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‘What did you just say, Skye?’ said Mum, pushing forward to stand beside us. Her voice was steely.

  ‘Nothing,’ Skye mumbled.

  ‘You just mind that mouth of yours,’ said Mum, and walked on.

  Skye flushed scarlet.

  ‘What a cheek!’ Emily hissed. ‘You’re not allowed to tell someone else’s child off!’

  ‘Especially a s-l-a-g like her,’ said Skye.

  I stood still. I clenched my fists. ‘You say another word about my mum and I’ll drag you by your hair over to that table and shove you head first into that profiterole tower and I’ll stuff profiteroles up your snobby nose and down your foul mouth until you’re sick,’ I said.

  Skye stared at me, shocked. She took a step backward, then another. Then she recovered a little and shook her head at Emily and Arabella, rotating her finger into the side of her head.

  ‘Watch out, she’s got a screw loose,’ she said shakily.

  ‘I think I’m going to phone my mum,’ said Arabella.

  ‘Maybe I’ll phone mine,’ said Emily. ‘Where’s Rhona, Skye? Isn’t she coming?’

  ‘She said she was,’ said Skye. ‘But she’s obviously thought better of it. Clever her. I knew she didn’t really like Ugly.’

  My heart started thumping. I thought she was simply trying to wind me up – but where was Rhona? She was half an hour late. Everyone had eaten the vol au vents and sausages and all the other buffet bits.

  ‘Time to cut your birthday cake, Beauty,’ said Dad.

  ‘But Rhona isn’t here yet,’ I said.

  ‘Which one’s Rhona? I don’t think she’ll be coming now,’ said Dad.

  ‘Yes she will. Rhona’s my friend,’ I said desperately.

  ‘Did you hear that!’ said Skye. ‘As if!’

  ‘Everyone knows Rhona’s your friend, Skye.’

  ‘You and Rhona have been best friends for ever,’ said Arabella.

  ‘Rhona’s still my friend too – and she said she was coming,’ I said.

  Mum put her arm round me. ‘Maybe she’s not very well,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t worry, Beauty. We’ll save her some of the profiterole tower, and you can give her a bag of cookies at school on Monday.’

  ‘I wish she’d come now,’ I said.

  There was a ring at the door.

  ‘Rhona!’ I said, and went flying.

  It was Rhona, standing on the doorstep clutching a large box, her cheeks bright pink with excitement. Mr Marshall stood beside her, hauling what looked like a wooden crate.

  ‘Happy birthday, Beauty! Hey, what a lovely dress! And wonderful boots!’ said Rhona. ‘I’m so sorry we’re so late. We were all set to leave an hour ago but then your birthday present escaped!’

  ‘It . . . escaped?’ I said.

  ‘It took ages and ages to catch him. Be very careful when you take the lid off! We don’t want him to get away again.’

  She set the box on the front doorstep. I knelt down and cautiously lifted the box lid a few inches. I peered into the darkness inside. There was a lot of soft straw. Huddled right in the middle, ears twitching anxiously, was a little grey rabbit.

  Twelve

  ‘A rabbit!’ I whispered.

  ‘It’s your birthday bunny,’ said Rhona. ‘Dad’s scrubbed out my rabbit’s hutch for you, and we’ve got bedding and rabbit food. Mum’s parcelled up some lettuce and dandelion leaves too.’

  ‘Oh, Rhona!’ I said. I shut my eyes tight but I couldn’t stop two tears spilling down my cheeks.

  ‘What’s the matter, Beauty? You did want a rabbit, didn’t you?’ said Rhona.

  ‘Yes, I wanted a rabbit more than anything else in the world,’ I said.

  ‘So there you are then!’ said Rhona. ‘I can’t wait to hear what you’re going to call him.’

  ‘Call who?’ said Dad, coming up the hall behind me. ‘Can you just lift that wooden thing off of the parquet flooring?’

  ‘Certainly, certainly,’ said Mr Marshall. ‘Shall I shove the hutch round the back?’

  ‘The . . . hutch?’ said Dad.

  I swallowed so hard my head started spinning. I had one hand inside the box. I stroked the soft soft fur.

  ‘Rhona’s bought me a little r-r-rabbit for my birthday,’ I said.

  I waited. I didn’t dare look round at Dad. I heard his sharp intake of breath.

  ‘I think our Beauty’s been a bit of a naughty girl asking you to give her a rabbit,’ said Dad. ‘She knows she’s not allowed to have pets.’

  ‘Oh, she didn’t ask, Mr Cookson,’ said Rhona, totally unfazed. ‘But I knew just how much she’d love a rabbit. It’s just a little weeny baby rabbit. He won’t make any mess at all, he’ll just stay neat and cosy in his hutch. You’ll let Beauty keep him, won’t you?’

  ‘I certainly hope you will, pal, because I don’t want to lumber this damn hutch all the way home!’ said Mr Marshall.

  I waited, holding my breath. We all waited, Rhona and Mr Marshall, Mum, Skye, Emily, Arabella and every other girl at my party.

  ‘Well, in that case of course Beauty can have her little bunny,’ said Dad.

  ‘Hurray!’ said Rhona.

  ‘Cheers!’ said Mr Marshall.

  There was an excited babble as everyone crowded round, wanting to see my rabbit.

  ‘No, no, careful, we mustn’t frighten him,’ I said firmly, feeling the poor little thing quivering.

  I looked up at Dad. He was smiling at me. He even said ‘Aaah!’ as I lifted the little rabbit out of his box and cradled him in my arms. But I saw his narrowed eyes, his clenched jaw, the pulse beating in his forehead.

  Mr Marshall carried the hutch through the house and out of the French windows into the back garden. Rhona carried the bunny box and I carried the rabbit. Everyone else crowded round, wanting to see him and stroke him.

  ‘Get back a bit! He’s getting so frightened. He’s little, he’s worried you might hurt him,’ I said, fiercely protective.

  They all moved back, even Skye. It was tricky transferring my rabbit into his hutch. He wriggled frantically and I had to hang onto him really tightly though I was terrified of hurting him. I knew how clumsy I could be – and yet somehow my hands knew how to cup and hold and soothe him.

  ‘Let’s tuck him up in bed,’ said Rhona, pulling his straw out of the box.

  ‘Watch what you’re doing, dear, that stuff ‘s going all over the patio,’ said Dad. ‘Come on, girls, we’ve still got to eat the profiterole tower, and the super-stretch limo will be here soon.’

  ‘Hang on, Mr Cookson. We’ve got to feed the rabbit first!’ said Rhona. ‘I didn’t give him any breakfast so he wouldn’t do too many poos in his birthday box.’

  All the girls giggled and started chatting about what rabbits liked to eat. Dad’s smile was so strained his lips disappeared.

  ‘Buck up, then, dears,’ he said.

  Skye had hold of the lettuce-and-dandelion parcel.

  ‘Here you are, Bunny, here’s your yummy greens,’ she said.

  ‘No, Skye, it’s not your rabbit. Beauty must feed him,’ said Rhona.

  So I fed my rabbit. My hand was shaking and my tummy in knots because of Dad, but it was still the most fantastic feeling offering the leaves and seeing my rabbit’s nose twitch, his soft mouth open, his little teeth starting to chomp chomp chomp.

  I’d loved Nicholas Navybear but that was nothing like having a real soft breathing little creature nuzzling my fingers.

  ‘He’s the loveliest rabbit ever, Rhona’, I whispered.

  ‘So what’s his name, your little birthday bunny?’ she said.

  ‘We’ll call him Birthday,’ I said. ‘Because he’s the best birthday present I’ve ever had.’

  ‘Apart from the gorgeous giant toy rabbit I gave you, Beauty,’ said Dad. ‘Come on now, they’re about to cut the cake. Back in the house everyone.’

  Mum made me wash my hands though I wanted to keep the feel of Birthday’s soft fur and warm tongue on my fingers. I didn’t get to cut the profi