Model Misfit (37 page)

“Now, darling,” my grandmother says as I send the email and shut my laptop. Without warning she slams me into her embroidered breasts again. “It’s been lovely spending some proper, quality time with you, but it’s time to get going.”

I blink in disappointment. I was really starting to like her. I was kind of hoping we could spend a few weeks getting to know each other properly, and that it might be the start of a proper granddaughter-grandmother relationship of the non-Little Red Riding Hood/Wolf variety. “
Now?
” I ask her boob sadly.

“I’m afraid so, darling. We have a plane to catch.”

“
We?
”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

Bunty pulls back and I suddenly notice the bright expression on her face. She looks exactly as I felt earlier at the lake.

“Annabel has just gone into labour.”

K.

I don’t want to point out the obvious, but Annabel has gone into labour an entire
month
early. My new sibling is clearly a maverick with no respect at all for plans, schedules, appointments, or other people’s itineraries.

Just like my father.

Fifteen hours later, Bunty and I emerge at Heathrow only to be hit by a whirlwind of shiny hair and handbag and scarf and perfume, like a kind of girl-bomb.

“You’re
home
!” Nat shouts, almost knocking me over. “
Finally!
”

I look over her shoulder at the trolley she just hurdled. I have never seen her run that fast for anything, ever. Maybe she shouldn’t have given up PE for A Level after all.

“What are you doing here?” I laugh as she covers my cheek in little hard bird-pecks. “I thought you’d still be in France.”

Nat flushes and manages to look cheeky and delighted all at the same time. “Erm, well …”

I narrow my eyes at her. My best friend looks totally incandescent. She’s also wearing a lot less make-up than normal and her hair hasn’t been straightened. Her natural scraggy curls are back and her fringe is slightly sticking out on the left-hand side. It’s
very
un-Nat-like. “Nat, what’s going on?”

“Hmm?” My Best Friend picks a bit of fluff off my hoody. “So – how was it? Did you see any dogs in dresses? Did people talk Japanese at you?”

“Excuse me,” Bunty says, smiling and handing me a little carton of coconut water. “Stay hydrated, darling. Air conditioner is a killer. I’m just going to go and find us a taxi outside.”

And she scoots off, her flip-flops making a
clack clack clack
sound on the floor. I turn back to Nat. “Right,” I say. “What’s happened?”

“Well, umm …” She clears her throat, looks at the ceiling and then looks at the floor. “Ooh – I like your shoes. Are they new?”

“Of course my shoes aren’t new, Nat. My shoes are never new. Stop changing the subject.”

Two red spots appear on her cheeks. “I
may
have …” she starts. “I mean, it’s
possible
that … I
could
have …”

“No offence, Nat, but this is like trying to talk to a dolphin. Try to get a whole sentence out.”

“I met a boy.”

The coconut water I’m sipping gets spat all over her.

“The guy with the
green lycra
?” I shout. “The guy with the
olive oil
? The guy with the
meaningful salt
?”

“It’s not like that,” Nat says indignantly. “He’s … lovely. And sweet. And
super hot
.” She goes a bit dreamy. “And he has this way of cracking his knuckles when he’s nervous that’s
so cute.
And he can
totally
kill it at Guitar Hero. And he has this amazing lilting accent like his voice is … on a boat or something.”

Like his voice is on a boat?

“Oh my God, Nat. You’ve got it really bad.”

She blushes even deeper. “I know. That’s kind of why I’m here. Mum found out and dragged me home again. She said falling in love was enough punishment for anyone so we were quits.”

I laugh. “Is that why you disappeared?”

“Not really. Oh, Harriet, I feel so embarrassed. I gave you such a hard time about Nick. I don’t think I quite realised until I met François that it’s not really like that. You can’t protect yourself from it. Nothing exists but them.”

“François?” I laugh. “He’s French and his name is François?”

“Some French people are called François, Harriet,” Nat says crossly. “It’s a thing. It happens.”

I smile and we start heading outside the airport. “You were wrong about Nick, by the way. I’ll tell you all about it in the taxi.”

“You know what?” Nat sighs. “Maybe I don’t know anywhere near as much about boys as I thought I did. They’re quite complicated, aren’t they? I think this might be the start of a lifetime of confusion.”

She links her arm in mine. “So, did you have a good time? Did it live up to the epic Flow Chart? You know we’ve still got loads of time left to do that stuff together.”

I think back to the bright lights, and the booming televisions, and the beautiful shrines, and the madness of Harajuku. I think about Mount Fuji, and the Shinkansen, and Tsukiji and the video arcade and the sumo hall; about my lit-up dress and Charlie and Kylie Minogue and the cockroach. I think about Yuka and Bunty and Toby and Haru and Naho and Shion; about Rin, who waved us off at the airport wearing a pink tutu and gave me the friendship bracelet I’m wearing now.

I think about Nick, who kissed me again before I got on the plane and had to literally push me into check-in because I decided last minute I wasn’t going anywhere.

Then I think about how different I feel to the way I did when I went there. As if I’m still me, but stronger. As if I’ve found my wings, and I finally know what to do with them.

“Yes,” I say with a grin as Bunty opens a taxi door and we climb in. “As far as adventures go, I’d say Tokyo was pretty coolioko.”

don’t like hospitals.

Let’s be honest: nobody actually does. Ostensibly they’re about making people better, but they’re not. They’re about reminding us that at some stage we all get sick, and we all hurt, and we all get lonely, and sometimes there’s nothing anybody can do about any of it.

The only thing on my mind as we walk through the big metal doors into the waiting room is that the last time I was in this exact hospital, I had a mum. And when I left three days later, I didn’t.

I suddenly feel horribly sick – right through to the middle – and it hits me just how much my feelings towards this baby are about the fact that it might take Annabel away from me. Because that’s what babies do, isn’t it? Babies change everything.

As we walk across the big green floors, I try to focus on the rhythm of my breathing and the beating of my heart and the tap of my trainers. Then I feel Nat gently grab my hand. “It’s going to be OK, Harriet. Look.”

I glance up and there’s Dad doing some kind of Riverdance in the hospital corridors. Every time a nurse or doctor walks past, he grabs them and spins them in a little triumphant circle.

This must happen more often than you’d think, because they just wait patiently until he lets them go and then continue with a slight smile down the corridor.

Nat kisses my cheek. “I’ll go and get a cup of tea. See you in a few minutes?”

“Offspring Number One!” Dad shouts across the hospital as my non-kissing soulmate disappears through the doors. He immediately wrestles me into a bear hug and tries to whirl me in another circle. “You’re back! That’s your name henceforth, by the way. Or maybe ‘Good’ and I shall call your sibling ‘Bad’ and we’ll have an entire set of Manners.”

He lets go and I steady myself. “Is …” I swallow. “Does that mean Annabel’s OK?”

Dad looks at my face and then wraps me up even tighter. “Of course she’s OK, sweetheart. She was always going to be OK.”

I can feel my chin starting to do the crumpled-up paper-ball wobble. Dad kisses the top of my head and pulls away. I finally notice his T-shirt. In big letters in red marker pen it says
MY DAUGHTER’S A SUPERMODEL
, and underneath, in little letters, it says:
THE OTHER’S JUST SUPER
.

“It’s a girl? I have a baby sister?”

“You certainly do,” Dad says with a grin that almost cracks his face in half. He ruffles my hair, and for the first time in my entire life I don’t scowl and try to smooth it back again. “I think it’s time you met her.”

he room is totally quiet.