said Mum. It was eleven o’clock on Sunday morning, and Laurel hadn’t yet put in an appearance. “Why is she still in bed? What’s she been up to?” “She went to a party,” said Rose. “With Simon.” “Oh, did she? I hope she hasn’t been drinking again.” Daisy giggled. “It’s not funny,” said Mum. “We’ve all been there, we’ve all done it – but not at fourteen years old, thank you very much!” “It’s all right,” said Jazz. “She swears she’s never going to touch drink again, ever.” “Yes, I’ve heard that before,” said Mum. “I think she means it,” said Jazz. Laurel was in enough trouble as it was. “I’ll go and wake her!” Jazz galloped up the stairs in her usual fashion and burst unceremoniously into Laurel’s bedroom. “Wake up, wake up, you lazy slug!” Laurel ungummed a bleary eye. “I’ve only just gone to sleep,” she said. “I’ve been awake all night, worrying.” She wriggled into a sitting position, clutching the duvet round her.
