All That Glitters (11 page)

There’s a short silence.

“That’s a really long time, Harriet.”

“Actually, it’s only three days on Mercury. Plus I’ve got you and Toby – as soon as his project is over, anyway – so what else does a sensible girl really need?”

“But Harriet, I’m not—”

“So do you want to come to mine tonight? I’ve designed a game of fashion Monopoly for us to play and it has a doll’s house sewing machine you can use as your little placer.”

Let’s just say that last free period was
really
boring.

There’s another short, uncomfortable silence.

Then Nat frowns and hops off the machine, landing on a half-open detergent box with a little puff of white powder like a dragon.

She stares at the floor for a few seconds.

“I … can’t tonight. I mean, it sounds great. But if you … If we … Some other time?”

“Oh.” I feel slightly popped. “I guess you’re busy with Theo tonight, right?”

“Huh? Oh. Mm-hmm.”

I nod as another memory flashes: a seagull, a swing, a fur hat.

A kiss.

Then I swallow and push it away as fast as I can.

“Excellent!” I try and grin. “Can’t wait to meet him! Have fun!”

Nat gets to the door then bites her lip, runs back and abruptly throws her arms around me so hard she almost knocks me over.

“Don’t give up, Harriet. They’ll love you as much as I do, I promise. Just give them a bit of time, OK?”

She kisses my cheek, hard.

Then my best friend bursts back out of the laundry doors into the dark, leaving a white fog of soap behind her.

wait until Nat has definitely gone.

Then I sit back down in the chair, lean my cheek against the warm tumble dryer and watch the sock going round and round and round in never-ending circles.

Just like my stupid little life.

My phone beeps.

My little chunky-chip! Is this the face that launched a thousand lips?! Sparkle monkey everywhere! Fairy wins again! Gravy

I stare at it for a few seconds, then turn my phone upside down in case it reads better the other way up.

It does not.

It’s midday on a Tuesday in New York right now. My bonkers ex-agent has clearly had
way
too many cups of coffee.

Although at least Wilbur’s still in contact: we may not be working together any more, but he still talks to me more than my current modelling agent.

The last three times I rang Infinity Models I never even got past the receptionist.

Still bemused, I type:

Wilbur, have you been eating sequins again? xxx

I wait a few minutes – he’s obviously peaked and passed out – pop my phone back in my bag and make a mental note to ring him tomorrow when he’s slept through the caffeine spike.

Then I close my eyes and try not to notice how, despite coming to my happy place, there’s an organ in the middle of my chest that still belongs on Jupiter.

ccording to scientists, it takes sixty-six days to form a new habit.

I’m obviously going to need every single one of them.

As I walk slowly home, every bush is stared at, every flowerpot glanced behind, every tree trunk checked. At one point I find myself making a little detour around a rubbish bin, just in case there’s somebody lurking there. Honestly, I haven’t behaved this weirdly since I went on a rampaging Flower Fairy hunt, aged six.

Or had so little success.

Because it doesn’t matter how hard I look, or how slowly I walk, or how many times I whisper
I believe in you
: it’s no good.

There’s nobody following.

Nobody listening, nobody watching.

For the first time in five years, Toby isn’t there.

“Dad?” I say as I push open the front door. “Tabitha? Did you have a nice d—”

I freeze.

Newspapers are strewn around the hallway. The sofa has been dismantled; blankets and clothes are scattered down the stairs. One living-room curtain is closed, every drawer is out, every cupboard is open. The rubbish bin is lying on its side: contents splurged all over the floor.

There are approximately 35,000 robberies reported every month in the UK, and it looks like we’ve just become one of them.

“Dad!” I shout in a panic, dropping my satchel. “Tabitha! Are you OK?”

What if they’ve taken my laptop?

Nobody will ever see the presentation I was making about pandas doing handstands.

“Dad!” I yell as I race into the bathroom. The medicine cupboard has been pulled apart. “Dad!” I yell in the kitchen where the fridge door is still open. “Dad!” I shout in the totally ransacked cupboard under the stairs. “Da—”

Dad walks in through the back door with Tabitha, snuggled up in his arms. “Daughter Number One! The conquering heroine returns!”

I fling myself at them so hard I may have crushed my little sister irreversibly. “Oh my goodness, you poor things. Did they hurt you? Did they threaten you? You could have been
kidnapped
!”

Actually, they
may
have been kidnapped and then returned. If I was a robber, I’d have brought my dad back pretty quickly too.

“Did the who which what now?”

“The burglars!”

“We’ve been
burgled
?” Dad says in alarm. “When did that happen? I was only in the garden for thirty seconds. Blimey, they move fast, don’t they?”

I look at him, and then at the chaos around us.

Now I come to think of it, nothing seems to be
missing
. It just appears to be … heavily rearranged. There isn’t a single cup left in the cupboard: they’re all sitting next to the sink, half full of cold tea. The plates aren’t gone: they’re just randomly distributed around the living room, covered in ketchup.

“
You
made all this mess?”

“What mess?” Dad glances around. “Looks fine to me. I tell you what, I don’t know what Annabel was going on about. This stay-at-home-parent malarkey is a
doddle.
I even wrote a poem after lunch. Do you want to hear it?”

“You wrote a
poem
?”

“I did indeed. I rhymed artisan with marzipan. And Tarzan.” Dad looks at my sister smugly. “We’re just trying to work out how to get
partisan
in there too, aren’t we, Tabs.
I am partisan to a little marzipan while watching Tarzan.
” He thinks about it. “If only it was
Tarzipan
. Such a shame.”

Oh my God. The only thing missing in this house is the thing between my father’s ears.

“But—”

“I feel a bit cooped up now, though,” he continues cheerfully. “I might take Hugo for a walk, stretch the legs, get the air moving around the brain again. You can take care of Tabitha, right?”

He plonks her in my arms before I can tell him there’s clearly enough air moving around his brain already.

“But Dad—”

“Oooh,
medicine-man
!” he says as he grabs his jacket, whistles at my dog and marches out of the door I left hanging open in panic behind me. Hugo bounds after him, giddy with excitement. “That rhymes too! God, I’m a creative genius. See you in a bit, kiddos!”

And the door swings shut behind them.

My sister and I look at each other in disbelief for a few seconds. Not for the first time, we are entirely on the same page.
You think that’s bad
? her round blue eyes are saying.
I’ve had eleven hours of this and I’m only four months old. I can’t even physically crawl away yet.

I glance at the clock on the kitchen wall.

It’s five-thirty and Annabel will be home from her first day back at work in an hour. Exhausted, drained and desperate to spend time with her tiny baby. I could be wrong, but I don’t think washing up, re-folding towels in a cupboard and reading Dad’s inaccurate attempts to rhyme
marzipan
are on that list.

Which gives me no other choice.

With a quick sigh, I give my sister a kiss on the cheek and put her back in her little bouncy chair so that she can keep me company.

Then, like all the King’s soldiers and all the King’s men, I roll my sleeves up.

And start putting the house back together again.

ere are my top three days in history: