The Surprise Party

by Sue Welfare

  If you’re the one doing the organising then there are a few simple rules that lessen the stress.

  Plan ahead, do as much as you can the day or the week before. Enlist help (see below!).

  Send all your guests a list of guesthouses and local taxi services along with their invite. Having people to stay for your special event might be fun but it adds to the stress. Think – all those extra snacks, towels, sheets, and a queue for the bathroom when you want to spend the afternoon getting ready do nothing for your peace of mind, not to mention your lovely Aunty Em who’ll want to go to bed at half past nine and keep telling you to keep the noise down. Better to tuck them up in a B&B or stay with friends or get them chauffeured home by your local cab firm.

  If you do feel the need to have people staying, then only invite people who you know will pitch in and help. If you think it’s going to cause friction don’t invite anyone to stay!

  If it’s a formal occasion sort out a seating plan and if you think people might ignore it ask venue staff or a couple of trusted friends to guide arrivals to their tables.

  Aunt Joan a pain? Uncle Max a real handful? Enlist the help of potential troublemakers early. Ask them to help on the barbeque, or be the ‘unofficial’ official photographer, arrange the chairs, put up the gazebo, pick up guests arriving by train, help arrange the flowers, lay the tables, provide the cup cakes, help get the garden ready or decorate the hall. Make them feel useful and appreciated.

  Cousin Gordon says he won’t come because Aunty Flo has been invited? Don’t get caught in the middle. Smile, and before you get caught up in their drama or get asked to take sides, suggest going out to lunch or going round to see them once the party is over instead. Arrange a date there and then and put it in the diary – and then HANG UP before you get caught up in their argument or their games.

  If they persist in slagging off Aunty Flo, break in to the conversation and tell them you have to go, but you’re really looking forward to seeing them for lunch. Don’t be emotionally blackmailed. It’s your party, you can invite who you want, and if they’re not mature enough to put their personal differences behind them for one evening then that really isn’t your problem.

  The same applies to whether or not you invite children. Not everyone appreciates a posse of sticky-fingered screaming toddlers running around, sliding across the wooden floors and being sick or getting overexcited, and not all venues are child friendly. So be clear right from the outset, rather than cause offence by being ambiguous. It’s fine for invites to say something along the lines of, ‘While we love your kids, tonight/today my party is a grown-ups-only do.’

  If it is a whole family, children-welcome event, it really helps if you make it feel that way – put a room aside or an area for mums and dads and children to use if they want a break from the main party, with TV, DVDs, games, their own refreshments, baby changing area, etc., and let your guests know it’s there. If the budget permits, arrange some family friendly afternoon or early evening entertainment.

  Next rule is probably one of the most important – and one of the hardest to do – and that is to delegate everything you can. Tricky I know if you’re a control freak but other people really do enjoy getting involved and for people who don’t know many of your family or friends giving them a job to do is a great icebreaker.

  So that’s about it – you’ve booked the marquee, the caterers are all organised, the drink, the streamers, the magician and the band and you’ve taken a lot of the stress out of your special evening – now all you’ve got to do is crack open that bottle of champagne, pour yourself a glass and enjoy!

  Read on for an exclusive extract from

  Sue Welfare’s new novel coming in Spring 2012

  Prologue

  The lights in the theatre slowly dimmed. Standing in the wings Lydia could feel the rise in expectation and anticipation amongst the audience, as tangible as a coming storm. It made her skin prickle. Someone coughed; there were the sounds of people settling down, their conversation changing from a noisy cheerful babble to an all-together lower, denser hum.

  She closed her eyes, concentrating on controlling her breathing and the panic that bubbled up under it. Even after all these years it was still there, that peculiar fluttering fear that started in her stomach and rose up into her throat, closing it down, stealing her breath away and making her heart race. Once on stage she would be just fine, but for now the panic crowded in, making her tremble, making the sound of her pulse ricochet around inside her skull. Deep breaths, calm thoughts; any second now the curtains would open and she would be just fine.

  In the auditorium beyond the curtains the audience were still and quiet now. The hair on the back of her neck rose.

  ‘Miss Redford?’ someone whispered. Lydia opened her eyes and looked up. One of the crew pointed to her radio mike and, leaning closer, flicked it on before tucking the wire down in amongst the great explosion of embroidery on her evening dress. One of the spotlights reflected in the facets of the jewellery she was wearing, projecting a great arc of rainbows into the wings.

  She smiled her thanks and then she pressed her lips together and ran a hand back over her hair, heart still racing, anxiety edging out all sensible thoughts.

  The technician grinned. ‘You look fabulous,’ he mouthed and gave her the thumbs up. Her smile held. On the far side of the stage her agent, Arthur, raised a hand in salute, his fingers crossed, and he winked. A moment later and the signature tune for Cannon Square began to play and as the curtains slowly opened, the deep inviting voice of the theatre’s resident compere rolled out over the PA.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to this evening’s show. Tonight, for one night only, we would like you to put your hands together and give a great big Carlton Rooms welcome to star of stage, screen and television, our very own home-spun diva, Miss Lydia Redford.’ His voice rose to a crescendo in the gloom.

  It was as if someone had thrown a switch. From the auditorium came a sound like heavy rain and then thunder as people clapped, cheered and stamped their feet, the sound filling the theatre, a sound so loud that Lydia could feel it as well as hear it.

  The assistant stage manager waved her on and as Lydia stepped out into the glare of the spotlight the volume of the applause rose.

  ‘Good evening,’ she said, pulling up the stool that was there waiting for her centre stage. ‘It’s been a long time coming but it’s great to be back here at the Carlton Rooms, I’ve been away too long—’ and as she spoke the audience roared its appreciation and Lydia’s nerves evaporated like snow in sunshine.

  Chapter One

  ‘You’ll be fine. For God’s sake just stop worrying and pass me the eyeliner, will you?’ Charlotte said, as she leant forward to dab concealer on her chin. ‘You know the light in here is terrible, you should really get his nibs to get you a lamp or something on the dressing table.’ She turned to face Linda. ‘Can you still see that spot?’ She tipped her chin up towards the light. ‘It looks like Vesuvius from where I’m sitting.’

  ‘That’s because you’re three inches away from it, anything that close up is bound to look big,’ said Linda, who was sitting on the end of the bed, trying to do her makeup in a hand mirror. Charlotte was right, the light wasn’t good but Linda felt so sick with nerves that she didn’t really care. Tonight was so important to Charlotte, the last thing Linda wanted to do was ruin it for her. ‘And I’ve already told you this is Harry’s room, the light’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Well, we could hardly get ready in your room, could we? It’s like a shoe box in there. How on earth do you manage? Where do you put all your stuff? Good job you’re tidy; it wouldn’t suit me at all,’ Charlotte said, turning her attention back to her reflection. ‘Whole place would be a tip in ten minutes.’

  Getting ready at Harry’s flat had been Charlotte’s idea.

  ‘I thought we were going to get ready at your house,’ said Linda, rolling on a slick of lipgloss. ‘That’s what your dad said when he c
ame into the shop yesterday. He said he’d come into town and pick me up if there wasn’t a bus.’

  ‘I know, I mean there’s a lot more room at my place obviously, but this is so much nearer to the Carlton Rooms.’

  ‘Your dad told me he was going to drive us in.’

  ‘Yes, all right, Linda, don’t keep on. I know what he said but he can be so bossy and so narrow minded, interfering all the time – and yes, I know he’s on my side and everything but he’s just so overprotective.’ Charlotte screwed up her face and dropped into a razor sharp impersonation of her father, ‘Don’t do this, don’t say that, don’t you sign anything, not so much as an autograph without me reading it first, do you hear, Charlie?’ – He treats me like I’m a complete idiot. He nearly had fifty fits when he saw the costumes I’d had made. God only knows what he is going to be like when I finally get discovered, or come to that when I go off to teacher training in September.’

  ‘You’re still going then?’ said Linda, concentrating her efforts on finishing off her mascara.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Charlotte, sagely. ‘A levels and then teacher training. Unless of course I get discovered in the meantime. It’ll give me something to fall back on. I’m not totally daft. And anyway, I wanted to see where you and Harry lived. You two all tucked up in your little love nest.’

  Before Linda could reply there was a sharp knock on the door.

  ‘God, that made me jump,’ gasped Charlotte with a nervous giggle. ‘Good job I wasn’t doing my eyeliner.’ And then she called out, ‘Who is it?’

  Linda rolled her eyes. ‘It’s Harry, who else is it going to be? It’s his flat. Can you just pass me a tissue?’

  ‘Could be the press, dahling,’ said Charlotte, striking a pose and putting on a big starry voice as she handed Linda a box of Kleenex. ‘Or TV people, wanting to do an interview with the next big thing.’

  ‘Things,’ corrected Linda, sitting down alongside Charlotte on the dressing table stool so that she could see herself in the big mirror. ‘Shift up a bit. There are two of us remember?’

  ‘I meant collectively, we are the next big thing. I keep thinking that that is what we should call ourselves, ‘The Next Big Thing’; it sounds good. Although Wild Birds has got a nice ring to it too, don’t you think?’ Charlotte leaned forward again to brush away a speck of something on her cheek. ‘You did drop the music off, didn’t you?’

  ‘I already told you. Yes. I did it during my lunch break yesterday. Front office, Mr Tully, just like you said. And he said that we need to be there for a run through by half five.’ As she spoke Linda glanced at the clock; time was getting on.

  Charlotte nodded approvingly. ‘Good. Right. So—’ she said, pointing with her makeup brush to the palette on the dressing table, ‘Shall I go with the blue glitter eye shadow, or the purple?’

  Through the door Harry shouted, ‘Are you decent in there?’

  Charlotte raised her eyebrows. ‘Depends what you mean, really, doesn’t it?’ And then she glanced at Linda. ‘Are you and him—’ she nodded towards the double bed that dominated the tiny bedroom and which was currently strewn with Charlotte and Linda’s clothes. ‘You know.’

  Linda reddened furiously. ‘No. God no,’ she protested. ‘No, it’s not like that at all. I’m just living here because—’ she hesitated, not wanting to get into any long conversations about the state of her home life. ‘Because it’s easier, that’s all. Convenient. You know what the buses are like out our way. Ten minutes, walk from here and I’m slap bang in the middle of town. That’s all.’

  ‘That isn’t how it looks from where I’m standing. Come on, Lin, don’t be so coy; you can tell me,’ purred Charlotte conspiratorially. ‘Harry follows you around like a dog, he can’t take his eyes off you. It’s obvious how much he fancies you. What do you want? A neon sign? Him down on one knee? A nice fat diamond? Is that what you’re holding out for—’ She laughed. ‘Don’t tell me. You’re saving yourself till you’re married?’

  ‘No, don’t be ridiculous,’ said Linda more forcefully, feeling her face colour under Charlotte’s scrutiny. ‘I mean, I like Harry, but not like that.’ She nodded towards the little pots on the dressing table. ‘I’d go with the blue if I were you, the purple looks like a bruise.’

  ‘Oh bugger the eye shadow. Harry really likes you, you know. And he’s not that bad: own flat, own car, and his dad’s got his own business – you could do a lot, lot worse,’ whispered Charlotte. ‘I’d be in there if I were you.’

  ‘Stop it,’ hissed Linda. ‘He’ll hear you.’

  Right on cue Harry shouted through the door, ‘We need to be leaving in about fifteen minutes if you want to be there by half past. I’ll need to find somewhere to park.’

  Charlotte glanced at her watch. ‘Oh come on, don’t be such an old woman. I reckon if we leave in half an hour we’ll have plenty of time. Why don’t you come in?’ She gave Linda a sly wink. ‘Keep us company. Help Linda fill in these entry forms.’

  A split second later Harry peered around the door, grinning like a loon, his expression a subtle mixture of nervousness and expectation. ‘Hi, how’s it going in here?’ he said. ‘You all ready, are you?’

  Charlotte gave him the full benefit of her come and get me smile while peering up at him sexily from under her long sooty black lashes. ‘Why don’t you judge for yourself,’ she purred. ‘What do you think?’ She batted her lashes like a professional.

  Harry reddened. ‘Lovely,’ he stammered. ‘You both look amazing.’

  Linda groaned. Both of them were still in their dressing gowns. In Charlotte’s case a skimpy bright red silky number that left very little to the imagination and in Linda’s a long tartan one she had bought from a charity shop on the walk home from work when she realised that she couldn’t wander about in her nightie with Harry around. As it was he still blushed bright crimson as soon as she opened her bedroom door in the mornings, and he’d been so kind to her that she didn’t want to cause him any more problems than she already had.

  ‘I’m glad that we meet with your approval,’ Charlotte purred, picking up a sheath of papers from the dressing table. ‘Got a pen?’

  Linda knew from experience that Harry was the kind of young man who always had a pen. He tapped the top pocket of his jacket. ‘Here we are. What colour do you want?’

  Charlotte waved the words away. ‘We don’t mind what colour, we’re really busy. We were hoping you’d fill in our entry forms for us, weren’t we, Lin?’

  Linda looked up at him and smiled warmly. Harry’s father, Linda’s boss, had given her and Harry the afternoon off for all this. Harry reddened and he hastily turned his attention to the papers he’d been given. ‘So what’s all this then?’

  ‘We were supposed to fill them in when we went for the auditions,’ said Charlotte, her gaze wandering back to her own reflection as she set about finishing off her makeup. ‘But we didn’t, because my dad just signed us in, but we really need all that stuff done for tonight. Can you do it?’

  She patted her nose with a powder puff and then sat back, turning her head left and right to admire the results. ‘What do you think? Perfect or what?’

  Meanwhile Harry’s eyes were moving down the page. He glanced up at Linda and frowned. She smiled encouragingly. ‘How about you read out the questions and we’ll answer them?’ she said. ‘I mean it’s not like it’s an exam or anything.’

  Harry nodded. ‘Okay. Fair enough.’

  At the dressing table Charlotte was adding a great gash of bright orange lipstick. ‘Uhuh and we better get a move on or we’ll be late. How old are you, Harry?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well whoever signs those has got to be over twenty-one.’

  ‘I’m twenty two, nearly twenty three,’ said Harry.

  ‘That’s okay then. So what’s the first question?’

  ‘Name of act?’

  ‘Wild Birds,’ said Charlotte with a grin. ‘Wild by name and wild by nature, eh Linda?’

&nb
sp; This time it was Linda who blushed.

  Harry dutifully wrote it in. ‘And the type of act?’

  ‘We’re singers,’ said Linda.

  ‘Female vocalists,’ corrected Charlotte. ‘And we’re really good. I mean you’ve heard us, haven’t you Harry? We’re bloody brilliant.’

  Harry laughed and then bit down thoughtfully on the end of his biro; there was obviously no section set aside for boasting.

  ‘They want to know what kind of material you do – you know, like what sort of songs you sing?’ said Harry, still reading.

  ‘Carly Simon, Roberta Flack, Abba.’

  ‘Simon and Garfunkel,’ added Linda.

  ‘Uhuh okay,’ he said, while still writing, ‘And your names—’

  ‘Wait,’ snapped Charlotte, holding up her hand to stop him. ‘Before you write anything down. Let me think about that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Linda, ‘What is there to think about?’ She turned back to Harry. ‘Linda Heel and Charlotte Johnson.’

  ‘Just hang on a minute,’ said Charlotte before Harry had a chance to start. ‘This is our big chance, our big moment. We could get spotted tonight, Lin. Do you want to be plain old Linda Heel for the rest of your life? Good old down-at–the-heel?’

  Linda felt a tiny residual prickle of pain and indignation at an old playground insult.

  ‘Well do you?’ repeated Charlotte more forcefully. ‘Because I sure as hell know I don’t. I don’t want to be Johnny Johnson’s little Charlie, the girl who should have been a boy, Daddy’s little girl, forever. I want to be somebody, not just Charlotte Johnson. Linda Heel and Charlotte Johnson. It makes us sound so ordinary. And we’re not—’ She struck a pose and then grinned. ‘Well at least, I’m not. How about Katy Monroe and Lydia Hepburn?’

  Linda laughed, but Harry didn’t, instead he nodded. ‘You know, that’s not such a bad idea; you should really have a stage name. Katy Monroe, that sounds lovely.’ To her surprise Linda felt a tiny stab of envy. ‘I’m not so sure about Lydia Hepburn though,’ he continued. ‘How about Hemmingway? Lydia Hemmingway, that sounds really classy.’