The Sleepover Club Bridesmaids Page 3

  “ANOTHER emergency?” said Rosie disbelievingly. “That’s TWO, in twenty-four hours!”

  “Yeah, but this one is a cool emergency,” I said.

  “OK!” she sighed. “See ya.”

  An hour later, we all piled into Frankie’s pad. Frankie’s mum had given everyone home-made slush puppies, plus a stash of kitchen towel to mop up the drips. Everyone made themselves comfy on Frankie’s silver floor cushions. That girl goes for silver in a BIG way!

  “Go on, Fliss, give!” beamed Rosie.

  “Yeah, we want all the goss about Jilly’s daughter,” said Lyndz.

  I felt myself go bright red. I don’t know why I blush so easily, but I really wish I didn’t! “What do you want to know?” I said.

  “Everything,” said Frankie at once.

  “Well, she’s about our age and her name is Amber Glass,” I began.

  “That’s such a cool name!” cried Lyndz.

  “And apparently, she’s amazingly pretty.”

  “Like that actually matters,” growled Kenny.

  “Did I say it mattered?” I snapped. “I’m just describing Amber, OK!”

  “Ignore her, Fliss,” said Frankie. “So what’s she like?”

  “She’s meant to be incredibly talented,” I said. “She’s on TV, like all the time. She’s got an agent and everything.”

  Lyndz’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “She’s ten years old and she’s a film star already!”

  “Well, practically,” I said. “She’s done loads of commercials anyway.”

  “Wow,” said Rosie. “A wedding and a Hollywood celebrity in the same week!”

  “I want Amber to have a really good time while she’s here,” I said. “It’d be great if you guys could help out.”

  “Count me in,” said Rosie at once.

  Lyndz hugged herself. “Can’t wait!” she said gleefully.

  “I wish it was the holidays already,” sighed Frankie. “We could take her to Alton Towers.”

  “Get real,” objected Kenny. “You’re talking about a girl who can pop into Disney World any time she likes.”

  Even Frankie agreed there wasn’t much point trying to impress a girl who had her own mobile phone.

  “Let’s face it, Cuddington’s not exactly LA,” I sighed.

  Frankie did a cheesey double take. “Yikes! So that’s why there’s never any high-speed car chases round here!”

  Kenny threw a pillow at her. “We’re trying to think, Frankie!”

  “We could go to Bradgate Park after school,” suggested Lyndz. “We could have a picnic and check out the cute little baby deer.”

  “Excellent! We can show her Lady Jane Grey’s house,” gushed Frankie. “My dad says Americans lurve history!”

  Bradgate Park is meant to be this major local beauty spot. I probably liked it when I was little, but now I think it’s got WAY too much fresh air. I always come back with earache.

  “Why would Amber want to see a load of old ruins?” I said. “I mean, it’s not like Lady Jane’s going to invite us in for strawberries and cream.”

  “But it’s so romantic,” Frankie gushed. “I mean Lady Jane was like a child queen. And all those—”

  “Romantic! You’re joking. The poor kid got her head chopped off!” Kenny’s eyes gleamed. “And did you know, they hardly ever did it with one swing! Sometimes they had to hack away at their—”

  “Kenny,” pleaded Lyndz. “I’m eating a raspberry slush puppy here.”

  “Yeah, Kenny,” glared Frankie. “Plus I hadn’t actually finished what I was saying, which was, erm – that all those deer in Bradgate Park today are descended from the deer which Lady Jane Grey herself may actually have—”

  “—eaten,” Kenny grinned.

  Frankie scowled. “You have to make fun of everything.”

  “Why don’t we just do exactly what we always do?” said Rosie. “That way it will be a change for Amber. Plus we’ll have a good time.”

  Everyone thought this was excellent advice. There was a short pause. Then Lyndz coughed. “Let me just get this straight. We’re talking typical fun-type activities to share with Amber, is that right?”

  “Right,” said everyone.

  “The usual wacky stuff we do?”

  “Totally,” we agreed,

  There was another, longer pause.

  “Any ideas?” I asked finally.

  Kenny tapped the side of her head. “Nope. Total blank.”

  “Blankety blank,” Lyndz agreed.

  “Ditto,” said Rosie.

  Frankie tugged her hair. “This is so stoo-pid,” she complained. “I mean, the five of us have SO much fun, like constantly.”

  “Constantly,” Rosie echoed.

  “Oh, absolutely,” agreed Kenny, totally straight-faced. “In fact, I’m not sure I can take any more excitement.”

  Frankie’s lips twitched. “You are such a pig, Kenny,” she giggled. And suddenly we all cracked up laughing.

  “Let’s wait till Amber gets here,” said Lyndz sensibly. “She’s the guest. We’ll ask her what she wants to do.”

  So after that, we just hung around at Frankie’s house, enjoyably messing about, till it was time for everybody’s dinner.

  But as I turned into our street, I remembered something. I’d promised myself to come up with my Something Blue today. Also, I still hadn’t a CLUE what to get Mum and Andy for a wedding present. Then my tummy gave a big rumble. Oh, well, I’ll think about it after dinner, I thought greedily.

  Sunday dinner is like, this major production in our house. Six days a week, Mum is incredibly diet-conscious. But on Sundays she totally goes to town. Just thinking about Mum’s roast chicken, with all the yummy trimmings, made my mouth water. Mmmn, I couldn’t wait!

  I let myself in through our front door, getting ready to breathe in that special Sunday dinner aroma. Then…

  What in the WORLD is that gruesome pong? I thought.

  It smelled exactly like bad drains!! I flew into the kitchen, to warn my parents they had a major plumbing problem on their hands. But for some reason, our kitchen was completely deserted. Normally at this stage on a Sunday, Mum is whizzing about like a celebrity chef on Ready Steady Cook, draining veggies and crisping up the roast spuds.

  Then I noticed a Bad Sign. (Durn durn durn!!)

  Instead of three or four pans cheerfully steaming away on the hob, there was one MASSIVE pan, glooping and glopping like a witch’s cauldron. I had accidentally located the source of the bad-drain smell.

  The saucepan was getting alarmingly hyperactive, as its contents tried to escape from under the lid. Suddenly, green slime began to dribble over the sides.

  Andy’s mum bustled in. “So you’re back, finally,” she snapped. “Just as well. Dinner’s practically ready.”

  “Erm, so where is it?” I said. I wasn’t trying to be funny. It truly never occurred to me that my Sunday dinner could resemble the experiment of an evil scientist.

  “I took over the cooking. Your mother needs a rest. She’s worn out,” Patsy sighed. She made it sound like my fault – as if I was some selfish vampire child, draining my mother’s blood supply.

  “But we always have a roast on Sundays,” I wailed.

  Patsy snorted. “The traditional Sunday roast is a waste of time and energy. Takes all morning, wrecks the entire kitchen, and in five minutes it’s forgotten. My soup takes twenty minutes and requires one pan. Far more sensible, don’t you think?” She gave a grim smile.

  I stared queasily at the overflowing pan. “That’s soup?”

  “I knew your mother was diet-conscious, what with the wedding coming up. Cabbage soup is perfect for slimmers. Maybe you’ve heard of the Cabbage Soup diet?”

  “Er no,” I said, truthfully.

  Patsy lifted the saucepan lid and sniffed rapturously. “I’ll just add the finishing touches,” she said.

  Yeah, like stir in some scrummy cat-sick, I thought. And I rushed off to plead with my parent
s.

  Andy seemed more interested in the motor-racing than listening to me. He didn’t even take his eyes off the screen. “Patsy’s just being helpful,” he mumbled.

  “It won’t hurt just this once, Fliss,” said Mum. She dropped her voice. “Just have a couple of spoonfuls to be polite. There’s chocolate fudge brownies for dessert. I thought we’d all have a little pre-wedding treat!”

  A high-pitched whine came from the kitchen as Andy’s mum operated our liquidiser at high speed.

  I swallowed bravely. “I suppose,” I said.

  In a few minutes we were all sitting round the table. Patsy brought the pan to the table, still sputtering furiously. (The pan, not Patsy, you nutcase!)

  Unfortunately, its trip through the liquidiser hadn’t exactly improved Patsy’s soup. Now it looked like those bubbling mud springs you see on documentaries.

  My brother looked panic-stricken. “I can’t eat that,” he whispered. “It’s still alive.”

  I wanted to giggle, but the soup smelled so terrible I was scared to breathe.

  “Try some, Callum. It’ll put hairs on your chest,” said Andy in a jokey voice I’d never heard him use before today.

  Callum blew on a spoonful of sludge, shut his eyes and downed it in one. “Ouf!” he shuddered.

  “Well?” said Patsy stiffly. “What do you think?”

  “Ooh, that’s really yummy, isn’t it, Callum?” Mum hinted.

  My little brother stared wildly around the table. I could practically see his thought bubbles. Help! What do I do? Fibbing is bad. Being rude is also very bad.

  Then his face suddenly cleared, as he came up with the perfect reply. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he said cheerfully. “It’s not nearly as bad as it looks!”

  “Callum!” said Mum.

  “Well, REALLY!” huffed Patsy.

  But I thought my little brother was a total star. I was pretty heroic myself. I actually forced down one whole spoonful. But once my throat knew what was coming, it went on strike, refusing to let any more khaki gloop near my stomach. So I just kept my spoon busy, to give the impression I was slurping away like Oliver Twist.

  Even nightmares have to end, I told myself. Soon I’d be tucking into one of Mum’s highly calorific chocolate brownies. I’d never been too crazy about brownies in the past, but now that Amber was coming, all things American seemed incredibly groovy! Not to mention the fact that I was STARVING!!

  All through dinner, Patsy was getting more and more tight-lipped. Suddenly she started collecting up the soup bowls, rattling the crockery like you would not believe.

  “Well!” she sniffed. “We all know what happens to boys and girls who don’t eat their dinner, don’t we?”

  Everyone stared at her. Even Mum and Andy looked startled.

  Patsy drew herself up to her full height. “NO PUDDING!” she thundered. And she flounced out to the kitchen.

  Callum’s face fell a million miles.

  “She can’t do that!” I said in horror. “Tell her, Andy! Tell her, Mum!”

  But Mum and Andy didn’t say a word.

  “You’re not going to let her get away with it?” I pleaded.

  Andy cleared his throat. “Don’t make a big deal out of this, OK.”

  “Big deal?!” I yelled. “Do you know what I’ve had to eat today? A piece of toast and a raspberry slush puppy, that’s what!”

  “Fliss, please,” murmured Mum. “You’ll hurt Patsy’s feelings.”

  That was the last straw.

  “Patsy’s feelings?” I screamed. “What about MINE?”

  I stormed upstairs to my room and slammed the door.

  I wasn’t just angry. I was scared. What was going on? Overnight my parents had somehow turned into these weird strangers. I felt as if I’d walked into one of those sc-fi films, where no-one is what they seem, and the evil bodysnatchers are in town. If my parents were going to carry on like this, they didn’t DESERVE a wedding present!!

  I picked up my giant pink teddy bear and gave him a major cuddle.

  Before I knew it, I’d drifted off into a deeply satisfying daydream, where Mum’s friend Jilly and her daughter liked me so much that they insisted on taking me back with them to Hollywood, where they fed me all the chocolate fudge brownies I could eat…

  The minute I got into the school playground, I dashed up to the others and started pouring out my tragic story.

  I was just describing my cabbage soup ordeal in heartrending detail, when Kenny started biting her lip. Then I noticed Frankie was madly stuffing her fingers in her mouth. And suddenly Lyndz gave this humungous piggy snort.

  I couldn’t believe it. My friends were LAUGHING!

  “I’m glad YOU think it’s funny,” I said huffily.

  “I’m sorry,” Rosie gasped. “It sounds awful, Fliss. You must have been so upset.”

  Of course, that did it. Everyone totally cracked up!

  All of a sudden I completely saw the funny side. (Which is most unlike me!) For some reason, all the things which seemed so terrible yesterday struck me as absolutely hysterical today!

  By the time I’d got to the part about Mum and Andy being taken over by alien bodysnatchers, we were staggering around the playground, shrieking with laughter.

  Honestly, talk about Giggle Therapy! I felt HEAPS better. Plus, my mates helped me put everything into perspective.

  “It’s not like Hurricane Patsy is going to be staying at your place for ever,” Rosie pointed out, as we lined up to go into class.

  “And don’t worry about your mum and dad,” said Frankie sympathetically. “Grown-ups often act weird around their parents.”

  “Amber’s coming, that’s the main thing,” said Lyndz. “I can’t wait! I never met a real film star before.”

  “Yeah,” said Rosie. “It’s SO great you don’t mind sharing her with us, Fliss!”

  “Mum thought we’d all go into Leicester after school tomorrow,” I told them. “Want to come?”

  And my friends were so obviously thrilled to be invited that I started to feel like a bit of a celebrity myself.

  When I got home, I was surprised to find Andy home from work already. He looked so smart I hardly recognised him.

  “Oooh!” I teased. “Is this in Jilly’s honour? Should Mum be jealous?”

  “Er, yeah,” Andy said. “That’s exactly it, Fliss. I like to keep your Mum on her toes.”

  I noticed that my laidback step-dad had this really tense expression for some reason. Plus both he and Mum seemed unusually quiet. But I decided they just had butterflies, like me.

  I went rushing upstairs to make myself look especially nice for Amber. After I’d had a long hot shower, I put on my new ice-blue jeans, and a sweet little T-shirt with the word ANGEL on it, in really tasteful lettering. I’ve got this real thing about angels lately, I don’t know why. Plus, apparently they’re HUGE in America.

  I brushed my hair till it was all soft and silky, then I put in my flowery clips.

  I checked my reflection nervously in the mirror on my dressing table. And you know what? I’m not being vain or anything, but I thought I looked quite pretty. And for, like fifty seconds, everything felt so perfect that I honestly wouldn’t have swapped places with anyone else in the world.

  Actually my life was getting more and more like TV! Fifty seconds of pure happiness, then that music goes durn durn DURN, and you know everything is going to go drastically downhill…

  Well, that’s how it was with me.

  Last Christmas, Andy gave me this cute hand-mirror. Don’t tell the others, but secretly I thought it looked like the kind of thing a mermaid might own. It lived on my dressing table, next to this bottle of really expensive bath stuff which my real dad, Steve, got me.

  Anyway, I suddenly thought I’d like to see how my hair clips looked close up, so I went to pick up the mirror.

  CRASH!!!

  It slipped from my hands, bounced off my dressing table, and smashed into pieces.

 
I stared at it in total shock. I have no idea how it even happened. The mirror wasn’t heavy. And my hands weren’t sweaty or anything.

  I was still staring at the mess, when Andy’s mum rushed in, like a bad fairy in a pantomime. “How could you be so thoughtless, Felicity!” she cried. “That’s seven years’ bad luck!”

  “I didn’t break it on purpose!” I wailed. But inside I was turning numb with horror. And I’d thought seven DAYS’ bad luck was terrible news!

  I realised Patsy had beetled off to tell my parents what I’d done. So I dashed downstairs to tell them my side of the story. But I was too late.

  Andy’s face was like thunder. “Is this true, Fliss?” he said.

  “I don’t even know how it happened!” I wailed. “We won’t really get seven years’ bad luck, will we?”

  I should explain that normally Andy is the most easy-going guy on this planet. But as you know, these days my family was totally NOT normal.

  “How COULD you be so careless?” he yelled. “A great big girl like you!”

  Don’t you hate it when people call you a “great big girl”? It makes you feel like some hideous troll child. All yesterday’s bad feelings came whooshing back. Why was Andy being so mean? Couldn’t he see I was miserable about breaking his special present to me?

  When I’d found that little gift-wrapped mirror under our Christmas tree last year, I’d felt all warm and fuzzy inside, and I just knew my step-dad really and truly loved me. But right now, I wasn’t sure Andy even liked me any more. And all at once I burst into floods of tears.

  I hate how I look when I cry. I look exactly like those rabbits which those naff conjurors used to pull out of hats. The creepy white kind with pink eyes. (Pink-eyed rabbits, you wally, not pink-eyed conjurors!)

  So it was bad luck that Mum’s best friend, Jilly, picked that precise moment to lean on our bell, sending the door-chimes into a frenzy of ding-dongs.

  “Omigod! It’s them!” shrieked Mum. She rushed to the door.

  And there on our step were Mum’s friend and her famous film-star daughter. I stared at them, totally stunned.

  As you probably guessed, it wasn’t Jilly who took my breath away. She looked quite sweet and everything, but she was just average mum-material. It was Amber. She was the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Everything about her was gorgeous. Her eyes, her teeth, her hair. Her hair wasn’t blonde. It was literally golden. As for her clothes, they were out of this world.