by Jean Ure
“Mum, no problem!”
They hastened to reassure her. After all, thirty, forty, thought Jazz; where’s the difference?
“You can get away with it!”
“You’d pass for thirty any day!”
“You really think so?” said Mum.
“Absolutely!”
“You still look really young,” said Jazz.
“Well, one can but try. I shall wear my wig,” said Mum.
“You’ve got a new one?” gasped Laurel.
“My honey brown one,” said Mum.
“Oh.”
Laurel shut up after that. Jazz could guess what she was thinking: if Mum doesn’t get the part, it will be all my fault for ruining her wig …
It would, too!
But the next day when they came in, the beam on Mum’s face stretched from ear to ear.
“I got it! They didn’t bat an eyelid. I thought they’d all pull faces and think, who’s this old bag? But they offered it to me on the spot!” Mum giggled, happily. Jazz couldn’t decide which pleased her more, being taken for a thirty year old or being offered a part.
“What is it? Who are you playing?”
“She’s a high-powered executive. Her name’s Amanda Lovejoy. It’s two weeks’ work, starting from next Thursday. If I decide to take it.”
“If?”
“We need the money!” said Rose.
“Yes, I know we do. But it would mean I’d be out all day filming and then all evening at the theatre. I’d hardly ever see you!”
Daisy’s lips quivered. Quickly, before she could go and ruin it all, Jazz cried, “We’ll be all right! We can manage. You can’t not do it, Mum! It’s your career!”
“But I’m not sure whether you can be trusted by yourselves,” said Mum. She looked rather hard at Laurel as she said it. Laurel had had the hugest of hangovers after the party. She had felt so ill it had frightened her. She had confessed to Mum that she had drunk “just a tiny little sip” of champagne, though later she had admitted to Jazz that she’d had four glasses.
“It tasted so lovely! It was all bubbly.”
She had added, however, that she didn’t think she would be drinking it again.
“If I go ahead,” said Mum, “can I have your solemn sacred word that you will all behave yourselves?”
They promised that they would.
“And you’ll look after Daisy for me?”
“Of course we will!” said Jazz. They would never let any harm come to Daisy.
“All right, then,” said Mum. “I’ll do it!”
Would the part of Amanda Lovejoy bring in enough money for just two days a week at drama school? Jazz couldn’t help wondering, but thought perhaps it wasn’t quite the right time to ask. Best to wait until Mum had been paid!
“My God, what are you wearing?” screeched Jazz.
It was Saturday evening, and Laurel had appeared at the top of the stairs, a vision in scarlet.
“That’s Mum’s dress!” She was wearing Mum’s dress. Just to go out with mouldy old Simon!
“I know,” said Laurel. “I’ve borrowed it.”
She stepped down in a stately manner and gave a little twirl. Rose and Daisy came running out to see.
“What have you done to it?” gasped Rose.
“Nothing very much. Only tacked up the hem. It’ll easily untack again. And I’ve used safety pins for taking it in. They don’t show, do they?”
Bemused, Jazz shook her head.
“I told you I wouldn’t be seen dead in anything I’ve got.”
“You’re wearing Mum’s earrings, as well!” said Daisy.
“Yes.” Laurel put up a hand and flicked at them. “They’re nice, aren’t they? All sparkly.”
“But how have you fixed them?” said Jazz. “Your ears aren’t pierced!”
“I’ve fixed them with wire. You can’t see ’cos I’ve curled my hair over.”
Jazz swallowed. Laurel hadn’t just curled her hair over, she’d puffed it up like a big froth of candy floss. She had also plastered her face with make-up. All this for smarmy Simon!
“You’d better be home on time,” said Rose. “You know the rules!”
Laurel smiled, a sweet sickly smile. “Simon will bring me home. He’s got his dad’s car. Oh, and there he is!” she cried, as a car horn tooted. “See you later!”
Really, thought Jazz, Laurel had become horridly slurpy just lately. If this was what having a boyfriend did to you, then she was glad she didn’t have one. She didn’t count Theo, even though he had rung her up several times and taken her out once – to the Theatre Museum in Covent Garden, with free tickets. But Theo wasn’t a boyfriend: he was just a friend. And that was the way Jazz meant to keep it. She didn’t have room in her life for slurpiness.
They stood watching at the window as Laurel went wobbling down the path to the front gate. Jazz saw that she was wearing high heels. Mum’s high heels. No wonder she was wobbling! They were the gold strappy sandals Mum kept for special occasions. The heels were like long spikes, about three inches tall. If she’s not careful, she’ll break her ankle, thought Jazz. Laurel really had become quite impossible!
As they watched, smarmy Simon stepped out of the car and came round, with a flourish, to open the passenger door. Creep! thought Jazz. He was, she supposed, quite handsome in a nerdy sort of way. If you went for that sort of thing. All long and bendy with a beaky nose that made him look like a startled parrot, and black hair scragged back into a soppy little scrawny pony tail, and—
At that moment, Simon turned and smiled and waved a languid hand, and in spite of herself, Jazz had to gulp and swallow. It was a good thing she wasn’t as easily impressed as her sister! Laurel probably saw the slimeball as being tall and slim and aristocratic-looking. Like an eagle, or a Roman emperor. She probably thought it romantic to have black hair tied in a ponytail. It probably gave her the flutters when he spoke in that slow, drawling voice of his. There was no accounting for taste.
As Laurel stepped into the car, Simon bent and dropped a light kiss on her forehead.
“Ugh! Yuck!” said Daisy. “He kissed her!”
It was too disgusting, thought Jazz. Laurel had only been out with him a couple of times.
“What does she see in him?” wailed Daisy.
“She thinks he’s tall, dark and handsome,” said Jazz.
“And posh,” said Rose.
“And posh,” agreed Jazz.
“She finds him attractive. Ugh! Yuck! Throw up!” said Rose.
Jazz sighed. “She thinks he’s sophisticated.”
“Just because he’s older than she is!”
“How old?” said Daisy.
“Well, he’s at uni,” said Jazz, “so he must be at least eighteen.”
“Daisy’s eyes widened. “That’s old.”
“That’s why she likes him.”
There was a silence.
“I suppose she knows what she’s doing,” said Rose.
“I s’pose so,” said Jazz. But in any case, Laurel was the eldest. She wouldn’t take any notice what the rest of them said.
The car drove away. Jazz and Rose went upstairs to their bedrooms, Jazz to practise audition speeches (just in case she was lucky enough ever to have an audition), Rose to write an essay for school. Daisy settled herself in front of the television to watch her favourite video, Lady and the Tramp. She had seen it at least a dozen times, and it always made her cry, but as she said, “It ends happily, so it’s all right.”
At nine o’clock, Jazz came back downstairs in search of something to eat. Practising audition speeches made a person hungry.
“Want anything?” she said to Daisy.
Daisy shook her head. “I can’t find Tink,” she said.
“He’s probably in the garden.”
“He isn’t! I’ve looked. And anyway, it’s raining. He hates the rain!”
“In that case he’ll be hiding somewhere. Cats aren’t stupid,” said Jazz. She helped h
erself to a glass of milk and an apple and wandered through to the sitting room.
“Let’s watch Little Women.”
Daisy obediently sat down on the sofa. Jazz slotted the video in and sat down next to her, with her milk and her apple. Almost immediately, Daisy was up and on her feet, running across to the window.
“What are you doing?” said Jazz.
“I thought I heard him!”
“Look, just stop fussing,” said Jazz. “You know what cats are like.”
“But they shouldn’t be out at night! It’s dark, he’ll get run over!”
“Not if he’s hiding under a hedge, he won’t.”
At ten o’ clock on the dot Rose came charging downstairs.
“She’s not back yet!”
In all the bother of Daisy, fretting herself over the missing Tinkerbell, Jazz hadn’t realised how late it was. Mum would be home in an hour’s time! What was she going to say if Laurel hadn’t turned up?
“Ten o’clock,” said Rose. “That’s her deadline!” She looked at Daisy. “Why have you been crying? I suppose it’s that stupid film!”
“It’s n–not the film.” Daisy sniffled, and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “T–Tink’s not here.”
“Neither’s Laurel,” said Rose. “That’s more to the point! If Mum comes back and finds—”
She broke off as the telephone rang.
“I’ll get it!” Jazz leaped out into the hall and clawed up the receiver. “Hallo?”
“Jazz? It’s me!”
“Laurel. Why aren’t you home yet?”
“He won’t bring me!” Laurel sounded scared. “We’re at this horrid p–party and he won’t l–leave and I th–think people are t–taking drugs. I don’t know what to do! I haven’t any m–money and I d–don’t know how to get home!”
“What is it, what is it?” Rose was jigging impatiently at Jazz’s elbow.
“It’s Laurel,” said Jazz. “Smarmy Simon won’t leave the party and she doesn’t know how to get home.”
“Where is she?”
“Where are you?” said Jazz.
“I d–don’t know!”
“She doesn’t know.”
“She must know!”
“You must know,” said Jazz.
“I don’t! I think it’s somewhere in the c–country.”
“She thinks it’s somewhere in the country,” said Jazz.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Rose snatched at the receiver. “Laurel? Don’t be so useless! Go and ask someone. Get the address!”
Jazz was impressed, in spite of herself. Good old Rose! Dad was right: she was the only adult in the family.
They waited.
“She’s gone to ask someone,” said Rose. “Find a pen!”
Humbly, Jazz did so.
“Write it down … 26 Chestnut Grove, Wimbledon. What’s the telephone number?” Rose relayed it to Jazz, who meekly made a note of it. “Right. Now we’re going to think of something,” said Rose. “You just wait there and we’ll ring you back when we’ve thought.” She put the receiver down and turned to Jazz. “So what are we going to do?” she said.
Jazz took a breath. She was the next oldest, after Laurel. Rose was the youngest, she couldn’t leave it all to Rose.
“We’ve got to get her back before Mum comes in! We promised,” said Rose. “We said we could be trusted!”
They had given their word. And then that wretched Laurel had to go and get all gooey-eyed over a smarm like Simon and end up stuck, at ten o’clock on a Saturday night, in the middle of nowhere. Not that Wimbledon was nowhere, exactly. And it wasn’t the country, either, though maybe it might look like it if the house was on the Common.
“We’ve got to do something!” said Rose.
“I know, I know!” Jazz stamped a foot. “I’m thinking!”
“Well, you’d better think quickly, or—”
“I know,” said Jazz. “I’ll ring Theo!”
Theo was only thirteen, the same age as her, but he was streetwise. He had been around, he had acted on television. He would know what to do.
Jazz picked up the receiver and punched out his number. Please, God, let him be there! Please, God! Let him—
“6428.”
“Theo!” cried Jazz.
“I told you he was a slimeball,” said Theo, when Jazz had explained the situation. “Hang on, I’ll go and talk to Dad.”
Within seconds, he was back.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Dad’ll go and pick her up. What’s the address?”
Jazz read it out to him. “And please,” she begged, “could you ask him not to tell Mum?”
“I’ll tell him he’s not to,” promised Theo.
“Well,” said Rose, “what it is to have friends in high places.”
“Theo’s not in high places,” said Jazz. But she supposed that he was, in a way, having a dad who was a television director. Television directors were a bit like gods. They were the ones who had the power to give you work.
Jazz suddenly turned and scudded back upstairs.
“Where are you going?” yelled Rose.
“Just thought of something!”
What Jazz had just thought was that she had better make sure she was looking her best for when Rufus White turned up. You never knew … he might be in the middle of casting something right now!
From downstairs, as she raced along the landing to her room, she heard the sound of Rose’s voice, somewhat irritable.
“Look, just stop carrying on! He’ll turn up. He always does!”
For a moment, Jazz hesitated. Daisy loved those cats! Well, they all did. But Daisy was the real cat person. It would break her heart if Tink were to have got run over.
Well, he wouldn’t have got run over! He was just on the prowl. Being a cat. Doing his own catty thing. Cats were always going walkabout. Jazz hardened her heart. She had her career to think of!
Ten minutes later, clad in a clean top and a new pair of jeans, she joined Rose in the sitting room.
“Did he say how long it would take?” said Rose.
“Didn’t seem to think it was too far.”
“Mum will go ballistic if she finds out … daring to disturb the great Rufus White!”
“Well, what else could we have done?”
Rose hunched a shoulder. “Could’ve told her to call a minicab, I s’pose.”
“But that would cost the earth!” Jazz certainly wasn’t raiding her drama school fund just to rescue Laurel from the consequences of her own folly. Anyone could have seen that smarmy Simon was a slimeball.
“Where’s Daisy gone?” she said.
“Dunno. Upstairs, probably.”
Jazz heaved a sigh. She went to the foot of the stairs and called up: “Daisy!”
No reply. She tried again, louder, this time. “Day-zee!”
Still no reply. Bother! That meant she was in one of her states. That was all they needed! Mum coming home to find Daisy in a state.
Jazz bounded up the stairs, three at a time, and into Daisy’s room. It was empty.
“Daisy!”
She raced back down and into the kitchen: the kitchen was also empty.
“Dai—”
She stopped. Who had taken the chain off the front door?
“Oh, God!” cried Jazz. “She’s gone!”
“She’s what?” yelled Rose.
“She’s gone!”
“Gone where?” Rose came out into the hall.
“Gone to look for Tink! And it’s pouring with rain!”
“Oh, really,” said Rose, crossly.
“It’s our fault! We should have helped her!”
“Well, what with Laurel,” said Rose.
“Yes, but you know what she’s like. You stay here! I’ll go and see if I can find her.”
Jazz tore out into the rain. “Daisy!” she cried. “Daisy, where are you?”
She ran up the road one way, she ran up the road the other way. The rain lashed d
own; within seconds she was soaked.
“Daisy!” she screamed.
Mum and Dad would never forgive her if anything happened to Daisy. Jazz would never forgive herself! Daisy was fragile; she needed someone to take care of her.
“DaiZEE!”
From out of an alleyway, a small figure emerged: sodden and trembling, clutching a bundle of fur.
“Daisy!” Jazz ran towards her.
“I found him!” Daisy smiled tremulously at Jazz through her tears. “He was in someone’s garden!”
Sheltering from the rain, thought Jazz. He would have come home, in his own good time – but not before Daisy had sobbed herself into a state of exhaustion.
She put an arm round her sister’s shoulders and hurried her back up the road. They arrived at the house at the same moment as Rufus White pulled up in his car, with a subdued Laurel sitting beside him.
“Here you are!” he said. “All safe and sound!”
And Jazz with the rain running in rivulets down her face, and her feet squelching in her shoes …
But who cared about squelchy feet? Who cared about Rufus White? Daisy was the main concern!
“Quick, quick!” Jazz hustled her sister up the path. “Someone run a bath!”
“Why? What’s happened?” Laurel raced after them, tottering perilously on her high heels. “Why are you all wet?”
“They’ve been out in the rain,” said Rose, snatching Tink away from a shivering Daisy. “Looking for this.”
“Without an umbrella?” shrieked Laurel. “Without a raincoat? Without—”
“Daisy – take – your – clothes – off – I’m – going – to – run – a – bath!” cried Jazz, pelting up the stairs.
“Mum’s going to be furious,” said Laurel. “Letting Daisy, of all people—”
“Oh, shut up!” snapped Rose. “You’ve caused enough trouble for one evening!”
They had just the time to bundle Jazz and Daisy’s clothes into the dryer and out again before Mum arrived back. Daisy, fresh from her bath, all warm and pink in her dressing gown and nightie, was happily cuddled on the sofa with Tink.
“What a picture of bliss,” beamed Mum. “All’s well, I take it? No problems while I’ve been away?”