Alice and I stayed in the kitchen for ages. We could hear Peter and Linda chatting in the living room, so we decided it was best to leave them alone. (Even if they were only talking about mouldy-shower-curtain-cleaners.) Once or twice we could even hear them laughing, and Alice rewarded me with a poke in the ribs that really hurt.
Much later, when my side was black and blue, there was silence in the dining room. Alice put her ear to the door.
‘What do you think’s going on?’ she said.
I really didn’t care anymore.
‘Dunno. Maybe they’re snogging.’
Alice shuddered.
‘No need for that. It’s their first date, remember? Maybe they’ve just run out of things to say.’
I giggled.
‘Maybe they’ve decided which is the best shower curtain cleaner in the world.’
Alice giggled too, but only for a second. Then she went all serious again.
‘Maybe we should bring in the dessert,’ she said.
As she spoke she opened the freezer and rooted around a bit. Then she turned back to me.
‘All I can find is packets of spinach. Where did you put the ice-cream?’
‘Nowhere. I thought you put it away.’
‘But I thought you put it away.’
Five minutes later we found the ice cream in a bag under the kitchen table. I carefully opened the tub, and dipped my finger in. It was like dipping my finger into cream-coloured slime. I sucked my finger.
‘Tastes nice,’ I said. ‘But it isn’t exactly ice-cream any more.’
Alice stamped her foot. I decided I really needed to talk to her about that stupid foot-stamping habit. At twelve, she was really a bit old for that kind of thing. (But if she was cross enough to be stamping her foot, that probably meant it wasn’t a very good time.)
‘Now what?’ said Alice. ‘I don’t suppose your mother has anything else suitable for dessert stashed in her cupboards?’
I laughed.
‘Fat chance. Porridge maybe. Or some of that spinach, but dessert – I don’t think so. We’ve already eaten all the nice stuff that Linda brought.’
‘Maybe I could run next door? Or down to the shop?’ Alice suggested.
Now it was my turn to stamp my foot. (It felt kind of good, actually.)
‘No way,’ I said. ‘You’re not leaving me on my own with those two again. I don’t know any more tin whistle tunes.’
‘Oh, well,’ sighed Alice. ‘We’ll just have to improvise. Pass me two nice glasses, will you?’
I watched as she slowly and carefully poured the liquid ice cream into the two best glasses I had been able to find.
‘What’s that meant to be?’ I asked.
‘Vanilla soup. It’s the latest thing in Paris.’
‘Really?’
Alice laughed. ‘No, but it would be if anyone thought of it.’
I had to laugh too. Messing around in the kitchen with Alice was fun.
I wished we could forget all about Linda and Peter in the next room.
I wished we could have fun that didn’t involve crazy plans.
I wished things could be like they used to be.
Alice stood back and admired her work.
‘It needs a finishing touch. Got any coffee to sprinkle on the top?’ she asked.
I opened the coffee jar.
‘Just coffee beans,’ I said, ‘and I don’t think they’re very sprinkly.’
She reached in to the jar and took a few beans.
‘They’ll do fine.’
Alice dropped the beans on top of the vanilla soup. They stayed there for about a second, and then sank slowly beneath the surface.
Alice made a face.
‘I’ve had a long night. I’m not spending ten minutes fishing for coffee beans,’ she said. ‘They can still be decorations – invisible decorations.’
I smiled.
‘The latest thing in Vienna, I bet.’
Alice smiled back at me. Then she handed me one of the glasses and led the way into the dining room. Luckily, Linda and Peter weren’t snogging – that would have been too gross. They were just sitting looking at each other, and saying nothing.
‘Dessert is served,’ I said.
‘Vanilla soup,’ said Alice.
‘The latest thing in Paris,’ I added.
‘Indeed?’ said Linda, as she pushed the dinner plates to one side.
Peter didn’t say anything. He just dived in to his dessert at once, digging into the glass with his spoon. He was probably starving after the half-eaten salad, and the baby-hamster-sized portion of lasagne he’d just had.
He looked really happy for about ten seconds, and then he dropped his spoon, and grabbed his jaw.
‘Ooooh! Ouch! What’s in this? I nearly broke my tooth.’
‘Secret ingredient,’ said Alice. ‘If I told you I’d have to kill you.’
Then she grabbed my arm, and dragged me back to the kitchen.
‘What if his tooth really is broken?’ I asked.
Alice shrugged.
‘Don’t worry. His tooth isn’t broken. He’s just being a baby.’
Maybe she was right. All was quiet again in the dining room.
‘See?’ said Alice. ‘He’s better already. Now help me with this.’
We put the champagne and two glasses onto Mum’s best silver tray. When we went back into the dining room, Linda looked at us in surprise.
‘Champagne?’ she said. ‘What are we celebrating?’
I had to think about that one. I had lots of ideas, but none that seemed suitable to share with Linda.
The fact that you didn’t actually eat the slug?
The fact that it looks like Peter didn’t break his tooth on that coffee bean after all?
The fact that, despite our best efforts, Alice and I haven’t poisoned you?
Alice interrupted my thoughts.
‘We’re celebrating the fact that it’s Saturday night, and we’re all here together having a lovely time.’
Ha! – maybe Alice was having a lovely time, but if so she was on her own. I was having a rotten time, worrying that everything was going wrong, and it didn’t look like Linda and Peter were having much fun either.
Peter reached for the champagne.
‘Will I open this?’ he said.
Alice grabbed it from his reach.
‘No you’re the guest. Anyway, it’s easy-peasy – I’ve seen this done on TV hundreds of times.’
She carefully peeled back the foil, and then she took off the cute little wire cage that surrounded the cork. Then she used her thumbs to ease the cork from the bottle. It came out slowly, like toothpaste from a nearly empty tube. When the cork was almost out, Alice suddenly shoved the bottle into my hands.
‘Here. You do it,’ she said. ‘I’m too afraid. And I hate loud noises.’
I was afraid too, but it was too late to do anything about it. I felt like I was holding a hand-grenade, or a bomb that was just about to go off. I held the bottle as far away from my body as I could, wishing that my arms were a bit longer.
Alice ducked behind a chair, Linda covered her eyes, and Peter called,
‘Careful with that.’
Too late – there was a huge loud pop, and the cork shot from the bottle like a bullet. It whizzed across the room, and managed to find Mum’s favourite crystal vase, which was supposedly safe on the top shelf of the cabinet. The vase toppled for a second, then rocked, and then danced into the air. I didn’t know whether to cover my eyes or my ears. There was a huge crash, and then a chorus of oh no’s from Linda, Peter and Alice. I raced over. The vase was broken into about a hundred pieces – about ninety-eight too many for superglue to be of any use.
I put my head down. I felt like crying.
Why had I let Alice bully me into this?
Now I was going to be in huge trouble, and all for nothing. Linda was glaring at Alice, and Peter was looking more embarrassed than ever.
Just then Rosie appeared in the doorway.
‘Big bang?’ she said.
She went and stood next to Linda.
‘Oh, you poor little poppet,’ Linda said. ‘Did the loud noise wake you up? And look at you, you’re all wet. Is it too warm in your bedroom? Are you sweating from the heat?’
Even Rosie was embarrassed now.
Why couldn’t Linda get the smell?
Had the vanilla soup gone to her head?
Was she wearing too much perfume?
The damp patch on Rosie’s nightie wasn’t because her room was too hot. I should have warned Linda that one of Mum’s ten thousand rules actually made sense. It really wasn’t clever to give Rosie anything to drink after seven o’clock.
Still, I had enough problems without worrying about that.
I winced as Linda pulled Rosie onto her knee and cuddled her. That, I supposed, was definitely that. If there was any hope of a romance between Linda and Peter, surely a wee-wee soaked child would put an end to it for good?
I looked wearily at Alice.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘I’ll take Rosie upstairs and get her changed into something dry. I suppose you might as well get started on the washing up.’