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First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Simon and Schuster UK Ltd
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright © 2013 Cathy Hopkins
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction
without permission. All rights reserved.
The right of Cathy Hopkins to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1st Floor
222 Gray’s Inn Road
London WC1X 8HB
Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney
Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
PB ISBN: 978-0-85707-603-8
EBook ISBN: 978-0-85707-604-5
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
www.simonandschuster.co.uk
www.simonandschuster.com.au
Contents
1. Summer Chores
2. Unexpected News
3. Goodbye and Hello
4. A Trip Away
5. A Boy and His Dog
6. Family Time
7. Nanny McMe
8. Diary of a Slave Girl
9. Star-studded Opportunity
10. A Message from JJ
11. An End and a Start
12. The Tour Begins
13. On the Road
14. Keira’s Campaign Continues
15. Scotland the Brave
16. Connor
17. Falling . . .
18. Changes
19. Confrontation
20. Moving On
Project for Mrs Callahan Jess Hall’s Thoughts on Happiness
1
Summer Chores
‘Now it’s the summer holidays, Dad thinks I’m his personal slave,’ I said to Pia as we fought our way through a bustling aisle in Harrods food hall. ‘Just because he works for No 1, Porchester Park, it doesn’t mean I do.’
‘Mum’s the same,’ Pia replied. ‘We’ve just finished our GCSEs, the most stressful time of our lives. You’d think they’d give us some time off to recover.’
‘I know. Marie Quigley’s mum treated her to a weekend break at a fab spa hotel when she’d finished her last exam,’ I said.
‘And Carrie Daniel’s parents have let her go to Cornwall with a bunch of mates for the whole of July. But what do we get on our first proper day off? A list of chores.’
‘So unfair,’ we chorused, then burst out laughing.
‘Though Dad did say that he’s organising something for me next week,’ I said. ‘He was being all mysterious.’
‘I bet it will be somewhere fab,’ said Pia. ‘Lucky you.’
‘Maybe Cornwall or Italy. I saw him checking out an article about Italy in the Sunday paper.’
‘With Charlie?’
‘I’d imagine so.’
Pia laughed. ‘At least you have your brother for company, unlike me, stuck on my own with my mum for a week in Denmark visiting relatives. It’s hardly Glam City, is it?’ She suddenly clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, Jess, sorry.’
I put my arm around her and gave her a squeeze. ‘Hey, it’s fine. You can’t censor talking about your mother all the time.’ My mum died over a year and a half ago and Pia knows how much I miss her and would give anything to spend some more time with her.
‘When I’m back we can all be together again,’ said Pia as we approached the pastry counter. ‘That’s the bit of the holiday I’m looking forward to most. Hanging out with mates, and with Henry, of course. Just chilling and doing very little.’
‘I can’t wait to spend some time with JJ,’ I said. JJ’s my boyfriend of exactly one term plus four days and eighteen hours, not that I’m counting. He is also the son of Jefferson Lewis, the black American A-list movie star. It’s still a thrill to be in a relationship with him even though we’re not newbies any more. Henry is Pia’s boyfriend. He is the son of Mr Sawtell who looks after the cars at No 1, Porchester Park. They’ve been together since Pia first moved to No 1 when her mum got the job managing the spa area.
Porchester Park is the poshest, most luxurious apartment block in London. The kind of people who live there are the international glitterazzi and super rich. They need to be rich because apartments start at twenty million and go up to one hundred and fifty mill, and are often a second or third home for the residents; the type of people who buy them have other places in the USA or the South of France or the Caribbean as well. My dad is the general manager and, like Pia and her mum, my family lives on site in a mews house. Ours is a very ordinary house, but the location is like nowhere else; when you step from the staff area into the residents’ part, it’s like walking into wonderland: the air is scented with Jo Malone candles, the floor is made from exquisite Italian marble and the daily flower displays on the table in reception cost more than my pocket money for a year. In other words, everything is the best of the best.
‘Actually,’ I added, ‘JJ texted that he needs to talk to me about the holidays.’
Pia grinned. ‘Yay. Remember the last time he texted you with a message like that?’
I nodded. It was to tell me that Pia and I had been invited to go with the Lewis family to Udaipur in India in the Easter holidays. It was the trip of a lifetime and seven-star luxury all the way. I felt a shiver of anticipation. Maybe I would be asked to join JJ and his family in the Hamptons in America or the Caribbean or Hawaii or one of the other exotic locations where they spent their summers.
Being in a couple with JJ is definitely different to dating the local boys. Our relationship has catapulted me into a world of privilege and, at first, I felt intimidated by the luxury and sheer fabulousness of it all. In JJ’s world, it’s top notch all the way and so different from my normal life. I’ve adapted now though and no longer feel that I don’t belong when I go up to the state-of-the-art apartment where he lives with his parents and sister Alisha, or when I’m in the back of one of the chauffeur-driven limos that takes us around London. When I’m with him, I know that we’ll get the best theatre tickets, best table in a restaurant, a personal shopper to greet us when out shopping; basically it all makes me feel really special. I’ve relaxed a lot since I first met him and now I absolutely love hanging out in his world. I’d be mad not to.
‘It’s nice and cool in here,’ said Pia as we continued our way through the food hall. She sniffed the air. ‘And it always smells wonderful – of freshly baked bread and expensive roasted coffee beans.’
‘It is expensive too. I know the prices.’
‘Only the best at Harrods,’ said Pia. ‘And it’s not such a bad place to do our chores. Remember when we first came in here when we were kids and thought we’d stepped into food fairyland with all the counters of cakes and sweets and pastries?’ She pointed up at the roof. ‘And you don’t get chandeliers in most grocery shops.’
Harrods food hall is not your usual supermarket. It’s like walking into a food fantasy, a brightly lit palace with every type of delicacy imaginable, from savoury to sweet, sumptuously displayed in
glass counters in the different rooms. Plus there are all the bars to sit and eat sushi or tapas or get a coffee and cake while you watch the busy shoppers go by.
I nodded. ‘I thought it was like Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory but with more choice. Though now we’re fifteen, I prefer the make-up and perfume counters.’
‘I still like the cupcake section. It’s yum heaven over there,’ Pia said as she eyed up a beautiful display of mini cakes with swirled pink and purple icing. She began to read the list. ‘Banana. Mocha. Strawberry. Rocky Road. Sticky Toffee. Ooh, I’m getting hungry.’
‘Would you shop here if you were rich?’
‘How rich?’
‘Totally.’
Pia laughed. ‘If I was totally rich, I’d own Harrods and so wouldn’t need to shop here. It would all be mine and I’d just come and take what I wanted.’
I laughed. Pia’s answer summed her attitude to life up exactly. She might be small in size at five foot three, but she’s big in personality and ambitions. I, on the other hand, am tall at five foot nine, but not nearly as confident as her – like, she’s never fazed at all by the rich or famous people who live at Porchester Park while it took me a while not to feel starstruck. If I’m honest, I still am by some of them when they waft by on their way out, leaving a trace of cologne or perfume in the air, the women in designer silks, the men in handmade suits and shoes. But ‘Money can’t buy everything,’ Pia always says.
‘I was hoping to get out and do a bit of sunbathing in the park this afternoon but no chance of that,’ I said. ‘It’s going to take ages to get all this stuff.’
‘Come on, let’s get our jobs done then we can phone Henry and JJ and hang out. What’s next on the list?’
I glanced down at the sheet of paper that Dad had given me earlier in the morning. ‘Raspberry and cassis jam,’ I said and pointed at an aisle to our left. ‘Down there. We should also get a couple of notepads to do the project Mrs Callahan set us.’
Mrs Callahan is our headmistress and gave all of Year Eleven a project to think about over the summer. In our last assembly she’d said, ‘As many of you will be coming back here to do A-levels, I want you to spend some of your holiday thinking about your future, who you really are and what are your goals and aspirations. I also want you to think about where happiness lies for you. Get a notebook and jot down thoughts relating to these two things, even if it’s just random words. Who am I? Who do I want to be? What is happiness to me? In the autumn, we’ll look at them together. I believe they’ll help you decide where you want to go in life and what to study at university.’
‘I know it’s only the start of the holidays,’ I said, ‘but it won’t hurt to get a headstart.’
Pia nodded, then took the paper out of my hand and read the list. ‘You get the jam and I’ll get the white truffle purée, then we can go together to choose our notepads. Does your dad pay you for the errands he asks you to do for the residents, like a summer job?’
I shook my head. ‘As if. He says it’s earning my pocket money.’
‘Bummer,’ said Pia. ‘At least Mum pays me a bit extra.’ She looked over to the next counter on our right where there was a tall, striking-looking lady with shoulder-length silver hair waiting to be served. Pia did a double take. ‘Ohmigod! Isn’t that Stephanie Harper?’
‘Who’s she?’
‘Duh. Don’t you read your horoscope? She’s only the most famous astrologer in the world. She’s American but on telly over here all the time – on all the chat shows. She’s brilliant and so accurate.’ She turned away. ‘Oops, mustn’t stare.’
Since living at No 1, Porchester Park, we’ve both had it drummed into us by our parents not to gawp at famous people. We’ve learnt that the kind of people who live there highly value their privacy. However, I could see Stephanie in the mirror on the wall opposite so could watch without her realising. For a brief second, she glanced up at the mirror, so I pretended I was checking out my reflection. ‘Be cool, Pia. She might have seen us staring,’ I whispered. We immediately went into our acting casual act. I flicked my hair back. ‘Er . . . Do you think I should cut my hair for the summer?’ I asked in an attempt to look as though staring at Stephanie was the last thing I was doing.
Pia shook her head. ‘No. It suits you long. I might even grow mine.’ Pia has worn her hair short and spiky for the last year. It suits her because it emphasises her pixie-like features. ‘OK, she’s paying the assistant. Undercover celebrity watch, recommence.’ She turned around and sneaked another look. ‘Great necklace. Check it out. And she always wears that peacock-blue shade of her dress. It’s like her signature colour.’
I glanced around in my best nonchalant manner. Pia and I have perfected the art for when we want to look at boys but don’t want them to know that we’re looking at them. It’s a slow head turn, taking in the whole room, as if not focusing on anything special when actually we know exactly what we want to look at. With her silver hair, Stephanie really stood out from the crowd as someone with her own style. She was dressed in a calf-length dress, her sandals and bag in a darker shade of blue-green to her dress and at her feet was a gorgeous briefcase in blue snakeskin. It looked like it cost a fortune but what pulled my attention the most was her jewellery. It was all silver – thick bracelets on both wrists, earrings set with aquamarines and a huge aquamarine stone in silver around her neck. She had the look of a high priestess or glamorous elf queen from Lord of the Rings. She also had lots of carrier bags, as if she’d been doing some serious shopping and was struggling to pick them all up and walk away.
Suddenly I felt someone else watching me and, through the mirror, a girl in the crowd behind Stephanie caught my eye. A teenager with glossy red hair. I felt myself freeze but tried not to show my reaction. It was Keira Oakley, I was sure it was, but she turned quickly and went the other way. My stomach churned. I’d had a horrible time with Keira earlier in the year when she went out of her way to make my life miserable. We were both entrants in a modelling competition and she did her best to ruin my chances as well as steal my crush back then, Tom Robertson, from under my nose.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Pia. ‘You’ve gone pale.’
‘Don’t look round. I thought I saw Keira.’
Pia looked round immediately and scanned the hall. ‘I can’t see her.’
I glanced back. I couldn’t see her either. ‘Maybe I imagined it.’
‘Hope so,’ said Pia. ‘That girl makes the mean girls look like angels.’
Pia went off to get the purée and I made my way to the same counter where Stephanie had just been. As I stood there, I noticed her briefcase was still on the floor. I tried to let the assistant know but he was busy down the other end serving another customer. I stood on my tiptoes to see if I could see Stephanie. Luckily, she hadn’t left the hall and was over at the cupcake counter. I picked up the case and approached her.
‘Er, excuse me,’ I said. ‘You left your case by the counter.’
Ms Harper stared at me for a few seconds as if not taking in what I was saying. Close up, she was even more striking, her eyes a pale turquoise-blue that matched the stone in her necklace. She gasped and grabbed the case from me. ‘Oh my Lord!’ she exclaimed in an American accent. ‘Idiot. Me, I mean, not you. Heavens. I’d lose my own head if it wasn’t screwed on. Thank you. Thank you so much. Say, how did you know it was mine?’
‘Oh! I . . . My friend and I noticed you. Your clothes. You wear great colours, like the sky and sea. We’re . . . er . . . into fashion.’
‘Like the sky and sea, huh?’ Ms Harper reached for her purse and drew out a twenty-pound note. ‘Here. Get yourself something on me.’
I shook my head. ‘No. Really, it’s not necessary. I was glad to help. I mean, glad to give it back to you.’
She took out another note. ‘Sorry. Of course twenty’s not enough. Here.’
Even though there were a million things I could buy with forty pounds, I shook my head again. I didn’t feel it
would be right to take her money.
‘Honestly. I’m just glad to give it back to you. Anyone could have taken it.’
‘Exactly and you didn’t,’ said Ms Harper. ‘But if you’re sure, thank you. It’s good to know that there are some honest people about.’
‘You’re welcome. Um, bye then.’
‘Bye, honey. And you have a good day.’
I moved away and she went back to her shopping. It felt good to have returned her case. I might put that on my ‘What makes me happy’ list, I thought. A good deed a day!
After I’d got everything on Dad’s list, I met up with Pia again and we caught a glimpse of Ms Harper staggering out of the shop, weighed down by her pile of bags. ‘Do you think we should go and help her?’ I asked.
Pia shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t worry. She’s probably got a chauffeur waiting by the door. No, let’s go and try perfumes then look at the notebooks. We deserve a bit of us time.’
We wandered into the biggest of the perfume halls. I love it in there because it looks like the interior of an Egyptian temple and the air is thick with scent from the many on offer – a heady mix of tuber rose, jasmine, sandalwood and so many I couldn’t name. I glanced at the rows and counters with boxes and bottles of Armani, Hermes, Floris, Miller Harris, Annick Goutal and endless others. A sales assistant came towards us and urged us to try the latest by Valentino. We obliged; it smelt of violets, heady and exotic. We walked on and soon another assistant had sprayed a new Van Cleef and Arpels on our wrists; it had a lighter aroma of freshly cut grass with a woody base note.
‘Hmm, lovely,’ I said.
‘You have to let it settle,’ said Pia and pulled me on towards one of the stalls where I squirted some Marc Jacobs, Daisy on to my wrist.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘They all smell gorgeous then you have to wait to see if they mix with your body chemistry. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how different perfumes smell totally different on different people?’
Pia nudged me. ‘Don’t look now but danger alert. Eleven o’clock on the Lacoste counter. Turn around and walk away.’ She put on a clipped, strict voice. ‘Step away from the perfumes, Ms Hall, step away from the perfumes.’
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