Family Fan Club

“You are! You sound just like Nan! She’s always going on about mixed marriages.”

“’Tisn’t what I meant,” said Rose.

“So what did you mean?”

“If you’d just let me talk, instead of jumping down my throat all the time, you wouldn’t have to ask. What I meant,” said Rose, “was that Mum being an actress and Dad being an actor was just a fatal combination. They almost never stay together, actors and actresses.”

Jazz fell silent. She couldn’t think of any argument against that.

“I suppose it wouldn’t have been quite so bad,” said Laurel, “if Dad had been the one to get into a soap.”

Jazz whipped round. “Why not?”

“Well—” Laurel hunched a shoulder. “Women don’t seem to mind so much. Men don’t like it when their wives get famous and make a lot of money. Something to do with male pride,” she said.

“Especially when Nan kept going on,” agreed Rose.

“But Mum never did!”

“I don’t see why they had to fall out about it,” muttered Jazz.

“People always fall out when they’re married. I’m going to stay single,” said Rose.

Jazz resisted the temptation to inform her sister that she probably wouldn’t have much choice in the matter, because what man would ever want to marry her with that mouth? Daisy was rocking to and fro with Tink cradled in her arms, and her face was puckered in distress. Mum and Dad breaking up had been harder for Daisy than for anyone. Part of the reason they had agreed not to talk about Dad was that it always ended in tears.

“This will be the first Christmas we’ve ever had without him.” Daisy whispered the words into Tinkerbell’s fur.

Rose frowned and turned away. Jazz and Laurel exchanged glances. They had promised Mum that if she accepted the part of Marmee, they would take care of Daisy. Mum was worried about Daisy. When Dad had left, she had wept almost non-stop for a week. Even now, if she got too wound up she was capable of crying herself into a state of exhaustion. Daisy wasn’t as robust as the others. They all missed Dad, of course they did! But life had to go on.

“Just remember,” said Jazz, bracingly, “it’ll be far worse for Dad than it is for us … we’re at home and we’ve got each other. He’s all by himself in a foreign country.”

“Jazz!” Laurel kicked hard at her sister’s ankle. Trust Jazz! Trying to be helpful and simply being tactless. As usual. If anyone could put their foot in it, Jasmine could.

Jazz seemed suddenly to realise what she had done. Hastily, putting her other foot in it, she said, “Well, no, actually, come to think of it, Dad will probably have a ball! I bet he’ll be going to all the Hollywood gigs and meeting all the big stars … Mel. Al. Leonardo.”

“Leonardo!” Laurel went into a mock swoon. Leonardo DiCaprio was the current love of her life.

“Imagine Dad getting to meet all those famous people!” enthused Jazz. “He probably won’t miss us at all!”

Rose threw up her hands. Laurel said, “Of course he’ll miss us! And he’ll miss Daisy more than anyone. But he’ll try not to be sad, because people shouldn’t be sad at Christmas, and he won’t want us to be sad, either. And he’ll call us Christmas Day, like he promised, and Daisy can have first talk.”

“And last one, too,” said Rose.

“And last one, too. So you’d just better start thinking of things to say to him!”

“Make notes, I would,” said Rose. “In case you forget.”

Daisy liked that idea. She scrubbed at her eyes.

“I will!” she said. She scrambled to her feet, still hugging Tinkerbell. “I’ll start thinking straight away!”

As Daisy left the room, Laurel looked at Jazz and tapped a finger to her forehead. “Dumbo!”

She meant Jazz, not Daisy, but Jazz’s thoughts were already elsewhere. They never stayed still for very long.

“Hey! Know what?”

“What?”

“I just thought of something!” Jazz sprang up, excitedly. “Something we could do … we could copy some of the pages from Mum’s script and act out a scene for her on Christmas Day!”

There was a silence.

“What for?” said Rose.

“For fun!”

“I wouldn’t think it was fun,” said Rose.

“Yes, you would, you’d enjoy it! Once you got started.”

“Don’t want to get started.”

“Oh, don’t be such a gloom!” Jazz took a flying leap on to the sofa and sat there, hugging her knees to her chin and rocking to and fro. “Think of Mum! She’d love it! You know she’s always saying the things she likes best are the ones we’ve really worked at, like when we make our own cards.”

“So we’ll make our own cards,” said Rose.

“We’ll make our own cards and act out a scene. It will be like a present from us all.”

Rose pulled a face. Laurel shook her head. There wasn’t any arguing with Jazz once an idea had taken hold of her. She bounced up off the sofa.

“I’ll go and start copying right now!”

“Can’t,” said Rose. “Mum’s got the script with her.”

“Then I shall make up my own one, from the book!”

“How are you going to copy it?” yelled Laurel, as Jazz scudded through the door. “Nobody can read your rotten writing!”

Jazz stuck her head back in again. “Not going to write! Going to use the typewriter.”

“That old thing!” said Rose.

They had discovered the typewriter up in the attic, when they had moved in. It was very ancient. It had strange old-fashioned metal keys that rattled, and which you had to bash really hard, and an inky ribbon made of cotton that kept winding itself back every time it reached the end of the spool. To make copies you had to use carbon paper, which was messy, especially if you had to correct mistakes. Even messier if you put the carbon paper in the wrong way round.

“It’s ridiculous,” said Rose. “Why can’t we have a computer?”

Jazz’s head, which had disappeared, popped back in again.