Sleepover Club Blitz (7 page)

That night we held our regular sleepover at my house. But first my mates went home to collect their kit, plus the usual stash of goodies.

Normally, I rush around like a headless chicken, fretting about the tragically unfinished state of our house. But this time I just chilled out in front of the TV. (“Hello lovely TV!”) So I was surprised to get a really bizarre phone call from Frankie.

She sounded like she was having hysterics. “You are not going to believe what I’ve just found out!” she yelped. “This is SO the end of the line for Owen Cartwright!!” Then her voice changed. “Izzy, don’t put that in your mouth!” And she clunked down the phone.

That is so typically Frankie. Can you believe she’d rung everybody in the Sleepover Club? Then, having made us wild with curiosity, she refused to say a single dicky bird while Mum and Tiff were around.

Tea was total
agony.
We were dying to hear Frankie’s scandal, but everyone felt they had to be polite to Mum – you know how it is.

“So let’s hear about this wonderful Blitz weekend!” Mum beamed. “Rosie’s hardly said a word about it.”

“It’s really difficult to talk about,” Frankie explained. “It’s more like, you had to be there.”

“It’s something you feel!” Kenny agreed.

“Yeah,” giggled Lyndz. “Like hiccups.”

And we all giggled like total idiots.

Mum had borrowed the video of
The Parent Trap.
No-one wanted to hurt her feelings, so we sat through an hour and a half of like, total Hollywood fluff. It was quite good fun, though!

But at last we were up in my lovely room, putting on our night-things. (“Hello, twenty-first century jimjams! Hello cosy duvet!”)

Mum came up to say goodnight. “You’re very quiet,” she said suspiciously

“Oh, don’t worry about us, Mrs Cartwright,” said Lyndz at once. “I expect we’re just tired after all the excitement.”

“Hmmn,” said Mum, who is nobody’s fool. She switched off the light.

We listened to her footsteps go downstairs, then everyone switched on their torches.

“Right!” said Kenny at once. “What’s this juicy gossip?”

Frankie’s eyes gleamed in the torchlight. “It’s not gossip. I’ve got hard evidence!” She unfolded what looked like a page torn from a magazine.

“What’s that?” asked Lyndz.

“I’m getting to it, OK?” (Frankie ADORES being the centre of attention!) “My mum gets this catalogue, right?” she began. Then she collapsed into giggles. “I’m sorry. It’s just SO funny!” she choked.

“
Frankie!
” everyone yelled. “Spit it out, will you!”

Frankie’s voice was wobbly with laughter. “It’s not one of those big catalogues that sells everything,” she quavered. “It specialises in this like, fogey thermal underwear. Mum gets it for my grandad. But apparently you can buy thermal stuff for like, ALL ages.” She bit her lip, desperately trying to keep a straight face.

We stared at her. We had NO idea why Frankie was wittering about underwear catalogues. But we hung on in there.

“Well, you know how my baby sister likes to put everything in her mouth?” she went on.

“Ye-es,” we said patiently.

“OK, so Izzy got hold of this catalogue, and naturally I took it off her. And look who was inside! Da da!!”

Frankie waved the torn page cheekily under our noses.

“Omigosh,” gasped Lyndz.

“It’s Owen!” breathed Fliss.

We fell about, shrieking with laughter. Well, you’ve got to admit that thermal underwear IS quite a comedown for a guy who goes around pretending to be a catwalk superstar.

“Wait till everyone hears about this,” chortled Kenny. She was actually crying with laughter.

”Oh, come on, you guys,” said Lyndz suddenly “Let’s just forget about him. I want to write in my Sleepover diary!”

“Me too,” said Frankie.

The room was silent while we all scribbled away.

Frankie pulled a face. “I’m going to read what I put, OK? But I’d better warn you, it’s about Owen. Here goes.

“‘Owen Cartwright has finally been knocked off his lurve pedestal and it’s weird’,” she read aloud. “‘First I thought he was like, this effortlessly cool guy, like someone in a boy band. Then I thought he was “rotten to the core”, like Mungo, Edith’s dishy spy. But actually, Owen’s just an ordinary kid who’s stuck with an incredibly gorgeous face.’”

“Plus he’s stuck with Nightmare Mom,” Lyndz smirked.

Kenny pulled a face. “They totally deserve each other!”

“I feel sorry for him,” said Fliss. “You can tell the modelling is all her idea.”

“So what!” objected Kenny. “He should stand up to her!”

“Erm, can I read mine? It’s about the Blitz sisters,” I said shyly. “It’s only short.”

“Good,” grinned Kenny. “I’m getting well peckish.”

I started to read. ‘“Since we did the Blitz experience with Iris and Edith, I can’t look at old people in quite the same way. I used to switch off the instant I saw those wrinkly faces in the supermarket. But now I find myself wondering what hair-raising stories they could tell me.’”

“Yay!” said Kenny as soon as I stopped for breath. “Let’s eat.”

It was a seriously twenty-first century sleepover feast – not a Spam sandwich in sight! This is what we had: a big box of chocolate tea-cakes (our latest craze), a massive bag of potato hoops, a bag of jelly bears (OK, so we’re sad!) and a packet of luxury chocolate-chip cookies, the double chocolate kind (because we’re WORTH it!).

When everyone was full, we did a few rows of Blitz knitting, just to keep in practice. Poor Lyndz’s looks even MORE like a doily now, but she’s so proud of it, no-one can bear to tell her!

Finally, we had one last 1940s singsong (a very soft one, so Mum wouldn’t hear). Then we switched off our torches and settled down to sleep.

But my head was buzzing with complicated thoughts. Like, how different our lives would be, if it hadn’t been for the war. Apparently, until war broke out, girls and women were pretty much kept inside the home, either as servants, or like pretty ornaments for the men to admire. (Yeah, right!)

But when their country needed them, those ornamental women amazed everyone by doing just about everything men could do! I mean, nowadays we just take it for granted that girls can play football, like Kenny, or that mums go out to work. But if it wasn’t for the war changing people’s attitudes, these things would be like,
totally
unknown!

“Penny for your thoughts,” whispered Fliss suddenly.

I grinned at her in the dark. “I was thinking how cool it is being us,” I told her. “What about you?”

“I’ve just decided I’m going to put this really sweet fringe on my pink scarf,” she whispered back. “It’s going to be like, FIVE different kinds of pink! I can’t wait!”

Isn’t that so typically Fliss? There’s me, being really deep, and Fliss is having this Big Fashion Moment!!

Eek, is that the time? I had no idea I’d been nattering so long.

Look, I truly hope you enjoyed our Blitz sleepover, but if you don’t mind, I’ve got to finish off Adam’s balaclava before I get some shut-eye.

I forgot to tell you what? Are you SURE? Boy, you’ve got a good memory! You mean, I actually left myself out of that competition entry about team work and the Sleepover Club and stuff? How amazingly modest of
moi
! OK, let me think. Why would Rosie Cartwright have been a good person to have around during the Blitz…?

Well, I know it sounds boring, but I think being the sensible member of the Sleepover Club would have really come in handy. I mean, I’m still a BIT of a worrier (I’m not like, TOTALLY cured, sadly!), but I’m basically a calm, optimistic person. Which you had to be back then, with bombs raining down, night after night.

Anyway, how sweet of you to ask! I’m touched. Plus I’ll let you into a secret. I always lurve talking to our Sleepover fans, but this has been really special, kind of like talking to my mates. Let’s meet up again really soon, OK?

And till then, TTFN!

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