Читать книгу The Sleepover Club on the Beach - Angie Bates, Narinder Dhami - Страница 5

It all started with an earache.

You know the kind of illnesses where you feel very slightly fragile and everyone spoils you rotten? I lurve those. Sometimes Dad buys me silly treats on the way home from work: sherbet necklaces and stick-on tattoos and puzzle books.

Well, my ear infection was nothing like that. It made me totally miz, even after the antibiotics had kicked in. And I had to miss loads of school. I didn’t mind about lessons, obviously, but I hated not seeing my mates. Plus, my illness TOTALLY disrupted our Sleepover schedule.

I was praying I’d recover in time to go on our school trip. But when the day came, Mum said I was nowhere near well enough to go bombing off to Skeggy on a coach.

On the other hand, she saw absolutely NO reason to cancel the paddling party she’d arranged. She’d invited her best mates and all their little kids to our house. Which, if you include my little brothers, makes eight screaming, sticky-fingered under-fives in total! Lucky ol’ me, eh.

Things weren’t too bad at the start. The sun shone and the mums nattered and the little ones splashed around in our ancient paddling pool, like cute little water babies. I just sprawled in a deckchair, looking interestingly pale in my sunglasses, pretending to read a magazine. Also privately wondering how I’d ever squeezed into that teeny weeny plastic pool. If I jumped in now, I’d create a major tidal wave!

Then quite suddenly the heavens opened and it POURED. The mums scooped up toddlers and plates of sandwiches and ran for shelter.

Unfortunately Dad had started one of his famous DIY projects, putting our sitting room completely out of action. (My dad makes Changing Rooms look like a bunch of wimpy amateurs!) So the paddling party had to picnic in the kitchen.

Just imagine it. Eight screaming toddlers all spilling juice and trampling on sandwiches and occasionally on each other’s fingers. Total nightmare!

I just couldn’t take the mayhem. So I sneaked off to the bombsite formerly known as our sitting room, to watch TV by myself.

But the telly was swathed in several sheets of industrial plastic.

My star sign is Libra, and I’m a really easygoing person. My mates will tell you that normally I take things like disappearing tellies completely in my stride.

But you’ve to got remember I was seriously stressed out. My house was filled with rampaging rugrats and there was completely nowhere to run. And my ear still hurt, a LOT. And the no-telly-situation was just the last straw.

And I’m sorry, OK, but I completely lost it. Actually, I went totally ballistic. “ARGH!” I yelled. And again. “AAARGH!!!”

But no-one heard me. This was because Mum and her mates had finally succeeded in persuading all the kiddiwinks to sing Five Fat Sausages at the tops of their cute little voices.

I started ripping at the plastic in a frenzy.

“I’m not asking for the moon,” I stormed. “I want to veg out in front of the TV, that’s all. But no! I’ve got to play Pass the blooming TV Parcel…”

Finally I’d peeled my way down to the last layer. Then I dragged our TV to the nearest electrical socket and plugged it in. But all the channels had gone completely skew-whiff!

Now I was really mad. I stomped back to the kitchen, glowering at everyone like the evil fairy in a panto. I generally go all starry-eyed when I hear pre-schoolers singing in their little off-key voices. But my heart had entirely turned to stone.

“Excuse ME for breaking up the party!” I yelled rudely. “But I’m still really ill, in case you’ve forgotten, Mum, and I need to watch TV, but Dad’s sabotaged the channels, hasn’t he?”

All the tinies gawped at me in pure astonishment.

I could tell Mum was silently counting to ten. “Why don’t you go and watch Stuart’s?” she suggested at last.

“THAT heap of junk!” I snarled. “I’d get a bigger buzz watching Grandma’s snowstorm paperweight!”

My brother’s ancient Sony recently went on the blink, which means you have to watch programmes through this permanent blizzard.

“I know,” said Mum, in her best playgroup leader’s voice. “Why don’t you help yourself to one of those lovely juicy peaches, curl up in a comfy chair and read a library book?”

“Yeah, right,” I sneered. “First find a chair, then—”

“I’m sure we can find you a chair,” Mum interrupted, laughing.

“But I’ve read those books heaps of times,” I moaned. “I can practically recite them from memory.”

My little brother, Ben, slipped a sticky hand into mine. “Don’t worry, I’ll lend you my library books if you like,” he whispered.

I’ll just explain that Ben’s favourite toddler fact-book explains exactly where your poo goes to, with v. colourful diagrams.

“That’s sweet, Ben,” I shuddered. “But I’d just want to lose myself in a good story. You know, escape.” My voice came out in a feeble little wail. To my horror I realised I was going to cry.

“Tell you what,” said my mum’s mate Teresa. “I’ve got some kids’ books in the car. I’m meant to be taking them to the charity shop. My dad’s been clearing out his attic.”

“Oh,” I said. “Erm…”

But before I could explain that this wasn’t exactly the reading I had in mind, Teresa had nipped out to her car. In no time, she was back with two bulging carrier bags.

Inside were the fogeyest, most depressing hard-backed books I have EVER seen. No doubt they looked incredibly hip when they came out in the 1940s or whatever. But over the years all the covers had faded to the colour of bogey slime (I’m sorry, but it’s true!).

It didn’t help that Mum and her mates were obviously expecting me to leap around with gratitude.

I pasted a fake smile on my face. “Oh wow,” I said politely. “Thanks, Teresa.”

And I lugged the awful things upstairs. I wasn’t planning to read them. I just didn’t want to hurt Teresa’s feelings. But after ten minutes or so, I’d had as much as I could take of scowling up at my ceiling.

So very grudgingly I took a book from the pile. I suppose it might be good for a laugh, I told myself.

After an hour or so, I heard a polite cough. Mum was hovering in the doorway. “I reprogrammed the TV if you want to come back down,” she said.

“Cheers,” I said vaguely. “Just got to finish this chapter.”

I was still reading when my brother Tom called me to have my tea!! I rushed downstairs, gulped a few mouthfuls of shepherd’s pie, then bolted back to my room and carried on reading feverishly. The characters were trapped in a disused mine, and frankly things weren’t looking good.

When Mum suddenly appeared with the phone, I almost jumped out of my skin. I’d never even heard it ring! I glanced at my alarm clock and was astonished to see it was practically bedtime! How had that happened?

“It’s Frankie!” said Mum.

I took the phone, still really out of it. “Hiya, Spaceman!” I said groggily. “How was Skegness?”

“Oh, fab and groovy. NOT. Emily Berryman was sick on the coach. All over my trainers, would you believe.” Frankie had obviously rung up for a good moan.

“Oh, poor old you,” I said vaguely, looking longingly at my book.

Frankie sounded slightly huffy. “What are you up to, anyway?” she said. “You sound weird.”

I explained sheepishly about my new addiction.

Frankie snorted. “Oh, those! I totally despise those books.”

“Oh, me too,” I agreed. “It’s just that Dad—”

But Frankie was off on one of her rants. “Have you noticed how they all have samey titles? The Mystery of the Thingybobby, or The Thingybobby of Adventure, or The Secret Thingybobby? And it doesn’t matter which one you read, they’re all exactly the same.”

“Yeah, but once you get into them, they’re surprisingly—”

But Frankie wouldn’t let me get a word in. “Have you noticed how the grown-ups in those books always find some convenient excuse to pack all the kids off to stay with this like, long-lost relative?” she said in a scornful voice. “I mean, how many long-lost rellies have you come across recently, Lyndz?”

“Well, none really—” I began.

“Exactly!” said Frankie triumphantly. “And before you can say ‘gosh, golly and jolly good fun’, the little dears are running around in their big baggy shorts and seriously sad knitwear, on the trail of some totally daft mystery – smugglers, secret tunnels, messages in bottles and I don’t know what!”

Once Frankie gets on her high horse, it’s pointless arguing. You just have to let her run down like an old-fashioned record.

“The thing which REALLY annoys me,” she continued, “is how the girls always get so girly and upset. And the boy with the pet rat always finds disgusting old toffees in his pockets, and they’re all fluffy and icky and I’m like – ‘DON’T put it in your mouth, Betty-Ann or whatever your silly name is. It’s got rat germs!’”

I giggled. “He keeps the rat in his other pocket, you lamebrain!”

“But the dopey girl EATS it,” Frankie went on. “Not only that, but she like, cheers up INSTANTLY! I mean what is IN these sweeties, Lyndz? I think we deserve to be told!”

That did crack me up. In fact I laughed so much, I started hiccuping. Ever had hiccups while you’re still recovering from earache?

It’s AGONY.

“Sorry, hic (ow!) hic, Frankie,” I whimpered. “Gotta, HIC (ow!) go!”

Snivelling with pain, I rushed to find Mum, who was helping Dad measure alcoves for shelves.

I hate being the middle child. My parents showed me absolutely NO sympathy.

“Oh, not again!” Dad groaned.

“Just hold your breath,” Mum said impatiently.

Now I am the world expert on hiccups, OK? And I’ve tried every hiccup cure going and that holding-the-breath thing never worked for me ONCE. I was getting genuinely hysterical, but then my brother Tom came up with the most ingenious hiccup remedy since hiccups began.

He put one arm around me and drew one of his lightning-fast cartoons with his free hand. And as I watched, hiccuping miserably, Tom’s scribbles suddenly turned into a brilliant caricature of me hiccuping and going “Ouch!”.

I giggled. “My nose isn’t that big.”

Then I clutched my chest. “Tom! You are such a cool brother! They’ve gone!”

“Tom Collins, Hiccup Wizard!” he joked. “That’s me!”

“Yippee, yippee! I’m hiccup free!” I sang idiotically.

And I flew back upstairs to finish my book. Everything Frankie said was true, but I didn’t give a hoot. I had totally fallen in love with those old stories. Actually, what I really wanted was to climb inside that world and stay there for ever.

I was still reading when Mum came in to give me my last dose of medicine. She gave me a goodnight kiss, then firmly switched off my light.

But I still couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned for ages, trying to find a cool patch of pillow. I wasn’t depressed any more. The books had completely cured me. But I was unusually restless. Which isn’t exactly surprising. My head was filled with faithful dogs and foreign-sounding villains and flashing lights far out at sea!

Maybe I was still feverish, or maybe Teresa’s dad’s books had cast a strange spell on me. But suddenly I found myself talking in the dark.

“I wish all the Sleepover gang could have exciting adventures like the kids in those stories,” I said. “Though in trendier clothes, obviously,” I added hastily.

You know what they say. Be careful what you wish for. It might happen. And it did. It happened so fast that I was still tossing and turning when Mum got her mysterious late-night phone call from a long-lost relative…