Model Misfit (11 page)

I abruptly stop breathing.

Annabel sighs. “I don’t know, Rich. I just don’t know. After today” – I can hear her tapping on the table anxiously with a biro – “She
can be such hard work sometimes, you know. I don’t think I can handle any more. It’s my first baby, and you know I love her to pieces but …”

My whole body goes numb. But?
But?

There isn’t supposed to be a ‘but’
.

I poke my head around the edge of the door just in time to see Annabel put her head in her hands as Dad gently kisses the top of her head. “I just think it’s best for everyone if she’s not here.”

he human brain consists of 200 billion nerve cells. In the cerebral cortex alone there are 125 trillion synapses, which is roughly the amount of stars as in 1,500 Milky Way galaxies. It feels like every single one of them is exploding simultaneously.

They’re not sending me away for me. They’re sending me away for
them.

Suddenly every thought I’ve been pushing out of my head for six months is roaring in, the way air rushes into a vacuum.
This
is what I’ve been scared of. This is what has been building and building, and squashing my excitement about the baby. That the mother panda would choose, and she wouldn’t choose me.

And this is just the start, isn’t it?

In a year or two, it will take my room.

It will take my bed and my dog.

It will take the slice of sunshine by the window where I sit when I’m reading.

It’ll take the bit at the back of the cupboard where I keep my old train set and the loose floorboard where I hide my poems and the shelf where I keep my dictionaries.

It’ll take my hook in the bathroom and my time slot in the shower and the pencil lines on the side of the door that have taken nearly sixteen years to draw.

It will take my dad throwing them about in a swimming pool and messing up their hair and being an idiot.

It will take all of Annabel.

And nudge by nudge, I’ll be pushed further and further away. Until I’m all on my own.

I lean against the hallway wall, breathing hard through my mouth. Then, quietly, cautiously, I open the box in my head that I haven’t touched in six months.

Carefully – one by one – I start putting people inside. I put in Annabel and Dad. I put in the baby. I put in Nat. Finally, I close the lid of the box and sit on it.

It’s just best for everyone if she’s not here.

If that’s how they feel, I’ll go somewhere else. Somewhere better. Somewhere more exciting. I’ll see the world, and I’ll do it by myself.

Because that’s the thing about a transformation: there’s no stopping it. Once the tadpole has legs it jumps out of the pond. Once the caterpillar has wings, it flies away.

And once you’ve metamorphosed, you can’t go back.

Even if you want to.

Agreement of Responsibility

THIS AGREEMENT is made between Annabel Manners and Bunty Brown, with reference to the guardianship of Harriet Manners as agreed to by Richard Manners, witness and father.

THEREFORE, intending to be legally bound hereby, the parties agree as follows:

• Bunty Brown will act like a mature and responsible adult, regardless of how fervently she believes that ‘age is just a number’.
  
• Bunty Brown will acknowledge the fact that Harriet Manners is a minor and will accompany her AT ALL TIMES. She will not wander off because she sees something sparkly or rare or ‘feels like it, darling’.
  
• Bunty Brown will not discuss with Harriet Manners anything she did or did not do in the sixties.
  
• Or the seventies.
  
• Or the eighties.
  
• Bunty Brown will not attempt to convert Harriet Manners to: Druidism, Paganism, Zoroastrianism, Baha’i, Prince Philip Movement, Scientology, Buddhism, Taoism, Sikhism, Islam, Hinduism, Confucianism, Christianity, Shinto, Judaism, Wicca, or any other belief system that Bunty Brown is currently devoted to.
  
• Bunty Brown will not pierce, henna, tie-dye or attach flowers, feathers or sequins to any part of Harriet Manners.
  
• Bunty Brown will put Harriet Manners first.
  

Signed:

Annabel Manners

Bunty Brown

SpiderMan Brad Pitt
Richard Manners

he next seventeen hours can be summarised thus:

• I avoid my parents.
  

And that’s it.

By the time Annabel and Dad have waved goodbye with the happiest facial expressions I’ve ever seen on adults, I’m so desperate to go I don’t even care that they can’t take me to the airport because of a hospital appointment.

Even though we all know that by
hospital
they mean
Harriet leaving
and by
appointment
they mean
massive party.
And by ‘tidying up’ they mean
blowing up balloons and turning my bedroom into an impromptu home cinema.

I promise to ring them as soon as I arrive and then focus on:

1. Studying for the entire car journey.
   
2. Trying not to get knocked out by Bunty’s pink dream-catcher, swinging merrily from the rear-view mirror.
   

By the time we reach the airport, I’ve managed to distract myself completely by acquiring a good ten to fifteen Japanese words
and
working out a detailed itinerary. Shrines I want to light incense at and theatres I want to visit and food I want to eat and parasitological museums I want to take photos of and show to Toby.

So when my grandmother and I walk into the airport departures lounge and there’s a high-pitched squeal, I don’t even turn around. That’s how much I’ve forgotten what it is I’m actually supposed to be doing here.

“Co-eeee, my little Monster Munches!” a voice shouts. A man in a leopard-print onesie and pink wellies starts stomping enthusiastically towards us. “I’ve been waiting for minutes and minutes and I was spectacularly bored so I went to the Duty Free.
Smell me!
Close your eyes and I’m unwanted Christmas soap!” He wafts in a jutting, pigeon-like circular motion, and then holds his hand out to my grandmother. “
Enchanté
,” he adds, curtsying deeply. “Which is French for
enchanted
because they obviously stole it from us, the naughty little Munchkins.”

I stare at Wilbur in bewilderment. “Erm, they didn’t,” I say. “Both
enchanté
and
enchanted
come from the Latin verb
incantare
, which means
to
cast spells
. Hello, Wilbur. Are you coming with us?”

I can’t decide if I’m delighted or not. I love Wilbur, but in combination with my grandmother?

“Wilbur,” he says, pushing me aside and kissing Bunty’s hand. “That’s with a
bur
, and not with an
iam
. I’m agent to this little chicken-monkey.” He points at me, just in case anyone gets confused with all the other chicken-monkeys in the immediate vicinity.

“Bunty,” my grandmother smiles, totally unfazed.

He points to my grandmother’s pink floral dress with lace trim, beige, fringed blanket and mirrored waistcoat. “I am
loving
this. What are we calling it?”

My grandmother’s eyes twinkle. “Spangled Nepalese goat-herder disco-dances by river in moonlight?”

“Oh my
holy dolphin-cakes
!” Wilbur shouts at the top of his voice. “That is superlatively
fantabulazing
! Could I borrow the waistcoat one day?”

“You can have it now, if you like,” Bunty says, taking it off and handing it over. “I have dozens.”

“
You!
” Wilbur squeaks, putting it on over his onesie and spinning around in little circles. “If you were liquid I would just pour you all over ice cream and sprinkle you with hundreds and thousands and gobble you up! You would be
hell
on my waistline and
laden
with calories but
I just wouldn’t care.
”

See what I mean?

“Are you coming with us?” I repeat politely as my grandmother beams and then wanders towards some fluffy key rings in a nearby shop.

“No, my little Turkish delight. I’m just here to prep you.”

I frown. “Wilbur—” How do I put this nicely? “At no stage at any point in my entire modelling career have you ever prepared me for anything. Ever.” I pause. “Like,
ever.
”

Wilbur’s eyes open wide. “I am
hurt
,” he says with his hand on his chest. “Nay,
wounded
. Nay – what’s another word for hurt, my little Carrier-bag?”

“Offended? Stung? Aggrieved?”

“
Précisement
. How can you say I am ever anything but one hundred per cent professional?”

“For my last photo shoot you sent me to your dentist.”

“They had
very
similar business cards and I thought I’d just seen Sting walk past and it was all very confusing.” Wilbur tries to look indignant, and then sighs. “OK. I’m a terrible, terrible agent. But this time it’s mahoosive, Sugar-plum. Like, Calvin Klein mahoosive. Like,
mamoosive
mahoosive. Yuka’s broken away from Baylee to start up her own label. It’s huge, Peach-plum, and I need to make sure we’re all on the same page.”