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  Matty said I drew heaps better!

  ‘I can’t draw anywhere near as good as you,’ I said modestly. ‘But I did use to love drawing monsters. I’m not supposed to draw them any more though.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, because . . . It worries my dad. I used to draw all sorts of scary stuff, see, after . . .’ I let my voice tail away.

  ‘After your mum?’ said Marty.

  I tensed. Had Matty told her? It was my biggest ever most dreadful secret.

  ‘What did Matty say?’ I asked, my voice going wobbly.

  ‘Matty said you didn’t have a mum. That must be so sad. When did she die?’

  I breathed out. Matty hadn’t told. She really was a true best friend. Somehow it made it easier to tell Marty myself.

  ‘My mum isn’t dead,’ I said, picking up Marty’s snake and winding him round and round my arm. ‘She just left.’

  ‘Left?’

  ‘Yes, because – because she’s not really like other mums.’

  ‘You mean she doesn’t care about you?’

  ‘She does! She just doesn’t want to be tied down. She’s an artist. She needs to be free,’ I said. ‘That’s what Dad told me.’

  ‘But she’s not free. She’s got you and your dad,’ said Marty, shocked.

  ‘It’s hard to explain,’ I said. That’s what Dad had said too.

  ‘So she just left and never came back?’

  ‘No! No, she’s come back heaps of times. Well, several. And she sends birthday and Christmas presents. She’s still my mum, but she just doesn’t live with us,’ I said, winding Marty’s snake tighter and tighter around my arm.

  ‘So where does she live then?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure where she lives now. Somewhere abroad, I think.’

  ‘But you can still phone her and email her and Skype her?’ Marty went on relentlessly.

  ‘Look, it’s none of your business,’ I said.

  Marty blinked. ‘You’re right. It’s not. Sorry.’ She unwound her snake and mimed wrapping him round her neck and pulling him tight. ‘I should learn to shut up and stop being so nosy.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I like your snake.’

  ‘Do you really? He’s called Basil and I love him to bits. I made him all by myself. Melissa thinks he’s revolting. She hates all my animals but I think they’re cool. I don’t go on about them at school in case they call me a baby – you know what people can be like,’ said Marty. ‘Matty understands though, doesn’t she?’

  ‘We play Warrior Princesses,’ I said.

  ‘That sounds seriously cool,’ said Marty.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Maybe we could all play it some time,’ I suggested.

  ‘Oh, wow, yes. Great,’ said Marty.

  ‘Look, tell you what,’ I said, squatting on the crowded floor and grabbing the drawing pad. ‘We could do a picture together now. You do Supermart. And I’ll do some monsters. I’ve missed drawing them. It’ll be fun.’

  So we sat side by side and I invented some brand-new monsters with staring fish eyes and extra little dangly limbs and enormous slimy warty bodies with long bare pink tails, and Marty drew Supermart kicking and punching and stamping on them all. We described what was happening as we drew and coloured. I kept inventing brand-new monsters and Marty imagined ever more painful ways of squashing them. We were so absorbed that we didn’t hear Mrs Michaels calling. We didn’t hear Melissa yelling to us halfway up the stairs. We only looked up when Dad and Mrs Michaels came into the bedroom, shaking their heads at us.

  ‘What are you two up to? Didn’t you hear us calling? What’s that you’re drawing?’ Mrs Michaels asked.

  ‘Just a game,’ said Marty, closing her drawing book quickly.

  ‘I bet it’s something to do with your silly old Supermart cartoons,’ said Mrs Michaels, sighing. ‘You could be quite good at art if you’d only draw something properly.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, you don’t half nag,’ said Marty – but she suddenly jumped up and put her arms tight round Mrs Michaels’s waist.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Mrs Michaels fondly. ‘Naggle, naggle, naggle, all day long. And with good reason!’

  I had a lump in my throat watching them. I cuddled my dad lots, but it wasn’t quite the same as cuddling a mum. I remembered how soft my own mum felt, and the beautiful rosy smell of her perfume. For a moment the ache for her was so bad I thought I’d crumple up amongst all the rubbish on Marty’s carpet – but Dad put his arm round me, keeping me upright.

  ‘Come and see what a lovely job Mrs Michaels has made of your dress, Tilly,’ he said gently.

  I tried on the bridesmaid’s dress. Mrs Michaels had not only sewn on new rosebuds, she’d sprayed my dress and ironed it so that the skirts stuck out beautifully and it looked brand new.

  ‘There, you’ll do me proud now,’ she said. ‘Let’s take a few photos of you, sweetheart. My husband’s got a fancy camera. Will it be all right if I use a photo on my website, Mr Andrews?’

  ‘We’d be proud, wouldn’t we, Tilly?’ said Dad.

  ‘But my hair isn’t right. Mandy Bygraves says I’ve got to have it properly styled,’ I said.

  ‘Silly woman. I like little girls to look natural,’ said Mrs Michaels. ‘Tell you what, I’ll get our Melissa to brush it for you – she’s got a knack with hair.’

  Melissa did my hair, letting it hang loose, with just one little plait wound with more tiny rosebuds – and she gave me pale pink lipstick too!

  ‘I expect you’d like some lipstick too, Marty,’ she joked, waving the lipstick near her mouth.

  ‘Yuck!’ said Marty, and sucked her lips safely inside her mouth.

  I loved the lipstick. It even tasted wonderful. I stood on top of Mrs Michaels’s work table and turned round and round, holding out my skirts, while Mr Michaels snapped me at every angle.

  ‘You’ll be Madam Mandy’s prettiest bridesmaid, no doubt about that,’ said Mrs Michaels.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I WOKE UP early on the day of the wedding. I lay cuddling Stripy, rehearsing in my head exactly what I had to do. Mandy had put all us bridesmaids through our paces several times, making us keep exactly in step, pointing our feet, our heads held high. The others didn’t listen properly and barged into each other, which made Mandy very snappy.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, you’ll wreck the whole wedding if you carry on like that on my big day,’ she said.

  She was particularly fierce with Lovejoy, the bridesmaid twinned with me. She was as tall as me, though she was two years younger and kept getting the giggles.

  ‘Do stop that silly chortling, Lovejoy,’ said Mandy severely.

  ‘I can’t help it, Aunt Mandy. We all look so daft mincing about like this,’ said Lovejoy.

  ‘I’m trying to help you look dainty, not daft. Though that’s a big ask in your case, Lovejoy,’ said Mandy.

  Lovejoy simply giggled again, but her mum looked furious.

  I couldn’t help feeling there were going to be several big arguments by the time the wedding was over. I didn’t really care, just so long as the wedding itself went splendidly. I had loved the Flowers’ wedding. I had loved Simon and Matthew’s wedding too. But this was a big-time wedding, with Mandy in a fairy-tale princess white wedding dress and Ian in top hat and tails, and the two matrons of honour and six girls in raspberry-pink frills. We were even arriving at the church in style. I had to be at Mandy and Ian’s house at eleven to have my hair done, and then me and my dress had to pass a close inspection. At half past twelve all us bridesmaids then had to pile into a pink limousine! Mandy gave us strict instructions that we weren’t allowed to mess about or act rowdy, and we absolutely mustn’t crease our bridesmaid’s dresses under pain of death. I rather expected that Lovejoy at the very least would be enduring this pain when we arrived at the church, but that was her lookout.

  I was determined to enjoy this last chance to be a bridesmaid no matter what. I wondered if the television crew really woul