Hey Baby! (4 page)

“You’re the ones who fancy a singer in a nappy,” I said, and we sailed past with our noses in the air.

I’m sorry to say, the rest of the day was one big yawn. Unless you lurve long division. So hold on tight, OK, while I fast-forward us to the good bit. The part where I finally went home with Rosie.

Rosie’s mum had told my mum I could go straight from school. I think Mum was glad of the rest actually. She gets really tired now.

Rosie’s house is so brilliant, even though it is a bit of a wreck. When we got there it was full of the most de-licious baking smell.

“Chocolate cake,” I thought. “Yummee!”

Tiff makes wicked cakes. She does ace popcorn too, if you get her in a good mood.

Rosie’s mum had just got home from college and she had to belt round organising Adam. He was still going to stay with his dad, even though Tiff had cheered up again. The taxi came just as we finished singing
Forever Love
to him. We’d sung it twice. The first time just to take off the M&Ms. But Adam enjoyed it so much, we sang it again. Before he went, Adam typed us a message on his computer. It said, “Juice is a cool dude!”

“You ARE kidding!” I said. I think he was. You can never tell with Adam. He has a truly weird sense of humour!

The minute the taxi disappeared, Rosie’s mum had to rush around getting ready for the party. Tiff was in charge of tea. Want to know what we had? We had oven chips, crinkly ones, and some excellent chilli burgers that Rosie’s mum had bought for me specially.

I was expecting Tiff to break out the chocolate cake for afters. I was so-o-o fed up when it turned out to be Spud’s special anniversary cake.

“A whole cake for Spud? Can’t we have a tiny slice?” I moaned to Rosie.

Tiff heard me. “No way,” she said.

“It’s not personal, Frankie. She wouldn’t let me even look at it,” said Rosie.

So we had ice cream instead. They only had vanilla, but Her Royal Tiffiness said we could invent our own toppings if we wanted. So we really went for it! Heh heh heh!

This is what we put in them: chopped up Dime bar, rainbow drops (another Sleepover obsession!), walnuts, banana, left-over pineapple chunks. Ooh! And glace cherries. Eat your heart out, Ben and Jerry!

By the time we’d finished, I was truly stuffed. We all helped wash up, then Tiffany went off to her room, humming
Forever Love
. It turns out she’s a Juice fan too!

“Quick! Come and see my sister’s new dress,” said Rosie and she dragged me into the living room. I wasn’t in the mood to admire anything of Tiffany’s after that cake stunt, to be honest. But it was heavenly. It was even the right colour – silver!

“She saved up for it for ages,” explained Rosie.

“It’s gorgeous,” I whispered. I don’t know why we were whispering. I mean, it was only a dress – not, like, church!

“Tiff wanted to take it back to the shop, after the quarrel,” Rosie wittered on. “Now she’s wearing it to the school dance. She looks totally amazing in it.”

Yawn yawn yawn. I hate Rosie’s Tiffany-worshipping moods. To distract her, I said she should ask Tiff to make some popcorn. “She owes us!” I said.

“Sssh!” hissed Rosie. “She’d go ballistic if she knew I faked that faint!”

“I only asked,” I snapped. Honestly, what is the point of a good deed if you can’t get a bowl of popcorn out of it?

Luckily, the others turned up then.

“Ooh, yummy! Tiff’s made one of her cakes,” said Lyndz.

“Forget it,” I said. “It’s for boring old Spud.”

We carried the sleepover gear upstairs. Kenny immediately checked out the wall on the landing for interesting new graffiti. That’s one great thing about the Cartwrights’ house. Rosie’s allowed to write on the undecorated walls, until they’ve all been painted!

Kenny chewed her pen. Finally she wrote ‘ROSIE LOVES JUICE’. Fliss grabbed the pen, drew a swirly heart round Kenny’s graffiti and wrote ‘TRUE!’

“I do love Juice,” beamed Rosie. “Orange juice, apple juice, lime juice, lemon juice, pineapple juice, mango ju…”

I threw my teddy at her. “Knock it off, or we’ll juice you, OK?”

Lyndz took something out of her bag. “Look what I’ve brought.”

“Wow!” I said. “A plastic thing with a hole in. Can I have one?”

“It’s a bubble sword, you moron,” Lyndz explained. “Tom got it at a fair. The proper stuff ran out after half a minute, but we refilled it with Fairy Liquid and it’s still brilliant.”

It was. First you dip the sword in the part with the bubble stuff in, the scabbard thing. Then you wave the sword and zillions of HUGE bubbles stream out. If there’s a fair near you, make your parents take you immediately and DEMAND a bubble sword. They’re ace!

We ran around filling the house with bubbles, screaming our heads off.

“I love staying at your place, Rosie,” I yelled.

Rosie went bright red. “Thanks, Frankie.”

Kenny blew a massive bubble. “It’s bigger than my head!” she shrieked.

“It’s not bigger than Juice’s,” I shouted.

“You’re so mean,” giggled Fliss.

The door bell went.

“Can you get it?” called Rosie’s mum in a muffled voice. “I’m still putting my dress on.”

Rosie raced for the door, but Tiffany beat her to it. It was Mrs Quormby, with the baby.

“Aaah,” said everyone. Morgan has to be the most gorgeous baby on the planet. (Until ours arrives, of course.) Mr Quormby followed with the travel cot.

“Hello, girls,” he said. But I could tell he only spoke to us because we were in the hall admiring his baby and he couldn’t avoid us. After that, he hung around looking dead bored, while Mrs Quormby made Tiffany stick hundreds of emergency phone numbers on the fridge. She even gave Tiff the number of her mobile, in case the Harrisons’ phone was out of order!!! The Quormbys used to live in London, so I suppose Cuddington is practically the Third World to them.

Finally she gave Tiffany this bag bulging with spare clothes, nappies, bottles, toys and stuff. “Just a precaution. Morgan’s a very good baby really – always sleeps right through.”

Mr Quormby carried the cot into the living room. Rosie’s mum came downstairs while Mrs Quormby was tucking Morgan up for the night. She looked so-o glamorous – Rosie’s mum, I mean. And really shy. I don’t think she’d been out for ages, except for college.

“Ready, everyone?” she said. “Don’t worry. Tiff is totally trustworthy.”

“Come ON, Lyn,” moaned Mr Quormby, like a little kid. “We’ll be late for the party.”

I don’t know why he was in such a rush. He didn’t seem like a party animal to me. But Mrs Quormby glanced back nervously and I realised I was still clutching the bubble sword.

“It’s just for bubbles,” I called hastily. “Not whacking people.”

As soon as they’d gone, we went to look at the baby. It was still wide awake, staring round the room with a slightly surprised expression.

“Aaaah,” we said again. The baby gave a happy wriggle, as if we were the coolest thing it had seen for ages.

“Tiff,” said Rosie. “If we watch Morgan, will you make us some popcorn?”

“Well, I suppose I—” Tiff began.

Then the phone rang. Rosie answered it.

“It’s for you, Tiff,” she said. “Spud says if he’s not allowed to come round tonight, can he talk to you for a bit.”

“Ooooh,” we giggled. Tiff went pink.

“Shall I tell him you can’t, because you’re making our popcorn?” asked Rosie daringly.

“I’ll talk as long as I want, thanks,” snapped Tiff. “I’ll take it upstairs.” She sprinted off.

Rosie was still holding the receiver. “Oh, hiya Spud,” we heard Tiff say.

We crowded round the phone, earwigging like mad. Unfortunately Rosie lost her balance and clunked the phone on the wall.

“Put it DOWN!” Tiff yelled downstairs. “Can’t I have any PRIVACY?”

We went back to the living room. Morgan was chatting away in there.

“Aren’t you sleepy?” said Fliss, stroking Morgan’s cheek.

“Do you think that’s like, a real language?” said Kenny. “I mean, can other babies understand it?”

“Who cares!” I said. “Let’s cuddle it before Tiff gets back.”

“She didn’t say we could,” said Rosie, looking doubtful.

“She didn’t say we couldn’t either,” Kenny grinned.

I lifted the baby out of its cot. It smelled of very clean towelling. “Hey, you’re heavy, Morgan,” I said.

The baby broke into a huge amazed smile.

“Clever thing. It knows its name!” said Fliss. “Hello, Morgan,” she cooed.

“Hello, Morgan,” said the others.

Each time we said its name, the baby beamed from ear to ear. So we kept saying it, till Lyndz made us stop. “You’ll make its little face ache. And it’s got such an adorable little face. Yes, you have!”

(Have you noticed how everyone totally loses their marbles the moment they set eyes on a baby? Why is that?)

“Hope it doesn’t grow up like Mr Quormby,” I said darkly.

“Look at its gorgeous clothes,” whispered Rosie.

“They’re OshKosh B’Gosh,” said Fliss.

“Osh kosh who?” scowled Kenny.

“They make really cool clothes for babies,” Fliss explained.

“Let me hold it, Frankie,” pleaded Rosie.

“But it likes me.”

“Don’t be mean. You’ll have your own baby soon.”

“Yeah,” said Kenny. “We all want a go.”

But as I handed the baby to Rosie, its expression changed. It didn’t look unhappy. Just thoughtful. Then it started making really PRIVATE sounds.

“Uh-oh,” said Lyndz. “Put it down, quick.”

“Why, what’s happening?” asked Rosie nervously.

Kenny turned pale. “Can anyone smell a terrible pong?”

“Oh per-leaze.” I rushed to the phone and picked it up. Tiff was still gabbing to Spud on the other end. “Tiff,” I panted. “Get down here! It’s serious babysitter business. We’re running out of oxygen fast.”

“Get OFF the phone, Frankie. I’ll come down in a MINUTE,” barked Tiffany. But she stayed exactly where she was, flirting. Totally trustworthy, eh? Yeah, right!

Look, I’m sorry. I know it’s rude to talk about, you know, poo. But don’t go, or you’ll miss the best bit. Because it wasn’t Tiff who came to our rescue. You’ll never guess who did!

Get ready to be amazed!