said to Mum, “Everybody else is going. I’ll feel left out.” She said, “Not everybody can be. There wouldn’t be room for them.” “Well, everyone who is anyone,” I said. “The Melon, for instance. Her mum doesn’t mind.”
Mum likes the Melon. I thought it would sway her, but it didn’t. After about ten minutes of arguing she said, “Look, I’m sorry. Cherry, but that is that. I do not want you going to the sleep-over.” I shrieked “Why not? When the Melon is allowed to?” Mum said, “You don’t have to shout at me. What Melanie’s mother allows her to do is neither here nor there. She probably doesn’t know that family as I do. I just don’t trust them.”
The only reason she says this is because Gemma’s mum smokes cigarettes and she and Slimey think that anyone who smokes cigarettes is some kind of criminal and ought to be locked up, and also because Gemma’s dad happens to work in a place called Franco’s that once got raided by the police, which is hardly Gemma’s dad’s fault. He can’t help where he works. What Mum doesn’t understand is that Gemma is totally naive. She’s like a six year old. Her mum won’t even let her watch television without supervision in case she sees something she shouldn’t.
I tried explaining this to Mum but she plainly didn’t believe me. She said. “If you ask me, Gemma’s mother is rather flighty.”
What does she mean, flighty? Does she think she’s a witch, or something?
Mum told me not to sulk. She said that to make up for not letting me go to the sleep-over, we’d all have a meal in the pizza place tomorrow night and then we’d go to the video shop and I could choose whatever video I wanted. That cheered me up a bit as I thought that I would get something really gross that they normally wouldn’t let me have. But honestly, what does she think we do at sleep-overs? We don’t do anything! Just sit and talk and try on each other’s clothes and then tell scary stories in the dark. Gemma’s such a baby she usually falls asleep.
I am going to get a really gross DVD.
Saturday
I am seriously annoyed. They wouldn’t let me have any of the videos I wanted. Mum said I was just picking them to be awkward, because of her not letting me go to the sleep-over. She said if I couldn’t choose something sensible, then she would have to choose for me. When I pointed out that she had promised me, she said, “Oh, now, Cherry, act your age! You know perfectly well there are limits.”
She never said anything about limits. She said I could choose whatever I wanted.
“Anything sensible,” she said.
They cheat all the time, grown-ups do.
So while I’m mooching about looking for something sensible, and doing my best to find one they’d loathe, she and Slimey are wandering over to the kids’ section and mooning about amongst the Walt Disneys. Suddenly I hear Slimey cry, “Oh, look, Butterpat!” (I nearly died. The girl behind the counter had to put her hand over her mouth to stop from sniggering.) “Look, Butterpat! Look at this … Snow White!”
And Mum squeaks, “Ohh! Snow White!” in a silly little girly voice, and claps her hands. “I haven’t seen that since I was younger than Cherry!”
Slimey says, “Me neither. It used to be my favourite film when I was five years old.” And Mum says, “Oh, we’ve got to have it! Cherry, it’s all right, we’ve found One … we’re going to watch Snow White!”
Which we did, whether I liked it or not. Which for the most part I did not. I mean, it’s kids’ stuff. Mum and Slimey sat there on the sofa together going oooh and aaah and “Oh, I remember this bit!” “That bit always terrified me!” Having a right nostalgia binge.
Afterwards I rang Gemma’s number and spoke to Skinny. I asked her how the sleep-over was going and she said they were watching When Harry Met Sally, which actually I have already seen, though I wouldn’t have minded seeing it again. At least it would have been better than Snow Soppy White. I said, “I’m surprised Gemma’s mum lets her watch that,” remembering certain bits which I felt sure she wouldn’t think suitable. Gemma’s mum is really strict, in spite of being flighty and going round on broomsticks. Skinny said, “She’s sitting there with her finger on the fast forward button in case of dirty bits, but she can’t always get there in time!” and we both giggled.
When I went back in the lounge Mum said, “It’s good to hear you sounding so cheerful.” I just frowned and didn’t say anything. That is the second time Mum has broken her promise.
Sunday
Dad rang this morning. He said he and Rosemary are really looking forward to having me at half-term although it is unfortunate that I won’t be able to stay with them for the whole week as they are both working and cannot get more than a few days off. He said they are very disappointed about this but they are not free agents like Mum and Slimey. They can’t just take time off whenever they feel like it.
I said that I understood and that it would be lovely to get away even just for a few days. Dad said, “Why? Are you fed up? You’re sounding a bit fed up.” So I told him about Mum breaking her promises, not letting me have a dog or choose a video, and Dad said, “Breaking a promise to a child is one of the worst things you can do,” which I must say I heartily agree with.
He said, “I can’t offer you a dog, but when you come to us you can watch whatever video you like, and that is a PROMISE.” I said, “You mean it? Any video I like?” and he said, “Any video except Snow White and those dratted Dwarves.” And I hadn’t even told him that that was what Mum and Slimey made me watch! He said they kept pushing it at him in his local video shop, trying to make him take it.
“Don’t,” I said. “It’s really yucky.”
Dad said, “I won’t, don’t worry! I was taken to see it as a kid and had nightmares for months afterwards.”
Nightmares? What on earth could he have had nightmares about? Dad must have been an extremely sensitive little boy.
When I told Mum about him and Rosemary not being able to get time off she gave this sort of sneer, with her lip hooped up, and said, “You amaze me!”
“It’s because they both go out and do proper work,” I said. “They can’t just go taking days off whenever they want, like you can.”
“Of course they can’t,” said Mum, all sarky and snide.
“Well, they can’t,” I said. “They do very important jobs.”
“I don’t call being a computer programmer all that important,” said Mum. “Nor being an office manager,” she added.
It’s Rosemary who’s the office manager, Dad who’s the computer programmer. They both work in the same office, which is probably quite nice for them.
I said, “If it wasn’t important,
