Love and Other Drama-Ramas! (19 page)

In the center of each plate is a gold necklace. Not real gold — that would have cost a fortune — but gold-plated. Four of the necklaces have a single curling initial hanging from the chain: “M” for Miranda, “S” for Samantha, “B” for Big, and “C” for Charlotte. The fifth is an exact replica of Carrie’s original necklace from the show. (Clover found it on the Internet.) That one is for Mum. It’s her party, so she gets to play Ms. Bradshaw herself. We haven’t told her a thing about what we’ve got planned. Her “Carrie” costume — a white dress with an oversize silk flower corsage on one shoulder and a pair of Clover’s high-heeled sandals — is sitting in a bag awaiting her arrival.

I sigh proudly and adjust the prissy cream “Charlotte” twinset I borrowed from Mills.

It wasn’t easy putting the party together — Saffy had to apply for a special event’s license to allow us to set up a “fashion shoot” in Saint Stephen’s Green Park. Monique then begged her friend who runs a catering company to deliver the table and chairs, organize the food, and find us a waiter for the afternoon. It all came together in the end, though, with Clover and I coming up with the finishing touches — the red petals to scatter over the table, the tea lights, the scented candles, and the necklaces. (Even Dave helped by asking Russ to provide the live music.) Now the scene is set — the food is sitting in three large coolers, waiting to be served. All we need is Mum.

Suddenly Russ starts playing “Here Comes the Bride.” Clover squeals and runs toward the doorway. I follow her.

Monique is walking across the park, leading Mum by the arm. Monique’s wearing a black tuxedo, complete with a black bow tie. Her hair is slicked back with gel, she has “stubble” above her lip and on her chin, and her stuck-on eyebrows are thick and furry, like two black caterpillars.

Clover grins as they join us in the gazebo. “So good of you to join us, Mr. Big. And I see you’ve blindfolded your lady friend as requested. Nice job.”

Monique bows. “I aim to please. And you’re looking good, as always. Dig the suit.”

“Can I take this off now?” Mum paws at the silk scarf tied across her eyes.

“Not for a minute,” Clover says. “We’re still waiting for Samantha. I think I see her coming, though.”

“Who?” Mum asks, confused.

Someone’s tottering toward us in red sandals with six-inch heels and a beige raincoat. As she draws nearer she unbuttons the coat, hangs it neatly over her arm, and lifts her sunglasses. It’s Prue, dressed as Samantha.

She tinkles her fingers at us. “Darlings, so sorry I’m late. Traffic. And I’m not used to heels. Rather difficult to walk in, aren’t they?” She wriggles her dress down her legs and then stands up straight. She purses her lips, and even dressed to kill in a hot red body-conscious dress that is so tight it looks as though glossy paint has been poured over her, she still looks like an uppity teacher.

We all stare at her, and Clover’s mouth is open so wide she looks like a pelican trawling for fish. “Well,
póggity póg
, Prue,” she says. “Who’d have thought? Mrs. Stickleback — where have you been hiding those chili-hot curves? Hubba, hubba.”

“I feel as though I’m wearing a swimsuit,” Prue says, sounding flustered. “Are you sure it’s not too much?”

“Not at all,” Monique says. “If I was blessed with those curves, I’d flaunt them too. I’m Monique, by the way — aka Big.” Monique sticks out her hand politely.

Prue shakes it. “Prue Stickleback. Um, Samantha, I suppose.”

“Prue’s Samantha?” Mum gasps. “And Monique’s Big. I’ve got it! This is a
Sex and the City
party, isn’t it, girls? Come on, you have to let me peek now.”

Monique whips off Mum’s blindfold and spreads her arms out theatrically. “Ta-da! Welcome to the Boathouse restaurant, baby,” she says in a growly “Mr. Big” voice. “For your very own
Sex and the City
lunch. It’s not Central Park — but it does have its very own lake and ducks. And Clover and Amy have a special ‘Carrie’ dress ready and waiting for you.”

Mum squeals with delight. “Unbelievable! You girls never cease to amaze me. It’s perfect. I’m speechless.”

As her eyes sweep over the gazebo, her hand pressed over her mouth, she notices Russ and waves at him. “Taking requests, Russ?”

“Surely am, Sylvie. Let me guess? ABBA?”

Mum bites her lip. “Would you mind horribly?”

He smiles. “Not at all. Dave did warn me. I can even throw in a bit of Take That during dessert if you like.” (Mum has such sad taste in music.)

“Oh, I like, I like.” Mum’s eyes glitter with happiness. I smile — so far, the party is going swimmingly.

I’m having a long sleep-in the next day when Mum comes into my room.

“You awake, Amy? Mills is on the phone. Talk to her, please. Otherwise I’ll have to, and she’s far too cheery for this hour of the morning.”

“Mum, it’s nearly lunchtime.”

“I know, but Clover and Monique kept me up chatting nearly all night. I didn’t get to bed till four. You were right to sneak off early.” Last night we’d all shared Chinese takeout in front of the movie
When Harry Met Sally
, which is one of Mum’s favorites. It was Dave’s idea — he said lying on the sofa would be the perfect end to Sylvie’s bachelorette party. He was right. Mum was thrilled.

After lunch in the park, we’d booked Mum an exclusive styling session in Brown Thomas, a fancy department store on Grafton Street. The rest of us had watched for hours as the stylist picked out loads of fabulously expensive clothes for Mum to try on in a special private room. They’d even provided champagne and smoked salmon. We felt like movie stars!

Mum fell in love with this beautiful dark-pink swishy dress, and Monique secretly bought it for her as an early wedding present. You should have seen Mum’s face when Monique handed over the bag outside the shop. “I can’t accept this, Monique,” she’d squealed. “It’s too much.” Monique had shrugged and given one of her very French
pah
s. “You are my best friend, Sylvie. And I love you. Take it, please. Otherwise you will get a bread maker or toaster or something equally boring.”

So Mum had kept the dress.

I take the phone off her and say, “Mills, can I call you back? I’ve just woken up.”

“OK,” she says. “I guess the party was a success, then?”

“Fantastic.”

“Bailey says hi, by the way.”

“How is he?”

“Good. We’re going to the beach this morning. He’s teaching me how to surf.”

“Surf?” I try to picture Mills on a surfboard: crouched down, arms outstretched, waves splashing over her, hair flying in the wind . . . Nope, just can’t see it.

“Are you laughing at me, Ames?” she asks crossly.

“Course not. But you do know saltwater ruins your hair?”

“It’s in a French braid.”

It’s no use. I have to giggle.

“You
are
laughing at me.”

“Not at all. You’ll make a perfect surf chick. Bye, Mills. Oh, and tell Bailey I said hi back.”

Mum smiles as she sits down on my bed. “I can’t imagine Mills surfing.”

I’m so used to her eavesdropping on my conversations that I don’t even comment on it. “I know,” I say instead. “But it’s nice of Bailey to offer to teach her — he has his work cut out.”

“How’s Bailey dealing with being back at school? I haven’t had a chance to ask you yet.”

I shrug. “He seems to be coping all right. He only came back on Thursday, and all the teachers are being pretty decent to him. Especially Loopy — sorry, Miss Lupin. She said that if he ever wanted to talk to someone, she was always available.”

“Is she tallish with red hair and a rather odd dress sense?”

I smile. “That’s her.”

“I talked to her at a parent-teacher meeting once. She seemed nice.”

“And Mills persuaded him to do the
J
Factor,” I add. “So people will get to see how talented he is.”

“What’s the
J
Factor?”

“School singing competition — like the
X Factor.
Bailey’s going to sing one of his own songs, and we’re all going to cheer him on. You can come too if you like — and Dave.”

“Thanks, Amy, that sounds fun. I’m glad he’s OK. He’s been through an awful lot in his life already.” She pauses and sucks her teeth. “I told Finn what happened on the beach and about Bailey being in the hospital and everything. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mum! You’re always telling
me
not to interfere.”

“I know, but this is different. Finn was so upset listening to it all, Amy. He excused himself and went and had a little cry in the backyard, I think. When he came back inside, his eyes were all red. If they’d just talk to each other . . . communicate in some way . . .” She breaks off and sighs. “Men can be so stubborn.”

I remember what Mac said about how hard Bailey has always found it to communicate — that his true feelings only come out when he’s singing — and then I have an idea. “Mum,” I say slowly, “what do you think about inviting Finn to the
J
Factor?”

She stares at me for a long time before answering. “Are you sure it’s not going to make things worse, Amy?”

“To be honest, I don’t know. But I think Bailey’s in a different place now. At least, I hope he is.”

Mum squeezes my hand. “Then it’s worth the risk. You’re always determined to help people, no matter what, aren’t you? You just bulldoze right in there, pushing everything else out of the way.” She tries to put on my voice. “‘No, stop, don’t run away. I’m trying to help you.’”

I stare at her. “Mum, sometimes you may think you’re complimenting me, but you’re really not.”

“I’m sorry. I guess your dogged enthusiasm just gets to me sometimes. I don’t find life as easy as you seem to, and maybe I get a little jealous. And I’m a bit stressed out with all this wedding stuff. There’s so much to do! Clover and Monique are being amazing, but Dave’s not the most organized of people.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s a man, Mum. What do you expect?”

“Amy! You’re far too young to be saying things like that.”

I smile back at her. “Anyway, stop worrying, it’ll all be fine. At the end of the day, a wedding’s just a big party, and you like parties.”

“You’re right, Amy. I love parties. And sorry for having a moan at you.”

I nudge her with my shoulder. “That’s OK, Mum. I’m used to you and your moody blues by now.”

“Hey!”

“Only kidding. I love you really.”

“And I love you too, Amy. My special girl, all grown up.” She brushes my hair back off my face and kisses me on the cheek.

“Mum! Stop being so soppy.”

But you know something? I don’t really mind. Sometimes Mum’s not so bad.

The hours seem to creep by on Halloween,
J
Factor day. We’ve been off school all week (it’s half-term, yeah!), and I’m delighted to report that the old gang — me, Seth, Mills, and Bailey — is back with a vengeance, although Mills and Bailey have spent most of the holiday wrapped around each other, playing tonsil hockey. But since they’re both so happy, Seth and I don’t really mind. And yes, we’ve had the odd lip-smacking session too. Rude not to join in, don’t you think? We even did a test to see whose hearts were racing the hardest and fastest after a smooching session by taking each couple’s pulses. Bailey and Mills, aka Romeo and Juliet, won, of course — boo! Although they have had a lot of practice this week.

It’s nine o’clock now, and we’re midway through the
J
Factor. I’m standing in the Saint John’s hall, checking my watch nervously. The second half of the show’s supposed to kick off any minute, but there’s no sign of Mum yet.

Her plan was to arrive with Finn during the intermission — Bailey’s not on until the second half, and Mum thought it would be better for Finn to slip in just as the lights were going down to avoid any sort of “fan” kerfuffle. Mum’s got a lot of smarts sometimes — even Clover couldn’t have come up with a better idea.

Clover really wanted to be here tonight, but Brains has whisked her off for a romantic weekend on the Aran Islands. They’ve gone to some diddly-eye traditional music and seafood festival, just the two of them. Since dealing with the Cliona conundrum, she’s been in fantastic form. She only has one slight concern now: Amber Horsefell. “I think I’m starting to like her,” Clover reluctantly admitted last night. “I caught myself laughing like a drain at one of her jokes today.
Très
worrying, Beanie. I can’t be friends with a D4. It’s against my religion.”