Sleepover Club 2000. Angie Bates

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      “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.”

      What a thing to say to a little kid! Like, “Don’t ever have fun, Felicity, or something bad will happen!”

      Well, it’s a good thing Gran wasn’t invited to our snow picnic, because, not counting Christmas, it has to be the MOST fun I ever had in winter!

      We stuffed our faces till our buttons practically popped off. But even after the food was gone, our fairy-lit garden felt so incredibly magic, no-one could bear to go back indoors.

      It had practically stopped snowing by this time. Just an occasional, totally perfect snowflake drifted down. Lyndz stuck out her tongue and tasted one. “I wish we could stay out here all night,” she said.

      “Andy would have to thaw us with his blowtorch in the morning,” I shivered.

      The temperature was so far below zero by this time, Mum’s picnicking Siberians would have been completely at home.

      Suddenly Kenny had the bright idea of putting on all the clothes she’d brought with her! We all rushed inside, and soon we were all throwing on every garment we could find. It was like that dressing up-race we had on Sports Day in the Infants. (Which I always lost, incidentally. Not because I was bad at sports. I was ace, thanks very much! More because I was the only kid who took the dressing-up part really seriously!)

      I think Mum still felt bad about her New Year freak-out, because she kept herself totally under control while we piled on the layers, even though it meant us dripping melted snow all over her clean kitchen floor.

      “That’s better,” sighed Lyndz, when we were back outside. “Nice and toasty again.”

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