by Holly Smale
I blink and then look at it. What?
“Oh no,” I say quickly, stepping forward. “I’m not crying because of India. She came back to help me, actually. She’s my friend.”
“Sure she is,” Nat snarls, flicking her eyes between us. “I bet she’s just lovely. Friends of Ananya and Alexa are friends of ours, right?”
“Ah,” India says, nodding. “Right. Gotcha. No, I hate them too if that helps. Evil witches.”
“Well aren’t you just …” Nat stops. I can see her brain trying to fit this into her argument. “Oh. Well. OK, then,” she says slightly less fiercely. Then she rallies bravely for a last stand. “And you’ve not come back here just to steal snacks?”
“In fairness, they’re surprisingly good.” India looks at the tray of sandwiches. “Want one?”
I can see Nat evaluating the situation and assessing India. I’ve never seen anyone not baulk at Nat’s open, transcendent fury before: it’s like watching a tiger growl at a unicorn. “What are they?”
“Chicken and strawberry jam.”
That does it: the last ounce of fight evaporates out of my best friend. She nods and takes one.
“We invented these. They’re awesome, right? Lots of protein and carbohydrates. I’m Nat. I like your hair a lot. Did you have to bleach it first?”
“Purple is the most powerful visible wavelength of electromagnetic energy,” Toby says nodding.
Then he starts rushing around the room.
“Ooh, Harriet, well done,” he adds. “This is an excellent party. Although what happened to the sherbet flying saucers? Or the Magic Stars and Starmix? And there’s no Star Wars stuff here at all. Nat, I told you we should have helped her. She’s missed out loads of important space-based puns.”
I’m still staring at both of them.
What? Just … what?
Did the last two weeks completely not happen? Have I been imagining all of it? First the Levaire advert magicked me out of it. Now Toby’s back to being Toby again and Nat appears to have forgotten we hate each other with the heat of a trillion suns.
Is this like one of those really bad television serials where I find out I’ve been in a coma the entire time?
Am I awake? Am I even alive?
“Umm, hello?” I say as Toby grabs a camera out of his bag and starts taking photos of the ceiling. “We’re not talking to each other, remember? What are you both doing here?”
“Harriet,” Nat says a lot more gently. “I think there’s something we need to tell you.”
suddenly feel a bit sick.
“Oh my God,” I say, sitting abruptly on a chair. “Toby and you aren’t … You’re not a couple, are you? Theo’s not just a cover, is he?”
It would make sense: all the weird behaviour. All the sneaking around and running away.
A gross but weirdly logical kind of sense.
“A couple of what?” Toby says, taking a photo of the tablecloth. “That’s not a very specific question, Harriet. You’ll never get into MI5 at this rate.”
Nat’s still staring at me with a blank face.
Then she abruptly looks like she’s going to be sick too.
“Oh my God, no. Ugh. What are you thinking? Thanks for that visual, Harriet. I’m going to have to clean my brain with a wire pad when I get home.” She pauses. “But the second bit wasn’t totally wrong.”
I blink at her. “Theo’s … not real?”
“He is real. But I’ve only seen him twice in the last two weeks. We’ve only just started dating, and I’m not desperate.”
There’s a silence.
“You are making no sense at all,” I tell her finally. “Then what have you been doing?”
“Toby and I have been avoiding you,” Nat says flatly. “Both of us. Because I told him to.”
My eyes widen slightly. I’m not allowed to see you. I’ll have to check. It was Nat who was forcing Toby not to see me? Not Jasper at all?
Oops. I probably owe somebody a pretty big apology.
“But … why?”
Nat thinks about it for a few seconds. “Harriet, do you remember what you said in the launderette?”
“Yes. I said I had made you a customised Monopoly set and you could use a sewing machine as your placer.”
The corner of her mouth twists slightly. “You said we were welded, Harriet. And then you said I’ve got you and Toby anyway, so what else does a sensible girl really need?”
I hate to say it, but for just a moment Nat temporarily transforms into me. Her voice gets slightly higher and posher, her eyes get very round and she does a little toss of her head, exactly the way I do.
I blink at her again.
Nope. Still no idea what she’s talking about. “So?”
“So, Harriet. We already had the plan, but that just confirmed for me that it was the right thing to do. What would you have done if Toby was hanging out with you at school from the beginning and I was hanging out with you afterwards? Honestly?”
“I’d have hung out with Toby at school and you afterwards,” I say without hesitation. “My first day sucked.”
“Exactly,” Nat says slowly. “190 days, Harriet. 1,330 hours is a really long time to stop living. You’re my best friend. When you’re unhappy, I’m unhappy. Not being welded was the only thing I could do.”
“But …” They’ve both been avoiding me on purpose? To force me to make friends? “Why couldn’t you just tell me that?”
“Because if you knew then the plan would never have worked. You’d have just buried yourself in a book again and waited it out. Like you always do.”
Nat’s right again. Making friends is hard. And I’m a big fan of both books and of being in my comfort zone.
“I watched you shut down after you came home from New York,” she says more gently. “I knew that if sixth form didn’t start well, you were going to just keep closing unless I did something drastic. And this time I wasn’t going to be at school to stop you.”
“Didn’t I do brilliantly?” Toby says jubilantly, puffing his chest out. “I was so rude to you, Harriet. I really gave it some welly. You thought I didn’t like you at all, didn’t you. Yeah.”
He holds up a hand to high-five Nat.
“Sadly I just forgot a few things, Harriet,” my best friend sighs, ignoring Toby’s hand and then holding up a closed fist. “I didn’t know the Yuka Ito campaign would come out or factor in the impact it would have.” She holds up a finger. “You see the best in everyone, indiscriminately, all of the time, and are frequently a terrible judge of character.” She holds up another one.
Then she holds the final finger up and thrusts it in Toby’s face.
“And Toby is an idiot who takes everything literally. I said give her a bit of space for a couple of weeks, not make her feel like a pariah, you total pillock.”
Enjoy all your new friends, Harriet.
Toby was reporting back. Nat was leaving me alone because she thought I was successfully making friends.
“Exactly,” she says, nodding even though I haven’t said anything. “I was so happy you were having a party, then we argued, but tonight Mum finally remembered to give me the invitation and I realised what was probably going to happen. Toby and I ran here as fast as we could.” She tilts her head to the side affectionately. “Night of Stars. You silly billy.”
Scientists say we have different types of tears.
Basal tears, to protect our eyes. Reflex tears, to remove irritants. And emotional tears, that occur when our feelings get too much and our tear ducts can’t handle it, erupt and spill over.
As my eyes start to fill up again, I think my body just can’t fit my new burst of happiness in.
It needs to let some out, like steam out of a kettle.
My party can go sit on an anthill, frankly: I couldn’t care less.
I’ve got my best friends back.
“I’m sorry,” I say, abruptly lobbing myself at Nat and throwing my arms round her neck. “I’m so sorry for everything I said.
I do need you. You aren’t ruining my life or holding me back. I didn’t mean any of it.”
“I know,” Nat grins into my neck. “I’m sorry too.”
“Me too,” Toby says, reaching into his bag. “Although, in my defence, Natalie was very much the mastermind of this plot and I was just the obedient slave with your well-being at the forefront of my mind.”
“Thanks, Tobes,” I say, grabbing him in an impulsive hug. “I’ve really, really missed you, you know. Please don’t do that again.”
“I won’t,” he says, waiting patiently for me to let go. “You don’t need to worry, Harriet Manners. Toby Pilgrim Is Here, TM.”
He sticks a little round green sticker on my arm.
India stands quietly for a few seconds.
Then she says, “Oh what the hell,” and stiffly puts her arms round all of us. “Don’t hug me back. I’ve eaten too many sandwiches.”
“See?” Nat laughs. “My plan totally worked. New friend. KABOOM. At this rate you’ll have, like, twelve by the end of the year.”
There’s a sound from the doorway.
“All right there, party people, DJ Earthling is back in the… Oh, the little minxes. They’ve bloomin’ gone and left you, haven’t they.”
Steve’s standing in the doorway with his grey hair sticking upwards and half a pasty in his hand. That’s where he was: he obviously stopped for a snack on the way back.
He looks around, shaking his head.
“I’m telling you,” he says fiercely. “They’ll get their comeuppance. Just mark my words. I won’t be replacing the loo roll in any of the sixth form toilets for the next week.”
I grin at him.
I’m starting to realise that real friendship doesn’t always turn up with a bang. It creeps in quietly, without glitz and glamour, without show or fuss.
Whether it’s somebody playing CDs at your party, or giving you a few minutes in the desert to watch the stars alone; whether it’s leaving a new job behind to spend three days in Morocco because your stepdaughter is sad, or spending a day arranging a gift in a shed because your daughter is heartbroken.
Whether it’s doing a stranger a favour, or standing by someone in the rain, or sending flowers from thousands of miles away, or a Hug Pillow when you can’t give them a hug.
Whether it’s reading the letters that your granddaughter doesn’t know how not to write.
And – as I stand in the Guide Hut and watch everyone start packing away my party without complaint or judgement – it suddenly hits me: I had friends all along.
I was just looking for them in the wrong places, that’s all.
“Don’t you worry, poppet,” Steve mutters crossly as he gets a broom out and starts sweeping up the bits of glitter into a plastic pan, “you’re going to be OK.”
“I know,” I say with a bright smile.
Because I already am.
y parents are suspiciously unsurprised to see us.
In fact, if I didn’t know better I’d think they didn’t believe my party was going to be a roaring success and were prepared for catastrophe.
Which would be offensive if it wasn’t … you know.
Totally spot on.
“Hello,” Annabel says smoothly as I walk back into the house with Nat, Toby and India close behind me. “Would you like some dinner?”
There are six steaming pizzas in front of her.
Either my stepmother was ready for us to come home early and magically guessed how many of us there would be, or she’s recently developed the appetite of a baby blue whale crossed with one of the Mario brothers.
Or …
Or Steve was reporting back and both my parents have been driving past the Guide Hut continuously all evening, keeping tabs on everything.
Of course they have.
“Hi, Mrs Manners,” Nat says, flopping herself on the floor and pulling an ecstatic Tabitha on to her lap. “This is India. Please feel free to interrogate her relentlessly before we accept her into the gang.”
“So far we’ve already discovered lack of empathy for hamsters and no respect for authority,” Toby says, grabbing a slice of pepperoni. “As you can tell from the nasal piercing and general failure to bow down to the colours of nature.”
“Interrogate away,” India nods coolly. “The ring just stops me picking my nose and the purple makes it easier to cross roads without being run over – nobody ever misses me standing at a crossing.”
Everybody laughs as my phone beeps.
“Harriet?” Annabel says gently as I grab it out of my bag. “You had some visitors, sweetheart. They left a few things, so I’ve put most of them in your bedroom.”
I nod and look at the message I’ve just received.
Hannah, Levaire hated Kevin. Went a different direction. Will pay 300 for time spent. Stephanie.
I can’t help noticing we’re back to Stephanie again, and no kisses.
The science project is coming up next term.
Maybe I should focus mine on the careful subliminal analysis of text messages and use of nicknames: I think there’s potentially an entire minefield of untapped psychological investigation.
Weirdly, I don’t mind as much as I probably should.
I still had an amazing trip, and that quantity of money never felt very real anyway. This feels a lot more realistic. Plus, it’ll still cover everything I borrowed from Annabel, so everybody kind of wins.
I watch everyone chattering happily for a few seconds, then put my phone back in my bag, climb the stairs and push open my bedroom door.
Where I abruptly stop in amazement.
There are books everywhere.
Heaps of books piled on my desk, on my floor, on my bed, on the fireplace, on the windowsill. Every fact book I’ve handed out over the last ten days is back in my room, except with one subtle difference: there is now a tiny pink sticker on the front of each of them.
I pick one up and look at it:
Then another:
And another:
The final one of which says:
I swallow a lump – even though I’m not entirely sure they’re using the word fact accurately and we may have to discuss it. Then I pick up a photo Annabel has propped against a mug on my desk.
It’s of a little brown monkey, sitting on the stump of a tree with the Atlas Mountains behind him.
Because here’s the final fact of my own that I didn’t tell you:
Fact 4
The last thing Annabel and I did before we left Morocco was ask Ali to take Richard (monkey, not Dad) to a monkey sanctuary a hundred miles away.
We bought him and set him free.
Then we paid for the snakes and did the same to them.
“Harriet?” Annabel calls up the stairs. “Are you coming down? The pizza’s getting cold.”
I nod and put the photo down. “One minute!”
There’s just one thing left I have to do.
I make a space in between all the books on my bed.
Then I sit down and pull the box out of my bag.
Tokyo – June (4 months ago)
“You could stay, you know. There are multiple octopuses in Tokyo who haven’t attacked you yet, Manners. You’re taking so much away from so many.”
I laughed. “Did you know that an anxious octopus will sometimes literally eat itself, Nick? I don’t think it’s fair to upset any more of them: it could get messy.”
Then I glanced over his shoulder at Narita airport.
Bunty was doing some kind of juggling act for a security guard, but his patience was clearly running thin and the last call for our flight back to London had already been made.
“I have to go,” I said, wrapping my arms round his waist and looking up. “I’m sorry.”
Nick looked down with his shortened hair all ruffled and his brown eyes narrowed.
“OK. Hold out your hand.” I obediently held it out, and he slotted his fingers between mine. “What kind of table joint is this, again?”
&n
bsp; With a flash, I suddenly remembered the first time we ever met. I was so anxious: hiding under a table at The Clothes Show, trying – as always – to escape from the real world.
Nick had been so kind. So calm.
He had understood me from the beginning.
I was just looking for unusual table joints. I thought this particular table looked very … solid. In terms of construction. And I thought I’d have a closer look. You know. From … underneath.
I looked up at my boy on the Tokyo pavement and tried to memorise every detail before I left. Every black eyelash, every dark curl: the little line in the corner of his mouth, the tiny mole on his cheek, the sharpness of his teeth.
I tried to tuck away every single piece of him somewhere safe, where I could never lose it.
“Finger joints?” I asked with a small smile.
“They’re dovetail,” Nick said: just like the first time. He curled his fingers round mine until they were locked together and grinned the smile that went all the way round and split me and my entire world in half. “Goodbye, Harriet Manners.”
Then he leant down and kissed me until it felt like we were touching in space.
Welded permanently.
I wait for a few seconds with my eyes shut and my hand on the box, and I watch Nick’s beautiful face flicker, like a bright light on a wall. It flickers and flickers, fading a little every time.
When I finally open my eyes, it’s gone.
“Goodbye, Nicholas Hidaka,” I say gently.
Then I smile and put the box on the floor.
I take a deep breath.
And – with all the strength I have left – I push the past under my bed.
low-worms aren’t worms, they’re beetles.
Koala bears aren’t bears – they’re marsupials – and Bombay duck is made out of dry fish. Black-eyed peas are beans, Guinea pigs are neither pigs nor from Guinea.
What I’m trying to say is: things aren’t always what you think they are. You can look at something for a long, long time and still not see it properly at all.
I guess that includes me.
“Harriet?” Annabel says as I get to the bottom of the stairs. The living room has abruptly emptied, and the lights in the house have all gone off. “Did you do everything you needed to do?”
