Читать книгу Sleepover Girls Go Karting - Narinder Dhami - Страница 4

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “Why don’t we glue all the Watson-Wades’ windows and doors shut so they can’t get out? Or we could parachute on to their roof, and drop stinkbombs down the chimney. Or we could dress up in white sheets and haunt them?”

Frankie grinned, and poked me in the ribs with her elbow. “You’re always so full of good ideas, Kenny!” she said.

“You know me,” I said modestly. “If you want a good idea, I’m the main man!”

“Yeah, wasn’t it your idea to try and decorate my bedroom?” Rosie said thoughtfully “We got banned from having any more sleepovers for a while after that.”

“And it was your idea to have that stupid bet with the M&Ms when we went to Disneyland, Paris,” Fliss chimed in. “We nearly got trashed by our worst enemies!”

“Never mind, Kenny,” Lyndz said kindly. “You do have really good idea sometimes…”

Aah, that’s Lyndz all over. She wants to be nice to everybody.

“… It’s just that I can’t think of any at the moment!” she finished.

Yep, these guys are my best mates! With friends like these, who needs enemies? Only kidding. Our real enemies are the snotty old M&Ms, but you probably already know all about them, and they’re not in this story anyway, so we can forget all about them (hurrah!).

Anyway, let’s get on with it! I’ve got this really coo-ell story to tell you all about what we did at half-term. You’ll never believe what happened. We had a fab time and—

Hang on a minute. What do you mean, you don’t know who we are? You mean to say there’s at least one person in the world who hasn’t heard of the mega-fantastic, ultra-cool, completely class Sleepover Club???

Oh. Apparently there is one person who’s never heard of us. OK, for that person’s benefit, here’s the rundown. I suppose you can sort of guess why we’re called the Sleepover Club, can’t you? ’Cos we sleep over at each other’s houses, of course – duh! There’s me, Kenny (or you can call me Laura if you really want to wind me up), Frankie, Rosie, Lyndz and Fliss. You’ll figure us all out as we go along, I expect.

Anyway, it was half-term, and we were sitting in the Proudloves’ garden. That’s Fliss’s family, if you didn’t know. She used to be called Sidebotham, poor thing – but now her mum’s remarried, thank goodness! We were having a sleepover at Fliss’s that night. Mind you, we’d be lucky if we got any sleep. Fliss’s mum has just had twins called Joe and Hannah, and they cry a lot. That’s why the Proudloves’ neighbours, the Watson-Wades (or the Grumpies, as we call them) had been moaning. Mrs Proudlove was really getting ratty about it, which was winding Fliss up – and when Fliss is wound up, the rest of the Sleepover Club really know about it! So I was trying to think how we could get our revenge.

“We could climb over the fence and steal their fish!” I suggested with an evil grin. “That’d really annoy them.”

We all looked over into the Grumpies’ garden. They had a really posh pond with gold and silver fish in it, and lots of plants around the edge. I don’t know if you remember because it was ages ago, but when we had a sleepover at Fliss’s once, we burnt a whole load of toast and chucked it over the fence into the Watson-Wades’ pond to get rid of it! They were not pleased.

“And what would we do with the poor old fish?” Frankie asked. “And don’t say ‘eat them’!”

Frankie’s a veggie, remember?

“We’d be doing them a favour,” I pointed out. “We’d be saving them from the Watson-Wades!”

“Honestly, they’re so grumpy, it just isn’t true,” Fliss groaned.

“Who, the fish?” I joked. “They seem pretty laid back to me, just swimming around there!”

“Oh, ha ha, Kenny, very funny.” Fliss gave me a shove. “No, the Watson-Wades, of course. They moan all the time!”

“Yeah, it’s a real pain.” I winked at the others, who grinned. Fliss can moan for England herself if she puts her mind to it!

“I mean, babies cry,” Fliss went on. “That’s what they do!”

“And wet their nappies,” Frankie added.

“And worse!” Lyndz said. She should know – she’s got two baby brothers.

“Haven’t the Grumpies got a baby of their own anyway?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Fliss put on this really snooty voice. “Bruno Watson-Wade!”

“Your mum should go round and complain when he makes a noise, Fliss,” Frankie suggested.

“Boring, Francesca Thomas!” I snorted. Frankie’s far too sensible – well, some of the time. “I still think we should dress up and haunt them. That’d soon shut them up!”

“The Grumpies must be pretty weedy if they moan about the sound of a couple of babies crying,” Rosie remarked. “It can’t be that bad.”

Right on cue, one of the twins started crying inside the house. A few seconds later the other one joined in. They were both yelling at the top of their lungs, and it sounded like ten cats screeching their heads off at the same time. It was pretty deafening.

“See?” Fliss yelled over the racket. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“NO!” we all shouted back. I dunno about the others, but I was dying to put my hands over my ears!

Fliss’s mum appeared at the French windows.

“Fliss!” she yelled. “Could you come in and keep an eye on the pasta, while I see to the twins?”

“All right, Mum!” Fliss yelled back. So we all trooped inside and into the kitchen, where the spaghetti was boiling away on the cooker. Luckily, after a few minutes the screaming stopped.

“We can play with the babies after tea if you like,” Fliss offered.

“Yeah, good idea,” Rosie said eagerly. Frankie, Lyndz and me didn’t look that keen, though. Rosie hasn’t got any babies at home, that’s why she’s so up for it. But Frankie and Lyndz both have, and as for me, I’m just not that that interested. I only like people who can talk, and are toilet-trained.

“So what are we going to do with the rest of this half-term, then?” Frankie asked, taking charge as usual.

Everyone looked at each other.

“Have a couple more sleepovers,” Lyndz suggested. We’re not allowed to have sleepovers during the week in term-time, so we were making the most of the holiday by packing in as many as possible.

“Yes, but what else?” I asked impatiently. “I wanna do something exciting. Something interesting. Something I’ve never, ever done before…”

“Be sensible?” Rosie said, deadpan.

The others fell about. Rosie’s jokes can sometimes really get you where it hurts!

Right at that moment we heard the sound of the front door slam, and a few moments later Andy came into the kitchen. He’s not Fliss’s real dad, but he’s OK. Andy’s a plasterer and he’d just got in from work, so he was still in his dusty overalls.

“Hi, girls,” he said, going over to the fridge. “I don’t suppose any of you are interested in karting?”

I didn’t think I’d heard him right, so I just stared at him. So did all the others.

“What did you say, Andy?” Fliss asked.

“I said, are any of you interested in karting?” Andy took a can of beer out of the fridge, and popped it open.

“What, in a horse and cart?” Rosie asked, looking confused.

“No, you twit!” Frankie said. “He means go-karting.”

Andy nodded. “Yeah, go-karting.” He looked round at us. “So, are you interested?”

“You bet,” I said eagerly. “I can just see myself burning rubber like Michael Shoemaker or whatever his name is!”

“Schumacher,” Frankie corrected me. “Sounds like a laugh!”

“I’ve never done it before, but I’ll give it a go,” Lyndz said.

“Me too,” Rosie agreed.

“Don’t you have to wear a safety helmet?” Fliss asked anxiously. “It might ruin my hair!”

The rest of us groaned.

“Come on, Fliss, get a life,” I ordered. “Stop being so girly!”

“Oh, all right,” Fliss retorted. “Anyway, isn’t karting expensive?”

“Yeah, it is,” Andy agreed, “if you haven’t got free passes!” And he pulled five green tickets out of his pocket and held them up. “Here we are – five free three-day passes to the brand-new Silver Streak karting centre, starting tomorrow.”

Our eyes nearly popped out of our heads.

“Three days of karting – brilliant!” Frankie gasped.

“Do you think we’ll have races?” Lyndz asked.

“And do you think we’ll need any special clothes?” Rosie chimed in.

“I hope my kart’s pink.” That was Fliss, of course!

“Cool!” I exclaimed, grabbing one of the passes and studying it. “Where did you get them from, Andy?”

Andy grinned. “I’m doing some plastering for a Mr Stevens at the moment,” he explained. “He’s got a big house in the country, and pots of money. He owns the karting centre, and he offered me the passes. The centre’s only been open a few days, and I think he’s a bit worried no-one’s going to turn up!”

Just then Mrs Proudlove bustled into the kitchen with a baby in each arm.

“Andy, Joe and Hannah both need changing,” she said, looking harassed. “Can you give me a hand?’

“I think this is where the Sleepover Club disappears!” I muttered to Frankie, and we all legged it into the living room.

“And it’s Kenny in the blue kart who takes the lead,” I announced, as I swerved ahead of Rosie, and elbowed her out of the doorway. “And it’s Kenny who’s first into the living room, and first into the comfy chair!” I sat down in the armchair, and grinned at the others. “I’m gonna blow you all off the track tomorrow!”

“Knowing you, you’ll probably crash into something!” Fliss sniffed.

“Or turn your kart over,” Frankie added.

“Hey, I wonder if you can do stunts in those karts?” I said eagerly. “Maybe I’ll be able to do a wheelie or something.”

“If you do, you’ll be wheelie lucky!” Frankie joked, and the rest of us bombarded her with cushions.

“I’ll get my mum to take us tomorrow,” I offered. “She’s not doing anything. Well, even if she is, I’ll get round her somehow.”

“I hope they show us how to drive the karts,” Fliss said anxiously. “I’ve never been in one before.”

“Oh, it’ll be cool!” I assured her. “It’ll be just like driving a dodgem car at the fair.”

“Oh yeah?” said Lyndz. “Remember last time we were on the dodgem cars?”

“That was an accident,” I said with dignity. “I didn’t mean to hit that other car so hard that the little boy lost his toffee apple.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think that woman who got it in the face was very pleased,” Frankie pointed out.

“You’re just jealous of me because I’m the best driver!” I boasted. “You wait and see!”