“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.
“Megs, it’s harmless!”
If I did erupt, I would spew bright-green vomit all over Annie. Great gobbets of it, splatting in her face and dripping through her hair.
“It’s just books. Just people talking about books.”
Annie didn’t even like books. She only read them because of me.
“There’s no grown ups. Nothing bad. No one talks about sex, or anything like that. It’s just kids! Nobody over fourteen.”
I came back to life. “If it’s nobody over fourteen,” I said, “what’s Lori doing there?”
“Why?” Annie blinked, owlishly. “Is she over fourteen?”
“Yes, she is!” I knew all about Harriet Chance’s daughter. I knew everything there was to know about Harriet Chance. Well, everything that had ever been written.
“So how old is she?”
“She’s fifteen,” I said. “She was fifteen in January.”
“Oh! Wow! Fifteen!” Annie went into a mock fainting fit on the bed.
“You said nobody over fourteen,” I reminded her. “Anyone could just say they were fourteen!”
“Why would they want to? Just to talk about books!”
I hunched a shoulder. Annie had made me feel all cross and hot.
“OK, if you don’t want to,” she said. “I’ll probably visit later and have a chat. I’ll tell her you’re too shy.”
“Don’t you dare!” I said.
“So what shall I tell her?”
“Tell her … tell her that I’ve chosen Harriet Chance as my favourite author and I’m writing a review of Candyfloss for the school library!”
“All right,” said Annie. “I don’t mind doing that.”
Annie is a very generous and good-natured person. More good-natured than me, probably. She knew I was cross, but she didn’t want to quarrel. Annie never quarrels. Rachel is the only person she ever gets ratty with; but then Rachel is enough to make a saint ratty, I would think.
“Hey!” Annie suddenly went bouncing off the bed. “Look what I’ve got!” She snatched up a box and rattled it at me.