Star Reporter (2 page)

And that was typical too. I mean, we all make mistakes, right? Some people might encounter more than their fair share of little hiccups (like – I don't know – leaving a home highlighter kit on for a teensy bit too long and turning their hair a bright, brassy orange, maybe) but that doesn't mean they need to be reminded of them ALL THE TIME. Especially when one little trip to the hairdresser sorted everything out and didn't cost THAT much. But my mum doesn't believe in letting bygones be bygones. Oh no, she never forgets ANYTHING.

Summoning my inner goddess of calm, I dropped my crusts under the table for Rolo (AKA Destructo-Puppy), and got up. “I have to go.”

Dad raised an eyebrow as he swayed. “Don't you want a lift?”

I shook my head. “I'm meeting Molly and Shenice. See you later.”

I almost left the kitchen without giving the babies a goodbye kiss, but I caught a glimpse of Joshua's slumbering face snuffling over Dad's shoulder and, just like that, my annoyance evaporated. I dashed back and dropped a gentle kiss on each of their foreheads. While I was still feeling affectionate, I dipped my head to peck Mum's cheek too.

“Have a good day,” I whispered.

She smiled, and her eyes lit up in a tired sort of way that made me feel a bit guilty. At least we get to escape the madhouse each day; she is trapped here in a never-ending nightmare of nuclear nappies and a mountain of baby wipes, with only CBeebies for company. For the gazillionth time since the twins arrived, I resolved to be more helpful. Or at the very least, less fake-tan obsessed.

“Thanks, Cass,” Mum said, as Ethel scrunched up her nose and started to cry. “You too.”

I'm not ashamed to admit that I ducked out then. I love Joshua and Ethel to bits, I really do, but they're SO high maintenance. What I need is a door to another world in the back of my wardrobe, a place where the animals talk and don't mistake your shoes for pudding.

The cool thing about having BFFs you've known since you were four years old is that you can rely on them to make you feel better. Like when Molly used her dad's nose hair trimmer to give her teddy bear a Mohican and we shaved the fur off ours to stop her crying. Or when Shenice's half-brother downloaded a virus onto their mum's laptop and blamed it on her – we were totally there for her and even offered to write to the European Court of Human Rights to complain about the injustice. So I was pretty confident that Molly and Shenice were going to be one hundred per cent sympathetic when I mentioned my state of extreme exhaustion on the way to school.

“Babies cry, Cassie,” Molly sighed, rolling her eyes as though she'd heard it all before. “I'm surprised you're not used to it by now.”

I screwed my face up in a sarky smile. For a so-called BFF, she wasn't being very understanding. Then I remembered she was an only child and had never suffered the delights of an infant alarm clock. “I notice you haven't been for a sleepover since the twins arrived,” I replied. “Maybe you should try it and see how you get on with a sleep debt the size of Everest!”

We carried on squabbling all the way to the school gates. At least, me and Molly did. Shenice didn't say much, she just sort of trailed along next to us as we argued. And after a little while, it sank into my frazzled brain that something was wrong.

I nudged Molly. “What's up, Shen? Don't tell me you're sleep deprived as well?”

She shrugged. “No.”

“So what's going on?” Molly asked.

Shenice looked around the playground, as though checking no one was close enough to overhear. “Pinky promise you'll keep this between us, right?” she whispered. We nodded and she went on. “You know when you think you know someone but it turns out you don't really know them at all?”

“You mean like that time when we thought we saw Ziggy from The Droids and begged him to sign our faces but it turned out not to be him and then we couldn't get the ink off?” Molly said, frowning.

Shenice scowled. “No, not like that. I – look, just forget it.”

I stopped walking. There's this unwritten friendship law between the three of us which means we share EVERYTHING. It had to be something serious if Shenice didn't want to talk about it. “No, we won't forget it,” I said. “Something is obviously wrong and we want to help.”

She didn't speak for a minute. Then, to my horror, her big brown eyes filled with tears. “It's nothing really. Just that my mum has gone out every Thursday evening for the last five weeks.”

Molly looked blank and even I was having trouble working out why Shenice was so upset – her older brother was usually around when her mum wasn't so she didn't have to fend for herself.

“So what?” Molly said. “Maybe she's a Bingo Babe. My aunt got really into it when they went on holiday to Brighton last year and my uncle had to ban her from going to the arcade on the pier.”

Shenice shook her head. “It's worse than that. I – I think she might have started dating again.”

My mouth fell open in an O of understanding. Shenice's parents had split up years ago and her dad had moved in with a woman called Gloria almost immediately. Shenice didn't really like her but as she only saw her dad once a month, it wasn't much of an issue. Her mum, on the other hand, had been single ever since. The thought of her going on dates and possibly meeting someone who might become part of Shenice's future was officially scary biscuits.

Molly looked unconvinced. “Are you sure she isn't playing bingo? Auntie Eleni told Uncle Dimitri that she was going jogging but really she was at the pier the whole time. My dad said it was the only way she'd ever lose twenty pounds, and Auntie Eleni didn't speak to him for a week.”

“I might have checked Mum's phone,” Shenice admitted, going a bit red. “She's been texting this Julio about meeting up and I'm sure that's where she's been sneaking off to.”

Eep. We had a waiter called Julio on our family holiday to Tenerife last year but it wasn't the kind of name I'd heard a lot in Windsor, apart from when I got caught up in a Spanish tour group outside the castle and nearly ended up on their coach back to Barcelona.

“There could be an innocent explanation,” I said, trying to make her feel better. “I'm sure it's all a big misunderstanding.”

“I found this letter she'd written in her notebook,” Shenice went on. “In a language that definitely wasn't English and looked a lot like Spanish.”

That sounded bad. As far as I knew, Shen's mum didn't even speak Spanish.

“She must really like him if she's learning a whole new language,” Molly said quietly.

“But that's just it,” Shenice cried. “What if Julio and Mum like each other so much that they get married and I have to move to Spain or something?”

I didn't know what to say and from the look on Molly's face, neither did she. It was a horrible prospect. “At least you like paella,” I managed.

The bell rang, and for the first time ever, we walked to our class in silence. Poor Shenice – Spain is nice to visit but I'm not sure I'd want to live there. And my parents can be awful and embarrassing and totally uncool but at least neither of them is secretly dating someone called Julio.

I read this book once where the heroine escaped from her miserable home life by running away to join the circus, although she was this amazing gymnast so maybe that had something to do with it. Shenice's thing is swimming but I don't think there's much call for that as a performance art. She could probably get a job as a clown – one of those really sad-looking ones – I bet you don't need any qualifications to do it and even a life of custard-pie dodging would be better than a stepdad she doesn't want.

I am starting to feel very bad for Shenice. My family might lurch from one sleep-deprived crisis to another but we just about keep it together. I hope that's the way it stays.

I'm not sure GLITZ was right when they said a “GORGEOUS GOLDEN GLOW” was “ONLY A FINGERTIP AWAY”. It's certainly all OVER my fingertips, and underneath my nails, although I'd call it more of a yucky brown. Maybe if I'd been able to get the actual proper Starshine stuff, things might have gone better, but they didn't sell it in the little chemist next to the doctor's surgery. It always smells of lavender and old people in there. I am guessing there isn't much call for fake tan among the OAPs of Windsor because we looked for ages before Shenice finally found a few dusty bottles of Go Glow! in between the pads for ladies who pee when they laugh and the elasticated support stockings. The bottle is undeniably orange, which is hopefully not the colour I will turn or Mum will definitely notice. The instructions had rubbed off but as far as I can tell, you just put it on and – HEY PRESTO! – a few hours later, you are a vision of sultry-skinned healthiness. I am trying it out on my legs first and then it will be all systems go for Operation Tantastic in time for the May Ball next month.

Mum didn't even bat an eyelid when I said I was going to bed early with a headache – yet more evidence that either she doesn't listen to me or she no longer cares. It doesn't matter; by morning, I will have beautiful bronzed legs and my days of looking like I am a member of the undead will be over.

Omg.

OMG.

O. M. ACTUAL. G – my legs are stripy! Seriously, they look like manky sticks of rock, without the minty sweetness. I must have stuck to the duvet cover while I slept, because that is all stripy too. And I smell like the inside of a biscuit barrel – GLITZ didn't mention THAT in their article. Don't ask what's going on with my knees – for some reason they are much darker than my shins and look like a pair of squeezed-out teabags. How can I go to school like this? People will think I'm Tigger's long-lost sister.

Okay, deep breaths. Maybe a shower will help. It cannot make things any worse.

The shower has not helped. The streaks are still there and my legs are now red underneath the stripes from where I used a whole bottle of Mum's Sanctuary Body Scrub. I do smell slightly less like a custard cream but that is no consolation when I look like a sunburned giraffe. There is definitely no way I can wear the skirt and ankle sock combo I had planned for today, which means I will have to steal some of Mum's saggy opaque tights and hope they hide my shame. Of course, if girls were allowed to wear trousers at ST CRUDE'S, I'd be fine, but we are ruled by a dictatorship that denies us basic rights like these. It's about time someone made a stand; we should throw down our glitter pens and demand equality. It'll be like LES MISERABLÉS, but with less singing. And after the revolution, all comrades will be free to wear trousers.

I am so glad today is over. Liam caught me stuffing my sheets into the washing machine this morning and tried to drop me in it by wrinkling his nose up and asking loudly if I'd slept in the McVitie's factory. Then he threatened to take a photo of my legs and send it in to JOJ, whatever that is – some stupid band website, probably. Honestly, he is such a moron – if he does anything to embarrass me I will saw through the strings on his precious guitar using my Hello Kitty nail file. Rolo was almost as bad – he kept barking and trying to lick my legs through the tights. I'm amazed Mum didn't clock on. I suppose there are some benefits to having a sleep-deprived mother, after all. Pre-twins Mum would have busted me in a heartbeat.

I confessed what had happened to Molly and Shenice on the way to school – naturally, they thought it was HILARIOUS. It's alright for them. Molly's parents are Greek and Shenice is mixed race so neither know the pain of milk-bottle legs. Mind you, the horror of tiger stripes is infinitely worse.

Our Citizenship lesson was actually quite useful for once today – I asked Miss Hemsworth what the best way to overthrow an oppressive regime was and she said it depends on the country. In some places the military launch a coup, but I don't think the British Army would be much help in the battle for equal trousers. Then she said we have this government website where you can start a petition and if it gets a certain number of signatures, your petition has to be read out in the House of Commons. Then the politicians might have a debate about it. So I went into the library at lunchtime and looked it up online and it is all true, although you need one hundred thousand signatures before MPs will discuss it. But I reckon I have to start somewhere so I lodged an e-petition with Her Majesty's Government to say that girls should be allowed to wear trousers at St Jude's. I sent the link to Shenice and Molly and even my Auntie Jane, and they've all said they'll send it on to everyone they know.