Family Fan Club
Page 10
“Charmed, I’m sure,” said Mum. “When is it on?”
“Tuesday.”
“I suppose we’ll have to watch.” Mum said it grudgingly – but she said it. Jazz flashed a victorious glance at Laurel. Getting there!
At school, suddenly, they were famous again. They had been famous when Mum was in Icing, but that had been almost a year ago and Mum hadn’t done a great deal of telly since then. It was nice to be famous, thought Jazz. She enjoyed it when people came up to her – even members of staff! – and said, “Is that your dad on the cover of Radio Times?” One day it was going to be her! But for the moment she was quite happy to bask in Dad’s reflected glory.
“Now we know why he’s never at home,” said Laurel. “He’s obviously been on location.”
“I said he was off filming!” exulted Jazz.
On Tuesday evening they all gathered round the television, even Rose, who usually claimed she had better things to do.
“I feel all shivery,” said Daisy. “I’m scared in case he forgets his lines!”
Nobody scoffed and pointed out that it was all on film. They were feeling a bit shivery themselves, wanting so much for Dad to be good.
“It all depends how they edit it,” worried Jazz, “and whether he gets any close-ups.”
“Sh!” said Rose. “It’s starting!”
The opening credits showed Dad and the other members of Green Force going through their paces – an elite squad who travelled the world in pursuit of eco criminals. The first episode was about the dumping of toxic waste, which pleased serious-minded Rose.
“I’m glad he’s doing something sensible.”
“Not like my piece of frivolity,” said Mum.
Laurel poked Rose in the ribs and frowned at her. Rose squirmed.
“I was only s—”
“Quiet!” roared Jazz.
After the first few minutes, they all started to relax. By the end, they were so absorbed in the story they had almost forgotten it was Dad they were watching.
“Was he all right?” Daisy turned anxiously to Mum for reassurance, but it was Jazz who answered.
“He was brilliant! And loads of close-ups. The camera really loves him! Not even she” – she jerked her thumb at Rose – “can say it was tokenism.”
“N–no. It may have started off that way,” said Rose. “Someone high up probably said they ought to have at least one person from an ethnic minority. But at least it was a proper part.”
“Proper part?” Laurel said it indignantly. “It was one of the leads! And where’s Mum gone?”
“She just suddenly went,” said Daisy.
Jazz and Laurel looked at each other.
“I hope she’s not feeling left out.”
“Why should she feel left out?”
“Well, because of Dad suddenly being a big star.”
“But Mum’s been a big star!”
“Not in anything as big as Green Force.”
“No.” Laurel bit her lip. “But Mum’s always said she puts family before stardom!”
“Daisy, go and see where she is,” said Jazz.
Daisy went off, coming back with the news that Mum was “Upstairs in her bedroom … I think she’s crying.”
“Crying?”
“That’s w–what it sounded like.”
“Go and find out why!”
Daisy, ever obedient, trotted off again.
“Well?” said Jazz, when she trotted back.
“All she said was, That stupid man and Why do I still love the b—” Daisy clapped a hand to her mouth. “I’m not allowed to say that word!”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Jazz. “You’ve told us what we want to know. She does still love him!”
“But if she loves him,” said Daisy, “why does she call him that word I’m not allowed to say?”
“’cos she’s mad at him.”
“But she still loves him?”
“Yes! Which means,” said Jazz, “that it’s up to us to do something about it. Let’s have a consultation!”
Mum came down just as they had finished consulting.
“What’s going on?” she said. “Why are you all looking so guilty?”
“We’re planning a coup,” said Rose.
“And I’m going up to the attic to put it into operation,” said Jazz.
Jazz sat, hunched over the ancient typewriter, doing her best to type without making any mistakes. She was typing the letter they had agreed on.
Dear Mr Jones,
We have just witnessed your ace performance in Green Force.
As a result of this, we have formed an official fan club.
We would be very pleased if you would attend a reception in your honour this coming Saturday at 6 o’clock at the above address. (If you are not away filming, that is.)
Please respond!
With love from the
T.J. Jones Family Fan Club.
They sent the letter by first class post the following day, to Dad’s flat. Jazz had steeled herself for disappointment – “He might not be here,” she warned Daisy – but on Thursday evening the telephone rang. Jazz led the charge out into the hall. The others hovered at her elbow.
“Hi, there! This is T.J. Jones,” said Dad’s voice. “Responding as requested.”
“Dad! Are you going to come?”
At the other end of the line, Jazz could hear Dad hesitate.
“Baby, you sure about this?” he said.
“Yes! We had a consultation. You’ve got to come!”
“But what about your mum?”
“We’ll handle Mum. Dad, please! Be brave!”
It seemed silly telling Dad to be brave, when just yesterday evening they had watched him tackling hardened criminals without turning so much as a hair. But Dad laughed, rather ruefully, and said, “Well, just make sure there aren’t any rolling pins or saucepans lying about.”
Jazz promised that they would. On Saturday evening, Laurel said to Mum, “We’ve got a surprise planned! You’ve got to dress up for it. So would you please go and put on something nice?”
“Why?” said Mum. “What’s going on?”
“You’ll find out,” said Laurel. “It’s a surprise!”
“Will I like it?”
There was a pause.
“We’re hoping that you will,” said Jazz.
The last few minutes, as they waited for Dad to arrive, were filled with apprehension. Mum sat sipping a Martini and looking grim and tense, as if she suspected. Daisy was glued to the window.
“I know what you’re up to,” said Mum. “I know you mean it for the best. But—”
At that moment, Daisy went spinning out into the hall, and the doorbell rang.
“You stay there,” Laurel told Mum.
“Remember what we planned,” hissed Jazz.
They had agreed that the minute Dad walked through the door, they would push him into the sitting room with Mum and leave the two of them together.
“No huggy-huggy kissy-kissy smoochy stuff … he goes straight in.”
Dad seemed a bit alarmed to be bundled so unceremoniously into the sitting room. You would never have thought this was the man who had single-handedly fought against some of the most vicious criminals on earth. He looked, thought Jazz, trying not to giggle, more like Daniel being thrown into the lions’ den …
“It’s all right,” she assured him. “We’ve locked all the saucepans away!”
Laurel slammed the sitting room door, grabbed hold of Daisy, and they all four went stampeding up the stairs and into Laurel’s bedroom.
“How long shall we give them?” said Rose.
“Mm … half an hour?”
“Unless they start yelling.”
If Mum and Dad started yelling, they would know that they had failed.
They sat on Laurel’s bed, ears strained for the slightest sound. Half an hour had never passed so slowly, not even in a maths class. Laurel had set her alarm clock, and when it finall
y went off it frightened them almost out of their skins.
“That’s it!” said Jazz. “Let’s go!”
They crept downstairs and tiptoed up to the sitting room door. Silence! Laurel opened the door, just a crack.
“Can we come in?”
Mum and Dad sprang apart, like two naughty children.
“My fan club!” said Dad.
Mum went to sit demurely on the sofa, doing her best to appear composed.
“You’ll be glad to know,” she said, “that your sneaky little plan has borne fruit. We’ve decided—” she smiled up at Dad – “to give it another go.”
“Hooray!” Daisy clapped her hands and spun round in a circle.
“I thought you’d be pleased,” said Mum. “They’ve been such miseries, I can’t tell you! Talk about making a person feel guilty.”
“Would you like us to go away again?” said Rose. “So that you can have a sort of second honeymoon?”
“Heaven forbid!” cried Mum. “The first one was bad enough!”
The four of them took up the story. It was one they had heard many times before.
“You didn’t have any money—”
“So you decided to go camping.”
“And Dad borrowed a tent—”
“Only it turned out to be an army bivouac.”
“It was only meant for one person!”
“And it poured with rain the entire week.”
“And every time one of you breathed, you touched the sides—”
“And all the rain came in!”
“And when you woke up, you were soaking.”
“And guess who got the blame?” said Dad.
“You did!”
“Well, start as you mean to go on,” said Mum. “Jazz, go and get some glasses. It’s time for a toast! Your dad’s brought a bottle of champagne.”
“Can we all have some?” said Daisy.
“Yes! All of you!”
“Even me?” said Laurel.
“Well, if you can manage not to get roaring drunk,” said Mum. She turned to Dad. “Do you know what this daughter of yours did? I took her to Rufus’s party and—”
Laurel fled to the kitchen. “She’s telling on me!” she wailed.
“That’s good,” said Jazz. “That’s a good sign!”
Mum wanted to know what they should drink to.
“Someone propose a toast!”
It was Daisy who came up with the suggestion of happy families. Solemnly, they raised their glasses.
“Happy families!”
And also, Jazz couldn’t help silently adding, “To drama school!”
She didn’t mean to be selfish, but now that Dad was on telly …
“Before we go any further,” said Dad. He pulled out his wallet and took out a sheet of paper. “I have a check list. I made a note, back at Christmas … let’s see! One kitten, one computer, one new wardrobe, and one drama course. I can’t quite remember who wanted what … who’s the boldest? Daisy! You must have been the drama course.”
“No!” squealed Daisy, taking him seriously. “I was the kitten!”
“Were you, now? So who’s the budding actress? Rose, was it you? Laurel, was it you? It can’t have been Jazz! She’s far too shy and retiring.”
“Just like her dad,” muttered Mum.
“Just like her mum,” retorted Dad.
Jazz looked at Laurel: they grinned. Back on line!
“Mum, you’re not shy,” said Daisy.
“Well—” Mum shot Dad a little glance. “Only sometimes!”
“Jazz isn’t ever,” said Daisy. “That’s why she’s going to be a star.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Dad. He raised his glass, smiling at Jazz over the top of it. “To stardom!”
“To stardom,” echoed Mum.
Help, thought Jazz, feeling her cheeks fire up.
“Look, look, she’s turned all red!” gloated Laurel.
Jazz went into a mock swoon.
“It must be the drink,” Jazz said. “It’s gone to my head. You ought to know about that,” she added to Laurel getting her own back.
“Girls, girls,” said Mum. She held up her glass. Here’s to happy families!”
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The Tutti-Frutti Collection
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Copyright
HarperCollins Children’s Books
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This edition published 2004
Text copyright © Jean Ure 2000
Illustrations copyright © Karen Donnelly 2004
Cover illustrations by Nicola Slater
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