The sleepover - by J.C.

The sleepover

                              by J.C.

‘Oh hello,” said the Prime Minister.

I was immediately struck by the warmth in his eyes and the way his face crinkled in recognition as he smiled at me.

I embraced his outstretched hand with vigour, suddenly conscious of the shuffling of cameras and reporters behind me.

I could hear them whispering, ‘Who’s that?’ as they leaned in to photograph my greeting.

I had stepped up boldly in the fleeting moment between finishing media interviews and him getting into the white car where security and his personal assistant were waiting.

My heart was thumping but my smile was kind and open and I shook his hand.

“Great question,” the mayor Kevin Winters boomed from the alcove of the Distinction Hotel. The mayor was referring to the question I had asked New Zealand’s Prime Minister at a business lunch we’d just attended. I’d told the audience that I lay awake at night sometimes and at 3am I often wondered what the Prime Minister lay awake and thought about. I also asked if he had any tips on how he prioritised his day. 

It’s not so strange to think of the leader of our country padding around his home in a pair of white crumpled boxer shorts . . . is it? The silence in the room told me the audience was intensely interested to know what he thought about in those small waking hours.

And now, here I was, with his hand in mine, two sets of blue eyes locked, for a fleeting moment.

“I have an invitation for you,” I said, thrusting a large white envelope into his hand. He accepted it, nodding lightly.

“We’d like you and Bronagh to come back to Rotorua and ride the Cycle Trail. All the details are in there,” I said, indicating the envelope.

“Thank you . . . and who are you?”

Kicking myself for my obvious omission, I told him, adding. “We’d love you to stay at our homestay if you like.”

The Prime minister was nudged by an officious looking woman in a stark white business suit.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said.

As I turned and walked away the flurry of reporters now following me, my stomach lurched in delight. I’d just asked the Prime Minister for a sleepover! I can’t wait to tell Mum.