by Jean Ure
I’d often wondered what actually happened when you went to a sleepover. I had this vague idea that you might try out new hairstyles, or make-up, or play games on the computer. Then later, when it was dark and you were safely tucked up in bed, you’d tell each other ghost stories and make your flesh creep. Oh, and eat stuff! Popcorn, or sardines, or toasted marshmallows. Not that I actually knew what toasted marshmallows were; I think they were just something I’d read about in books. Most of my ideas seemed to come from books. Real life often turned out to be quite different.
Like my sleepover with Millie. We didn’t do any of the stuff I thought we’d do. Neither of us was really very interested in hairstyles or make-up, and playing games on the computer would have meant staying downstairs in the front room, which wasn’t anywhere near as cosy as Millie’s bedroom. We did try a few ghost stories, but we weren’t very good at it and Millie got the giggles, which gave me the giggles, and her mum came into the room and said, “Girls, it’s one o’clock in the morning!”
Millie said, “Sorry, sorry, we’ll be quiet as mice.”
“You could maybe try going to sleep,” said her mum; but we were far too wide awake for that.
We’d spent the whole evening talking. Just talking! We’d talked about school, about our favourite subjects and our favourite teachers. We’d talked about our favourite books, our favourite TV programmes, our favourite singers. I’d never met anyone I felt so at home with as I did with Millie. I reckoned we could have gone on talking all night without ever running out of subjects.
We almost did go on all night. Every now and then there’d be a bit of a silence, then one of us would go, “Are you asleep?” and the other one would bounce over in her bunk and go, “No! Are you?” and that would set us off again.
Next morning I met Millie’s dad. He was a little tubby man with sandy hair and a bald patch in the middle and I was terrified in case Millie did what she had threatened to do and told him how I’d said he was the cream of the cream. She’d obviously remembered cos she gave me this impish grin like, Shall I tell? and I felt my cheeks grow all hot and hectic. Katy, the smallest of the Diddy People, immediately squealed, “Peachy’s gone pink!” And then she gave a reproachful yelp as Millie kicked her under the table. I know it was Millie cos she told me so later. She said, “No manners, the younger generation.” And then she added, “You needn’t have worried – I wasn’t going to say anything.”
I was grateful to her. It would have been too embarrassing!
“I knew you didn’t want me to,” said Millie, “so that’s why I wasn’t going to. Friends have got to be able to trust each other.”
When it came time to go home, later that afternoon, Millie’s mum wanted to know whether anyone was coming to pick me up or would I like a lift?
“She wants to go by bus,” said Millie. “I’m going to take her down the bus stop and make sure she gets the right one.”
Millie fussed over me like a mother hen. She said, “Get off the bus at the Town Hall Gardens, stay right where you are and wait for the number 2b.” She repeated it. “2b. Yes?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“That’ll take you to the bottom of Tay Hill. Then when you come to school on Monday you can get the same bus all the way. Dead easy!”
I felt quite proud of myself, buying my ticket, getting on and off buses all on my own. Pathetic, really, but everyone has to start somewhere. Mum was surprised when I walked in.
“I thought you were going to call me?” she said.
Carelessly I told her that I had come by bus. “It’s dead easy! And a whole lot greener than cluttering up the roads with private cars.”
Mum said, “Be as green as you like, but just don’t use that word in front of your dad.”
Dad is one of those people that thinks global warming is a government plot. It is something that makes him very angry. But then there are just so many things that make Dad angry.
“Anyway, I take it you enjoyed yourself?” said Mum.
I assured her that I had.
“Well, don’t forget,” said Mum, “next time it’ll be Millie’s turn to come here.”
“Omigod, that was awesome!” said Millie, on Monday morning. “Dad said we’re like a pair of old gossips. Yack, yack, yack! He said he couldn’t think what we found to talk about all that time. I told him,” said Millie, “we could have gone on talking all night.” She slipped her arm through mine. “We must do it again!”
I knew she was waiting for me to say, “Yes, and next time you must come round to mine.”
If only Mum and Dad and all the others would just go away somewhere for the weekend and leave me on my own. But some hopes! Mum wouldn’t hear of it.
“You do want to do it again?” Millie sounded anxious. “Say if you don’t! I won’t be hurt.”
But she would be; anyone would be. And I did want to! I just didn’t want Millie finding out about Dad and having to be introduced to the rest of the family. I didn’t think I could bear it if Millie got all blown away by Coop and Charlie, same as everyone else. I could still remember a girl in my class at Juniors going, “Charlie McBride is your sister?” Like on the one hand, Wow! and on the other hand, You’ve got to be joking! With her eyes swivelling all over me and this look of pitying wonderment on her face. How could the great Charlie McBride have a sister like that?
I so didn’t want the same sort of look from Millie!
I assured her that I couldn’t wait for us to have another sleepover. “And this time we will talk all night!”
“Let’s do it really soon,” begged Millie.
I said that I would ask Mum. But I kept putting it off and putting it off, so that when Millie reminded me, a few days later, I had to quickly think up an excuse, like I hadn’t had a chance, Mum had been just so busy.
“She’s always, like, flying around, you know?”
“You mean like properly flying?” said Millie.
Idiotically I said yes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Mum hates flying! She is always scared that the plane is going to plummet.
“I will ask her,” I said. “Soon as I can get hold of her.”
Millie didn’t remind me again, she probably thought it would be too much like nagging, but I knew she was eagerly waiting for me to come up with something.
Mum had said, “Don’t forget,” and I didn’t, cos how could I? It nagged at me all the time. I felt sure that sooner or later Mum was bound to ask me, “When are you having Millie over for that sleepover?” But then, before she could do so, things happened that put me and Millie right out of her mind. Things are always happening in the McBride house. There is never a dull moment.
First off, Dad was shortlisted for yet another radio award, and we all went out to celebrate. Dad kept saying, “Whoa! Just because I’ve been shortlisted doesn’t mean I’m necessarily going to win.” But we all knew it probably did. Dad is hugely popular, though I’m not quite sure why. I guess listeners enjoy it when he’s rude to people and shouts over the top of them and says that their views are moronic.
Anyway, no sooner had we gone out celebrating with Dad than the twins took part in some horsey thing, a gymkhana, and we all had to go and cheer them on as they jumped their tiny little ponies over enormous great jumps and had them weaving in and out of poles and doing other clever things, for which they both won rosettes. A woman came up to Mum and barked, “Amazing kids! Brilliant little riders. Wouldn’t be surprised if we see them representing England one of these days.”
Mum beamed and said, “The next Olympics!”
Two days later Charlie came bubbling home with the news that she had been picked for the school’s hockey team.
“The first team, Mum! I’m the youngest player they’ve ever had!”
So that was another celebration. We do a LOT of celebrating in our family. At least it made Mum forget about Millie coming for a sleepover, so I was grateful for that though of course it didn’t solve my problem. I knew I couldn’t go on putting M
illie off for ever.
And then I had an idea. Suppose I invited Millie back, like the following weekend, but then at the last minute I told her my gran had rung and was paying us a visit: “It means I’ll have to move in with Flora so that Gran can have my room!”
Millie would be almost certain to suggest that I went back to her place again instead. Wouldn’t she?
Yesss!
I was all set to put my plan into action when Gran herself went and ruined it. She actually did ring up! Not to say that she was coming to visit, but she must have asked after me or done something to jog Mum’s memory, cos immediately she put the phone down Mum turned to me, quite accusingly, and said, “I thought you were going to ask Minnie to stay over?”
“Millie,” I said.
“Millie. Yes! So when are you going to do it? How about this Friday?”
I couldn’t see any way out. Well, I suppose I could have told Mum that Millie was doing something else on Friday, but I couldn’t keep telling her that. Sooner or later she would start to get suspicious and think we’d fallen out. Then she would discuss it with Gran – “Something’s gone wrong, I think they must have quarrelled.” Then Gran would want to talk to me and find out what had happened. Worst of all, Millie might decide she didn’t want me as a friend any more. I did so wish I had a normal family! An ordinary family. Like Millie’s. A mum that was a school dinner lady, a dad that drove buses. And three funny little Diddy People!
But you get what you are given. You can’t choose what you are born into. And in any case, as I reminded myself, not everyone sees things the same way. Maybe Millie would meet my family and think they were just ordinary.
I could only hope.
She was so happy when I asked her. Her whole face lit up. She said, “Ooh, yes please, I’d love to!”
I at once decided that I would stop being what Dad calls a worry wart, always imagining the worst and thinking up disasters. Me and Millie were going to have fun! With any luck Charlie would be out with her latest boyfriend (she went through boys at the rate of about one a week) and Dad would be at one of his special fundraising dinners. They were the two I most didn’t want Millie to meet. I wasn’t so bothered about Coop. He is not as intimidating as Charlie and when he is in the throes of one of his compositions he tends to live in a world of his own. He probably wouldn’t even notice that I had Millie round. As for the twins, they are just something that has to be put up with. Like hurricanes or a force-ten gale.
I asked Mum, “On Friday, when Millie comes over, can we take our tea straight up to my room?”
“If that’s what you want,” said Mum. “So long as you at least stop off to say hello before disappearing.”
I said, “Absolutely!” Thinking to myself that all we had to do was say hello to Mum, then scuttle upstairs as fast as could be and shut ourselves away.
Friday after school we walked down to the bus stop together. Proudly I told Millie that I always got the bus now.
“It’s much better than Mum driving me,” I said.
“I’ll tell my dad,” said Millie. “I’ll tell him I’ve converted you!”
When we got off the bus at the bottom of Tay Hill, Millie stopped her usual chattering and fell strangely silent. She kept glancing about her at the houses and seemed uncomfortable.
“Which one is yours?” she said.
I pointed. “That one over there.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t posh!”
“It’s not,” I said, but looking at it through Millie’s eyes I could see that it might appear so. “Honestly,” I said, “it’s just got lots of rooms.”
“Lots of rooms is posh,” muttered Millie.
“Not really,” I said. “Last year the roof sprung a leak and we had to keep running up and down to the attics with buckets!”
“You’ve got attics?” said Millie.
We’ve got a basement as well, but I didn’t tell her that. I hoped she wouldn’t notice.
Mum was in the kitchen; so were the twins. They were both shouting at the tops of their voices. Something about this very special pony that they simply had to have.
“He’s a palomino!”
“He’s gorgeous!”
They briefly broke off as me and Millie came in, then immediately started up again.
“Ginny’s grown out of him, Mum, that’s why they’re selling him on.”
“We could still keep either Polo or Whisky.”
“Mum?”
They hovered, like a couple of annoying little tug boats bobbing up and down on a choppy sea.
“Mum, please? Can we?”
“I don’t know,” said Mum. “I can’t decide anything right now. Go and speak to your father.”
My heart sank. Dad was here? I had been so praying he would be out! I didn’t want Millie being frightened. Dad can be really overwhelming.
“Right.” Mum shooed the terrible pair, still clamouring, out of the kitchen, and closed the door. “Minnie! How lovely to meet you at last.”
“Millie,” I said.
“Millie! Of course. So sorry! Terrible with names.”
“It’s very kind of you to have me,” said Millie. I stared at her. Why was she putting on that funny voice, like she was pretending to be the Queen?
“No, no,” said Mum. “The pleasure’s all mine. I’m just so happy that Peachy’s made a friend.”
“I understand,” said Millie, still in her careful voice, “that you’ve been doing a lot of flying just lately?”
“Flying?” said Mum. “Me?”
Mum looked puzzled, Millie embarrassed. I jumped in hastily.
“Flying about. I was telling Millie how busy you always are.”
“Oh. Yes! I suppose I am.” Mum said it vaguely, as if she wasn’t quite sure. “Help yourself to some tea, whatever you want. There’s some…”
The rest of the sentence was drowned out by a piercing shriek of “Mu-u-u-um!” as Charlie came bursting through the door. She stopped at the sight of Millie and flapped a hand. “Hi.”
Millie said, “Hi,” in a rather subdued voice.
“Mum, you’ve got to help me,” begged Charlie. “I can’t find my shorts. I need them for the match tomorrow!”
“They’re all washed and ironed and put away,” said Mum.
“But they’re not in my drawer!”
“Of course they’re in your drawer. I put them there myself.”
Mum disappeared down the hall with Charlie wailing behind her. I said, “That’s my sister Charlotte. She’s always losing things – she’s totally useless. Let’s get our tea and go upstairs.”
I yanked open the fridge and started grabbing stuff. Cartons of fruit juice, little chocolate pots, carrot sticks. Then I rushed to the cupboard and snatched a couple of bags of crisps and a packet of biscuits. I wanted to get Millie safely smuggled upstairs before the twins or Charlie came crashing back. Unfortunately, on our way down the hall we bumped into Dad barrelling out of the sitting room, shouting as he went.
“Don’t badger me! I’ve told you, I’ll think about it!”
He then saw me, with Millie. “Hello!” he said. “Who are you?”
I said, “This is Millie. She’s staying the night.”
“Really? Jolly good!”
Dad went roaring off, leaving me and Millie to make our way to my bedroom. All along the side of the stairs there are glossy photos of Dad with the awards that he has won. It’s Mum who hangs them there; she is very proud of Dad. I am so used to them I almost never notice them any more, but Millie paused, very carefully, to study each one.
“Is your dad famous?” she said.
The smart answer would have been, “If he were famous, you wouldn’t have to ask. Ha ha!” But I am not very quick at saying smart things. I only think of them hours afterwards, when it is way too late. So I just wriggled a bit and said, “Not really.”
“But he’s won all those awards!”
“Only for being on the radio,” I said. �
�It’s not like being on the telly.”
Millie looked at me doubtfully. “He must be a bit famous.”
“Just a minor celeb,” I said, pulling Millie into my bedroom and firmly shutting the door.
We sat on cushions on the floor to eat our tea. We talked a bit as usual about school, and how some people, such as Zoe Kingman, were rather obnoxious and chucked their weight about – “Thinks she’s the big cheese,” sniffed Millie – and how others, like Janine Corrie, known as the Mouse, were quite friendly; and Millie told me what the Diddy People were up to, and I told her how the twins were horribly spoilt and always got their own way cos neither Mum nor Dad could bear to say no to them; but it wasn’t the same as when we were at Millie’s.
It had been so warm and cosy in Millie’s cluttered little room. My room was warm, cos of the central heating, but it wasn’t cosy. There was too much space! Plus I was suddenly aware of how much stuff I had that Millie didn’t. My own television, for instance; my laptop. Shelves full of books, and china animals. Big puffy cushions, a walk-in wardrobe full of clothes. I’d always just taken it for granted. Now I had a horrible feeling that it was making Millie uncomfortable.
I was too much of a coward to say anything. Millie is bolder; she always says exactly what is on her mind. As we finished tea she came out with it: “Is this why you didn’t want to invite me back?” She waved a hand, taking in my room with all its bits and pieces. “Cos I’m not posh enough?”
I felt my cheeks immediately start to glow. I stammered that of course it wasn’t. “And I did want to invite you back!”
“You didn’t really,” said Millie. She didn’t say it accusingly; just stated it like it was a fact. My cheeks by now were sizzling like bacon in a pan.
“Be honest!” she said. “You didn’t, did you?”
I swallowed. “It’s not like you think.”
“It’s all right,” said Millie. “Dad warned me when I got the scholarship I mightn’t find it easy being at a school like Sacred Heart. He didn’t really want me to go there; it was Mum who pushed me. Dad said there’d be bound to be some people that were prejudiced. Like Zoe.”
