Annabel's Perfect Party (4 page)

Back in the real world again, a swimming party
did
sound nice. Basically Becky didn't mind that much what kind of party they had. She just wanted all her new friends having fun together, and obviously some presents would be good. She smiled to herself as she thought back to the beginning of term, when she'd been so upset about Katie and Annabel making new friends. How could she have been so silly?

Chapter Five

“What's for tea? I'm
sooo
hungry!” Annabel demanded of Katie who'd opened the front door for her. Remembering Mum's new regime, she slung her ballet bag and jacket into the cupboard under the stairs (which was rapidly becoming the home for any untidyable mess).

“Spag Bol. You'd better go and change, you've got to wear that sweatshirt three more days before it gets washed, and you and Spag Bol are a disaster area. Find something that's already grubby.” Katie stood with her hands on her hips, looking stern. “And don't you want your ballet stuff
washing
?”

“All right,
Mum
!”
sniggered Annabel, dumping her rucksack halfway up the stairs, which she didn't think Mum could complain about as that was where she did her homework – she claimed it was easier to think on the stairs. Then she retrieved her tights and leotard and raced up to their room to dump them in the washing basket and get changed – Katie was right, she didn't want to be wearing a tomatoey sweater for the rest of the week. Throwing on jeans and a pretty red T-shirt (careful tomato camouflage) that she'd already managed to chuck a spot of yoghurt down at the weekend, Annabel dashed downstairs, eager to tell Mum and Katie and Becky how gorgeously she'd worked everything out.

Unfortunately, things didn't quite go to plan. For a start, when she got into the kitchen, Katie and Becky were deep in discussion of something else – swimming or something,
boooring! –
but they seemed pretty excited about it.

“What do you think, Bel?” Katie asked her eagerly.

“'Bout what?” Annabel hadn't really been listening.

“The party, of course!” Katie sounded impatient.

“All right, keep your hair on! Wow, you're so snappy, I only asked. Anyway, that's what I wanted to tell you all about. Saima and I have worked it all out, it's going to be fab. The only thing is, Mum, we absolutely
have
to get a glitterball from somewhere, it's kind of the theme of the whole party. And I had this totally brilliant idea, but I wasn't sure you'd agree. . .” Annabel turned pleading eyes on her mother. “Can we repaint the living room? You know you can get that cool glitter paint? It would be amazing, really. You wouldn't have to lift a finger, Mum, we'll do it, easy. Won't we?” Annabel looked happily at Katie and Becky, expecting glowing enthusiasm. She didn't get it. Becky looked worried, scared almost, and Katie was just plain scowling.

“What exactly are you wittering on about, Bel?” she said. “What's glitter got to do with anything?”

Annabel shoved Saima's comment about not always getting what you wanted when you were a triplet to the back of her brain and stood on it hard. She obviously just hadn't explained properly because she was so excited. Her sisters would love the plan once they'd really got it. She beamed determinedly at them, and patiently started again. “Our party's going to be a disco, OK? And we get a glitterball for when we're dancing, and the whole party is glittery, that's why I want to paint the walls, I showed you the stuff in the DIY shop, remember? We can have glittery cakes, and you can both borrow my glitter nail polish, it'll be so cool. . .” She faltered to a stop. Katie's expression was not saying it was going to be cool, and Becky was doing that weird thing where she gnawed on her knuckles. Mum just looked as though she was awaiting developments. “What's the matter?” Annabel asked, confused.

“You worked all this out at ballet?”

“Yes, well, on the way there—”

“With Saima?” Katie folded her arms. All pretence of eating tea had stopped now.

“Yeah, the glitter theme was her idea, don't you think it's brilliant?”

“Oh yes, it's
great
,”
but Katie's voice wasn't fitting her words.

“Oh, good, I wasn't sure if you—”

“For you. And Saima. Where exactly do me and Becky fit into the Glitter Party?” Suddenly Katie's voice rose to a yell. “Were you even going to let us be there?”

“Katie!” Mum said in a warning voice, and Katie shut up and just glared at her sister, obviously too furious to talk.

Annabel, on the other hand, was furious and very
talkative. “What is your problem!”
she snarled. “Of course you'd be there, this is our party, what's wrong with you today? I worked out all this stuff for you—”

“No, you didn't!” Katie was holding herself back from yelling, which resulted in an angry hiss. “You worked it out for
you
.
This is a party for
you
,
not us. You couldn't even be bothered to listen to mine and Becky's ideas, you just walked in and told us it was all settled! Well, it's not, because I think your ‘glittery disco' sounds rubbish and I wouldn't have a party like that if you paid me!”

“Your ideas! You mean that
stupid
swimming thing you were droning on about was supposed to be a party? Wow, swimming, how
very
exciting. It's a good thing you've got me to arrange everything for you, because you are a boring
sad
person, Katie.”

“Right, I've had enough of this,” Mrs Ryan snapped. “You're behaving appallingly, and I see absolutely no reason to spend a great deal of time and money arranging a party for a pack of ungrateful little horrors. You can't agree what to do, so there's a simple solution – you won't have a party at all.”

“But Mum—”

“Oh, that's not fair—”

“Be quiet!” It was Mrs Ryan's super-scary, “be quiet now if you ever want to leave this house again except for school” voice, and they shut up instantly. Their mum fixed them with a laser-beam glare until she was certain they weren't even considering answering back. Then she looked at Becky whose eyes were full of tears, partly because she'd really been looking forward to the party, but mostly because she hated it when their friendship got split up like this. It didn't happen often, but when it did, she felt it as though it was actually hurting her. “I'm sorry, love. I know you weren't arguing, but it'll just have to be unfair on you, I'm afraid. Now, all of you, finish your tea and then go upstairs. I don't want to see you or hear you for the rest of the evening.”

They ate mechanically, hardly tasting the pasta, their minds boiling with the unfairness and disaster of it all. Katie and Annabel were each convinced it was entirely the other's fault; and Becky was seething at both of them for being so stupid. As soon as all three of them had finished, Mum gave a pointed look towards the kitchen door and they slunk off upstairs.

As soon as they got to their bedroom, Katie and Annabel turned on each other again. “Now look what you've done!” Katie started. “Great! Now we can't have a party at all, just because you had to be so stupid and selfish!”

“
I'm
selfish? I like that! That party would have been brilliant, and you had to go ruin it because you wanted to go swimming.” Annabel said “swimming” with absolute venom.

“Oh, shut up!” sighed Becky.

“Oh, I'm sorry, Little Miss Perfect!” said Annabel nastily. “Darling Becky never argues, does she?”

“Don't be a cow, Bel. There's no point taking it out on me. Just stop it, both of you. It's pointless, you've done it, so stop bickering. OK, so Annabel shouldn't have planned everything with Saima, but we were planning a swimming party, weren't we, Katie, without Bel being there. And actually, I thought bits of Bel's idea sounded cool.”

“I suppose so,” growled Katie, still grumpy, but not furious any more.

“And I don't know what your problem with swimming is suddenly,” Becky said, rounding on Annabel. “You
like
swimming!”

“I know, but swimming or a disco! No contest! Do you think Mum really meant it?”

“Sounded like it,” said Becky sadly. “I s'pose she might change her mind if we're little angels for a few days – maybe.”

Annabel stretched out on her bed, and propped her chin on her hands. Mum was really busy with work and she'd been tired and distracted for the last few days. Maybe she'd come round when things calmed down?

Katie and Becky joined Annabel on her bed, to feel depressed in unison, and Annabel rolled more on to her side and took the band off the end of Katie's tight plait. She unravelled it and started to redo it in lots of tiny ones. Becky joined in, grabbing a box of stretchy bands from Annabel's bedside table.

Katie gave an irritable twitch, and said she wished they'd mess around with their own hair, but it was more for show than anything else, and when Becky poked her in a “lie down” kind of way, and Annabel told her to shut up and keep still, she subsided, grumbling, but enjoying the attention, liking all being friends again.

“You should wear your hair like this, you know,” Annabel told her about ten minutes later. “It suits you. You shouldn't always just scrape it straight back.”

“I suppose it's OK,” admitted Katie, staring into the mirror. “So much fuss, though. And it flicks about everywhere.” She shook her head to demonstrate and the plaits whisked round her face. “See?”

“Yeah, well, the simple answer is not to do
that
, dimwit. Anyway, I've just thought” – Annabel was standing by the door – “Dad might have replied to our email. Let's go and see.”

Mum hadn't
said
they had to stay in their room, but the triplets had a feeling that was what she'd meant, so they sneaked up the staircase to the study on fairy-feet. Then Annabel and Katie perched on half the chair each, and Becky knelt beside them, all peering impatiently at the screen as the computer chugged maddeningly slowly through its warm-up routine. Dad
had
answered and Mum was right, he sounded really excited, positively gleeful. He assured them he wouldn't have even the slightest hint of jet lag – in fact he said he'd dance the night away, which made Annabel glance triumphantly at the other two. He promised he hadn't forgotten their present, either. All in all, it should have been a really brilliant email for the triplets to read – instead it was absolutely infuriating. All this excitement about a party that wasn't going to happen!

“Oh well,” said Katie gloomily. “Do you think we'd better tell him it's all off?”

“No, leave it for a bit – you never know,” Annabel advised, hopefully. “Come on, it's too depressing. Let's go and do something else.”

“Mmm, homework,” Becky agreed sadly. “We've got loads, remember? Come on.” And she led the miserable trio back downstairs to fetch their stuff. Then she and Katie headed back up to their room with their piles of books, and Annabel settled herself on the stairs to make ugly faces at her history homework.

Chapter Six

Mum was still quiet and tight-lipped next morning, so the triplets tiptoed round her, and got themselves out of the way as quickly as possible. The group round the tree was dismal that morning, after the triplets broke the news. They didn't really go into details, just said that they'd had a row with their mum and it looked like the party was off.

“And the worst thing is,” Annabel spat, scowling across the playground at Amy and co, “I was really looking forward to
not
inviting them. They're going to gloat like mad, I can tell.”

“
So
not fair,” agreed Saima, shaking her head sadly. “She just didn't deserve a party.”

“You never know,” said sensible Fran, putting an arm round Becky and giving her a quick hug, “your mum might change her mind. Anyway, there'll be other parties. My mum promised I could have a sleepover soon. It is a total
pain, though,” she added, catching a triumphant gleam in Amy's eyes as she whispered excitedly to Emily and Cara. How
on earth could she have found out already?

But they had. The triplets and their friends were back by the chestnut tree at break, gloomily sharing each other's crisps, when Amy and her followers sauntered by. Amy stopped by them, folded her arms and flicked back her strawberry-blonde hair. “So, I hear your party's off then?” she sneered. “Not that I'm convinced you were ever
having
a party. It all sounded a little bit too –
convenient
.
Don't you think?” she asked Emily and Cara, who were standing on either side of her, slightly behind, like evil henchmen in some bad film.

“Definitely,” sniggered Emily.

“They
so
made it up.” Cara nodded sagely.

Amy smirked down at the triplets, who were speechless. “Oh, look. They're too upset to speak. Poor babies,” she said, her voice like poisoned honey.

Annabel gathered her wits and smiled up at Amy. “I don't know why you're bothered,” she replied, equally sweet, “it's not as if we'd ever have invited someone as stupid as you anyway.” Then she feigned complete interest in her nails, and ignored Amy's furious face. Katie and Becky and the others told her afterwards that they'd never seen anyone go that colour – sort of bright white, but with scary pink slashes over the cheekbones.

“Oh, Bel, it was classic,” giggled Saima. “She is so going to kill you horribly if she ever thinks she can get away with it though. You'd better be careful, she's really nasty.”

They were totally cheered up for the rest of the morning and they all trooped into French, last lesson before lunch, still cackling every time they saw Amy.

Becky suddenly sobered up. “Oh no, I completely forgot, I meant to go over my vocab again at break. I'm sure I've forgotten those stupid verbs, even if I did spend ages on it last night.”

“You'll be fine,” Katie told her. “I tested you, remember? You knew it loads better than I did.”

“Umm, Katie? Becky?” Annabel's voice was very quiet. “What are you talking about?”

Five faces turned to look at her in horror.

“Oh, Bel!” Saima gasped. “You didn't forget?”

“Forget what?” wailed Annabel in a panic. “What are we supposed to have learned?”

“Oh, just
all
the French vocab we've done so far!” snapped Katie. “Annabel Ryan, how could you be such a total and utter fruitbat? Mr Hatton kept reminding us all of last week! Have you really not learned
any
of it?”

“No,” whispered Annabel huskily, her eyes huge and dark blue with panic. “I'm dead! What am I going to do?”

There was nothing her sisters could do to help – not even a last-minute crash course in how to say “I am eleven years old” and “I am from England” in French, because Mr Hatton had already arrived and was chivvying everybody to sit down so he could dole out test papers. Katie noticed Max murmuring to one of his mates, and pointing out Annabel. Great! He'd heard them talking about it. (He gave her a horrible smirking look as he noticed her watching.) She was so worried about Annabel that she couldn't summon up much more than a disdainful stare, and it didn't seem to have much effect. Now Max was bound to do all he could to make things worse.

The Test (it definitely had capital letters) was long, a page of A4 with two huge columns of words and phrases, one in French that they had to translate, and one in English that they had to find the French for.

Although they were normally very honest, Katie and Becky would have helped Annabel with the test – how could they not, when she looked so upset? But Mr Hatton was notorious at Manor Hill for being massively-strict when it came to tests. He gave out detentions if anyone so much as flickered an eyelash in someone else's direction, and he was already convinced that the triplets had some kind of ESP that could beam the French for rabbit halfway across the classroom. Becky and Katie were trying like mad (why did all those triplet mind-reading stories never work when they most needed them?) but Annabel still had her nose about five centimetres from her test paper and was clearly trying not to cry. At times like this, wearing her long, thick blonde hair loose was very useful – she could hide behind it.

Mr Hatton gave them twenty minutes to do the test, and then made everyone swap papers so they could mark each other's. Megan looked
down at Annabel's answers, slightly horrified
– there practically weren't
any. Annabel was sitting up a bit more now, but completely behind a curtain of hair. She'd even taken her clips out, so that it hung straight down round her face. A hand emerged from behind her hair to mark Fran's answers (mostly right).

Mr Hatton's other mean habit was making people tell him their test scores out loud – he had to put them down in his marks book, but he could easily have gathered them in and checked for himself. Instead he went round the room, rolling his eyes and muttering to himself at the marks.

“Francesca? Thirty-five – at last, someone who did actually learn the work properly. Rebecca? Thirty-four, yes, good. Katherine? Thirty, try harder next time, please. Annabel? I
beg
your pardon?”

“Six,” muttered Annabel again,
really
on the verge of crying by now.

“Six. I see. . . Did I ask for comment?” He suddenly turned on the rest of the class, who had erupted in a wave of amazed muttering and – from certain very predictable corners – stifled sniggering. “See me at the end of the lesson. Right, the rest of you. Megan?” And so it went on.

There wasn't much time until the end of the lesson, and when the bell went everyone surged to their feet, eager for lunch and the opportunity to go and be pleasantly shocked at people who managed to mess up their birthday parties and get six out of forty in a test on the
same day
.
The triplets stayed put. “See you in the dining hall,” Katie murmured to the others as they straggled out, still looking anxiously at Annabel.

Mr Hatton turned from the desk where he was packing up his books and things, and raised his eyebrows in a typically French-teacherish way. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but I have a strong suspicion that I asked for
Annabel
to stay behind to explain her disgraceful test results. The other two, wait outside.” Katie and Becky shuffled out sheepishly, leaving Annabel staring at the desk – and the test paper. Mr Hatton picked it up between finger and thumb, as though it might bite him, and waved it at Annabel. “Did you learn any of this?”

The hairy thing that was Annabel shook itself – no.

“Well, at least you're not stupid enough to pretend that you did. Something more important came up, did it?”

The hair shook again, and a small mutter emerged. “Just forgot.”

“I see. Well, you'll be in detention on Friday, doing the test again, and if you don't get at least thirty, you'll keep on taking it until you do. Clear?”

The hair nodded violently.

“Good. Detention slip. Don't
forget
to get it signed by your mother.”

 

Outside the classroom, Katie and Becky were desperately trying to listen through the door, but Mr Hatton had shut it firmly behind them and it was no good. At last it clicked open, and the hair trailed out. They took one look and realized that emergency measures were needed. Katie grabbed Annabel's schoolbag, and they took one arm each, practically carrying their sister towards the girls' toilets, where they installed themselves on the big window sill above the radiator (luckily not occupied by gossiping make-up-swapping Year Tens for once) and hugged Annabel between them. The triplets were in that small, fortunate group of people who didn't look completely awful when they cried. When Katie swept Annabel's hair back off her face she was streaming tears, but apart from that she just had a fetchingly pink nose. Becky dug around in her rucksack till she found a packet of tissues, and for five minutes they handed them to Annabel, patted her heaving shoulders and murmured soothing nothings. It took about that long for Annabel to start calming down enough to sniff, “Thanks,” when the next tissue appeared.

“Try and make that one last, Bel,” Becky advised, “you've gone through the whole packet and there's never any loo paper in here.”

“'K.”

“You are a twit, Bel,” said Katie affectionately. “Did he put you in detention?”

“Mm-hm. Got to do the test again,” heaved her sister, still half sobbing. “And Mum has to sign a slip. She'll be so cross.”

“She won't,” they assured her, hopefully, exchanging glances. Unless she was still in that twitchy moo
d because of all the work she had on, of course. . . Katie looked down at Annabel, and felt a wave of elder-by-two-minutes-sisterly sympathy roll over her. It was mean of her, she knew, but she couldn't help it – she felt so much
better
when Annabel was being useless and relying on her to sort things out. Super-efficient party-organizing Annabel had been a n
asty shock.

“Do you want any lunch, Bel?” she asked.

“Don't know. Maybe a bit.”

“Come on, then.” Katie slid down from the window sill, and they soaked a few paper towels in water for Annabel to wash her face.

“Honestly, Bel, if you smile and look normal, no one would ever know you've been crying,” Becky assured her. “Just think back to before school and the look on Amy Mannering's face – that'll cheer you up.”

They headed off to the dining hall, Katie and Becky still treating Annabel as though she were a delicate piece of china.

“You all right, Bel?” Saima asked anxiously as they slid into their seats, and all the others looked at her worriedly.

“I'm fine. Really. I've got to do the test again, that's all.” Embarrassed, Annabel grabbed her sandwiches, and did a very good impression of someone who thought tuna and lettuce was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen.

Katie and Becky heaved sighs of relief. Hopefully things were OK. Annabel was looking much better, they could just forget about it – until they got her home and could start stuffing her brain with French vocab, that was.

Or maybe not. “Oh no, Becky, look,” Katie murmured. “No, over
there
,
idiot. Max! He's definitely coming this way.”

Without realizing it, they both fluffed themselves up like cats, stiffening their shoulders, tensing all over. Max was definitely coming over to be nasty. He stood on the other side of their table, next to Saima, who put down her first spoonful of chocolate pudding and glared up at him in disgust.

“What do
you
want?” she snapped.

Max ignored her, sat down in a spare seat and grinned at Annabel who was still clutching her sandwich and looking at him like a rabbit caught in headlights. She knew
he was about to be horrible, and she was still feeling too upset and shaky to stand up to him.

“Don't look so worried, Annabel. Even
you
can remember the French for that,” he nodded at her lunch. “
Un sandwich
.
Easy. Go on, repeat after me. . .”

After all their desperate mind-reading attempts in the French lesson, it was typical that Katie and Becky should be able to manage it
now.
One split-second glance at each other, and they knew what they were going to do. Becky sprang up from her seat, muttering something about having lost her bag, and oh no where was it? (Under the table, very obviously.) As soon as Becky had effectively masked them from Miss Fraser, who was on lunch-duty, Katie went into action. Leaning over the table, she reached out to Saima. “Oh, Saima, look, you've dropped custard down your front. Here, let me – oh
no
!”
This was a very over the top, theatrical exclamation, as she waved wildly at the nonexistent custard – and swiped the entire chocolatey bowlful off the table and down Max's front and all over his
trousers.

“Oooh, Katie, look what you've
done
!”
cooed Becky. “
Poor
Max, it looks awful. . .”

“Max, I'm really sorry, do you want to borrow my PE kit to change into?” asked Katie in an ever-so-concerned voice. “I don't know
how
I could be so clumsy!”