Annabel's Perfect Party Page 6

  “Come on, Bel!” came the screech from the hall. “What are you doing?”

  Annabel dashed over and gave her mother a hug. “See you later! Thanks again, Mum!”

  The triplets raced off to school, desperate to tell their friends that the birthday party of the year was back on. Halfway there, Annabel suddenly stopped dead. “Hang on! We haven’t worked out who we’re giving these invitations to yet. We ought to do that before we get to school – we can’t exactly go back to someone and say sorry, we’ve changed our minds.”

  “You could, Bel – no one would be surprised,” laughed Katie.

  “Ha, ha and again, let me see, ha,” said Annabel, thinking back a little irritably to what she’d just been saying to Mum. “Be serious. Who are we going to invite?”

  “Hmm. Ten invitations. Well, Megan and Fran and Saima for a start.”

  “And Fiona? I know we don’t see as much of her as we used to now we’re all at Manor Hill, but she’s really sweet,” suggested Becky.

  “Yes, definitely Fiona,” agreed Katie.

  “There’s one really important thing we need to decide,” mused Annabel, still in serious mode. “Are we going to invite any boys? I mean, lots of our friends are boys, but do we want them at our party?”

  Katie made a face, scrunching up her nose. “It’s difficult – we don’t know what we’re going to be doing, so how do we know if it’ll be weird having boys there.”

  “I think we should have boys,” broke in Becky firmly. “I don’t think Mum would have organized anything really girly, or she’d have told us to stick to inviting girls. I mean, she knows there are boys we hang around with sometimes.”

  Annabel carefully didn’t let her relieved expression show. She’d been desperately trying to think of a way to convince the others that it would be OK to invite boys without showing that she was in on the secret.

  “OK,” agreed Katie. “So, we’ve still got six more invites! Did you want to ask Jack and Robin, Becky?”

  “Oooh,” giggled Annabel. “Very keen, Katie! Something you’re not telling us? Which one, hmm?”

  “Shut up, Bel,” snapped her sister, embarrassed. “Just because you can’t think of anything except boys and make-up, it doesn’t mean I can’t.”

  Annabel sniggered. “Can we invite Jordan and Matthew? They’re fun, they’d be good to have at a party. Just two left now?”

  “Mmm. I think we should ask Moira, you know, she lives near Saima? She’s nice. It’s hard to know who to give the last invitation to, though – I mean, there’s lots of people I like in our class, but I’m not sure I like one of them more than anyone else.” Katie nibbled her thumbnail in a distracted way.

  “Well, I think we should ask David Morley,” said Becky, a bit hesitantly.

  Annabel and Katie looked blank.

  “You know! That boy who has to sit with Amy and Emily and Cara in history. The poor boy never, ever speaks to them, and they just pretend he’s not there. I feel sorry for him, he still hardly knows anyone, and he had to move away from all his old friends. I reckon he needs a party invitation more than anyone else.”

  Katie and Annabel exchanged glances, and decided that Becky was being soft-hearted and Becky-ish, and thinking of David as a kind of cross between a boy and a stray dog. It was probably best to humour her.

  “And besides,” Becky added unexpectedly. “You should look at him, Bel. He’s cute, under all that hair. Honestly. A bit like an Old English Sheepdog.”

  Annabel sighed. Great – now a boy/Old English Sheepdog cross was coming to her perfect party. . .

  Chapter Nine

  The triplets delivered all the gorgeous invitations that morning, feeling remarkably smug, and making sure that everyone saw that their party was very much on again. Saima, Megan and Fran were suitably excited, and desperate to know what kind of party it was going to be.

  “We can’t tell you!” Katie laughed. “We honestly don’t know! But Mum is really good at parties,” she assured them. “I mean, just look at the invitations. She’s excellent at that kind of stuff. I’m so excited, and it’s only nine days away!”

  “You can all come, can’t you?” asked Annabel anxiously.

  “Definitely,” said Saima, and Fran and Megan seemed pretty certain too. Fiona, Moira, Matthew, Jordan, Jack and Robin got their invites at registration, under the disgusted eyes of Amy and co. Max made some nasty comments about the boys going to a “girls’ party” (said in an incredibly disdainful voice). But Matthew and Jordan, who sat quite close to him and his mate Ben, just gave them the kind of look one gives a two-year-old sister who’s just been sick over one’s DS3 (Matthew’s sister had done this twice, so he had it down to a fine art) and Max shut up.

  The class was still waiting for Miss Fraser to arrive to take the register, so Becky nipped up to the front table where David Morley was sitting with a couple of other boys, vaguely looking at his science practical write-up, as though he thought he might have remembered it all wrong. Becky was within half a metre of him when she realized that Katie and Annabel weren’t following her as she’d thought. She cast an outraged, panicky look over her shoulder – they were still chatting to Matthew and Jordan and enjoying ignoring Max. Well, she couldn’t just turn round and go back, that would look really silly. She took a deep breath and faltered, “David?”

  David looked up – one of the pretty, popular Ryan triplets was standing next to him looking distinctly nervous.

  “Hello,” said the nervous triplet – he hadn’t a clue which one it was, but he muttered, “Hello, er. . .” which seemed to do.

  “Um, hello,” said Becky again, and then pulled herself together. “We wondered – me and my sisters, that is – if you’d like to come to our birthday party. It’s in half-term. Our phone number’s on the invitation – can you get your mum or dad to phone my mum about the details? Thanks!” And then she bolted back to her seat, leaving David looking like a cross between a boy and an Old English Sheepdog and a tomato, and feeling just as mixed-up.

  The triplets had never been more desperate for a school holiday to arrive. Their dad would be staying in the tiny flat he had not far from their house, which he used when he was back in England. Annabel had had a very good go at getting Mrs Ryan to let them take the last Friday off school so they could all go and meet him at the airport, but her mother wasn’t having it. By the day, though, they were all in such a state of jittery anticipation that it probably wouldn’t have made much difference if they had taken the day off. Interesting-looking things kept appearing in the kitchen cupboards, and their mother was wandering around the house looking busy and panicky – and then decidedly furtive as soon as she caught sight of Katie or Becky. Her bedroom had become a Forbidden Zone. Annabel was finding the secret-keeping very difficult but she was still totally determined. What made it all so much harder was that she couldn’t let on that she had a secret at all, and she had to keep pretending to Becky and Katie that she was just as bemused and desperate to know what was going on as they were. Dad was in on the secret, obviously, as he was going to be helping organize the party, and he’d sent a series of tantalizing emails, which seemed to have the words “party” and “presents” in every sentence.

  Mrs Ryan and Annabel were finding it almost impossible to snatch time to discuss the party without Becky or Katie popping up unexpectedly to ask what they were whispering about. The longest time they’d had to work stuff out was the walk home from school the Friday before, when Mum had gone to fetch Annabel after her detention. Annabel had been fairly confident about her second French test – after all, Becky and Katie had spent the previous evening snapping their fingers in her face in a particularly annoying way and then yelling French words to demand an immediate translation. Most of their vocab list felt as though it was carved into her brain. Mr Hatton was very impressed with her thirty-eight out of forty, and spent ages telling her that
if only she’d put the effort in in the first place she could be really good at French, waffle, waffle, while Annabel nodded vigorously and attempted to look suitably sorry. Then she’d dashed out of school to meet Mum and banish French from her head entirely by planning how to decorate the house for the party. Annabel was still in favour of repainting the living room glittery. She’d reminded Mum about it every day that week, in very subtle ways like leaving her glitter nail polish lying round, but Mrs Ryan was holding out. Annabel felt that she and Mum were well on track, though. Annabel did a lot of drawing and painting anyway, so provided she was careful she could make party decorations without the other two realizing what she was doing. Mum had a cake-decorating book, and another one with good ideas for party food, so Annabel had spent quite a lot of time in the evenings hiding in the bathroom making lists, and designing birthday cakes. Katie and Becky thought she was putting intensive conditioner on her hair even more obsessively than usual, in preparation for the party. The week did seem to fly by, though, and Mum had to calm Annabel down when she had a mild panicking session on Thursday night as she was convinced they’d never get it all done.

  The next day, scarily enough, was actually the day before the party, and the triplets were mentally ticking off the minutes of their last lesson of the afternoon. How could geography go on so long? Was it some kind of time warp? Mrs Travers let them start packing up five minutes early – even she could see that the last few minutes before half-term were not the best time to introduce Year Seven to the mysteries of sedimentary rocks.

  “See you tomorrow!” the triplets yelled to Megan as they set off home with Saima and Fran, who had been warned that if they wanted to walk with them they had to go fast. It was probably the first time they’d gone down the high street without stopping to look at any of the shops – without stopping at all, in fact.

  The triplets practically broke the front door down, jumping up and down in frustration as Katie fiddled with the key, and then hurling themselves into the hall. Yes! Bags and parcels that definitely hadn’t been there this morning.

  “Dad!” squawked Katie rapturously, rushing headlong into the kitchen and screeching to a stop next to the table – there he was, banging down his coffee mug to leap up and seize them all in a massive hug.

  “Watch it, you three,” Mum warned, laughing, “your dad’s not going to be much use at your party if you strangle him now.”

  They disengaged themselves reluctantly, and Dad sat down again. Becky and Katie, almost unable to let go of him, even for a second, leant themselves up against his chair, and Annabel perched herself on the table.

  Mr Ryan shook his head, looking around at them. “How long is it since I’ve seen you? Three months, is that all? You look so different. . .” he tailed off, and then appealed to his ex-wife. “I’m not imagining it, am I? They’ve grown?”

  Mrs Ryan nodded. “Oh yes. They never stop.”

  “And you’ve never seen us in our Manor Hill uniform either, Dad – that’s different,” Annabel broke in.

  “True. You look very smart, Bel. Very sensible and businesslike – we get the full party girl outfit tomorrow, do we?”

  “Oh yes. And I’m going to make up Becky and Katie, and do their hair.”

  “Do you have to?” Katie moaned. “You take so long. And I can never tell the difference, anyway.”

  “This is a party, Katie. You are going to look nice, however long it takes. You promised.” Katie had, in a weak moment the evening before. Annabel had refused to fetch her a reviving chocolate biscuit when she’d been flaked out on the sofa after just managing to break her keepy-uppy record – now at 102. Annabel had cruelly waved the packet round the living-room door until Katie had promised.

  “Dad, what are all those things in the hall?” asked Becky, and the other two stopped their half-hearted bickering and pricked up their ears. “I mean, your clothes and things are at the flat, aren’t they?”

  “Those parcels, sweetheart, are yet another thing you’re not allowed to know about.” He exchanged a knowing glance with their mum. The contents of the parcels was secret even to Annabel, who looked very slightly huffy. “Until tomorrow. Oooh, less than twenty-four hours now. Be patient.” He smirked a little.

  “You are so enjoying this,” Katie grumbled. “When do we actually get to find out what’s going on, Mum? I mean, if you’ve got to do stuff to the house we’re going to see, aren’t we?”

  “No hints,” said their mum firmly. “Not a word, so don’t pester, Katie.”

  And with that the triplets had to be satisfied until the next day.

  Chapter Ten

  The triplets were up early the next morning. Earlier than Mum, who they woke up mercilessly by calling outside her bedroom door (they still weren’t allowed in). Mum had warned them not to even think of getting up before seven, or they’d be exhausted by the end of the party. She’d also pointed out there was no reason to get up early, as nothing was happening till the afternoon. She knew it wasn’t going to have much effect, though. And she was right – dead on seven o’clock, they were out of their bedroom, bouncing and yelping excitedly to get her up and get the day properly started. They’d spent at least the last half hour awake and chatting curled up on Annabel’s bed, and she was beginning to be really glad the pretence wouldn’t have to go on much longer. Katie had already accused her of not really being excited about the party as she wasn’t saying enough. Annabel had claimed she was just sleepy, and the other two seemed to believe her – after all, she did like to sleep in at the weekends.

  Mrs Ryan appeared in her dressing gown. “What time is it, for heaven’s sake? Two minutes past seven – I might have known. Well, as you’re so energetic you can go and put the kettle on and make me some coffee and toast while I have a shower.”

  The triplets raced downstairs as Mum shuffled into the bathroom, but stopped halfway as she called after them, “Don’t forget! You can’t go in the living room!” Ten minutes later she appeared in jeans and a jumper looking considerably more awake, and once she’d got a cup of coffee in her hands she was almost human.

  “Mum, please will you tell us what’s going on today now?” begged Katie, blue eyes like saucers.

  “Pleease!” asked Becky beseechingly.

  “Your dad and I will tell you at lunchtime. I’ve got loads to do before then, so get lost please. I need you upstairs and out of the way.”

  “You mean we can’t be in the kitchen, either?” demanded Katie in horror.

  “Not unless you’re going to sit blindfolded with a clothes-peg on your nose. Go on upstairs – have baths, wash your hair. Let Annabel do your nails, that should take a good three hours.”

  Annabel stuck her tongue out at her mother, but said, “Actually, that’s a really good idea, I hadn’t thought about nails. C’mon, Katie.”

  “We said make-up,” squeaked Katie in outrage. “Nothing about nails!”

  “Do you have anything else to do this morning?”

  “Nooo, but. . .”

  Annabel grabbed her and marched her upstairs, still muttering.

  By midday the triplets were cleaner and more beautified than they had ever been. Even Katie had had intensive hair conditioner (they’d used an entire new tub between them – they had a lot of hair), a face pack and a manicure that had left her squirming with impatience at having to sit still for so long and Annabel wondering whether she really wanted to give her sisters a party at all. Katie was stomping about their bedroom like a really wild wildebeest, casting disgusted glances at her perfect “Ice Queen” pale blue nails. She had utterly refused to let Annabel put a small crystal on the tip of each one, in fact she’d threatened to go and clean the whole lot off if Annabel so much as brought a nail jewel within half a metre of her hands.

  The triplets were still in everyday clothes – jeans and sweaters. They didn’t know (or, in Annabel’s case, had to pretend not to
know) what sort of clothes they needed for the party, so Becky and Annabel had laid out a selection on their beds (and Annabel had laid out Katie’s too) and were squabbling pleasantly about who ought to wear what. Annabel’s scarlet pleated miniskirt was going head to head with Becky’s slightly different and horribly clashing scarlet fluffy sweater when there was a knock at the bedroom door.

  “Everyone decent?” called Dad, and Katie raced to open the door. “Can we come downstairs?” she burst out. “I have to get out of here. Those two are driving me mad!”

  Dad grinned. “Go and run up and down the garden till you feel better, sweetheart. Come on, you two,” he added as Katie shot past him and thundered down the stairs, “Mum sent me to fetch you for lunch.”

  “When did you get here, Dad?” asked Becky, puzzled. “We didn’t hear you arrive.”

  “I came in the back gate. I needed to help your mum set things up and she reckoned you’d be fussing even more if you knew I was here too.”

  The kitchen was spotless, with no evidence of party preparation at all. The triplets looked round suspiciously. “Are you sure you’ve been doing anything this morning, Mum?” asked Katie.

  “It’s all hidden away. Right, lunch. Treat food, as today is temporarily your birthday.”

  “Nachos, excellent,” cheered Annabel, as Mum brought a mound of tortilla chips, salsa and gorgeous, oozing melted cheese to the table. “Katie Ryan, if you damage those nails I will personally cut your fingers off, got it?”

  “You see, this is why I don’t wear nail polish,” Katie moaned. “You can’t do anything. What am I supposed to do, pick up nachos with my teeth?”

  “Just be careful. It’s supposed to be chip-resistant, but then it’s never met you before.” Annabel daintily picked up a nacho, managing not even to get a smudge of grease on her sparkly silver nails.

  Dad let them all get well stuck into the nachos and then raised his eyebrows at Mum. “What do you think? Time to spill the beans?”