Head Over Heels

And at least one caterpillar.

It’s heading quietly but determinedly towards her left ear as if it’s been living on her head for quite some time.

“Darlings!” Bunty beams, holding her shimmering arms out wide. “My three favourite girls in the whole wide world, come and give me your best cuddles.”

I hop forward and give her a hug.

Last time I saw my grandmother was for about five minutes after our return from New York last year, and I’ve genuinely missed her. It’s not Bunty’s fault that we clearly need a bigger house.

Or a more comfortable sofa.

“Harriet, darling, your aura is glorious at the moment,” she says, holding me at arm’s length and assessing me. “It’s the most beautiful shade of yellow, with a few splashes of orange.” She widens her eyes. “And gold. Golly, that’s new. How wonderful.”

She turns to survey my sister.

“Still a gorgeous red with a hint of bright pink,” she says approvingly, touching the end of Tabitha’s nose. “That’s my little maverick.”

Then Bunty puts her hands gently on either side of Annabel’s face and studies her for a few seconds. “Pale blue, darling,” she says. “We’ll need to do something about that.”

Annabel smiles faintly. “We will.”

“Let me see what I’ve got.” Bunty starts rummaging through her patchwork satchel, then pulls out a feather and incense cone. “A Native American smudge kit should do the trick. The cedar smoke will clean any negative energy out in a jiffy.”

“But where will it go?” Dad says, wandering in from the garden shed, where he’s been preparing for his next job interview. “Don’t give it to me, Bunty Brown. I’m already trying to find work in an industry that sells things to people who don’t need them.”

“You’ll definitely want to use a bigger feather in that case, Richard,” she smiles affectionately. “I may need to hunt down an eagle.”

“Or an albatross,” Dad grins.

“Actually,” I interrupt as they hug, “the ostrich is the biggest bird in the world but the Great Argus pheasant has the longest feathers. They’re in its tail.”

They laugh, even though that’s a totally accurate fact that they obviously didn’t know already.

“Chickpeas, I promise I won’t get in the way,” Bunty says, dragging a brightly coloured carpetbag through the door. “I was en route to a Jivamukti yoga retreat in Mongolia and I thought: why not say hello?”

“Give me that.” Annabel picks up the bag. “You’re not in the way, Mum. In fact, Harriet’s tidied her room for you especially. Haven’t you, Harriet?”

She gives me a sharp look that says: haven’t you, Harriet, so I nod as convincingly as I can.

“Don’t be silly billies,” Bunty says breezily. “I’m taking the sofa in the living room as usual and I won’t hear another word about it.”

“But—”

“But is a word, Annabel. Harriet’s sixteen and she needs her own space. Western beds are terribly bad for the spine anyway.”

My stepmother opens her mouth to object again, then shuts it with a snap.

Huh. Maybe she doesn’t win against everybody.

“Plus,” Bunty continues with a little wink at me, “my mystical talents are telling me my beautiful granddaughter has something lovely planned with her friends for this evening. Am I right?”

I stare at her in amazement.

How does she … What did she … How on earth can she possibly …

Oh.

I still have the Team JINTH Sleepover Plan gripped tightly against my chest.

A wave of gratitude washes over me.

“Oh thank you thank you thank you.” I throw my arms around her. She smells of pine needles and blueberries. “You’re the best grandma in the whole world.”

“I’m definitely one of them,” she laughs. “I’ve checked. Now, darling, go and have fun with your friends.”

cientists say that if you added up all the adrenaline inside everyone in England, it would weigh less than three ounces. To put it into perspective, that’s the equivalent of a very small armadillo, an extremely large tarantula or three average house mice.

I’m so excited, I must be using at least half of it.

Buzzing with happiness, I grab my satchel, slam my trainers on and say a brief goodbye to Tabby and Bunty. With a small effort I manage to ignore Annabel’s I’m-Disappointed-In-You expression and the Talk-To-Her eyes she’s subtly making at Dad.

Then I fly out of the house, imaginary wings at my feet.

I know that logically it makes no sense to meet the team at the cafe only to turn around and bring them all straight back here, but that’s what I’m doing so deal with it.

It’s my first ever gang sleepover. Not including the disastrous party I threw last year, it’s the first time I’ve ever hosted anything that isn’t just Nat and me.

Tonight is going to blow everyone away.

Beaming, I skip down the road.

I quickly pick up a few interesting leaves for Jasper’s art assignment, a pretty purple flower for India, a piece of interesting wood for Nat (she’s doing a design project on sustainability) and a small pebble for Toby (no particular reason except I didn’t want him to feel left out).

And I’ve just reached the cafe when my pocket starts vibrating. A millisecond later, Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo begins playing loudly.

Sugar cookies.

Hesitating, I peer through the window.

The gang’s in there already, sitting in our normal spot, drinks in front of them. Nat’s looking at the front of an envelope, Toby’s drawing a diagram of something and Indi’s staring at her phone. Her socked feet propped on the table. Thanks to my fight with Annabel, I’m late.

My phone’s still ringing and – when I drag it out reluctantly – FAIRY GODMOTHER is flashing on the screen.

This might be important.

Or it might not be. With Wilbur it’s sometimes difficult to tell.

Quickly, I rap loudly on the cafe window.

I’m here! I mouth as they look up simultaneously. Don’t do anything interesting without me!

My friends stare at me through the glass.

Just like that! I mouth gratefully, giving them a thumbs up. I’ll be just one minute!

Then I turn around to take the call.

onestly, it’s been great having Wilbur back from New York.

Just not necessarily as an agent.

Since the Paris debacle, the phone hasn’t exactly been ringing off the hook for my professional services. In fact, last time Wilbur called me it was four nights ago to give him advice on ordering pizza.

I suggested tuna and pineapple: it was a great success.

“Hello?” I say distractedly. Through the window I can see Nat rubbing her eyes and India shaking her head.

What was that? What did I just miss?

“Happy Friday, baby-baby-buffalo! How are you today, milk-muffin? Are you just bubbling under the unseasonal sun?”

Nat opens the envelope and says something and Jasper emerges from the kitchen, glances momentarily at the group and then narrows his eyes and looks around the cafe.

I rap on the window again and wave.

He gives a rare grin and points at the full brown paper bag in his hand.

Ooh, yay. More burnt biscuits.

“Hello?” Wilbur says, tapping his phone. “Mini butterball? Are you still there or are you focusing on sprouting freckles like a little duck’s egg?”

Whoops. Focus, Harriet.

“Sorry.” I face the other way so I can concentrate properly. “I’m here. What’s up?”

“Speaking of up, have you seen the gif of you doing the rounds on email yet, my little fish flake? You are utterly hilairical.”

An abrupt memory flashes: strobe lights, a moving floor, a sudden splash of water. I clear my throat in embarrassment.

Nope. Still not going to think about it.

“It was six weeks ago,” I say defensively. “The fashion industry needs to get over it already. Have they got nothing better to do?”

“Not really,” Wilbur admits. “There’s a bit of a lull between the spring and summer collections. You’re filling the gap nicely.”

My phone beeps and I glance at the screen.

“Huh. That’s weird. Stephanie is calling me too. She hasn’t spoken to me since Paris.”

“Hmm? Oh, just cancel that, pumpkin. She’s just trying to make people buy her new velvet hairband range.”

Then Wilbur clears his throat loudly.

“Anyway. The reason I’m ringing you today, Harriet, is for a very special, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity …”

I squint a bit harder through the window: India’s started pulling her purple boots back on.

“For a limited time only, you too can be a part of a group of select and elite members of the fashion industry …”

Now Toby’s putting his folder in his backpack.

“… a plethora of talents from every corner of the globe …”

Nat’s getting her coat. Are we leaving already?

“… from Niue to Nauru …”

“Huh? Wilbur, what are you talking about? Niue and Nauru? They’re both islands in the Pacific Ocean. That’s not every corner of the globe. It’s just one corner.”

“Dingo-bats,” he sighs. “Never mind.”

There’s a short silence, then Wilbur coughs. “What I’m trying to say is … Harriet, will you come with me?”

“To the South Pacific?”

“To the new modelling agency I’ve just set up.”

And he’s suddenly got my full attention.

“You’ve left Infinity? But …” Again sounds a bit rude. “Didn’t you just go back to working there?”

“Darling moo, who wants to polish the crown when you can wear the tiara?”

I have no idea what that means.

“Everything’s ready,” he continues quickly. “I have the best contacts, and all my top models and designers are signed so it’s really no big deal if you don’t want to …”

“Wilbur,” I smile, looking back through the window, “of course I want to. I’ll come with you.”

“You will?”

“Yes! You’re my fairy godmother. Where you go, I go.” Also I kind of get the sense that after Paris my time at Infinity Models is as good as over. And I really hate Stephanie, but that’s just an unexpected bonus.

Wilbur lets out an enormous happy sigh. “Harriet Manners, you are the pompom on my jaunty beret. Has anybody ever told you that?”

I laugh. “Probably not. So what’s the plan?”

“I just have a few more duckies to line up and then I’ll give you a tinkle?”

I nod and start heading towards the cafe doors.

“I’m your girl, Wilbur. Just tell me what I have to do.”

ow, I’m not famous for my ability to read people.

In the past, there has certainly been the odd occasion where I’ve possibly missed a hint here or a gesture there or an outright statement kind of everywhere.

But not this time.

As I skip into the cafe, my friends’ urgency is unmistakable. Bags are being slung on, coats grabbed, coffees slurped and cake polished off.

And I think we all know why.

They clearly want to get the party started as quickly as possible.

Wow, these guys are keen.

“Gang!” I smile, taking my normal seat. “Chill out! There’s plenty of time to get to my house. The Sleepover festivities don’t commence for another –” I glance at my watch – “nineteen minutes at least.”

I pick up my slightly cold Harriet-uccino from the table. “Although admittedly a few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt anyone,” I add, gulping some down and standing back up. “We could do with another run-through of the plans.”

Then there’s a silence.

A silence so long you could use it as a tree-swing, should you be capable of swinging from silences.

“Do you want to tell her,” India says to Nat, “or shall I?”

I blink at them. “Tell me what?”

“Umm, Harriet,” Nat says quickly, going pink around the ears and brandishing the paper at me, “I’ve just opened my last essay. I got a C. I’m going to have to put some more work in, like yesterday.”

“And my mum’s texted,” India grimaces, quickly flipping up her phone. “She doesn’t want me staying out so close to exams.”

“I could really use the extra time to get some painting done,” Jasper says, grabbing his big black A Level art folder from behind the counter, “if everyone else is going to be working.”

We automatically turn and look at Toby.

“Has anyone seen my new Dr Who Sonic Screwdriver with LED Flashlight?” he says, holding it up. “It’s really useful for confusing cats.”

“So what are you saying?” A hot fizzing is starting at the base of my stomach, as if somebody’s just combined vinegar with baking soda. “Are you cancelling on me again?”

“Not cancelling,” Nat says, flushing a little harder and fiddling with the paper. “Just … delaying.”

“Again?” I say, stomach still fizzing.

“It’s only the second time.”

“You’re cancelling my sleepover AGAIN?”

“Our sleepover,” India says, frowning. “It’s our sleepover, Harriet.”

“That’s what I said,” I snap, crossing my arms.

I can’t believe this.

Why can’t my friends organise their spare time properly like I have? I’ve got exams coming up too, and you don’t see me panicking and changing plans at the last minute.

Mainly because I’ve been revising in reasonable chunks every single night for the last six months and my carefully calculated schedule is working perfectly.

But still: preparation.

“Harriet,” Nat says tiredly, putting the paper back in her stuffed handbag and rubbing her eyes again. “What do you think I’d rather do? Examine the thread count of different fabrics or watch romcoms with you guys?”

“Wait,” Jasper says in alarm, “we were going to watch romcoms? When was this covered?”

“Oooh!” Toby says, sticking his hand up. “I know this one! Ask me! Ask me!”

And – just like that – my sulkiness pops.

I’m not being very fair, am I?

Everyone’s genuinely busy working and revising and obviously they don’t want to not have fun tonight.

I’m just disappointed, that’s all.

Then I look closer at my normally happy gang and something in my chest twinges. The skin around Nat’s eyes is darker than normal; Jasper’s scowl is deeper and there’s a smudge of orange paint near his ear. India’s got black roots for the first time since I’ve known her.

Toby looks well rested and calm, but I suspect he has a similar schedule to mine.

A group at the University of Virginia studied twenty-two different people who were under threat of receiving an electrical shock to either themselves, a close friend or a stranger.

It turns out the brain activity of a person in danger is indistinguishable from the brain activity of a person when someone they love is in danger instead.

My friends are tired, stressed and anxious.

These are my people and if they’re not happy, I’m not happy either.

Something needs to be done.

“OK,” I say, thinking fast. “How about I sort out a little food fest for when you’ve got half an hour free?”

“That would be great,” India smiles broadly. “Thanks, Harriet.”

“You’re ace,” Nat says, giving me a hug.

“Hang on.” Jasper looks up from his art folder. “You’re not going to turn us into fajitas or burritos, are you, Harriet-uccino? I knew those guacamole face masks you had planned were leading to something.”

I stick my tongue out at him.

“Don’t worry, guys,” I say reassuringly, putting my Team JINTH Sleepover folder away. “I’ve got this.”

After all, isn’t that what friends are for?

ecently, ecologists set up cameras on the Indonesian island of Borneo in order to evaluate the environmental impact of logging in the Wehea Forest.

To their surprise, they found that – rather than swinging from trees – the orang-utans decided to use the felled timber as roads, save energy and just walk to where they were going instead.

The moral of the story is: it’s important to adapt.

And also – let’s be honest – avoid unnecessary exercise at all costs.

By the time I get home, I’ve already started mentally working through a new plan. I can’t let my friends lose their happy glow. So there’s no time for a sleepover any more: that’s OK. I’m flexible. Supple. Capable of changing direction at will; of dipping and swerving through life like a swallow or a swift or a house martin.

Or maybe some kind of nimble pigeon.

I’m going to make my friends the best Team JINTH Picnic of All Time.

It’s going to be a quick, breezy, casual picnic in the park: the kind of picnic that provides physical, mental and spiritual sustenance fast when you need a proper break.

The kind of picnic that screams ‘happiness’ at the top of its lungs. Because, let’s face it, nothing says joy and relaxation like a full stomach and personalised biscuits.

All I need now is a suitable theme.

Maybe a few decent recipes. A couple of drink options. Possibly bunting. It wouldn’t hurt to work out exactly where to position us to maximize sunshine and protection from the wind, either.

I’m pretty sure there’s room for the five of us on the roundabout, but maybe I should measure it first just to—

“Harriet?” Annabel says as I burst through the front door with a bang and start pounding straight up the stairs.

“Can’t stop!” I call cheerfully over my shoulder. “Super busy!”

Taking into account preparation time and the actual picnic itself, I’m going to have to rearrange my week’s revision plan.

This is exactly why it’s so handy to have it saved as a spreadsheet. A few quick presses of a button and a new colour-code, and I’ll have a brand-new, highly flexible schedule with space for spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment activities like picnics.

“Harriet!” Annabel says a lot more loudly. “Just wait a second!”

I pause at the top of the stairs.

Then I glance down and blink: something’s changed. “Is there … How the …” I sniff the air. “What’s that smell?”

Wait: is Annabel wearing an apron? I didn’t even know we had one. Both of my parents think that warming up a stale croissant qualifies them for MasterChef.

“I’m ‘cooking’,” my stepmother confirms, inexplicably making quotation marks with her fingers. “‘Broadening my skill set’, ‘sustaining the family’, ‘providing nutrition, vitamins and minerals for my loved ones’ and so on.”

That’s a lot of air-quotations for statements that probably should be said without irony.

“You’re cooking?” I repeat in amazement. “No wonder I was confused. Tabitha, mark this historic occasion. It may never happen again.”

Then I raise my eyebrows pointedly.

“I probably deserved that,” Annabel smiles. “Even though your father has actually taken Tabitha out for a walk so I’m not entirely sure who you’re talking to.”

There’s a soft jingling sound and Bunty pokes her pink head through the living-room door. “What do you think, darling? Apparently I can fit more souvenirs in my car boot than I thought.”

She waves a ring-clad hand around.

The living room looks like an enormous butterfly just went bang: brightly coloured printed blankets, dream-catchers, crystals, bells and cushions are everywhere. Lamps are switched on in every corner and new plants sit in pots. Crystals are spread on every surface.

Huh. That was fast.

“This is for you,” Bunty says, handing me two small brass cymbals on a long piece of leather. “They’re Buddhist Tingsha Chimes from Tibet. The sound is immediately calming. Try it.”

I obediently hit them together. The air is filled with a sweet, high, long note that fades slowly into nothing.

Nope. Didn’t work: still busy.

“How about we all have a cup of tea?” Annabel says brightly. “The kettle’s just boiled.”

“Yes, please!” I say gratefully, turning round and heading across the hallway. “You can leave it outside my door!”

“Harriet, that’s not what I m—”

“Thank you!” I shout.

And with a firm click I close my bedroom door behind me.

he next few days are manic.

Sitting on my bed, surrounded by bright textbooks like a bird in a shiny and informative nest, I plough through as much schoolwork as possible.

I study compositions of various amino acids: alanine, cysteine and valine. I memorise the tertiary structure of ribonuclease molecules, and precisely how the polypeptide is folded.

Given that y = x5 – 3x2 + x + 5, I find dy/dx and d2y/dx2; I factorise x2 – 4x – 12 and sketch the corresponding graph. I learn the baryon numbers of quarks and antiquarks, and the properties of leptons and antiparticles.

(I finally know what they are, by the way. No thanks to a certain American governess.)

I even discover that there are as many bacteria in two servings of yoghurt as there are people on earth.

Then promptly abandon breakfast.

And – during my breaks – I make a JINTH Picnic Pack. There’s a menu and personalised paper crockery, napkins and music. I’ve even got mini sparklers just in case it gets dark and we want the calming, happiness-inducing party to continue.

This fun is going to be off the chart, while also being very much on it.

Every now and then Annabel and Bunty try to distract me – do I need my chakras cleansing? Why don’t I eat with them for once instead of on the floor of my bedroom? – but I cannot be moved.

Even school can’t divert my focus.

As India, Toby and Jasper disappear to their various billion extra-curricular activities, I hunker down with neat notes in the corner of the common room and study.

By Tuesday afternoon, I’ve completed an entire week’s worth of revision. Which means I’m now available for any kind of spontaneous social occasion that might pop up.

Whenever that might be.

Although it’s been 71 hours and I still haven’t heard anything, so maybe my hints have been too subtle.

Hey team JINTH! Weather forecast for Wednesday is good! ;) Hxx

Partly cloudy with bursts of sunshine on Thursday! Wind only 11mph! ;) Hxx

Humidity on Friday 73% so cover your sandwiches! ;) Hxx