Free How to Get the Friends You Want by Jenny Alexander Page A

– it’s no good waiting for Mum to do it because she’s always busy with the business, and Dad’s motto is ‘Nature abhors a vacuum cleaner’.
    Sasha, Tammy and Abina all had neat, tidy houses and non-embarrassing families. Even their pets were tidily outside. They were organised and calm; they probably never got in the kind of state I’d have been in if I still wanted to be friends and everything kicked off just before they were about to arrive. But I didn’t want to stay friends forever, so I let it wash over me.
    Sasha, Tammy and Abina were coming at two o’clock and we didn’t start lunch until half past one. As it happened, Mum had cooked frozen pizza, but she’d also boiled up a vat of sprouts to go with it, and even a handful of sprouts will make your house smell like something’s died in your drains.
    Dad had been holding out all week to talk tothe agony aunts because he was fed up with his footie friends not having any people skills. They were still teasing him and calling him Daphne, but now they were also annoyed with him for dropping out of the five-a-side.
    However, when he did his conference call, the agony aunts kept laughing at him because they thought he was joking when he wasn’t.
    â€˜They said honesty was the best policy when we were talking about Jeannie’s letter from Guilty of Gossington, who was wondering whether to tell his girlfriend he’d gone off her, but when we finished talking about the letters and Kay asked us if we liked her new hair colour...’
    â€˜Oh, dear – you didn’t,’ sighed Mum.
    â€˜Well, pardon me for having a point of view, but purple was bad enough – blue-black makes her look like a witch in a wig.’
    Primrose was texting under the table and refusing to eat her sprouts so Mum was getting wound up with her, but Primrose didn’t care. She was away with the love-fairies, all gooey-eyed, like she always is when she’s texting with Matt.
    â€˜He says we should have a special celebration for our six-month anniversary,’ she said. ‘We’re going to wear the same clothes and go for a walk on the cliff path, just like the first time we went out.’
    That’s dating, Polgotherick-style.
    â€˜Six months isn’t till after Christmas,’ said Mum.
    â€˜You probably won’t even still be going out with him,’ said Dad.
    Primrose gave a strangled squeal and stood up, scraping her chair across the floor. She’s got super-sonic emotions; she can go from gooey-eyed to wild-eyed in under two seconds.
    â€˜How could you say that?’
    She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. We heard her footsteps stamping away up the stairs.
    â€˜What?’ goes Dad. ‘It’s true!’
    â€˜Just because something’s true, that doesn’t mean you have to say it,’ said Mum.
    Dad normally does the dishes on a Sunday but he got in a huff and said he was late for his match. He looked for his notepad and voice-recorder, muttering away to himself that at least you knew where you were with work and you also knew where you were with sport.
    â€˜Someone scores a great goal, you tell it like it is. Someone plays like a hippo with a headache, you tell it like it is...’
    â€˜Can you do the dishes then, Peony?’ said Mum.
    â€˜Sorry, but not really – I’ve still got to clean out Dennis before my friends arrive.’
    I opened both the doors of his hutch and fetched a black bag and a brush. Dennis got all territorial. He crouched behind his food bowl ready to pounce.
    Mum gathered the dirty plates noisily and dumped them in the sink. She turned the taps on so hard the water sprayed all over the place like a fountain in a force nine gale.
    Right then, there was a rat-a-tat-tat on the front door. Dennis thumped hard with his back feet, making his hutch floor rattle like a drum. Dad was nearest the door, so he opened it,