All That Glitters (25 page)

No matter where we are, no matter how dark it gets, no matter which of us can’t see them, this is one connection that is never going to break.

The part of the sky we share.

uckily, the return journey is a lot easier.

This is mainly because I borrow earplugs, curl up with my head on Annabel’s lap and sleep the entire way back to Marrakech.

By the time the crew staggers off the bus at 7am and figuratively crawls back into the riad, Kevin and I are the only upbeat people in the party. I’d like to pretend it has nothing to do with my fifteen minutes with the stars, but that would be lying.

I honestly feel happier than I have in weeks.

My brighter mood is enhanced yet further when my director calls me a “triumph of casting” and air-kisses my hand – albeit from a considerable distance.

“I am about to have a very happy client,” he chirps, grabbing his enormous suitcase and heading straight back towards the riad door. “
Kev,
Jacques Levaire is going to say,
Kev, Kevin, Kevin Holland. If only they gave Oscars for adverts, you would win them all
.”

I beam at him: I think that means it went well.

“Now I’m off to the South of France to restock my fragile, butterfly-like creative juices on a yacht,” he continues. “Catch you on the fame train, Hannah.”

“Kevin?” I say as he pulls on a little black felt hat and pushes the door open. I clear my throat anxiously. “I’m not actually Hannah Manners. My name is Harriet.”

He’s given me two of the most amazing days and an entire desert: the least I owe him is the truth.

“Whatevs,” he says, shrugging.

And he closes the door behind him.

“We have a Berber proverb in Morocco,” Ali says thoughtfully, appearing as if out of thin air with two more steaming glasses of mint tea. “
Every dog thinks of its own fleas as gazelles.
I think Kevin assumes his are unicorns.”

Annabel opens her eyes from where she’s been propped up with a straight back against the reception desk.

“Unicorns?” she says sleepily, glancing around the room. “Where? I like bees.”

I smile and gently remove the phone still gripped tightly in her hand. My stepmother was sending emails when I fell asleep on the bus and still sending emails when I woke up: there’s a small but real chance she may have been suing people in her sleep.

I kiss her cheek as she puts her sunglasses on over her glasses. “I think it’s time to go home now, Annabel.”

“Sadly, you would be right,” Ali says, forcing a tea into her hand. “But you have one hour left in Morocco before I must take you to the airport. Is there anything special you’d like to do?”

He really is our magic genie.

There’s just one wish I haven’t had granted yet.

“Actually, Ali,” I say, glancing at sleeping-again Annabel. I don’t need to check it with her: I know we’re on the same page. Or we will be when she wakes up, anyway. “We have a little favour we’d like to ask before we go, if you don’t mind?”

“Harriet Manners,” he says, grinning and bowing slightly. “Nothing would delight me more.”

By the time we get home, everything on my list has been ticked off neatly.

Everything that matters, anyway.

“You’re back!” a voice shouts as we at last push through the front door. “Finally! You were gone for
years and years
.”

Annabel and I stand in the hallway and stare in amazement at the living room. I’m pretty sure we were gone three days, but for a few seconds I’m convinced Dad might actually be right
.

There’s fabric everywhere. My spare bedding has been spread over a couple of bits of string, Annabel’s best embroidered white cotton throw is forming a vast canopy in the middle, and inside the world’s worst home-made tent is every pillow in the house.

My sister is lying in a furry cocoon of fleece jumpers in the entrance, patiently tugging on one of Hugo’s ears.

“I built a fort!” Dad cries, still hidden. “We have everything you could possibly need. Biscuits, and movies, and milk, and a wooden donkey I found in the loft and—”

He pokes his head out of the sheets and then stops in amazement.

We both turn slowly to look at Annabel.

Her face is bright scarlet and peeling, the normally perfect blonde fringe is fuzzy and sticking upwards, there’s orange juice down her front and ink on her face from where she fell asleep on her crossword on the flight home.

Yup.

My stepmother is one of the country’s top barristers.

She has gone through twenty years of education, two postgraduate degrees, one teenage stepdaughter, one baby, nine years of marriage to my father, hundreds of court cases and thirteen hours of labour without ruffling a single eyelash.

Three days of fashion have broken her.

“Harriet Manners,” Dad says sternly, looking at me, “what did you do to my wife?”

Annabel gives me a long, sleepy look and then nods in satisfaction. “It was exactly what we needed,” she yawns, crawling into the tent. “But it’s nice to be home.”

With a happy little sigh, she picks Tabs up, kisses her face and tummy enthusiastically then lays her gently on her own stomach. My sister immediately makes a delighted squeaking sound and attempts to stick a whole hand up Annabel’s nose.

Then Dad gives my stepmother the kind of kiss that makes me look awkwardly at the ceiling for a few seconds.

I crawl in next to them and for a while the four of us lie quietly under the white canopy.

“You know what I’m thinking?” Annabel says eventually.

“Yes,” Dad nods with his eyes shut. “You’re thinking: why isn’t there mouse-flavoured cat food?”

“Nope.”

“You’re thinking why doesn’t Tarzan have a beard when there are no razors in the jungle?”

“Well, I’m thinking that now, yes. But no.”

Dad sighs sadly. “I have to take the awesome fort down, don’t I?”

“Nope,” Annabel says, closing her eyes. “Right now, it’s perfect. I’m thinking Bahamas, Maldives, Hawaii, wherever Harriet goes next, Richard. They’re all yours.”

e have a little family nap for half an hour.

Then Tabitha and Hugo start clamouring simultaneously for something to eat, so I leave them to my disorientated parents and climb out of the fort as fast as I possibly can.

I carefully inspect the post next to the front door for a few minutes to see if anything has arrived for me over the last few days. Then I check under the indoor mat, because something important might have slipped into the wrong place.

And under the outdoor mat.

Tentatively, I wave my hand around inside the letter box a few times, in case a bulky, romantic gift was simply too huge to get all the way through.

But there’s nothing there.

Not today anyway.

Still standing in the open doorway, I send Nat a quick text to check if she wants to hang out this weekend, now I’m back from Marrakech earlier than I thought.

A few seconds later my phone beeps:

Wish I could, but I already have plans.
Can’t wait o hear about your trip! Nat xxx

I send a quick reply – OK! Have fun! X – put my phone back in my pocket, tug my suitcase up to my bedroom and sit on the floor with my back against the wall.

Then I pull my crumpled Inner Star list out of my pocket, retrieve a pen from my desk and hover over it in deep concentration for a few minutes.

Over the last three days, I have: been on two aeroplanes, skipped school, bussed through winding mountain roads, break-danced, ridden a camel in the desert, been vigorously draped in snakes and monkeys and held quite a few conversations with a man called Kevin.

I don’t want to sound smug, but I think the anonymous author on the internet would be incredibly proud of me right now. I’ve never taken so many potentially lethal risks in my entire life.

With a smile, I draw a neat little tick next to the two entries I’ve been primarily concentrating on.

1.
Be Confident!
You are a creature unlike any other!

2.
Take Risks, Be Brave!
There is no limit to what you can do!

Then I focus my attention on my next targets.

3.
Be Stylish!
Shake it up and try something new!

4.
Inspire!
Lead, never follow!

With a deep breath, I fling my suitcase open wide and energetically start pulling out the contents like some kind of magician.

Bright yellow scarves and white sequin wraps. Turquoise and purple shawls with tassels; embroidered green waistcoats; orange and blue trousers, red leather shoes and enormous silver spangly earrings. Sparkles and sequins and things with beads all over them.

Until it’s all in a rainbow heap around me.

As of Monday morning, things are going to change.

The geek is gone, and in her place is a much better version of Harriet Manners. Somebody strong and brave, cool and confident. A girl who can inspire others; who believes in herself so that everybody else will too.

Or – you know.
To
.

Because if there’s a star inside everybody, it’s only logical that there must be one inside me as well.