by Angie Bates
“Brainwave?” I echoed. Brainstorm, more like.
Mum wagged her finger. “You’re not getting another word out of me until your friends get here. Just keep out of my hair, while I do the finishing touches.”
I went upstairs in a daze. It was like a bad dream. Andy’s tactful advice had only made my try-hard mum try harder than ever! What is she up to down there? I wondered nervously. Redecorating the house?
Just then, I saw the other members of the Sleepover Club out of the window, happily galumphing into view.
Boy, I had to move FAST! I raced down the stairs two at a time, and got the door open a split second before Frankie leaned on the door chimes.
“There’s a problem,” I gasped. “You see, my mum—”
“Don’t worry,” grinned Rosie. “Boots off already. Look!” She wiggled her toes in their woolly socks.
“And mine nearly are,” said Lyndz, hopping on one foot. “Don’t worry. Your mum’s carpets are safe with us.”
“We’ll leave our coats in the porch,” said Kenny, “so they won’t drip where they shouldn’t.”
“You don’t understand!” I wailed. “It isn’t a carpet-type problem. It’s more of a total—”
I was going to say “disaster”. But before I could warn my friends they were about to be zapped by my mother’s extra-special year 2000 brainwave, Mum appeared.
“Hi everyone,” she sang. “Great to see you all! I wonder if you’d just mind putting all those snowy boots and coats back on and coming round to the back of the house instead?”
Everyone’s mouths fell open. No-one said a word. But I knew what they were thinking. I was thinking the exact same thing. My mum had totally lost the plot!
Carefully not meeting my eye, Frankie and the others put their snowy boots and coats back on, and squelched out of our front porch without a word.
“Go with them, Fliss. That bolt on the back gate is a bit tricky,” said Mum. Honestly, she was beaming so brightly you could have used her for a Belisha beacon.
I threw on my coat and crunched after them, wondering if it was possible for a person to die of shame.
One of our neighbours had a bonfire going. I could smell smoke and something I couldn’t quite put a name to.
I unbolted the back gate, and wouldn’t you know? I managed to pinch my finger. It really hurt. Great, that’s all I need, I thought – a thumping great blood blister. I held the gate open with one hand and sucked the other hand miserably. Everyone trudged past into our sparkling white garden.
But as they disappeared round the corner, I heard gasps of astonishment.
“Coo-ell!” shouted Lyndz.
“Hey, Fliss!” yelled Kenny. “What a wicked surprise!”
I followed them. It was a surprise all right.
Fairy lights twinkled on the snowy patio. Wispy blue smoke rose into the evening air.
The barbecue, I thought in a daze. That’s what I could smell. It had reached exactly the right red-hot stage for cooking too – something Mum doesn’t always get right. Foil-wrapped goodies were roasting on the bars, alongside sizzling sausages and burgers.
Mum was handing round steaming mugs. “It should be vodka,” she teased. “But I thought your parents might not approve.”
When Kenny looked up from her mug, she had a blob of cream on her nose. “Heaven,” she whispered. “I’m in hot chocolate heaven.”
Mum had thought of absolutely everything. She’d even set up a big spotty parasol to keep off the snow. The table was laid with cutlery, pretty paper plates, and even more goodies.
Mum put her arm round me. “This man on the radio said that in Siberia it’s perfectly normal to have winter picnics. So I thought, if the Russians can do it, why can’t we?” Her voice trailed off. “You don’t mind having a picnic in the snow, do you?”
“Mind!” shrieked Kenny. “This is ACE!”
“It’s magic!” chortled Rosie.
“Outrageous,” agreed Lyndz.
Frankie didn’t say a word. She stared around our back garden as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. But being Frankie, I knew it was bound to be something dead sarky.
Suddenly she started fumbling in her bag. She fished out a canary-yellow camera, one of those funky Polaroid ones.
“Mrs Sidebotham,” she said, in her most polite voice. “Would you take a picture of us, please? I want to remember this awesome sleepover my whole life!”
When I was little, every time I got the teensiest bit excited about anything, Granny Sidebotham (that’s my real dad’s mum) used to say, “Mark my words. There’ll be tears before bedtime.”
What a thing to say to a little kid! Like, “Don’t ever have fun, Felicity, or something bad will happen!”
Well, it’s a good thing Gran wasn’t invited to our snow picnic, because, not counting Christmas, it has to be the MOST fun I ever had in winter!
We stuffed our faces till our buttons practically popped off. But even after the food was gone, our fairy-lit garden felt so incredibly magic, no-one could bear to go back indoors.
It had practically stopped snowing by this time. Just an occasional, totally perfect snowflake drifted down. Lyndz stuck out her tongue and tasted one. “I wish we could stay out here all night,” she said.
“Andy would have to thaw us with his blowtorch in the morning,” I shivered.
The temperature was so far below zero by this time, Mum’s picnicking Siberians would have been completely at home.
Suddenly Kenny had the bright idea of putting on all the clothes she’d brought with her! We all rushed inside, and soon we were all throwing on every garment we could find. It was like that dressing up-race we had on Sports Day in the Infants. (Which I always lost, incidentally. Not because I was bad at sports. I was ace, thanks very much! More because I was the only kid who took the dressing-up part really seriously!)
I think Mum still felt bad about her New Year freak-out, because she kept herself totally under control while we piled on the layers, even though it meant us dripping melted snow all over her clean kitchen floor.
“That’s better,” sighed Lyndz, when we were back outside. “Nice and toasty again.”
The only problem was that all the extra clothes made our arms totally stick out at the sides. We were all moving dead stiffly.
“We look like robots,” Lyndz giggled.
“Or Teletubbies,” suggested Rosie. And she went into this hysterical Teletubby impersonation. Soon we were all waddling about, talking in silly baby voices like Tinky Winky and La La and whatever.
“Hey, we can be the Snowtubbies,” I said suddenly.
This made Lyndz laugh so hard she had a complete choking fit, which probably makes her the only hiccupping Snowtubby in history. Mind you, her hiccups stopped in record time when Kenny threatened to stuff a big handful of snow down her neck! Now all we had to do was get Lyndz out of her major sulk! Eventually Rosie persuaded her to make snow angels with us.
Oh, if you’re interested in having a go, here’s the Sleepover Club’s Three-Step Guide to snow-angel making!
FIRST, you fall backwards gracefully into a snowdrift, OK? Oh, yeah! TOP TIP. Pick a patch of snow without a prickly bush underneath. Frankie didn’t. So her first attempt wasn’t as graceful as it could have been. It also hurt a LOT!!!
SECOND, kind of wiggle your arms and feet about in the snow.
THIRD, jump up again, and prepare to be amazed by the really cool and creative angel print you have left behind!!
Except ours weren’t, really. Cool, I mean. Owing to those woolly extra layers, our angels were more like Snowtubbies with wings! When Mum saw them, she laughed till she cried!
Mum was still being a total star. While we were Snowtubbying about, she got busy making a whole new batch of barbecue goodies. All the yummy things she doesn’t normally let me eat. Toasted marshmallows. Bananas in foil with melty hot chocolate inside.
“This is all terribly fattening,” Mu
m said apologetically as she handed them round.
“Who cares!” said Frankie stickily.
“It’s only once in a millennium,” mumbled Kenny, through a mouthful of hot marshmallow.
“That’s what I thought,” said Mum. And lightning-quick, she snaffled a piece of deliciously squidgy banana and popped it in her mouth! She licked her fingers and gave a naughty grin. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Mum is a total diet fanatic.
“Want to go indoors yet?” I asked the others hopefully. I was getting incredibly cold, but I wasn’t going to be the first person to wimp out!
But Rosie said no-one was allowed back in the house until we’d built a Sleepover Club snowman.
“She’s right,” sighed Kenny. “It’s gotta be done, guys.”
Lyndz didn’t look too keen either. “OK,” she said. “But let’s set a deadline. Like we’ve got to make this snowman in ten minutes or something!”
“Wicked!” said Frankie at once. “The Funky Ten-Minute Snowman. But first we’ve got to get him all his snowman necessities.”
“Like a face,” spluttered Rosie, totally falling about at her own joke. We all cracked up.
“Imagine my poor little brother waking up in the dark and seeing a snowman without a face,” I giggled. “He’d have a total fit.”
Frankie did her croaky film-trailer voice. “Just when you thought it was safe to play in the snow, little boy!”
“I’m walking in the air,” sang Kenny. “With no eyeballs or hair!”
“Or thermal underwear!” shrieked Frankie.
I could see Mum thinking it was a really good thing she’d taken Callum round to Dad and Maria’s. Oh, Maria’s my dad’s girlfriend – they just live round the corner with my little half-sister Posy. Also, Maria’s got her own little boy, Martin. Me and Callum go round there all the time. I’m so lucky, having two really great dads.
Sorry, I lost the plot there for a minute! I was going to tell you what we collected for our Ten-Minute Snowman Kit. OK, here goes:
Pebbles for eyes, of course. (We had to scrabble in the snow for those.) Plus a cork nose and a toothy orange-peel grin. Oh, and some of those fogey old buttons which look like miniature half-footballs. Mum gave us a tatty scarf and this gruesome old cap which Andy lurves to wear at weekends (she’d been trying to prise it off him for ages!). Then Mum set the oven pinger, and off we went.
Ever tried building a snowman to a tight deadline? Honestly, it was such a laugh! For one thing, our fingers were so numb we had almost NO control over them. Kenny said it was like trying to pick up sweets with those totally impossible little cranes you get at funfairs.
I think it dawned on us, at almost exactly the same moment, that there was no WAY this snowman was going to be finished by the time the pinger went off.
Lyndz pulled a disgusted face. “This snowman looks so-o stoopid,” she sighed.
“Too geeky for words,” agreed Frankie.
“If you ask me, he needs a serious makeover,” smirked Rosie.
“Absolutely,” said Kenny. And just a second too late, I saw the gleam in her eye.
Suddenly a handful of snowman came whizzing through the air and whacked me on the side of the head. “Hey!” I said.
And all at once I was in the middle of a wild snowball fight. OK, snowman fight, if you want to be picky. Soon there was so much snowman wreckage flying around, the garden looked like it had been hit by a major blizzard.
I think we must have been making a lot of noise, because our grumpy next-door neighbour, Mrs Watson-Wade, looked out of her upstairs window and made this, like, mega production out of drawing the curtains.
Then suddenly the party was over. We were all tired out.
It felt dead peculiar being back indoors. Too stuffy and MUCH too bright. We hopped around in our socks, blinking like owls, trying to rub warmth back into our hands and feet.
“Why does thawing out hurt so much?” Rosie whimpered.
Mum brought us fluffy towels so we could dry ourselves off. Then she made more hot drinks. I was mentally awarding her Brownie points for being such a cool mum, when Frankie caught sight of our kitchen clock. Her expression totally clouded over.
“Is that the time?” she gasped. “We’ll never get that stupid project done now! We’ll probably have to stay up all night!”
The party sparkle went out of Mum’s eyes. “You didn’t tell me you had homework, Fliss,” she said.
“We haven’t really,” I fibbed.
“Yeah, right. We’ve only got to plan an entire Ecology Zone by Monday,” said Frankie in a snappish voice. “And we’ve only like, totally wasted hours and hours!”
“Frankie!” everyone hissed.
But it was too late. Mum looked incredibly hurt.
Suddenly Frankie burst into tears. “It’s all right for you lot,” she bawled. “It’s not your sister who’s going to have her life ruined on the stroke of midnight!”
Huh? Honestly, that girl is such a drama queen!
Everyone stared at her in total confusion.
“What are you on about?” said Kenny
“That’s their final deadline. Midnight tonight. If Mum and Dad can’t agree on a name by then, they’re just going to pull one out of a hat. My little sister will be stuck with it for ever and ever.”
Mum handed her the tissue box. Frankie took one and wiped her eyes. “Heaven knows what they’ll come up with,” she wept. “Without me there to keep an eye on things. I mean what if they call her something so pathetic that all the other little kids make fun of her?”
Like me being called Sidebotham, I thought. I didn’t say this aloud though, because Mum would have been really upset. Anyway, it was strictly first names we were discussing here.
“They named you OK,” Kenny pointed out. “I don’t know what you’re so worried about.”
“Then I’ll tell you what I’m so worried about,” said Frankie, working herself into a real Frankie-type froth. “I’m worried because I absolutely know what my little sister should be called, OK? I’ve come up with the PERFECT name, OK? But when it comes to really important decisions, big sisters don’t seem to count for some reason. Of course, if my parents want something boring doing, that’s totally different. ‘Frankie, sweetheart, warm this bottle up!’ ‘Frankie, be a love and fetch the talcum powder!’ ‘Frankie—”’
“Why don’t you phone home now?” Mum suggested quickly. “Ask your parents if they’d let you put your choice into the hat along with theirs.”
Frankie blinked in surprise. “Really?” she said. “Do you think they would?”
Mum shrugged. “What have you got to lose? Hold on, I’ll get you the phone.”
Frankie dived into the hall with our portable phone and shut the door. I could hear a tiny electronic beep each time she pushed a button. She was in such a state she kept getting wrong numbers.
The others looked totally embarrassed. I wasn’t. I was steaming mad. I know my mum isn’t the most relaxed person on this planet, but she’d tried really hard to give everyone a good time, and Frankie had been dead disrespectful. Huh! I thought. I bet it never even occurs to that girl to say sorry!
Kenny cleared her throat. “I thought Frankie was crazy about her baby sister,” she whispered.
“Being a big sister takes getting used to, bird-brain,” hissed Lyndz. “I felt the same when my little brother was born.”
So did I. But I couldn’t very well say so, with Mum earwigging about two inches away.
Unfortunately, Frankie came back in a worse mood than ever.
“I got our stupid answer service,” she moaned. “I had to leave a message, which my parents will probably be too busy to pick up.” Then she looked a bit ashamed. “Oh, thanks for the phone, Mrs Sidebotham,” she mumbled.
“OK,” sighed Lyndz. “Enough. Get out your books.”
She zonked her horse book down on our dining-room table with a mighty crash. I could feel Mum forcing herself not to check if Lyndz had made a big sc
ratch or not. And my old mixed-up feelings came churning back.
Rosie blew her hair out of her eyes. “This is so-o hopeless!” she said. “We’re in doom forever.”
“Doom city,” agreed Frankie.
“How come you guys are so freaked out by some stupid little word?” said Kenny in disgust. “Ecology is no big deal, honestly. I asked Dad about it and we looked it up together. It just means how everything in nature is all connected and, like, WORKS together.”
We stared at her blankly
“Well, you soon changed your tune, Laura McKenzie,” growled Frankie.
Kenny shrugged. “Dad says we’ve just got to find an angle. A way to make ecology fun.”
“Yeah, right,” said Frankie. “Ecology is fun. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Kenny and Frankie glared at each other. There was a kind of awkward silence. Then Frankie slammed her book shut.
“This is a total waste of time!” she yelled.
Unfortunately, she must have caught her drink with her elbow at the same time.
Oh-oh. One of Mum’s best mugs went crashing to the floor in a kind of spooky slow motion. We watched helplessly. It was like we were so horrified, no-one could move a muscle.
Frankie stared at the mess as if she had no idea how it got there.
Mum came zooming to the rescue. “No use crying over spilled milk, you guys,” she babbled bravely. “These things happen.”
She sounded exactly like Granny Sidebotham trying to be cool and groovy. And this made ME so upset that for some reason I grabbed the Vanish right out of her hand. “Just stop fussing, Mum,” I yelled. “I’ll do it, OK!”
Which was incredibly mean of me. Because Mum felt quite bad enough, thank you very much. Her Siberian picnic had got our year 2000 sleepover off to a brilliant start. Too brilliant, obviously. Because now the whole operation had crashed and burned.
There were going to be tears before bedtime, just like Gran always said. And neither Mum nor I knew what to do about it.
We trawled gloomily through our books for inspiration. Then we all sighed heavily, swapped over and tried again.
