down at me, and I stood at the bottom looking up. I wanted to say sorry or to explain myself but the words didn’t come. Eventually he shook his head, and said, ‘You’ve let her down, Frances. You’ve let your nan down.’
Anyway, this time getting drunk was totally different. It was indoors, it was with Bert and we did it in style – on real champagne.
When Bert told me her parents were going away for a Saturday night and asked me if I wanted to sleep over at her house, I thought it sounded like an amazing idea. ‘A bit of a girls’ night,’ she’d called it. A whole evening, just me and Bert. No having to worry about getting home. No being interrupted by lessons or by boys trying to chat her up. Just the two of us, hanging around, chatting and relaxing. But I also knew there would be no way Nan would let me stay out all night. In all the years I’d lived with Nan and Granddad, the only night I’d spent away from them was when I had my tonsils out when I was seven. Still, I was determined that I would get to go. It sounded too much fun to just turn down. I came up with a plan.
I knew that the only chance I had of Nan letting me stay out for a whole night was if the occasion was a) supervised and b) educational, so that’s precisely what I told her it was. I’d read an article once about how the Natural History Museum stages sleepovers for schools where whole classes are allowed to bring their sleeping bags and bed down at the feet of a brontosaurus. I knew there’d be no way our school would ever get to take part in that kind of thing – not unless they wanted to find someone trying to ride the triceratops, can of lager in one hand, cigarette in the other – but Nan didn’t need to know that. So, one lunchtime, I snuck up to the library and typed out a letter, complete with authentic-looking permission slip, and printed it off. I presented it to Nan that evening.
She frowned at it, moving it back and forth in front of her face until she found the distance from her eyes where she could focus well enough to read.
‘Sleeping?’ she said at last. ‘In a museum? I’ve never heard anything like it.’ She put the paper down on the kitchen table. ‘No, I don’t think so. And on a weekend! What a load of rubbish schools get up to these days. No, not for us, I don’t think.’
I felt myself panic. I’d just assumed she’d be fine with it, once she had an official school letter to back it up.
‘But, Nan,’ I said, following her out to the garden where she was starting to hang the washing on the line, ‘I have to go. It’s part of my course. My GCSE. I have to go for my project. I’ll lose marks otherwise.’
I could see the cogs going in Nan’s brain as she moved up and down the washing line, pegging up pants and socks at lightning speed. ‘We can’t pay,’ she said. ‘I can’t afford fancy trips like your mates. I’ve told you before.’
‘No, you don’t have to pay,’ I said quickly, daring to hope that victory might be in sight. ‘It’s free.’
Just then, there was a crash from the lounge. We both looked towards the window and saw that as Granddad had tried to take a book off the top shelf, a pile of photo albums had fallen down on him. He was standing in the debris, looking at his feet. ‘For God’s
sake
,’ Nan said, darting towards the back door. ‘I can’t leave him for two minutes.’
‘So I can go, then?’ I called after her.
‘Yes, yes. Fine.’
When the Saturday came round, I was worried that Nan might change her mind. I wasn’t sure whether to mention it early on to check or to just wait until the time came for me to leave. On the one hand I didn’t want to remind her and give her all day to stew about it in case she worked herself up into a frenzy and changed her mind about letting me go. On the other, I didn’t want to spring it on her in case she had forgotten and the surprise of it had the same effect. In the end though, I didn’t have to remind her.
Anyway, this time getting drunk was totally different. It was indoors, it was with Bert and we did it in style – on real champagne.
When Bert told me her parents were going away for a Saturday night and asked me if I wanted to sleep over at her house, I thought it sounded like an amazing idea. ‘A bit of a girls’ night,’ she’d called it. A whole evening, just me and Bert. No having to worry about getting home. No being interrupted by lessons or by boys trying to chat her up. Just the two of us, hanging around, chatting and relaxing. But I also knew there would be no way Nan would let me stay out all night. In all the years I’d lived with Nan and Granddad, the only night I’d spent away from them was when I had my tonsils out when I was seven. Still, I was determined that I would get to go. It sounded too much fun to just turn down. I came up with a plan.
I knew that the only chance I had of Nan letting me stay out for a whole night was if the occasion was a) supervised and b) educational, so that’s precisely what I told her it was. I’d read an article once about how the Natural History Museum stages sleepovers for schools where whole classes are allowed to bring their sleeping bags and bed down at the feet of a brontosaurus. I knew there’d be no way our school would ever get to take part in that kind of thing – not unless they wanted to find someone trying to ride the triceratops, can of lager in one hand, cigarette in the other – but Nan didn’t need to know that. So, one lunchtime, I snuck up to the library and typed out a letter, complete with authentic-looking permission slip, and printed it off. I presented it to Nan that evening.
She frowned at it, moving it back and forth in front of her face until she found the distance from her eyes where she could focus well enough to read.
‘Sleeping?’ she said at last. ‘In a museum? I’ve never heard anything like it.’ She put the paper down on the kitchen table. ‘No, I don’t think so. And on a weekend! What a load of rubbish schools get up to these days. No, not for us, I don’t think.’
I felt myself panic. I’d just assumed she’d be fine with it, once she had an official school letter to back it up.
‘But, Nan,’ I said, following her out to the garden where she was starting to hang the washing on the line, ‘I have to go. It’s part of my course. My GCSE. I have to go for my project. I’ll lose marks otherwise.’
I could see the cogs going in Nan’s brain as she moved up and down the washing line, pegging up pants and socks at lightning speed. ‘We can’t pay,’ she said. ‘I can’t afford fancy trips like your mates. I’ve told you before.’
‘No, you don’t have to pay,’ I said quickly, daring to hope that victory might be in sight. ‘It’s free.’
Just then, there was a crash from the lounge. We both looked towards the window and saw that as Granddad had tried to take a book off the top shelf, a pile of photo albums had fallen down on him. He was standing in the debris, looking at his feet. ‘For God’s
sake
,’ Nan said, darting towards the back door. ‘I can’t leave him for two minutes.’
‘So I can go, then?’ I called after her.
‘Yes, yes. Fine.’
When the Saturday came round, I was worried that Nan might change her mind. I wasn’t sure whether to mention it early on to check or to just wait until the time came for me to leave. On the one hand I didn’t want to remind her and give her all day to stew about it in case she worked herself up into a frenzy and changed her mind about letting me go. On the other, I didn’t want to spring it on her in case she had forgotten and the surprise of it had the same effect. In the end though, I didn’t have to remind her.
Similar Books
