“What’s the matter with her?”
Fliss was racing madly across the playground towards us, waving her arms in the air. Her face was bright red, and she was puffing and panting like she’d just run the London Marathon. She was so out of breath that, when she skidded to a halt in front of us, she couldn’t speak.
“What is it, Fliss?” I asked, feeling a bit alarmed.
Fliss took a huge breath.
“My mum and Andy have bought a camcorder, and my mum says we can video the sleepover tomorrow night!” she squealed.
“Really?” Rosie gasped, her eyes as round as dinner plates.
“Coo-el!” shrieked Kenny and Lyndz.
“You lucky thing, Fliss!” I said. I was green with jealousy. I’d been nagging my mum and dad for months to buy a camcorder. I’d tried everything from bribery (promising to do the dishes for a year), to tugging at the parental heartstrings (asking them how they’d feel when they had no videos of their little girl to watch when I’d grown up). My dad had said, “Relieved”. I think he was joking.
“This is so cool,” Kenny said happily. “We’re going to have an official Sleepover Club video!”
“I’m going to ask my mum if I can get some new pyjamas,” Lyndz babbled excitedly.
“Me too,” I said. My favourite Snoopy pyjamas were a bit too old and uninteresting to be on a video. Come to think of it, my sleeping bag was a bit old and uninteresting as well. I could do with a new one. That meant I was going to have to do some major sweet-talking to my mum and dad when I got home tonight.
Fliss was looking as smug as a cat who’s eaten twenty cartons of cream. “That’s not all,” she said. “Andy says he’ll make some copies of the video so that everyone can have their own.”
That knocked us all out. We couldn’t believe it.
“Fliss, you’re the best,” Kenny said enthusiastically.
Fliss beamed.
“We’ll be able to watch our videos and remember what it was like to be in the Sleepover Club, when we’re all old and wrinkly,” she said.
“We can still carry on having sleepovers when we get old, though, can’t we?” Lyndz asked anxiously.
“Course we can,” I said. “But just in case we get too old and creaky to play International Gladiators—”
“Or in case we get too old and tired to stay up for midnight feasts,” said Kenny.
“Or if we haven’t got any teeth left to eat the midnight feasts,” Rosie said.
“—we’ll always have the videos to remind us,” Fliss finished off.
“Oh, I can’t wait for tomorrow night,” Lyndz sighed. “It’s going to be excellent.”
We didn’t know it then, but we wouldn’t need a video to remind us of that sleepover at Fliss’s. It was going to be a long, long time before any of us forgot it.
As I said before, I was really set on having new pyjamas for the Sleepover Event of the Century, so I started my campaign as soon as I got home that night.
“Mum,” I said casually, “have you seen my Snoopy pyjamas recently?”
“Is that a trick question?” My mum was putting a family-size packet of vegetarian lasagne in the microwave. No-one cooks in our house, except for my dad’s famous pizzas. We’re a strictly “heat ’n’ eat” family. “I saw them yesterday when I took them out of the washing-machine.”
“No, I mean have you seen the state of them.” I pulled my Snoopy pyjamas from behind my back like a magician producing a white rabbit, and flapped them at my mum. “Look at them, they’re gross.”
My mum raised her eyebrows.
“I can’t see anything wrong with them.”
“Look!” I showed her the pyjama bottoms. One of the legs had started fraying after a sleepover at Rosie’s when Kenny had grabbed me by the ankles and tried to throw me off the bed. I’d kind of helped it along a bit with my nail scissors. “I can’t wear these at Fliss’s sleepover tomorrow.”
“Oh, Frankie, they’re perfectly all right.”
“No, they aren’t,” I persisted. Nagging is the only way to wear parents down. They’ll do anything for a bit of peace and quiet. “I told you before, Fliss’s mum is going to video the sleepover, and I need to look good.”
“Frankie,” my mum said, “this is a home video, not a Hollywood movie.”
“I know. But these pyjamas are dangerous. What if they keep on unravelling while I’m asleep, and they unravel right up to my neck and strangle me?”
My mum looked at me over the top of her glasses.
“Have you been reading those ‘Bonechillers’ again?”
“Mum,” I said solemnly, “I’m being straight with you here. I cannot wear these pyjamas to Fliss’s sleepover tomorrow night.”
“Fine.” My mum opened the fridge and took out a packet of ready-washed salad. “It’s lucky you have at least eight other pairs of pyjamas in your cupboard to choose from, then, isn’t it?”
“Oh, Mum,” I groaned. “Those aren’t sleepover pyjamas. And anyway, they’re all too small for me.”
My mum shrugged. “That’s life, Frankie.”
Parents. They’re so unreasonable. But I wasn’t finished yet. I went out of the kitchen, and into the living-room where my dad was laying the table and watching the news on the telly at the same time.
“Guess what, Dad?” I gave him my Best-Behaved Daughter of the Year smile. “Fliss’s mum’s bought a camcorder, and she’s going to video our sleepover tomorrow.”
“Really,” my dad said absently, his eyes fixed on the TV.
“So I was hoping I could get a new pair of pyjamas. Could you pick me up after school tomorrow and drive me into Leicester?”
“Sure, sweetheart.”
Like taking sweets from a baby.
“Thanks, Dad!” I said, just as my mum came in with the plates.
“Thanks for what?” she asked suspiciously.
“Er – yes, thanks for what?” The news had finished now, and my dad was looking bewildered.
“Dad says he’ll drive
