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  'Creep' Miranda muttered.

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  'What?'

  'Not you. Him. W h a t a jerk. He called me a little kid, can you believe it!'

  'So, no vodka?' I said, very relieved.

  'Don't worry. We'll go to Waitrose.'

  Miranda got a wire basket in the superm a r k e t and threw some chocolate and crisps in too, plus a couple of magazines. Then she walked over to the wine section, while I h u n g back. It wasn't any use. As soon as she p u t her h a n d on a bottle a middle-aged woman came over and told h e r she wasn't old enough to purchase alcohol.

  'But I'm eighteen,' said Miranda.

  'Yes, and I'm Queen of the May' said the woman. 'Go back to school, you silly little girl.'

  'You can't tell me w h a t to do, you sad old woman,' said Miranda, but she had to p u t the bottle back on t h e shelf.

  She abandoned the wire basket in the middle of the aisle and walked out. She h a d h e r head held high, tossing h e r hair. I shuffled along after her, worried t h a t everyone was looking at us.

  M i r a n d a swore u n d e r h e r b r e a t h a s she stomped out of t h e exit. First all the four-letter words she could t h i n k of. Then she embellished them with adjectives. Then she made up new swear words of h e r own, inventive a n d disgusting. Then she tailed off into childish invective.

  'Old snot-nose suck-a-toe sniff-a-bum,' she said.

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  I b u r s t out laughing and she did too.

  'Oh well. Third time lucky,' said Miranda.

  I rolled my eyes. 'Miranda. It's not going to happen. They won't let you buy any.'

  'I'm not going to buy it. We'll go home and take it. It's a bit of a bore trailing all t h e way back, but it can't be helped.'

  'Won't your p a r e n t s mind?'

  Now she rolled her eyes at me. 'They won't notice. No one will be there. Dad's at work.

  Anorexic Annie will be at her yoga class. The cleaning lady will be done by now and Minna's got the day off. So come on. We haven't got all day. We've got to be back in town by three thirty.'

  'Why?'

  'You'll see,' said Miranda.

  'Tell me.'

  'I said, you'll see,' she said.

  We caught the bus to h e r end of town. The posh end. I walked along Lark Drive, wondering what it would be like to live there.

  'You're so lucky living here,' I said.

  'What? It's so boring. I'm leaving home as soon as possible. I want to live in London in one of those great warehouse a p a r t m e n t s with high ceilings and shiny new furniture and views right over t h e rooftops. It will be so cool. I can't wait to get my own space.'

  Miranda seemed to have a great deal of space already. I thought about my own tiny box room at home. I could touch both side walls when I was lying in bed. I thought of Mum squashed 293

  into the small bedroom so she could charge Miss Miles t h a t bit extra for her big room. We could all do with h i g h ceilings a n d shiny new furniture and any kind of view, not j u s t the similar shabby semis opposite.

  ' W h a t sort of a bedroom h a v e you got, Miranda?'

  'Oh, t h a t ' s so boring too. It's all deep purple and bead c u r t a i n s a n d velvet cushions a n d fancy glass mirrors,' said Miranda, shuddering. 'I t h o u g h t it divinely decadent when I was, like, eleven. I keep nagging to get it all redecorated.'

  I thought it sounded divine, full stop. 'Can I see it?' I asked as we got to her front door.

  'Sure,' she said, twisting the key. 'Funny. It's not double-locked.'

  She stepped inside, into the beautiful cream hall, the stained glass in the door panels casting lozenges of red and blue and green on the pale carpet.

  'Come on, then,' she said, starting up the stairs.

  Then she stopped, so abruptly t h a t I bumped into her.

  'What?'

  'Ssh! Listen,' she said.

  We stood still. There was a sound upstairs, a little gasp, two voices whispering.

  'Is it burglars?' I mouthed. 'Oh God, should we dial nine-nine-nine?'

  'No, we don't w a n t the real police. We w a n t 294

  the moral police to come and give my mother a good b a s h i n g w i t h t h e i r truncheons,' said Miranda, not bothering to keep h e r voice down.

  Toga class! Well, she's up there in h e r bedroom with someone. I'm sure they're simply trying out the lotus position together – not!

  'You m e a n — '

  Yes. Honestly! I wonder who it is this time,'

  said Miranda.

  'Miranda? Is t h a t you, darling? I'll be down in a minute, sweetheart.'

  'Darling! Sweetheart!' M i r a n d a m u t t e r e d .

  She marched back down the hall. 'I'm not going to wait to find out.'

  She darted into the living room, grabbed a bottle of vodka from the drinks tray and then went to the front door.

  'Aren't you going to say anything?' I asked.

  'Absolutely not,' said Miranda, slamming t h e door h a r d behind us.

  Will you tell your dad?' I asked.

  'I might,' said Miranda. 'But t h e n again, he h a s girlfriends, I know he does.'

  'So did my dad,' I said.

  'But your mother left him,' said Miranda, taking a swig out of the vodka bottle straight away.

  'Actually, he left her.'

  'So, that's men for you. I bet your m u m doesn't have boyfriends. I bet she does real mumsie things like cooking and cleaning and fusses around you and kisses you goodnight.'

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  'She does. B u t she has got a boyfriend, actually.'

  'She has?' Miranda looked surprised. Tou've never mentioned him.'

  'I've only j u s t met him.'

  'What's he like?'

  I shrugged. 'OK, I suppose. You know. A bit dull and boring. My m u m keeps on about how funny he is but I can't see it myself.'

  'I bet your mum doesn't sleep with him though.'

  'Well. He spent the night at our place.'

  'And you don't mind?'

  'I didn't really t h i n k about it. I was at the hospital with Carl. I was too busy worrying about him.'

  'Don't worry. We'll fix things for Carl,' said Miranda.

  'How?'

  'You'll see.' Miranda took another swig of vodka.

  A p a s s i n g w o m a n frowned at her. 'You shouldn't be doing that,' she said. 'I'll tell your mother.'

  'Yeah, tell her. Like she'll care,' said Miranda.

  She took a longer swig.

  'Miranda! Come on!' I dragged her away down the street. 'Let's go to the park where no one can see us. I wish we'd bought t h a t picnic – I'm starving.'

  Miranda bought us large 99 ice creams from the van at the p a r k gates. She sprinkled hers with vodka.

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  'Mmm, yummy! Maybe I'll s t a r t marketing my own alcoholic ice cream,' she said, licking enthusiastically.

  'You're t u r n i n g into an alcoholic,' I said. 'Do you drink like this on your own?'

  'Sometimes. When I'm feeling fed up.'

  'I don't get you. Why should you ever feel fed up? You've got everything.'

  'Money,' said Miranda, walking towards the children's playground. 'Possessions. T h a t ' s about it.'

  'Looks. Personality.'

  'Yeah. Well. Maybe.'

  'So lucky lucky you! Don't s t a r t a poor-little-me rich girl r a n t , please.'

  'Oh s h u t up, Titchy Face,' said Miranda, sprinkling more vodka on h e r ice cream. She licked again. 'Oh double yum. Mmm. No, more like double yuck, it's gone all oily. Maybe it's not such a good idea.'

  She threw h e r ice cream into a rubbish bin and sat down on a swing, stuffing the vodka bottle into h e r blazer pocket. She s t a r t e d swinging violently, kicking h a r d w i t h h e r m a d boots, h e r s k i r t flying u p , showing holes of white flesh in h e r black tights.

  'I look like a Dalmatian,' she said, plucking at them. She put h e r head right back so t h a t h e r hair nearly swept the ground.