‘I dunno. But something really cool. Something Luke would like.’
I’ve never thrown a surprise party before, but it can’t be that hard, can it? I mean, it’s just like a normal party except you keep it secret. Easy.
‘Becky, are you sure it’s a good time to be throwing a party?’ says Jess with a frown. ‘I mean, what if what they say is true?’ She gestures at the TV, which is still on the Bank of London story. ‘What if we’re at the beginning of a financial catastrophe?’
Trust Jess. Trust her to bring ‘financial catastrophe’ into a nice talk about a party.
‘Well, then everyone will need cheering up, won’t they?’ I say defiantly. ‘All the better.’
Jess doesn’t flicker. ‘All I’m saying is, you have to be prudent, especially at a time like this. Do you have the money to hold a party?’
Honestly. What is this, ‘Who Wants To Be A Nosy Elder Sister?’
‘Maybe I do.’ I shrug carelessly. ‘Maybe I’ve been saving up a special fund for just such an event.’
There’s silence in the room, apart from a little snort from Danny. Tom is smirking, and I glower back at him. Have I ever smirked at any of his projects? Did I smirk when he built his ridiculous two-storey summerhouse in Janice’s garden? (Well, actually, maybe I did. But that’s not the point. Summerhouses and parties are completely different.)
Worst of all, even Suze is looking a bit pained, as if she doesn’t want to laugh, but won’t be able to help it. She sees me looking at her and flushes guiltily.
‘The thing is, it doesn’t have to be an expensive party, does it?’ she says hurriedly. ‘You could throw a restrained party, Bex. A thrifty party!’
‘That’s true.’ Jess nods. ‘Tom can make home-made peach wine. It’s not bad at all. And I’m happy to cook.’
Home-made –peach wine?
‘And you could have music off an iPod …’ suggests Tom.
‘I’m in charge of the iPod,’ chips in Danny.
‘We could make paper chains …’
I’m staring at them all in horror. One tiny little bank goes bust and suddenly we’re having to act like it’s the war and make Spam fritters and stain our legs because we can’t afford stockings?
‘I don’t want to throw Luke some crappy party with homemade peach wine and an iPod!’ I exclaim. ‘I want a fabulous party! I want a marquee and a band, and caterers, and amazing lights everywhere … and entertainment! Jugglers and fire-eaters and stuff.’
‘But you can throw a nice party without fire-eaters—’ begins Suze.
‘I don’t want something “nice”,’ I say disparagingly. ‘If I throw Luke a surprise party, I want it to blow him away. I want to knock his socks off. I want him to walk in and be utterly speechless for … a whole minute. At least.’
All my friends are exchanging looks.
‘What?’ I’m looking from face to face. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Come on, Becky. It would cost a fortune,’ says Jess bluntly. ‘Where would you get the money?’
‘I … don’t know,’ I say defiantly. ‘Work extra hard, maybe.’
‘You’ll never keep it secret from Luke,’ chips in Tom. ‘Not in a million years.’
I feel a surge of indignation at him; in fact, at all of them, even Suze. Why do they have to pour cold water on everything?
‘Yes I will!’ I retort furiously. ‘You watch. I’ll organize a fabulous party and I’ll totally keep it a secret from Luke—’
‘Keep what a secret from Luke?’ His deep voice resounds from the hall and I nearly jump a mile. Bloody hell, how did that happen? I’ve only been planning this party for two minutes and already I’ve nearly given it away. I just have time to shoot an anguished look at Suze before Luke appears through the door. He’s holding Minnie and looks surprisingly cheerful.
‘How come you’re back?’ I ask, as he kisses me. ‘Is it all over?’
‘Just grabbing some clean clothes, I’m afraid,’ he says wryly. ‘This isn’t going to be over any time soon.’
‘Um, Luke, that comment you just heard me say about keeping something secret from Luke?’ I clear my throat. ‘You’re probably wondering what I meant.’
‘It did cross my mind.’ Luke raises his eyebrows quizzically.
‘Well, it’s just that … um … I didn’t want to tell you how crazy it was earlier. At the Bank of London. It was mayhem. I thought it might stress you out. So I was just telling everyone to keep quiet about it. Wasn’t I?’