” said Fliss happily. “I can feel it.”

  “They’re practically ours,” I agreed.

  We were giving each other high fives when the latest Sugababes song came on. Kenny turned up the volume. And that was when I had my really bad idea. Only it seemed like such a cool idea at the time. It started like this.

  “Isn’t Tiff’s dress awesome,” sighed Fliss. (Yawn yawn yawn.)

  “I’d give anything to be as pretty as she is,” said Rosie.

  So I said, “You’d look ace in Tiff’s dress, Rosie.”

  Why oh WHY did I do that? I didn’t mean to get Rosie into any more trouble. I just hate how she puts herself down. I bet you do too, don’t you?