Miles gasped, much to Alice’s satisfaction. “Ricky Retch?! The rock star? Ricky Retch thinks you’re hot!? No way!”
In the main hall, the visitors were patiently waiting for their host to return. They were all very distinguished, high-ranking men and women from every culture, some in exotic national dress, others in military uniform, and most in expensive suits, yet all sported wide, cheesy grins in honour of their host. Appropriately, the theme of this particular summit was: “A. Smyle for the World” – a phrase written in huge purple letters and hung over the ballroom door.
These summits were held at least twice a year when Mr. Smyle and various world leaders sat around a huge mahogany table in the banqueting hall to discuss matters of ‘utmost urgency’, as Mr. Smyle described them. Few people ever knew what these matters were – not even Miles was able to find out – but they must have been extremely important, considering the number of extremely important persons who turned up. Between sessions, delegates wandered through the grounds, forming little huddles and talking intensely between themselves. And sometimes there’d be quite a media circus, with journalists and cameramen swarming around the place, under the careful control of Mr. Soames and his army of flunkeys.
As the delegates filed into the banqueting suite with bodyguards, secretaries and other aides in tow, Joe glimpsed a tall, elegant woman in the corner of his eye. She had flowing auburn hair and finely chiselled features and was chatting animatedly with an American Senator. For a fleeting moment, he thought he recognised her but, before he could remember where from, she disappeared into the ballroom amongst a group of 5-star generals. Odi was nudging him excitedly.
“Wow!” gasped Odi. “Is that a mayor or something!?” He pointed at a red-faced man whose shoulders were decorated by a magnificent gold chain. “Hey Mayor!” he called out. “If I pull your chain, will it make you flush?”
“Shush! That’s the king of Europea or somewhere!” said Miles. “And that man in the white uniform? He’s an admiral, I bet.”
“We sure are mixing in some high circles!” said Odi. “But then hey, they get to rub shoulders with us!”
Only Alice was unimpressed.
“How much longer is Mr. Smyle going to be?” Alice pouted. “My birthday’s only four days away and I haven’t even begun to get organised!”
Mrs. Bennett smiled in her bland ‘never mind’ sort of way. “These talks are taking a little longer than expected,” she explained. “Though, with Mr. Smyle in charge, I expect they’ll come to an agreement quite soon.”
“Well, it’s extremely selfish of them. Who cares about their silly old summit when I’ve a party to arrange?” Alice sighed. “By the way, will you tell Roots to get his hair cut. I simply can’t have him looking a fright in front of my friends. In fact, you can tell him, I’d really rather he and Laurel didn’t come at all; they won’t enjoy it and would only be out of place. Oh, and Bennett, make sure the boys have something respectable to wear….something black.”
“Black, Miss Alice?”
“That’s the theme of my party,” said the girl, “Black drapes, black tablecloths, carpets, curtains – everything. And guess what?”
“I simply can’t, Miss Alice.”
“He’llbe there!”
“I take it that’s a young man, Miss Alice?”
“That,” said Alice in a mysterious tone, “is something you’ll find out soon enough. But now I’m feeling rather peckish, so do be a dear and fetch me some sandwiches. Smoked salmon on wholemeal bread in equilateral triangles two inches across, no crusts.”
“As you wish, Miss Alice.” On her way out of the Bird Room, Mrs.. Bennett almost fell over Miles charging through the door.
“Watch out, will you!?” he yelped. “As if things aren’t bad enough with world rulers cluttering up the corridors!”
“I do beg your pardon, Master Miles,” smiled Mrs. Bennett and left the two children alone.
“So, who is he then?” Miles demanded. “This boy who’s coming? I heard you from out there.”
“Oh, just someone.” Alice replied casually.
“You’re not supposed to have boyfriends anyway,” said Miles, annoyed at his sister’s secretiveness, “You’re not old enough.”
“Ricky thinks I am.” Alice remarked, smugly. “In fact, Ricky Retch thinks I’m the hottest girl he’s ever seen.”
Miles gasped, much to Alice’s satisfaction. “Ricky Retch?! The rock star? Ricky Retch thinks you’re hot!? No way!”
“Well, he does!” snapped Alice, bristling at Miles’ impertinence. Nowadays, he and Odi were the only people who ever spoke to her so disrespectfully.
“Well, Mum and Dad wouldn’t approve,” Miles insisted.
“Mum and Dad aren’t here,” said Alice matter-of-factly.
“Then it’s up to me, as the man of the family, to put a stop to this once and for all. Alice, you’re not to go out with this person and, if he turns up to your party, I’m going to tell him straight!”
“That’ll be difficult, seeing as you’re not coming! And neither are Joe or Odi, come to that!” she barked. “You seem to forget, I’m sixteen now, I can even get married if I want. I’m an adult and I’m having an adult party which means there’s no room for snotty kids like you!”
“Huh!” Miles puffed out his chest defiantly. “We’ll see what Mr. Smyle has to say about that!”
“Okay then, we’ll go and see him now, shall we?” And Alice grabbed Miles by the arm and dragged him towards the ballroom, only to be stopped at the door by two burly security men whose orders were to let nobody in and to make sure the important people inside were on no account disturbed. However, despite their long careers, in which they’d faced bullets, bombs and terrorist assassins, and regardless of winning several medals for bravery in the process, they had never experienced anything like Alice in full cry.
The rumpus which followed resulted in Mr. Smyle being called from his keynote address on global peace to sort it out. After intensive negotiations, it was agreed that the boys would be going; that Roots should get his hair cut, and that Alice could invite anybody she wanted to the party; so now, could he please get back to the comparatively minor problem of preventing World War III?
“Teenagers!” he chuckled as he returned to his original negotiating table. The assembled Presidents and crowned heads nodded sympathetically. “We have them in our country too,” they said.
From then on, preparations for Alice’s party went ahead smoothly. Mr. Smyle had very graciously changed the venue of the Peace Conference to the North Wing, leaving the entrance hall and ballroom free for the young ones and for the most part kept discreetly out of the way, just popping round occasionally to see how things were progressing. He was highly impressed by Alice’s organisational skills.
“No, no, no!” she cried as one of her minions tried to wrap marble pillars with black crepe paper. “That will never do. Paper looks so cheap and crinkly. It’s got to be velvet……No, Matthews!” The elderly Doris Matthews had miles of the stuff on her ironing board. “You’ve got to press velvet on the reverse side or it leaves a mark – I’d have thought that was obvious!”
“My, my, my!” exclaimed Mr. Smyle. “What exquisite taste! What an eye for colour! It’s hard to believe you’re only 15 years, 11 months, 3 weeks and 4 days old!”
Alice ran to give him a hug. By now, she felt quite easy in her guardian’s presence and had learned to read his moods with a fair degree of accuracy. “It’s going to be so cool, don’t you think?”
“Like an ice-box!” he agreed. “A bit on the gloomy side, though. Hardly appropriate for a teenage girl in my opinion.”
“That’s exactly the point! Most girls my age go for frills and flowers and….” The very word made her shudder, “Pink! Yuk!”
“Yuk indeed! By the way, I think some of MY guests might pop their heads in to your little do. Shall you mind?”
“Oh, not royals please! They’re so Z-list now!”
“Well, Sweetheart,” Mr. Smyle argued “It IS my house. Surely I can have the odd king or queen here occasionally?”
“Well…..as long as they behave themselves and not get in the way.” said Alice.
“So, nobody can have any fun?” Mr. Smyle chivvied. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that. See if we can’t liven things up a little.”
Liven it up he did! Without Alice’s knowledge, he’d persuaded a host of top entertainers to perform at her party, and a special cake was commissioned decorated with sixteen 21-carat diamonds. He also provided thousands of glorious red and purple roses to brighten things up.
Everyone else made an effort too, even Roots who, in honour of the birthday girl, cut off his dreadlocks. Granted, he’d done the job himself, so his hair looked stranger than ever with its choppy layers and spikes, but it did rather suit him and the style was not so very different than the one for which Alice paid £2,000. She was almost sorry when Roots asked to be excused from the party, as he really felt uncomfortable at such large gatherings.
It was the same for Laurel. Mr. Smyle had provided a very slinky black dress for her to wear, which she adamantly refused to try on. “I will NOT conform to your sexist stereotype!” she shouted, chucking the offending garment back at Mr. Smyle from the top of the stairs.
“Pity,” said Mr. Smyle. “You would have look perfectly divine.”
Laurel shuddered. Smarmy comments like that made her really uncomfortable – no way was she attending the party! She and Roots decided to watch events from the upstairs landing and, although they dressed smartly – Laurel in a fetching but modest floaty dress – Roots flatly refused to wear black. “Life’s morbid enough,” he reasoned, and chose white trousers with a crisp white shirt, which made him look quite dashing. “Hey Joe!” he hissed as the boy appeared from his bedroom, “Bring us some champagne, will you?” Joe nodded and smiled.
By the time the party go going, Roots and Laurel were feeling quite jolly, jumping around together in a strange imitation of dancing. Seeing there was more fun to be had with their old friends, Joe and Odi kept sneaking up to join them every now and then, only returning to the main festivities when in need of fresh supplies. “This is the best party I’ve ever been to,” said Roots, over his fourth glass of Chateau Latour 2009. “No jostling at the bar, no polite conversation. Just good friends, champagne, music, and nibbly bits.” He helped himself to another handful of stuffed olives to go with his garlic bread. Joe had really done them proud.
Now people were arriving in their hundreds, dressed up to the nines and ready to rock, kissing cheeks and posing shamelessly for the army of photographers laying siege at the entrance. The only person missing now was the birthday girl herself. Making the most of her absence, Odi took to the stage with Digga Dogga Doo and launched into a spirited number of his own with ‘lyrics’ consisting almost entirely of the name ‘Odi’ and its derivations.
The initial set lasted a good half hour and he was just about to launch into a couple of encores when, much to his annoyance and on the dot of ten o’clock, a fanfare echoed round the castle and the lights were dimmed. All eyes were drawn to the top of the staircase where a spotlight revealed Alice in all her glory. Everyone gasped as she glided gracefully down the stairs in the most fabulous dress ever made. Swathes of gold-coloured silk flowed obediently behind her, providing a stunning contrast to the black surroundings and the outfits of her guests. The bodice was encrusted with precious stones and her hair shone golden in the light. This was her moment, her triumph, and no one would ever take it from her….yet, all was not quite as she had hoped.
Her guests applauded at the vision, each queuing to congratulate her on the most amazing party ever, but her eyes scanned the room looking in vain for the one person she so desperately wanted to see.
“Does anybody know any of these people?” asked Miles, pausing from a long, involved business deal, which he was loudly conducting on his mobile.
“Yes, of course,” replied Alice as she greeted her guests with the obligatory ‘Mwah’, looking every inch the star in her amazing gown. As the evening went on, however, the tempo hotted up, and Alice’s mascara started to run, but there was still no sign of Ricky Retch, the only person who really mattered. Peeved, she reached for another glass of champagne. “Haven’t you had enough of that stuff?” Miles said. He’d begun to notice her glum expression and the way she slurred her speech.
Joe had noticed it too, on his way back from the refreshment room, yet was too busy trying to keep his balance under the weight of desert bowls he was carrying to do anything about it. With both hands full, it was all he could do to wield his way through the throngs of partygoers, who were throwing themselves around the ballroom in a state of wild abandon to the throbbing beat of the music.
Suddenly, a normally distinguished but rather dishevelled guest lurched into a feverish twirl, his elbows digging into Joe as he tried to squeeze past. The floor was covered with assorted fruit salad, trifles and cake. “Oops!” said the guest, an exclamation that was quickly followed by a woman’s voice: “You clumsy idiot!” Joe’s blood froze at the very sound. Looking up, his eyes met those of a tall woman with a pinched nose, which was now flared with fury.
Instinct kicked in. Without stopping to think, he raced back towards the staircase, desperate to find Roots and Laurel and some kind of safety; but the way was blocked by Mr. Smyle, who had just emerged from his conference to join the festivities.
“Whoa there, Joe!” he said. “Whatever’s the matter? You look as though the devil was after you!”
“Mr. Smyle!” gasped Joe, for the first time being glad to see him. “I’ve just seen her….!”
“Who?” Mr. Smyle asked. “Just breathe deeply and spit it out. Who have you seen?”
“It’s her, Mr. Smyle. That horrible woman. She’s here at the party!”
“Who?” repeated his host. “Who on earth could cause you such anxiety?”
“It’s…it’s….it’s….” The only way he could utter the hated name was with his fists clenched and his eyes shut tightly.
“It’s Sister Prism!” he cried.
Mr. Smyle looked horrified. “What? You mean that awful woman from Babel? Oh, this is terrible! Where’s Soames!” At the mere lifting of his little finger, the butler presented himself for duty. “Soames, we have a spy in our midst. Tell security to be on the lookout – oh and ask Mrs.. Bennett to see Joe and Odi safely off to bed.” Turning to Joe, he patted his shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll be safe there; and I’ll have one of my aides guard the door.”
Before anyone could go anywhere, the front door flew open and in walked Ricky Retch in true rocker fashion with his huge entourage, including six beefy bodyguards who shoved everyone else out of their path. Sadly, it was now well past midnight and far too late to see Alice at her best, although by this time she was far too relieved to worry about that; only grateful that he’d bother to turn up at all. “Where’s the birthday girl?” he cried. Alice virtually flung herself into his arms and clung to him desperately, swearing her undying devotion and trying her best to kiss him without success. Miles felt embarrassed for her. “Alice,” he pleaded, “let go!” Ignoring her brother, Alice she became even more emotional, realizing she had competition. Being 6ft 3in, dangerously handsome and encased in black leather did nothing to keep the other girls at bay, much to Alice’s frustration.
“She’ll need sharp elbows to hang on to him.” mused Laurel from her viewing post.
“Well, I think it’s disgusting!” Roots growled. He was fond of Alice and hated to see her made a fool of. “Look at him, flirting with other girls right under her nose.”
It was impossible to do anything NOT under Alice’s nose, seeing as she’d coiled herself tightly around the lad like a hungry boa constrictor, forcing him to half carry, half drag her around with him from the moment he arrived. Eventually, he gave into the pleas of the crowd, unwound Alice from his neck, and leapt gracefully onto the specially built stage amidst screams of adoration. And not just from teenaged girls either. Roots spotted at least two First Ladies snatching at his hair.
In fairness, Ricky had talent. His powerful voice resounded through the castle with perfect pitch and rhythm, and the performance could not be faulted. But the lyrics! Death, violence, evil, sickness, misery, oppression…..the songs lurched from one depressing theme to another until Laurel could no longer bear it.
“I’m off to bed. Any more of this, I’ll shoot myself!” she murmured.
Roots would have followed her example, but he was genuinely concerned about Alice. While guests were sniggering behind her back, members of staff were just standing around as always with huge, cheesy grins on their faces and Mr. Smyle was nowhere to be seen. No one seemed to care about the vulnerable young girl now staggering uncontrollably from side to side, waving her hands in the air and mumbling incoherently. While summoning all his self-control to stifle it, Roots felt a hot stream of rage creeping up from his stomach, threatening to explode.
Ricky Retch finished his final soul-destroying song, acknowledged the applause and bounded off the platform as tirelessly as he’d begun. Alice moved towards him, whimpering with too much wine, and, after climbing up his lanky frame, she reclaimed her place again around the young man’s neck. This time, however, her date had no intention of carrying her round. “Get off!” he rasped, trying to pull her arms apart.
But, having staked her claim, Alice was determined to hang on to it. “What’s the matter, Ricky? Don’t you love me anymore?” she whined. “Everyone else thinks I’m the hottest thing ever!”
“Then we’d better cool you down a bit!” cried Ricky, who pulled her arms away from his neck and pushed her back so roughly that she fell into the fountain. Poor Alice. For several moments, she sat with her once-wonderful dress soaked and bedraggled, too shocked by her unexpected soaking to remove the hair that was plastered over her face. All she could do was wail pitifully, while cameras flashed.
Other guests bayed with laughter, delighted at this unexpected treat – the humiliation of a helpless, semi-conscious, teenage girl. But not everybody was amused.
“Sack this for a sty full of pig manure!” came the battle cry and from the top of the grand staircase, a streak of white flashed towards them as a young man slid at 90 miles an hour down the banister. Once at the bottom, Roots pelted across the marble floor, fists clenched, teeth gritted with fury and, with one powerful blow, sent Ricky Retch sprawling. Flash went the cameras.
“On your feet, you coward!” Roots cried. Ricky looked at him, and trembled, shielding his face with an upturned palm. Roots was mighty fearsome when roused.
“Don’t hit me!” snivelled the singer who was too afraid to stand up.
“Come on Mr. Superstar! Let’s see how brave you really are!” commanded Roots, skipping from one foot to the other, just dying to take another pot. “What’s up? Don’t you fight anyone but helpless little girls?!”
“I don’t believe you were invited to this party, Mr. Roots.” Roots turned to see the imposing figure of Mr. Smyle, for once looking cold and grim. He held up a hand, halting the press from flashing their cameras again.
“He just threw Alice…..”
“I don’t care what he did!” snapped the host, “He is an invited guest. Youare a gatecrasher and a trouble-maker, and I’ll thank you to leave my home.”
“But…..” Roots blustered at the injustice of it all. “But, you didn’t see what he did…!”
“Right now, Mr. Roots, the only thing I want to see is an empty space where you’re standing.” Mr. Smyle glanced at his gold wristwatch.
“Let’s see, the time is now a little after four-fifteen. If you’re anywhere near my property by four-thirty, I’ll set my dogs on you.”
“But….”
“Four-thirty, Mr. Roots. Make sure you’re gone by then.”
Aware there was nothing he could say to change the situation, Roots turned to go back up the stairs.
But Mr. Smyle had other ideas. “Wrong way, Mr. Roots. The door is over there.”
From nowhere, a troop of heavy-set men in dark purple jackets appeared and ‘escorted’ Roots to the entrance.
“All right, all right, I’m going!” he protested. Then, stiffening his back and lifting his head up high, Roots marched away from the Castle of Smyle’s.