Family Fan Club (6 page)

“
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 down; 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?”

“No problems,” said Jazz.

“One, two, three … where’s number four?”

Number four was upstairs in her bedroom, frantically hiding Mum’s dress and shoes in the recesses of her wardrobe. It wasn’t until they had all retired for the night that she appeared, like a wraith, at the side of Jazz’s bed.

“Now what’s the matter?” said Jazz.

“Something awful.” Laurel’s face crumpled. “I’ve lost one of Mum’s earrings!”

“Where’s laurel?” said Mum. It was eleven o’clock on Sunday morning, and Laurel hadn’t yet put in an appearance. “Why is she still in bed? What’s she been up to?”

“She went to a party,” said Rose. “
With Simon.
”

“Oh,
did
she? I hope she hasn’t been drinking again.”

Daisy giggled.

“It’s not funny,” said Mum. “We’ve all been there, we’ve all done it – but not at fourteen years old, thank you very much!”

“It’s all right,” said Jazz. “She swears she’s never going to touch drink again, ever.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that before,” said Mum.

“I think she means it,” said Jazz. Laurel was in enough trouble as it was. “I’ll go and wake her!”

Jazz galloped up the stairs in her usual fashion and burst unceremoniously into Laurel’s bedroom.

“Wake up, wake up, you lazy slug!”

Laurel ungummed a bleary eye.

“I’ve only just gone to sleep,” she said. “I’ve been awake all night, worrying.” She wriggled into a sitting position, clutching the duvet round her. “How am I going to tell Mum?” she whispered.

“I don’t know.” Jazz regarded her sister with a mixture of exasperation and pity. Laurel had been stupid, no doubt about that. She had brought it all on herself. But then, if you were in the throes of love, thought Jazz, striving to be broad-minded, it probably frazzled your brain.

“Mum’s going to be so mad at me!” wailed Laurel. “They were her favourite earrings!”

“They were the ones Dad bought for her,” said Jazz. “The time he got that film part. When he went to Spain.” Dad had come home loaded with presents for all the family. Mum had scolded him for spending his hard-earned money.

Laurel suddenly brightened.

“Maybe she won’t mind that I’ve lost one!”

“Why? Just because they were from Dad?”

Laurel nodded, happily. “She probably won’t ever want to wear them again. She mightn’t even notice they’ve gone!”

“You must be dreaming,” said Jazz.

“Well, then, she might think she’s gone and lost them herself.”

Jazz sucked in her breath. “That would be the meanest thing ever!”

“What?” Laurel lay back, sullenly, against the pillow. “Not telling her?”

“Yes, ’cos just suppose one day she and Dad make it up and Dad says where are those earrings I got you and Mum goes to look for them and they’re not there … he’d think she’d got rid of them!”

There was a silence.

“D’you really think they’ll ever make it up?” said Laurel.

“Well … they might,” said Jazz.

“But Mum says she doesn’t ever want to see Dad again!”

“People say things like that. They don’t always mean them.”

“Mum does!”

“How do you know? She might just be saying it ’cos she’s hurt.”

“So what am I going to do?” bleated Laurel.

“If you really want my advice,” began Jazz, and then stopped as Rose’s voice came bellowing up the stairs.

“Jazz-it’s-Theo-on-the-phone!”

“Wait there,” said Jazz. “I’ll be back.”

Laurel groaned. When Jazz and Theo got talking, there was no stopping them. Laurel couldn’t imagine what they found to talk about. She and Simon hadn’t really talked at all.

Simon was hateful! She didn’t want to think about him. And she most
certainly
wasn’t ever going out with him again.

She burrowed back down beneath the duvet. Perhaps she could go into a decline, like Victorian women used to. She would just stay in bed and gently fade away. Anything would be better than facing Mum’s wrath!

Jazz was back again almost immediately. Laurel heard her bounding up the stairs.

“You’ve gone to sleep again!”

“Don’t feel well,” mumbled Laurel.

“Stop being cowardly! You’re just trying to avoid things. If you want my advice—”

Laurel wasn’t at all sure that she did.

“If you want my advice, you ought to go to Mum and
throw yourself on her mercy. You should say, I’m deeply humbly sorry, I’ve behaved like a total idiot, I lost my heart to slimy Simon.” Jazz clasped both hands to her bosom. “I gave him my love and he let me down.”

Laurel stared at her, revolted. “I can’t say that!”

“Why not? It’s true,” said Jazz. “You went completely gaga over him. I told you he was a slimeball! Anyhow—” She yanked at the duvet. Laurel screeched, and yanked it back. “It’s all right, you don’t have to hide,” said Jazz. “You’ve been lucky. Guess what?”

“What?”

“Theo’s found the earring! It was in his dad’s car.”

“Oh!” Laurel gave a great squeal of joy and jumped out of bed. She hurled herself at Jazz. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“He’s going to bring it round right away, so if you really want to slurp over anyone,” said Jazz, shoving at her sister, “you can slurp over him.”

“No!” Laurel shook her head. “I’m through with men.”

“Until the next time,” said Jazz.

“There isn’t going to be a next time! Oh, I do hope Mum doesn’t want to wear her earrings before he gets here!”

Since Mum had just finished washing her hair and was in the middle of giving herself a facial, there didn’t seem much danger of it. Theo came, the earrings were safely smuggled
back, together with the gold strappy sandals and the slinky dress (with the pins taken out and the hem untacked) and Laurel swore that from
here on in
(an expression she had picked up from Dad, who had picked it up in America) she was going to be a model of good behaviour.

“After all,” she said, piously, “it’s up to me to set an example to the rest of you.”

“Well, get her!” jeered Rose.

For the whole of the following week, Laurel was quite unbearable. She censored their television – “You can’t watch that! Mum wouldn’t approve.” “You’ve sat there for over two hours, that’s quite long enough!”

She organised a cleaning rota – “It’s your turn to do the dusting!” “It’s your turn to polish the furniture!”

She started checking that their beds had been made and their bedrooms were tidy. She told Jazz off for not cleaning the bath – “You’ve been cutting your toenails in it. Ugh! Disgusting!” She raged at Rose for dropping crumbs over the sitting room carpet – “which I have just
vacuumed
”. She even had a go at poor little innocent Daisy for not clearing up a fur ball that one of the cats had deposited on the upstairs landing.

“I didn’t know it was there!” wept Daisy.

“Well, I don’t know how you missed it! I saw it the minute I went up there. How do you think Mum’s going to feel, coming home and treading in a fur ball?”

“Oh, stop it!” cried Jazz. “You’re nothing but a
nag!
”

“A harridan,” said Rose.

“I am just trying,” said Laurel, “to keep a bit of order round here.”

Rose stomped off, muttering about “power going to people’s heads".

“It’s for Mum!” shrieked Laurel. “Poor Mum,” she added, virtuously. “She’s working herself to a shadow. The least we can do,” she yelled, “is try to make life a bit easier for her!”

Certainly the house was clean and tidy – a great deal cleaner and tidier than when Mum was around. Mum wasn’t much use at housework. One thing she and Dad had always agreed on, a bit of a mess made a place look lived in. But Laurel wasn’t having any of it. She harried them relentlessly.

“It will be so nice when Mum’s back,” sighed Daisy.

One day towards the end of Mum’s second week of filming, Rose came home from school with her face all scrunched and scowling.

“What’s the matter?” said Jazz. “You look like you’ve been up for the lead and been given an understudy!”

“Huh!” said Rose.

She sat in grim silence all through tea, then went off – still in silence – to her room.

“Something’s happened,” said Jazz. Rose was one of those people, a bit like Dad, who tended to clam up. Jazz and Laurel were more like Mum. Everyone knew when they were upset: they banged about and made a lot of noise. But it didn’t take much for Jazz and Laurel to start banging. It took a great deal to upset Rose. She was what Dad called well-balanced.

“Daisy, go and see if you can find out,” said Jazz. If Rose was going to confide in anyone, it would be Daisy.

“Ask her what’s wrong.”

“All right.” Daisy trotted off, obediently.

“And tell her it’s her turn to do the washing-up!” bawled Laurel.

“Oh, don’t fuss!” cried Jazz. “I’ll do it for her!”

“
No.
” Laurel stamped a foot. “She can’t be allowed to get out of things just because she’s in a hump. We all have to take our turn.”

Really, thought Jazz, there were times when Laurel–in–love, however tiresome, was vastly to be preferred to Laurel–out–of–love. Laurel–out–of–love was just one big
pain.

After a few minutes Daisy came trotting back downstairs with the news that a teacher at school had accused Rose of cheating.

“
Cheating?
” Jazz and Laurel echoed it, incredulously.

“He wouldn’t give her a mark for her homework. He
said she must have copied it from somewhere.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Jazz threw down the dish mop. “Let me go and talk to her!”

Jazz went storming up to Rose’s bedroom.

“Who is this teacher? What’s he on about?”

The teacher was Mr Gallimore, who took them for English. He was new that term so Jazz didn’t know him very well. Obviously, she thought, he didn’t know Rose at all. Nobody who knew Rose would ever accuse her of cheating.

“Where is it?” said Jazz. “This thing he thinks you’ve copied?”

Silently, Rose handed over a wodge of paper. Eight pages! All covered in Rose’s neat, square writing.

“What is it? An essay?”

Rose nodded.

“Where does he think you copied it from?”

Rose humped a shoulder. She had gone into her non-talking mode, which meant that she was really upset.

“Can I take it downstairs, to show Laurel?”

“If you want.”

“I mean, I know you didn’t copy it,” said Jazz. “I just want to see why he thinks you might have done.”

Rose looked at her, rather hard.

“I’m not doubting you,” said Jazz. “But I’ve got to read it, haven’t I?”

Rose said nothing, just very slowly turned away.

“You stay here. I’ll be back,” said Jazz. “We’re not letting him get away with it!”

Downstairs, she spread the pages on the kitchen table. Laurel viewed them with alarm.

“How much has she written?”

“Eight pages,” said Jazz.

“
Eight pages?
”

You know what she’s like. I think we ought to read it.”

Laurel pulled a face. “I’m not wading through all that lot!”

“Read it out to us,” said Daisy.

“All right.” Jazz never minded a bit of reading aloud. She cleared her throat. “My
View of Society.
That’s what it’s called.
Society is a conglomerate of individuals. Each—
”

“What’s a kerglomrit?” said Daisy.

“
Oh! Um – well, a sort of
–
mixture.
Each individual is a cog in the wheel of life—
”

“Oh, wow,” said Laurel.

“
—but some cogs are more important than other cogs. A few cogs are extremely rich and powerful—
”

Laurel groaned. Daisy said, “What’s she going on about cogs for?”

“Look,” said Jazz, “am I reading this or not? ’cos if I am, then just shut up and listen.”

They listened, in awed silence, as Jazz worked her way through the whole eight pages. Every now and then she would stumble and have to go back to the beginning of a sentence to make sense of it. Sometimes she came across words that she didn’t fully understand or wasn’t quite sure how to pronounce. But that was Rose for you. It didn’t mean she had copied them. She just naturally knew words that most people hadn’t even heard of.

“Well?” Jazz shuffled the pages back into order.

“Is that it?” said Laurel, relieved.

“I didn’t understand hardly any of it,” said Daisy.

“It’s all the stuff she reads. I can see
why
he thought she might have copied it—”

“But she didn’t!” Jazz stated it, very fiercely.

“No, well,
we
know she didn’t,” said Laurel.

“She didn’t! Rose doesn’t do things like that. And look what the creep has written at the bottom!
I would have preferred to have your own ideas rather than someone else’s.
Cheek!”

“He asked her where she’d got it from,” said Daisy.

“What did she say?”

“She said she got it out of her head but he didn’t believe her.”

“So now he’s accusing her of lying, as well! What are we going to do?” demanded Jazz.

“Don’t see that we can do anything,” said Laurel.
“We can’t
prove
she got it out of her head.”

“If she says she did, then she did! I’m going to have it out with him,” declared Jazz.

“No, don’t, you mustn’t!” Laurel seized hold of her arm as if she thought Jazz might be going off to do battle right there and then. “Just leave things alone!”

“No way!” said Jazz. “I’m not having my sister called a cheat and a liar!”

“But you can’t have a go at a teacher!”

“I won’t have a go. I’ll just tell him.”

“You’ll get all loud and obstreperous.”