Secret Meeting (16 page)

“This was another reason,” said Harriet, “why I didn’t want you telling anyone about our secret meeting … if readers discovered my hideaway, it would be the end! I’d never have a moment’s peace. I would have to move.”

Earnestly, I assured her that we hadn’t told a soul. “And we won’t. I promise!” I then turned round and pulled a face at Annie, ’cos Annie very nearly
had
told.

“Wouldn’t have made any difference,” said Annie.

“What’s that?” said Harriet. “What wouldn’t have made any difference?”

“If I’d told my sister we were coming to meet you.”

“But she didn’t!” I said, quickly. “I stopped her.”

“Good girl,” said Harriet.

“She still wouldn’t have known where you lived,” said Annie.

“She might have found out,” I said.

“Well, she probably wouldn’t have been able to,” said Harriet, “because not even my publishers have my country address. I don’t give my country address to anyone! It’s my very secret hideaway where I can be private.”

“Even from Lori?” I said.

“Lori? Oh, no not from Lori. of course not. But from the rest of the world … You have no idea what it’s like to be constantly bombarded by total strangers turning up on the doorstep wanting autographs, or wanting books signed, or just to come in for a chat.”

“It must be horrible!” I said. I really meant it. I wouldn’t want to be a celeb! Annie, however, said she thought it would be quite fun.

“It might seem so, just at first,” said Harriet, “but in the end it wears you down.”

“That’s right,” I said. “You want to write books, not keep on being bothered all the time.”

“Oh, Megan! You and I are kindred spirits,” said Harriet. Which made me glow all over again!

We finally reached what Harriet called her secret hideaway.

“Wasn’t there some writer,” she said, “who had a shed in the garden?”

“Roald Dahl,” I said. “Roald Dahl! I knew it was someone famous. He had his shed, I have my cottage.”

The cottage was at the bottom of a narrow lane. The lane ended up in a woody area, with a field on one side. It was rutted and bumpy, and hardly wide enough for a car.

“Sorry for the rough ride,” said Harriet, as we jolted and bounced. “Not many people come down here – which is why I love it so! Complete peace and quiet.”

“Don’t you get lonely?” said Annie.

“Lonely? Not at all! How could I get lonely when I have all my characters for company?”

“I would,” said Annie.

“You’re not a writer,” I said.

Harriet’s hideaway was like a little dolls’ house. Really cute! Harriet apologised for the fact that it was a bit tumbledown. She said, “It needs a lot of work done on it, but it’s such an upheaval!”

“It’s like the one in Hansel and Gretel,” said Annie.

“The witch’s cottage? Was that tumbledown?”

“No, but it was kind of … spooky.”

“Annieee!” I was horrified. How could she be so rude? “It’s not spooky, it’s lovely!”

I thought that if I were writing a description of it for English, I would say that it was
picturesque.
Just right for an author!

“I always have to watch my head,” said Harriet, ducking as she opened the door.

The door gave straight on to the sitting room, which was quite bare. Just a chair and table, and an old saggy sofa. No books! That surprised me, but Harriet explained that if she had books there she would keep breaking off to read them.

“I am so easily distracted! I have a mind like a flea.”

I was a bit puzzled by this as I had once read how Harriet Chance liked to sit at her kitchen table and write her first draft by hand, surrounded by her four cats. Surely cats would distract her? The lady who lives downstairs from us has a cat called Biddy, and when she comes to visit us, Biddy I mean, she always spreads herself out across my homework, if I’m doing homework, and starts grooming herself or purring. I find that very distracting!

I told this to Harriet. “Sometimes,” I said, “she even tries to chew the paper!”

“Oh, I couldn’t be doing with that,” said Harriet. “I couldn’t write with cats around! And I couldn’t write on paper … far too slow!”

Falteringly, I said, “I read this interview where you said how you always did your first draft by hand … you said you couldn’t write straight on to a computer.”

“Did I?” She laughed. “Well, I’ve been dragged kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century! One has to move with the times.”

“I still write by hand,” I said.

“That’s only ’cos you don’t have a computer,” said Annie.

“They are one of the blessings of modern technology,” said Harriet. “Imagine! If I didn’t have a computer, we would never have met. Now, then! How about some tea? Annie, clear a space on the table while I go and get it.”

I needed to go to the loo – I always do after a car journey. Harriet told me the bathroom was “directly ahead, up the stairs … but be warned, it’s a bit primitive!”

It was such a funny little place, the bathroom. Like a little cell. All it had was a washbasin and a toilet, with a cracked bit of mirror on the wall. Both the washbasin and the toilet were very old-fashioned. The washbasin was propped up on a sort of iron stand, and the toilet had a broken
seat and a long chain with a handle that you had to pull when you’d finished, except that it didn’t seem to work, which was rather embarrassing. Red-faced, I told Harriet about it, and she said, “Oh, dear! Never mind. At least it’s better than having to go outside … imagine that on a dark night!”

“You could write a book about someone living in a place like this,” said Annie. “You could call it
Spooky Cottage.
”

I cringed, but Harriet said, “Do you know, that’s a really good idea? I might well do that! And then I could dedicate it to you both.
To Annie and Megan, who came to tea.
Speaking of which—” she whisked away a cloth which was covering the table. “How about that?”

I gasped. I couldn’t believe it! It was like a fairy tale … all my favourite food was there! A bowl full of tiny weeny Easter eggs – another bowl full of Cadbury’s Creme ones – a
big
bowl of crisps – a plate of ham sandwiches and a baby birthday cake, with twelve candles crowded on the top.

“This was
our
secret,” gloated Annie. “I told Harriet all the stuff you loved to eat!”

“I hope we got it right,” said Harriet.

“We did!” said Annie. “She adores all this stuff!”

I’m afraid it is true. It is exactly the sort of food that I would like to have on a desert island. The sort of food that Mum only lets me eat in what Gran would have called “dribs and drabs”. Certainly not all in one go!

“Fortunately,” said Harriet, “I bought enough to feed an army, so get stuck in, the pair of you.”

Annie and I sat munching side by side on the saggy sofa. Harriet sat at the table. I was quite surprised to see that she was eating ham sandwiches as I had once read that she was a vegetarian; but I thought perhaps she was only doing it to be polite, what with me being a guest, and so I didn’t say anything. It would have seemed ungracious.

After we’d eaten as much as we could, and I’d blown out the candles on the cake and made a birthday wish – even though it wasn’t yet properly my birthday – I settled down with my reporter’s notebook to interview Harriet. Annie kept nagging to know what I’d wished for, but Harriet told her that birthday wishes had to be secret, “Otherwise they won’t come true.”

Annie said, “Will you tell me if it
does
come true?”

I said, “Yes, but it won’t be for ages yet!” Not unless you could have books published and get famous while you were still at school … Was that possible? I opened my
notepad and wrote it down, as a question to ask Harriet. I had a long list of questions! I had carefully worked them all out in advance. I had decided there wasn’t any point asking her things I already had the answers to, so I’d tried to think of questions she maybe hadn’t been asked before. This was my list:

Questions for Harriet Chance

What was Paper Dolls about
?

What was your grown-up book about and what was it called
?

In Scarlet Feather, does Scarlet choose to go with her mum
or
her dad
?

Were you ever like any of your characters when you were young? If so, which ones
?

Have you ever written a book using an idea that was given to you by someone else
?

What made you decide to become a vegetarian
?

Do you think a person could have a book published while they were still at school?

“Right! You come and sit at the table,” said Harriet, “I’ll sit on the sofa with Annie. Now! Fire away.”

I cleared my throat. “Can you tell me what your book
Paper Dolls
was about?”

“
Paper Dolls
? Oh! Well … it was about paper dolls. Is that one you haven’t read?”

“It was the one you wrote when you were at s-school,” I said. “It … it wasn’t ever published.”

“Oh, good heavens, you’re right!” Harriet banged a clenched fist to her forehead. “Silly of me! Memory like a sieve. But it was definitely about paper dolls. I used to play with them, when I was a child.”

Dutifully, I wrote it down. I wasn’t quite sure what a paper doll was, but I didn’t want to bore Harriet by asking too many questions, especially silly ones.

“Sorry about that,” said Harriet. “But I was at school a very long time ago!”

“That’s all right,” I said. “What about your grown-up book that you wrote?”

“Ah, yes,” said Harriet. “My grown-up book.”

“What was that about?”

“Um … well! It was … you know!” She waved a hand. “Best not talked about.”

I thought perhaps she meant that it was rude.
All about sex, or maybe drugs.

“Not the sort of thing you’d want to read,” she said. “Next question!”

“In
Scarlet Feather
, when Scarlet’s mum and dad split up, which of them does Scarlet choose to go and live with?”

Harriet hesitated. “That’s not fair!” shrilled Annie. “You shouldn’t ask the ending of a book before you’ve read it!”

“No, you certainly should not,” said Harriet.

“It’s cheating! Don’t tell her!”

“I don’t intend to,” said Harriet. “But it was a good try!”

“I just wanted to get a scoop,” I said. “Like in the newspapers.”

“But if you give all my plots away, no one will bother to buy the books!”

I hadn’t thought of that.