Head Over Heels. Holly Smale
“Harriet,” Annabel whispers sharply, spinning round. Her face is so firm and so lawyer-y, my mouth automatically closes with a snap. “Stop saying but. This is not up for discussion, so just try and be a grown-up about it. Please?”
I blink. Nobody wins an argument against Annabel. Ever. I bet she can make grown judges cry.
“Thank you, darling,” she says more gently, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze. “I truly appreciate it.”
And the front door swings open.
What is that supposed to mean?
I’m sixteen and a half years old, thank you very much. If I lived in Cuba, Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan or Scotland, I’d be a legal adult already. In fact, in American Samoa I’ve been one for two whole years.
Maybe I should just move there.
I squint at the tanned figure, shining in the doorway. My grandmother is backlit by sunshine, giving her the appearance of a stained-glass window. Her hair is glowing bright pink, blue sequins are glinting all over her floor-length orange dress, a tasselled green pashmina is dangling across her shoulders and there are approximately fifteen daisies wound randomly through her hair.
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.”
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