Suzy P, Forever Me

by Karen Saunders

  “I think he’ll love it,” Harry says. “I’d love it. And there’ll be cake. Dad likes cake.”

  “You’re right,” Mum says, nodding. “Stop being such a party pooper, Suzy. And I definitely think it’ll be more of a surprise the day before his birthday. So we’ll have it then.”

  As she writes the date on the piece of paper, I stare at it… it’s ringing a bell for some reason. Why does that date look so familiar?

  Then I realise.

  Oh no. Oh no!

  “Uh, Mum, that’s the date of the school party,” I say nervously.

  “Sorry, but your dad’s more important than a party with your friends.”

  “But it’s kind of a big deal…” I’m now regretting not telling her anything about how I’m one of the people heading up the planning committee. “I sort of have to be there.”

  “Family comes first,” Mum says firmly. “We’re keeping the date.”

  I slump further down onto the bed. I’ll add ‘date clash’ onto the list of problems I’ll be sorting later, then.

  “Right, let’s move on to time,” Mum says. “I think evening would be good.”

  And it’s then I have a brainwave. “What about a lunch party?”

  Please say she’ll go for it. Please, please, please. This is my only chance, if she’s set on this date, of going to both parties. The school one is in the evening, but if Dad’s is at lunchtime, I can probably do both.

  Mum frowns. “I’m not sure that’s going to work.”

  “He’s never going to suspect a party at lunchtime,” I say persuasively. “It’ll be a total surprise.”

  “He would be pretty surprised at a full-on party in the middle of the day,” Harry says, and Amber nods in agreement.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Mum says.

  “And it might be cheaper to hire somewhere in the afternoon,” I say.

  “Okay,” Mum says. “Let’s do it. Good idea, Suzy.”

  I breathe a huge sigh of relief. Phew. That should buy me a bit of time.

  “Oh, Mum,” Amber suddenly says.

  “Have you got a suggestion for the party?” Mum asks.

  “Nooo… Chichi’s sicked up her feed. My leg’s soaking. Can you take her for a minute while I get changed and grab her some clean clothes?”

  “Sure thing. Right, we need a guest list,” Mum says, holding Chichi at a distance.

  “Are friends allowed to come?” Harry asks, hopefully.

  “We’ll see how we do for numbers,” Mum says. “Now, family members. His family, obviously, there’s loads of them… and Great Aunt Lou from my side…”

  “Aunt Loon?” I say. “He’s not going to be pleased about that.”

  “Well, we can’t not invite her. Besides, she’s practically the only family I have. And let’s not forget a few of my friends…” She continues scribbling names on a list. “Gosh, we’ve already got quite a lot of people.”

  “Er, don’t you want to think about inviting some of Dad’s mates,” I point out. “Seeing as how it’s his party?”

  “Oh. Yes. I suppose you’re right,” Mum says, starting to laugh. She writes some more names on the pad and then quickly counts them up. “Fifty-two. That’s about right for a birthday party, isn’t it? Sorry, girls, that means none of your friends will be able to come.”

  “I’m sure they’ll survive. Although fifty-two seems an awful lot…” I say. “Didn’t Dad say he didn’t want too much of a fuss for his birthday? That he wanted it keeping quiet?”

  “Well, yes, but he didn’t mean it,” Mum says dismissively. “Now. We’re going to need to find a venue, and work out what we’re going to do about costumes…”

  “Costumes?”

  “Of course,” Mum says. “It’s going to be a fancy-dress party. We can’t not dress up.”

  “But Dad hates fancy-dress parties.”

  “Suzy, would you stop being so negative,” Mum says, crossly.

  Hurrmph. I was only trying to help. How is she not seeing that it’s highly likely Dad’s going to hate everything about this party and leave early in a strop? If a surprise fancy-dress party doesn’t break him, the sight of Aunt Loon probably will.

  “Now what do we think Dad should dress up as? I was wondering about an eighties theme…” Mum’s carrying on.

  “What did he like in the eighties?” Harry asks.

  “Rubik’s Cubes. Ghostbusters. Michael Jackson,” Mum says, making yet more notes on her piece of paper, struggling to hold both Chichi and her pen. “I’ll Google and we can decide something a bit later. What else do we need? Food? Games? I’ll go and have a think about eighties-themed foods. We can have a Rubik’s Cube cake perhaps, or maybe a Pac-Man.”

  “What’s Pac-Man?” Harry says, confused. I’m glad she’s asked the question, because I’ve got no idea.

  “An arcade game,” Mark says, smiling at Amber as she walks back into the room.

  “Now what do we think about party games?” Mum says. “We can’t have a party without games. Maybe a quiz?”

  Harry wrinkles her nose. “What about karaoke?”

  “Karaoke! I love it!” Mum says excitedly. She’s frantically writing more notes. “We can sing eighties songs. And we definitely need a band. Actually, that’s given me a brilliant idea…”

  Mum starts to laugh to herself, which is never a good sign. I’m about to ask what she’s plotting, when Amber starts talking.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to dress up as,” she says. “I’m still so fat.”

  “You’re not fat,” Mark says. “Ambypamby, you’re beautiful. As beautiful as you’ve always been.”

  “But I’ve still got so much baby weight,” Amber says. “Conni G was back in her skinny jeans a fortnight after she gave birth.”

  “Yeah, well, she had a tummy tuck at the same time as her C-section,” I say.

  Amber gasps in horror. “How could you say that?”

  “Because I read it in a magazine,” I tell her.

  Amber’s eyes widen in disbelief. “I don’t believe it. Conni said in her magazine column her weight loss was a combination of healthy eating and exercise.”

  “Okay, sure, if you want to believe that,” I say.

  “I just need to stay on my red Thai curry paste and anchovies diet,” Amber says determinedly. “Then I’ll be back in my skinny jeans by the party. We’ll have to start thinking about what we want to go as, Markymoo. We could theme our costumes. Like, maybe Mario and Luigi, those Nintendo characters.”

  “Er, weren’t they both boys?” I ask.

  “Really?” Amber looks surprised. “I thought Luigi was a girl’s name. Oh well. We’ll keep thinking.”

  Downstairs, a door slams.

  “That’s your father! Nobody say a word,” Mum hisses, grabbing the paper and flapping it around wildly. “What am I going to do with this?”

  “Stick it under the bed,” I say.

  Mum tries, but there’s heaps of stuff under there – clothes, boxes of books I read yonks ago but can’t bring myself to chuck, hairdryers, hair straighteners and goodness knows what else.

  “There’s no room!”

  “Then chuck it in the bed,” I say, throwing back the duvet. There’s a pair of pants underneath, which I grab, quickly, and throw into my laundry basket before Mark can see, ignoring Mum shaking her head at me.

  As Dad’s footsteps come up the stairs, I throw the duvet over the paper, and we all try to look casual.

  “What’s going on?” Dad says suspiciously.

  “Just talking about… um… women’s things,” Mum says.

  Nothing makes Dad leave a room quicker than Women’s Things.

  “With Mark here?” Dad looks at Mark oddly. “Actually, I don’t want to know. Came in for a bathroom break,” Dad says. “And I’m hungry. Is there anything I can make for lunch? Jon’s headed off for a while.”

  “Sandwiches and crisps,” Mum says. “Or there’s pizza in the freezer, if you’d rather.”


  “Great. I’ll sort something when I go back down,” Dad calls, disappearing down the corridor. “We’ve finished outside if you want to come and see. No peeping before you come down!”

  “Phew,” Mum says. “I don’t think he suspected anything. Shall we go and see what they’ve been up to?”

  The toilet flushes and Dad joins us as we all troop downstairs. Dad leads us out of the back door, where he stops in front of a very large shed, smiling proudly.

  “You’ve built a shed,” Mum says, looking confused. “Right next to our old one.”

  “Yup,” Dad says proudly.

  “And this is your birthday present to yourself?” Mum asks. “You wanted another shed?”

  “I did.”

  “But we already have a shed,” Harry says.

  “Not a shed like this one, young Harry.”

  “Oh well, whatever makes you happy,” Mum says, shrugging. “I suppose it’ll be useful storage, the other is full to bursting. Do you want me to help you to move some of the things across? Maybe the lawnmower could go in it. And those sun loungers…”

  “Uh-uh,” Dad says, grabbing Mum’s wrist gently. “None of that is going in my shed. This is a special shed. A shed just for me.”

  Mum frowns. “I don’t understand. What are you going to do in it?”

  “Enjoy the peace,” Dad says.

  Harry crosses the lawn and flings open the shed door. Inside, it’s empty apart from a comfy reclining chair and a radio on a shelf.

  “Heaven,” Dad says, smiling proudly. He walks inside and spins around with his arms outstretched. “The house is getting too much. There are too many people in there. Can’t hear myself think a lot of the time. This is going to be my place for restful contemplation. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in my shed until lunch is ready.”

  And with that, he shuts the door in our faces.

  “Are you looking forward to your birthday?” Harry says a little later, after Dad’s been convinced to return inside. She takes a huge bite of her sandwich, and ignores Mum’s ‘shut up now’ face.

  Dad rolls his eyes. “Not particularly. I’m trying to pretend it’s not happening.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a grump,” Mum says. “It’s forty-five! It’s an important landmark.”

  “It’s a sign I’m heading towards fifty at a rate of knots,” Dad says. “How did that happen?”

  “You’ve still got five years before you get there,” Mum says. “Let’s get forty-five out of the way first, eh?”

  “I love birthdays,” Harry says.

  “I don’t,” Dad says. “And I don’t want any celebrations, or any of that nonsense, okay?”

  Mum laughs nervously. “What makes you think there’ll be a celebration?”

  “Just making sure,” Dad says. “You know I hate fuss. Get me steak and a cake and let me go to the pub for the evening, and I’ll be grand.”

  “You can’t celebrate by yourself,” Mum says.

  “Oh yes I can,” Dad says. “Best present you could give me. The gift of peace.”

  “More crisps, anyone?” Mum says, ignoring him.

  “I’ve been wondering about getting a new car to replace the Volvo,” Dad says, as he helps himself to a handful of potato hoops. “Perhaps a convertible.”

  Mum nearly spits out her water. She chokes for a moment, before composing herself. “What? Why? You know we can’t afford it. And convertibles aren’t exactly spacious. How are we supposed to get everyone around? I know we were talking about getting a new car when we’ve got a bit more money, but I was thinking more along the lines of an MPV.”

  “MPVs are for old, boring people,” Dad says.

  “MPVs are for people with families,” Mum retaliates.

  “I want to feel the wind in my hair,” Dad says wistfully.

  “You hardly have any hair,” I say.

  “I just want a car that’s not filled with crisp packets, and that you don’t have to hit to get started,” Dad says. “That’s not too unreasonable, is it? It’s not too much to ask?”

  “Chris, we can’t get a convertible,” Mum says. “It’s not going to be practical. There are too many of us now.”

  “Mark has a car for Amber and the babies,” Dad says.

  “But there’s still Suzy and Harry to think about. What about getting them about the place?”

  “There’s always the bus. And we’re always hearing how kids these days don’t walk enough. More exercise would do them good.”

  “Yeah, cheers, Dad,” I say.

  “What about a convertible with a backseat?” Dad negotiates.

  “Those seats are tiny. There’d be no room for the girls. We’re not getting a convertible,” Mum says.

  “I’ll talk to you about it later,” he mutters.

  “You can try,” Mum says. “But I won’t change my mind.”

  Dad looks gutted. He really has been acting so strangely lately. Like wanting to dye his hair, and freaking over that photo where he thought he looked old, and now this whole convertible malarkey… he’s totally having one of those mid-life crisis things. How does Mum not realise? And oh lordy, if he is, there’s no way he’s going to want a party to celebrate the fact he’s one year nearer to the grave, is he? He’ll go nuts! What if he breaks down and cries in front of everyone? That would be awful…

  I’m distracted from my thoughts as my phone bleeps with a text. It’s Danny.

  On r way c U n 10 D X

  Finally! A chance to escape.

  “I’ve finished, Mum,” I mutter, shoving the rest of my sandwich in my mouth. “I’m going out with my friends to Bojangles, is that okay?”

  Without waiting for a proper reply, I run upstairs to change out of my slobby joggers and sweatshirt and wait for my friends to get here.

  CHAPTER TEN

  My mates and I file into Bojangles and queue by the till, waiting to be served. It’s busy today. It’s always packed on the weekends, but luckily Jamie texted Hannah to say that we were coming and she put one of her reserved signs onto a table for us. She’s the best.

  “Ugh, I’m so sorry for saying what I did about The Drifting,” I say for the zillionth time. I feel awful that I’ve dragged my poor mates into this with me.

  “Stop apologising,” Millie says. “Kara and Jade were winding all of us up and someone had to do something.”

  Danny puts his arm around me.

  “It was such a stupid thing to do,” I say.

  “Admittedly it wasn’t the best, but it’s done now. We just have to figure out a way to fix things,” Danny tells me. “And we will. We’ll think of something.”

  “I bet people don’t really think we’re going to bring the band to the school,” Jamie says.

  “Because we can’t!” I screech.

  “Maybe we can fob them off with a new release video or something to play,” Danny says, ignoring my dramatics.

  “We could still just tell them the truth,” Jamie says.

  “Oh yeah, great plan, and then watch everyone kill me,” I mutter.

  “What’s up?” Hannah asks as we reach the front of the queue and she sees our downcast faces. “Are you guys okay?”

  “Long story,” Millie says gloomily.

  “We’re fine,” Jamie says. “Just got a bit of a situation.”

  Hannah raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Okay, then I won’t ask. Hey, how did your fundraiser idea go down?”

  We all wince.

  “Oh. Like that, is it? Definitely won’t ask any more then. Food and drink I can do, though. What can I get you?”

  “Hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows for me, please,” I say.

  “Yeah, and me,” Millie says. “I’ll have a slice of that lemon cake, too.”

  “I’ll take a smoothie, a couple of rounds of toast with Marmite and a chocolate brownie,” Jamie says. “What?” he asks, when he sees our incredulous faces. “I’m hungry!”

  “How you’re not the size of a house is beyon
d me,” Millie mutters. “It’s so unfair.”

  “I burn it all off,” Jamie says. “I played football at lunch, remember?”

  “Danny? What would you like?” Hannah asks, making notes on her pad.

  “Uh, I’ll take a chocolate shake and one of those brownies,” Danny says.

  Hannah plates up the cakes and passes them across the counter. “I’ll bring the rest over in a minute,” she says. “Hope you get yourselves sorted. I couldn’t get you guys your sofa, but that table over there’s for you.”

  “Thanks, Hannah,” we chorus and head over to a table for four in the corner, flinging down our bags and wriggling out of our coats.

  “The Drifting are never going to actually come to our school,” I say despondently.

  “Don’t be so pessimistic,” Millie says. “I’ve been doing some Googling. They did a surprise appearance at a school in Scotland last year.”

  “Oh yeah. I read about that,” Danny says. “Wasn’t it because the parents of one of the students won a visit on a TV show or something?”

  “Well, yeah,” Millie says. “But it shows they do personal appearances. At schools. We’ve just got to figure out how to get them to come to ours.”

  “It’s impossible,” I say. “Let’s face it, I’ve majorly, majorly stuffed up and the chances of The Drifting coming are tiny. I’m so stupid.”

  I collapse with my head on the table dramatically.

  The bell over the door rings and I sit up to see my friends’ faces fall.

  Jade and Kara have walked in.

  What are they doing here? They never come here. This is one of the places we’re usually safe. They’re normally hanging around the older boys at Tastee Burga or in the shopping centre.

  “Well, look who it is,” Kara says to Jade, nodding in our direction. They bypass the queue and head towards us.

  “I see a liar and her lying friends,” Jade says. “And the liar should know she’s in a whole heap of trouble.”

  I swallow as my tummy convulses.

  “You’d better bring The Drifting to that party,” Jade says, leaning so close I can smell her minty chewing gum. “You made us look stupid in front of everyone. And you know how much I hate looking stupid.”