Angie Bates - Sleepover Girls on Safari

In four days’ time we were going on the ultimate class trip – to have what Mrs Weaver described as a “safari experience”. We’d all heard of Gawdy Castle Safari Park, but none of us had actually been, and we were getting totally overexcited.

“I can’t wait,” said Kenny. “Lions in the wild. Raaargh!!” She hooked her fingers into claws and waved them menacingly in Lyndz’s face.

“This is going to be so amazing,” I said. “Isn’t it, Rosie?”

“From what I heard yesterday, Gawdy Castle might be a bit TOO amazing!” Frankie had that annoying little smirk on her face that means she’s got secret inside info. “I’ve been talking to this kid whose sister went years ago. Boy, you should have heard what she told me.”

I was suddenly completely distracted. “Not again! I’ve broken another nail!” I screeched. I couldn’t believe my bad luck. I’d been trying to grow all my nails to the same length for weeks. Now the most exciting adventure of our lives was looming and I’d gone and ruined my Pink Passion nail-polished fingernail.

“Don’t be such a bimbo, Fliss!”

I DO wish Frankie would learn not to talk with her mouth full. Gloopy egg sandwich suddenly went splattering everywhere, and poor ol’ Kenny was right in the line of fire.

“Urgh, Frankie! That was so gross!” She frantically brushed yellow and white gunk off her t-shirt.

I helped Kenz mop herself up. Ever since the twins were born, I make sure I carry travel wipes in my bag, so I’m prepared for spills and dribbles of all kinds. Joe and Hannah could totally dribble for England!

Frankie joined in the mopping operation. “Sorry, Kenz,” she said, “but Fliss has been banging on about her silly nails all term. We’re going to Gawdy Castle in four days and there’s something you guys really ought to know.”

Mum reckons the other girls will catch up and learn to love lip-gloss and nail polish as much as I do. I hope she’s right. Sometimes I think my mates see me as a total fluff brain. As for Frankie, she’s always saying I shouldn’t worry about shallow girly stuff like getting my appliquéd butterfly jeans dirty. She says it ruins everyone’s fun.

I hate to think I might be the Sleepover Club party pooper, so right there in the dinner hall, I made a secret pact with myself that I would NOT be ruining our thrilling, end of term trip.

“Sorry, Frankie,” I said humbly. “Tell us your story.”

Frankie plans to be an actress when she grows up and she just LURVES to be the centre of attention. She took a long, very noisy sip of Snapple, to make sure everyone was watching. Then she made us all huddle closer.

“This story is going to give you terminal goose bumps,” she promised. “I heard it from a girl who made me swear not to tell anyone. She said the authorities didn’t want it to get out.”

“But it’s all right to tell us?” I said anxiously.

“Of course, you’re my mates,” said Frankie. “And I’m going to tell it exactly how she told it to me.”

Kenny’s eyes gleamed and Lyndz’s looked as if they were going to pop right out of her head. I gulped. Frankie’s the best teller of scary tales I know. Outside, a cloud had gone across the sun, and the hall suddenly became full of eerie, flitting shadows.

“It happened at Gawdy Castle exactly three years ago,” Frankie began. “In fact, by a very weird coincidence, it happened three years to the day this Friday!”

Lyndz drew in her breath. “That’s the day we’re going!”

“I know. That’s why we’d better all be careful, because the terrible events I’m about to describe could well happen to any one of us.”

Frankie was really enjoying putting the frighteners on us, but we were all loving it. “Not one word of what I am going to tell you can go outside this group,” she said commandingly. “Do you swear?”

I heard Kenny mutter, “Get on with it, Spaceman.” But the rest of us just nodded frantically.

“Then I’ll begin,” said Frankie in her special storytelling voice. “It was the day of the school safari trip and the weatherman had forecast storms. The skies were darkening as the school coach drove through the gates of Gawdy Castle. But no one wanted to miss out on seeing the animals, so the castle rangers decided to risk taking the children out in the Landrovers. They thought the storm would hold off.”

“But it didn’t,” whispered Lyndz.

“No, it didn’t. It began thundering and lightning like the end of the world. Soon rain was coming down so heavily it was impossible to see out of the windscreen. The rangers cut the tour short and told the children and teachers to shelter in the old castle. Now there was one boy, whose name was Peter Harris…”

“I’ve heard of him,” said Kenny.

“Can I PLEASE tell my story without anyone interrupting?”

We all tried not to giggle at Frankie’s impression of Mrs Weaver.

“Well, anyway, Peter soon got bored with looking at pictures of dead dukes and duchesses. And though the suits of armour were quite interesting, what he really wanted to see were the medieval torture chambers in the dungeons.”

“Dun dun du-un!” interrupted a sarky voice.

Emma Hughes was smiling down at us. I say “smile”. It was more like the lipless grin you see on mummies.

“Bug off, Emma,” said Frankie.

“Oh, I’m SO sorry,” said Emma in a scornful voice. “Was I interrupting your little story-telling session, Frankie? Why don’t I finish it for you? Let me see. Oh, yes.” Emma put on a fake scary voice. “Peter goes down into the dungeon where the ghost of a tortured prisoner jumps out at him, going ‘Whooo!’, and drags poor little Peter right inside the wall. When he fails to return to the minibus, the teachers and other kids search the castle for him. They search for over an hour. They’ve almost given up when Peter suddenly reappears in the main hall. But he’s not the same normal, happy boy who left home that morning. His hair and eyebrows have turned snow white and he can’t talk. He can only mumble like a great big baby…” Emma’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

“That’s horrible,” said Lyndz in a trembly voice.

Emma gave a spiteful laugh. “And not one word of it is true! My brother played football with Peter Harris only the other day. That stupid ghost story’s been going round for years. I can’t believe Frankie swallowed it!”

It took the combined strength of the rest of the Sleepover Club to stop an enraged Frankie throwing herself at Emma.

“Where’s the other Queen of Darkness today?” panted Kenny, still hanging on to a furious Frankie.

“Yeah, you want to be careful,” said Lyndz. “If I was you, I wouldn’t want to get Frankie angry without my evil twin for back-up.”

As everybody in the village knows, Emma Hughes and Emily Berryman, aka the M&Ms, are our deadly enemies. This was one of the few times I’d ever seen one without the other. Without her snooty bodyguard, Emma looked strangely incomplete.

“If you must know,” she said stiffly, “Emily’s caught—” She glanced around to make sure no one was listening and dropped her voice, “—erm, nits.”

Kenz totally cracked up. “Oh, that’s made my day! Emily Berryman’s got head lice!! Can’t you just imagine her scratching herself like a monkey!”

“My sympathy’s with the nits personally,” Frankie growled, still trying to wriggle free.

“Aren’t you scared you’ll catch them, Emma?” said Lyndz wickedly. “You’ve always got your heads together plotting some little scheme. Her evil creepy-crawlies wouldn’t have far to jump.”

Kenny gave a fake gasp. “Yikes, Emma!! I just saw something crawl into your hair! Dad says nits LURVE clean, blonde hair. He says that’s like head lice heaven to them.”