Angie Bates - Sleepover Club 2000

“Excellent,” said Frankie. “Hope it snows next week too. Then I’ll get to see my baby sister loads.” Her face lit up. “Did I tell you how she—”

“YES!” we yelled.

“Ssh!” hissed Miss Mellone. “This is a library, not a circus!”

“Like we hadn’t noticed,” muttered Rosie.

“Isn’t it weird,” said Kenny thoughtfully. “I hate snow, but I lurve getting snowed in.”

“Me too,” said Lyndz. “Don’t you love it when they do that Snow Line, and the radio presenter reads out the names of all the schools which are closed, and you hear the magic words ‘Cuddington School’?”

“Yeah! And look at it this way,” said Rosie. “This means we get a longer sleepover. If it’s all right with your mum, Fliss,” she added awkwardly.

I crossed my fingers behind my back. “Oh, Mum won’t mind,” I swanked.

“Great,” moaned Frankie. “An extra hour’s brain-ache, reading our exciting ecology books. NOT! ”

The school library was just about to close, so we each grabbed a book and hoped for the best. Lyndz chose a book on horses (surprise, surprise). Kenny found one about the human body, which she said looked “promising”. “Gory” is the word I’d use. Kenny wants to be a doctor like her dad. She gets a real kick out of going into disgusting medical details and watching her friends squirm! My book showed all the weird little things you can see in an ordinary rain puddle. Well, if you’ve got a microscope! I was going to prove the existence of my mysterious mud creatures if it killed me.

I hate going out in ice and snow, don’t you? It makes me dead nervous and wobbly, like I’m going to fall on my face and knock my teeth out. And as I tottered down our road, a whole hour earlier than usual, I started feeling wobbly on the inside too.

Suppose Andy’s “tactful word” only made things worse? Mum’s dead sensitive. You can’t predict what’s going to set her off.

“Please don’t let her embarrass me in front of my friends,” I prayed. “I’ll never ask for another thing.”

But when I turned my key, Mum was on the other side of the door with a big grin on her face. I could see she was bursting to tell me something.

“Is it OK if everyone comes early, Mum?” I asked.

She nodded brightly. “Everything’s been ready for hours.”

My tummy turned over. “Ready?” I stuttered. “But Andy—?”

Mum’s expression went all soft and gooey. “Bless him. He was so sweet. He explained that he loves me just the way I am, but that me being so house-proud sometimes puts a bit of a strain on you all.”

I swallowed. “But—”

“He made me see I’ve got to learn to be more relaxed,” said Mum. “More fun to be with.”

“ More fun?” I said in dismay.

“Anyway, I was wondering what I could do to make this a really extra-special year 2000 sleepover for you all, when I heard this man on the car radio,” Mum burbled. “And then I had my brainwave.”

“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.”