(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 me into town after school tomorrow to buy some new pyjamas for the sleepover,” I said.
My mum put the plates down on the table with a thump.
“Francesca Theresa Thomas, you are the most cunning and devious child I’ve ever met.”
“That’s what comes of having lawyers for parents,” I said. “By the way, my sleeping bag’s looking a bit gross too.”
“Don’t push your luck, Frankie,” said my dad.
“OK, OK. But I really do need new jim-jams. I want to look good in our video.”
“So,” said my dad, “we’re finally going to see what goes on at these famous sleepovers, are we?”
“I already know what goes on,” my mum said, dishing up the lasagne. “Chaos, trouble and lots of junk food.”
“There’s a bit more to it than that,” I said, picking up my fork. “And anyway, we aren’t going to let just anyone watch the video. Sleepovers are supposed to be a secret.”
Especially from parents. I wasn’t quite sure how we were going to get away with keeping what we did at our sleepovers a secret if Fliss’s mum was going to be filming us. But I’d worry about that later.
First of all, though, we had to get through Friday at school. It was pretty difficult because we were all hyper-excited about the sleepover that night, and by the end of the day, we’d turned Miss Jenkins into a nervous wreck. Kenny had managed a record eleven trips to the pencil sharpener without being spotted, and we’d played Pass the Sniff in silent reading until our noses hurt.
As soon as the home bell rang, the Sleepover Club were first out of the classroom door.
“My dad’s taking me shopping,” I told the others. “I’m going to get some new pyjamas for tonight.”
“I’ve already got some,” said Kenny.