Me Suzy P

by Karen Saunders

  The boys carry on chatting, completely oblivious.

  “See? Told you. Nothing,” Millie says. “His name’s Zach. He moved here from Cornwall and has the sexiest arms I’ve ever seen. I think he’s so buff from all the surfing. He’s in my maths set and even makes algebra appealing. I could literally watch him all day and not get bored.”

  “You’re unbelievable,” I say, giggling.

  “Hey.” Jamie turns abruptly. His forehead crinkles in bewilderment as we stare at him guiltily. “Mills, did you just say something about a somersaulting donkey? What are you going on about now?”

  Danny catches my eye, and we both start grinning.

  So what if I’ve never felt anything for him like I just felt for Zach? It doesn’t matter, because it’s not as if it means anything.

  I don’t think so, anyway. Does it?

  CHAPTER TWO

  one of life’s most irritating mysteries is the reason why, every weekday, without fail, I’m knackered when I have to get up for school, but at the same time on a weekend, with all the hours in the world for zeds, I wake up at silly o’clock.

  It’s Saturday. I should be asleep.

  I want to be asleep.

  Snuggling deeper into my cosy nest of pillows and duvet, I try and distract myself with nice, comforting thoughts to send me back to Dreamsville. Thoughts like, my hair has turned sleek and straight overnight. I’ve got backstage passes to meet my all-time favourite band, The Drifting. Amber’s decided I don’t have to be a bridesmaid… All I’m going to do right now is sleep, sleep, sle—

  “Hehehehe!”

  Eh? What’s that noise?

  It’ll go away.

  I’m probably hearing things.

  Ah, blissful, lovely sleep, come to me…

  I’m finally dropping off when I hear it again.

  “Hehehehe!”

  Slowly my brain begins to creak into action as I start to figure out what’s going on.

  “Hehehehe!”

  And then I sit bolt upright, because I’ve worked it out.

  Harry. My seven-year-old sister, and more irritating than itching powder in your pants. Harry specialises in appalling practical jokes and to say she’s annoying would be the understatement of the century. I’ve often wondered if I might be adopted, because I have no idea how my sisters and I come from the same gene pool.

  Although I can’t actually see anything suspicious, the curtains are still closed and it’s pretty dark in here. I flick on the bedside lamp, remembering some of the hideous things Harry’s done in the past, like the time she put slime from the pond in a tray by the side of my bed, so when I got up, my feet hit slippery goo and I completely freaked out.

  Or the Monday she set my alarm clock two hours fast. I was halfway to school before I figured out what was going on.

  Or the morning she hid a frog in my bed…

  So the question is, what’s Harry done now?

  “Hehehehe!”

  I gingerly lift the duvet and peep underneath. No amphibians in sight, but she’s definitely up to something.

  “Harry? I know that’s you. I’m not falling for any of your dumb tricks, so get lost,” I shout.

  The giggle gets louder.

  “Ugh, you need putting down,” I say, clambering out of bed and flinging open the door. Before I know it, a cascade of cold water and ice cubes lands on my head as a Tupperware tub bounces onto the floor.

  “YEEEEEEEEEWWWW!” I scream.

  Harry appears on the landing and collapses in hysterics onto the carpet. “I got you, I got you. That was the funniest thing ever!”

  My mind speedily rewinds a couple of seconds. The door was ajar. And I always, without fail, sleep with my bedroom door firmly closed, to keep the poison dwarf out. I can’t believe I’ve fallen for the ‘water on top of the door’ scam. It’s the oldest trick in the book, and I’m soaking. Not to mention freezing cold.

  I scrape my hair back from where it’s clinging to my face in soggy rat tails, before peeling my now obscenely see-through pyjama top away from my body.

  “I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You,” I tell her, my teeth chattering.

  I must look pretty terrifying, because Harry scrambles to her feet and backs away. “It was just a joke.”

  “Do I look like I’m laughing?”

  “Dad,” Harry yells, dodging my outstretched hand. “Suzy’s picking on me.”

  “Suzy, stop teasing your sister,” I hear Dad shout.

  What the…? How unfair is this?

  “I’m so getting you back,” I say darkly, as Dad bounds up the stairs.

  I clamp one hand across my chest to cover myself before Harry and I start speaking at once.

  “Dad, look what she did…”

  “It was just a joke, Dad…” Harry’s the very picture of innocence.

  Dad’s mouth twitches at the corners. Harry is Dad’s favourite, and he’s not ashamed who knows it. He always felt outnumbered living with Mum, Amber and me, so when Mum got pregnant for the third time, he was convinced he’d finally be blessed with a boy. Apparently when the midwife announced, “It’s a beautiful girl,” he cried louder than Harry did. Unable to tolerate another female in the house, Dad decided to treat the new baby like an honorary son (hence why she’s Harry, rather than Harriet).

  Of course, Dad isn’t the only man in the house since Mark moved in while he and Amber save up for a place, but as Mark doesn’t like football, monster trucks or beer (he prefers bird watching, musicals and gin and tonic), Dad feels Mark might as well be another woman.

  Harry grins winningly at Dad and he bursts out laughing.

  “It’s only a bit of water, Suze,” Dad says. “Go and get yourself dried off. As for you, monkey child, come and get a towel to clean up that carpet.” Dad slings his arm around Harry’s shoulders. I hear him chuckling as they clatter downstairs. “Now, what are we going to do today while the womenfolk are out shopping?”

  The favouritism in this house is totally unfair. Harry always gets special treatment. She’s even managed to weasel out of being a bridesmaid. When Mum and Amber told her she’d have to wear a dress, she lay on the kitchen floor and screamed with fury.

  And then screamed again.

  And then she screamed a bit more, just for good measure.

  Harry was blue when they eventually gave in. I tried the same tactic, but Mum told me to stop being childish as I was being a bridesmaid (the only bridesmaid, at that) whether I liked it or not.

  If you ask me, it’s blatant discrimination. I should probably sue.

  “No, no, no,” Mum says loudly, emerging from Harry’s room, a handful of dirty clothes in one hand, the phone clamped to her ear with the other.

  “What’s all the shouting for?” Amber peers out from behind her bedroom door, yawning widely. Her long brown hair’s tousled and her big blue eyes seem confused.

  “I don’t want to cancel the appointment,” Mum explains, sounding exasperated and pretending to bash her head against the wall. “I want to make it an hour later, that’s all. Something’s come up. It’s booked in the name of Puttock, we’re coming to try on some bridesmaid’s dresses. Yes, Puttock, with a P… a P!”

  “You look weird,” Amber says to me, blinking as her forehead creases. Her brain’s probably unused to so much activity this early in the morning and is feeling the strain.

  Mum pulls a frustrated face as the woman in the bridal department still seems to be having difficulties, then covers the mouthpiece. “Suzy, what have you been up to? Your pyjamas are transparent. And what on earth is going on with your hair? You look like the wild woman of Borneo.”

  Well, that’s just charming. I open my mouth for a sarky retort, but Mum gets in first.

  “Go and get changed, we’re going soon. And stop dripping everywhere, you’ll ruin the carpet.”

  “Oh right,” Amber says, snapping her fingers. “You’re all wet. Did you shower with your clothes on? Why would you do that? Were you in a rush or somethin
g?”

  “Aaaaargh,” I yell, stamping back into my room and slamming my door so loudly that the Drifting poster over my bed falls down. What did I do to get lumbered with a family this nuts? It must have been something really, really bad. I raise my gaze heavenwards and offer silent apologies to anyone up there who I might possibly have offended. But clearly my plea for forgiveness isn’t heard, because a few moments later there’s a knock on my door.

  “What?” I’m balancing on my pillows, trying to stick the poster back up and make sure it’s straight. Once it’s in place, I give it a fond stroke. I love, love, love this band. Their music is the best.

  Mum sticks her head inside. “Are you nearly ready?”

  “Funnily enough, no. In the two seconds since you last saw me, I’ve not dried off. I’m drenched, thanks to that mutant halfwit you insist is my sister. You should have sold her at birth,” I reply, jumping off the bed to grab a towel before dabbing at my head. The merest whiff of moisture and my curls take a turn for the mental, so today is set to be a seriously bad hair day.

  “Why are we leaving so soon, anyway?” I ask grumpily. “Didn’t I hear you move our appointment back?”

  “Er, we’ll be taking a little detour,” Mum says, sheepishly.

  “A detour? Where?” I squeeze a new serum into my hand. Maybe this will be the one to tame the untameable. I stare hopefully into the mirror, but as I start smoothing it in, it’s quickly apparent it’s not to be. How disappointing. I add it to the pile of failed bottles in the corner of my room and wrestle my hair into a ponytail with a sigh.

  “I was speaking to Aunty Lou yesterday, and she mentioned she’d really like to come with us,” Mum explains. “We’re going via the home to collect her.”

  Oh no. Not Great Aunt Loon.

  Great Aunt Loon is proper bonkers, with the kind of selective deafness that can drive a person insane. She’s tiny and gives the appearance of a fragile old lady, but that shouldn’t fool you. More spiteful than a snake with a toothache, her hobbies probably include sacrificing kittens and eating newborns. Unfortunately, as Aunt Lou’s practically the only relative left in Mum’s family (I suspect the Loon sold her soul to the devil in return for immortality), we’re stuck with the old bat.

  “Come on, Suzy,” Mum says, when she sees my dismayed face. “She’s not that bad, although I appreciate she can be a little… er…”

  “Evil? Vindictive? Poisonous?”

  “Difficult,” Mum continues, pretending not to hear, “but this is a special occasion for Amber so I’m sure she’ll behave. Everyone loves a wedding. Now, get yourself changed, so we can go and find you a dress.”

  “Yeah, Mum, about that. Does it have to be lime green? Seriously?”

  “I know it’s not the most flattering colour in the world…” Mum begins.

  “It’s disgusting,” I say flatly. “Who has lime green as the theme for their wedding anyway?”

  “Well, you know she wants what Conni G had,” Mum says, “and if it’s what she’s set her heart on, Suzy, couldn’t you just wear the dress? It’s only for one day.”

  “One day where I’ll be photographed a billion times. The pictures will haunt me for the rest of my life. Please can’t you talk to her? Try and make her see sense? Just think about it. What if she wants your Mother of the Bride outfit to match as well?”

  Mum goes pale. Hah! I guess she hadn’t thought about that possibility.

  “Maybe you’re right. I’ll see what I can do,” Mum says. She walks over and wraps me in a squashy embrace. “Ugh, you’re still all clammy. Finish getting ready and then we can go. It’s going to be a lovely day, us girls together. You’ll see.”

  What an absolute porker! And from my own mother, too. I squeeze her back, then quickly leap away, just in case she gets struck down by lightning for her fibbing. I don’t want to be anywhere near if that happens. My hair’s insane enough already without a zillion volts of electricity helping it along.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Young lady, would you slow down?” Aunty Lou bellows in my ear, gripping my arm with the strength of a vice. “I’m eighty-six. Have some consideration.”

  I somehow manage to refrain from pointing out that if I slow down any more we’ll be walking backwards. It’s taken ten minutes just to get across the car park and we’re still nowhere near the inside of the department store, where Mum and Amber will be waiting impatiently in front of the escalators.

  I can’t believe I had to turn down shopping with Millie for this.

  Mum fake smiles as we approach, and starts to speak v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y and LOUDLY, enunciating every word. “All right there, Aunty Lou? We’re going up to the bridal floor now.”

  “I’m never going to manage those stairs,” Aunty Lou says, waving her walking stick and nearly decapitating a nearby toddler. His mother glowers in our direction as we all pretend not to have noticed.

  “It’s fine, there’s a lift,” Mum says.

  “My hips? Yes, they’re awful. They’re thinking about surgery, you know, but they operated on Glynis Jones two weeks ago and she never woke up.”

  “No, there’s a LIFT!” Mum shouts.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so? Come on, hurry up. I need to be back at three for my bingo.”

  Mum looks like she wants to grab Aunt Lou’s walking stick and poke it in a very rude place. I can hear her teeth grinding.

  When we eventually make it to the lift, disaster occurs on a catatonic scale. The flipping thing is out of use. It seems that the store is reorganising their stock in a major way, and they need the lift to move clothes around. And of course the bridal section is right at the top of the five-storey shop. As we slowly make our way up the escalators, I decide even climbing Everest can’t be this challenging. But I suppose Edmund Hillary had the sense not to take any geriatric relatives with him.

  Good Lordy, I’m knackered. Who knew that manoeuvring wrinklies was such hard work?

  When we finally make it to the top floor, we appear to have arrived in a parallel universe – a universe where a small child has run amok with glitter, lace and frills. In front of me there’s a sea of white froth, silvery tiaras and bridesmaids’ dresses in every pastel colour imaginable.

  It’s like a Barbie factory spewed up in here.

  I want to go home.

  Now.

  But that’s not going to happen any time soon, given the way Amber’s staring around in delight, making guinea-pig squeaks of excitement and clapping her hands. But then a place like this is heaven to Amber, who’s a twenty-two-year-old die-hard romantic.

  She got engaged to Mark on their fortnight anniversary. Yes, that’s right, after fourteen whole days. There are cyclones that move slower than these two. The best bit is that she only found out his last name after they’d got engaged. It’s Mycock. I laughed for a week once I heard, because only Amber could have found the one person in the world with a surname worse than Puttock. But she doesn’t care, because she’s so vomitously in love with her hubby-to-be.

  “Oooh, they’ve got new ring cushions in,” Amber says, picking up the most revolting satin and gold monstrosity with the words Love and Cherish Forever embroidered on it. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  Aunty Lou scowls, grabs the cushion and shoves it under her bum as she collapses into a chair, muttering something disturbing about piles.

  “Hello there. Can I help you?” A lady with radioactive orange foundation and bright pink lipstick is bearing down on us.

  “Yes,” says Mum. “We have an appointment at eleven. We’re here to find a bridesmaid’s dress for my daughter.”

  “Lovely, lovely.” The woman beams. “Could you confirm the surname for me please?”

  “Puttock,” Mum replies.

  The woman gives a snort, which she hastily turns into a cough when she sees three stony faces glaring at her, and consults her book. “Ahem. Right, here you are. If you’d like to follow me…” She spins around on unfeasibly high heels and sets off at
a click-clack trot across the floor.

  “Don’t forget your aunt,” Mum hisses at me over her shoulder.

  Why is she my responsibility all of a sudden? It’s not even as if she’s particularly portable, like a lip balm or something.

  “Come on, Aunty Lou.” I offer my arm.

  Aunty Lou glares. “What?”

  “We’re going to see the dresses,” I explain.

  “The what?”

  “The dresses!”

  “But I’ve only just sat down,” Aunty Lou moans.

  I pretend not to have heard and heft her onto her feet. We shuffle towards Mum and Amber – Aunty Lou grumbling every slow, painful step of the way.

  As we get nearer, I hear what the startled shop assistant is saying. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand. You do know what colour lime green is?”

  “Yes,” Amber says, beaming.

  “And you want a bridesmaid’s dress in that colour?”

  “Yes,” confirms Amber.

  “In satin? You realise how shiny that is?”

  “Yes.” Amber nods.

  The shop assistant gulps and shoots me a sympathetic glance. “Um, I see. How very… unusual. I’ll just go and have a chat to my colleague about what we could do for you.”

  “Mum,” I say, meaningfully.

  “Hang on just a minute,” Mum says to the shop assistant. “Amber, are you sure lime green is the colour you want? It’s very… um… lurid. And perhaps not the easiest for Suzy to wear.”

  “Mum, it’s the theme,” Amber says, pouting. “Lime green. You know that. Suzy’s dress has got to match.”

  “But have you seen this?” Mum says, and in a rare stroke of brilliance produces a celebrity magazine from her bag. She flips through the pages and stops at Conni G’s What’s Hot/What’s Not list. How Conni got a column in a magazine when it’s doubtful she’s even literate is baffling.

  “Look at the What’s Not list,” Mum says.

  Amber reads the page painfully slowly, mouthing the words and twizzling a strand of hair around her finger. Then she gasps in horror.