Secret Meeting (6 page)

“They’re not very strict with her. They let her do things that other parents wouldn’t. Like going into chatrooms without supervision, or—”

“She knows not to give her address!” I said.

“Even so,” said Mum. “She’s only eleven years old. You can do very silly things when you’re that age.”

“Did you ever do silly things?” I said.

“Of course I did!” said Mum. “Everybody does. You don’t have the experience to know any better.”

“What were some of the silly things that you did?” I said.

“Oh, come on, Megs! You really don’t want to hear about them.”

“I do,” I said. “I do!”

So then we got sidetracked, with Mum telling me how she’d once tried to turn herself blonde by using a bottle of household bleach – “I had to have all my hair cut off!” – and how another time she’d plucked her eyebrows almost raw, trying to look like some movie star I’d never heard of.

“Mum! To think you were so vain,” I said.

“You’d be hard put to believe it now, wouldn’t you?” said Mum, tweaking at the side of her hair where it is just starting to turn grey. “At least it’s one thing I wouldn’t accuse you of.”

It is true that on the whole I am not a vain sort of person, which is mainly because I don’t really have anything to be vain about. Maybe if I was in a competition to find the human being that looks most like a stick of celery I might get a bit high and mighty, since I would almost certainly win first prize; or even, perhaps, a competition for the person with the most knobbly knees. My knees are
really
knobbly! A boy at school was once rude enough to say that my knees looked like big ball-bearings with twigs sticking out of them. Some cheek! But I have to admit he was right. So this is why I am not vain, as it would be rather pathetic if I was.

I told Mum about the celery competition and the ball-bearing knees, and Mum said, “Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry! You’ll fill out,” as if she thought I needed comforting. But I don’t! I don’t mind looking like a stick of celery. I don’t even mind knobbly knees! If ever I start
to get a bit depressed or self-conscious, I just go and read one of my Harriet Chances. Every single one of Harriet’s characters has secret worries about the way she looks. April Rose, for instance, has
no waist.
Me, neither! Victoria Plum has “hair like a limp dishcloth”. Just like me! Then there is poor little Sugar Mouse, who agonises about whether she will ever grow any boobs, and Fudge Cassidy, who can’t stop eating chocolates and putting on weight.

I don’t personally care overmuch about growing boobs, in fact I sometimes think I’d just as soon not bother with them. And as for putting on weight, Mum says I hardly eat enough to keep a flea alive (not true!) but there are lots of people who
do
agonise over these things. Harriet Chance knows everything there is to know about teenage anxieties. She can get right into your mind!
When Mum dropped me off at Annie’s the next day, I said that I was allowed to use her computer just to type out my book review.

“We’d better tell
her
,” said Annie. “Old Bossyboots.”

“Oh, do what you like!” said Rachel, when Annie told her. “I’ve washed my hands of you.”

“That’s good,” said Annie, as we scampered back to her bedroom. “P’raps now she’ll leave us alone.”

But she didn’t. I’d just finished typing out my review when she came banging and hammering at the door, shouting to us “Get yourselves downstairs! Time for exercise!”

“We exercised yesterday,” wailed Annie.

“So you can exercise again today!”

There wasn’t any arguing with her.

“You get out there,” she said. “It’s good for you! You heard what your mother said, Megan.”

She kept us at it until midday, by which time we had gone all quivering and jellified again.

“OK,” she said. “That’s enough! You can go back indoors now. I’m going out for a couple of hours. I want you to behave yourselves.
Otherwise
—” she twisted Annie’s ear. Annie squawked. “Otherwise, there’ll be trouble. Geddit?”

“Goddit,” said Annie. And, “Geddoff!” she bawled. “You’re breaking my ear!”

“I’ll do more than just break your ear,” said Rachel, “if I get back and find you’ve been up to nonsense.”

“She’s not supposed to leave us on our own,” said Annie, when Rachel had gone. “I’ll tell Mum if she’s not
careful!” And then this big sly beam slid across her face, and she said, “This means we can do
whatever we want
, ’cos a) she won’t find out and b) even if she does, there’s nothing she can do about it! ’Cos if I tell Mum, Mum’ll be furious with her. She promised your mum that Rachel would be here with us
all the time.
”

“So what shall we do?” I said. “Watch more videos?”

“No! Let’s get some lunch and take it upstairs.”

“And then what?”

“Then we’ll think,” said Annie.

So we grabbed some food and went back to Annie’s bedroom to eat it.

“Sure you don’t want to visit the bookroom?” said Annie.

I said, “No! Don’t keep pushing me.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” said Annie. “You’ll never guess who I talked to!”

“Who?” I said.

“Harriet Chance’s daughter!”

“
Lori
?”

“Mm!”

“You spoke to
Lori
?”

“Yes!”

I swallowed. “What did you talk about?”

Annie giggled and said, “You!”

“M-me?”

“I told her that you were Harriet’s number-one fan. I told her you’d got every single book she’d ever written—”

“I haven’t!” I cried. There are three of her early ones that I’ve only been able to find in the library, and one, called
Patsy Puffball
, that I have never even seen. (Though I did read somewhere that Harriet Chance was ashamed of it and wished she’d never written it.)

“I’ve got
most
of them,” I said, “but I haven’t got
all.
”

“So what?” said Annie. “You’re still her number-one fan! I thought you’d be
pleased
I’d talked about you!”

I suppose I should have been, but mainly what I was feeling at that moment was jealousy. Huge, raging, bright-green JEALOUSY.
I
was the bookworm! Not Annie.
I
was the one that ought to be talking to Harriet’s daughter!

“We could visit right now,” said Annie, “and see if she’s there.”

I pursed my lips and shook my head. Inside, I was seething and heaving like a volcano about to erupt.