All That Glitters (18 page)

Underneath
in small, gold letters is a picture of a glass perfume bottle that looks like a flame: frosted white glass that starts dark gold at the bottom and gets clearer and lighter towards a tip that curves upwards. There’s a tiny light built into the base, so the entire bottle looks like it’s glowing from the inside.

Beneath that is one large, silver word:

And I suddenly feel like I’m splitting down the middle: torn into two pieces.

On one side is Harriet Manners,
geek
.

Shy, clumsy, anxious and unpopular. Awkward and constantly apologetic. Collector of stick insects, inventor of personalised Monopoly games, dryer of socks. Dressed like a duck, hyperventilating on floors and hiding under tables.

Embracer of other people’s stories instead of her own.

Heartbroken, lonely and left behind.

On the other side is Harriet Manners,
model.

Traveller through exotic foreign countries, grabber of opportunities, chaser of adventures. Successful and interesting. Wearer of designer clothes, desired employee of the fashion industry, explorer of strange cities and adored girlfriend of Nicholas Hidaka.

Loved, wanted and remembered.

Today at school suddenly flashes in front of me.

That’s
what has changed, isn’t it?

Thanks to these impossibly beautiful and glossy photos, everybody has seen another side to me. The geek they’ve known for years has evaporated overnight, and in her place is the seemingly confident, successful version of me. Fearless and mysterious; intrepid and brave.

They’ve seen this glittering girl and they like her.

And you know what?

I think I do too.

I stare at the photo for a few more seconds, and – with an abrupt
crack
– I suddenly know which one of these two girls I want to be. And clue: it’s not the one who hides under her duvet, crying and wishing life was different.

“Stephanie?” I say when she picks up on the second ring. “I’m taking the job. In fact, from this point onwards I’ll be taking all of them.”

“
Seuwper
,” she says, tapping on a few keys. “I’ve just put the phone down on Gucci, Wang and McQueen so we’ll sort something out for when you’re back. This is just the start, darling. You’re going to be
huge
. Deets on the way.”

As I hang up, a tidal wave rushes over me again, except this time it’s not cold or panicky.

It’s warm and hopeful, and it leaves me glowing.

Everything in my life has already changed, and this is my only chance to change with it. To pick up my own story and turn the pages.

To start moving forward again.

Because whether I wanted to or not, nearly a year ago I split in half. There are now two Harriets, two lives, two people I can be.

Wilbur was right: it’s up to me which one I want.

And I choose the one that shines.

o, here are some interesting facts about lying:

Like, a
lot
a lot
.

I don’t
mean
to, obviously. It’s just that I’ve worked out over a period of sixteen years that the chances of upsetting people, not getting what you want and finding yourself in trouble tend to be
considerably
higher if you tell the truth.

However, I have
also
learnt that building an intricate web of deceit almost always results in me getting caught in the middle of it, like a really stupid spider.

So I sit on the bench for a few minutes and think really hard. I do a little internet research. I make a couple of important decisions.

Then I decide to try something brand new.

Something unprecedented; something nobody would ever expect me to do in a million, billion years.

For the first time in known history, I resolve not to wear a thematically brilliant costume or make a fiercely relevant PowerPoint presentation. I won’t be typing out any clever arguments about insects or writing pie charts or flow charts or area graphs and then forcing them on my parents.

I’m not going to run away, or cry, or cover myself in dots of lipstick and coat myself in a fine layer of talcum powder to feign sickness, and I won’t pretend to fall down the stairs or break an arm or fake my own death with a very noisy vacuum cleaner.

Nope.

This time really matters, so I need to bring out the big guns. I need to concentrate all my persuasive powers and give it everything I’ve got.

So I do something I’ve never, ever done before.

I walk calmly home. I walk calmly into the living room. I sit down calmly with my parents.

And I tell them everything.

Or nearly everything, anyway.

I give them the leaflet and explain in detail about the impact of this campaign on my fashion career, and how Jacques Levaire now wants me to go to Morocco for a shoot.

But I keep my new mission to myself.

The truth can be a powerful thing; it’s not sensible to overdo it.

“I’m confused,” Annabel says when I’ve finally finished, still staring at the glittering girl clutched in her hand. “Where’s the PowerPoint presentation? What’s happening?”

“It’s a trick,” Dad says, narrowing his eyes at the corners of the room. “Mark my words, there’s a camcorder here somewhere, humiliating us on telly as we speak.”

He winks and blows the DVD player a kiss.

“It’s not a trick,” I say even more calmly. “Parents are statistically the most lied-to section of society, and I think I speak for all of us when I say I am normally at the very forefront of this movement. I just thought I’d experiment with a different approach this time, that’s all.”

There’s a silence while Dad checks under the coffee table.

Then he explodes into the air.

“OH MY GOD my daughter is a SUPERMODEL and I’m going TO
MOROCCO
!” he shouts, running into the hallway and tugging his suitcase out from under the stairs. “Finally! Casinos, Formula One and Grace Kelly! This is the life to which I’ve intended to become accustomed for
ages.
”

“That’s Monaco, Richard,” Annabel says, still looking at the flyer. “You’re thinking of Monaco.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “Does Morocco have private jets? Because if so I think I could be equally happy there.”

Finally my stepmother looks up and stares steadily at me, as if I’m a foreign film she’s trying to translate and it’s much, much harder than she expected.

My hands are starting to sweat again. I’ve had an entire lifetime of trying to fool my parents. This was an
extremely
risky moment to stop doing it.

I grip my hands together a little more tightly.

Frankly, I know exactly who I have to convince, and it is not my father. I could have won him over with half a packet of crisps and a chocolate digestive.

“Please, Annabel. I miss modelling, it’s an amazing opportunity, a
lot
of money and I will make up the two days I miss from school. I’m even prepared to take Dad with me.”

Prepared.
Which is not the same as
willing
.

“WOOOOOOOO!” my father yells from the corridor. “Yachts! Helicopters! A tax haven full of parties and glitz and—”

“Still Monaco, Richard.” Annabel hands the leaflet back to me. “That’s a lovely photo, Harriet. You look absolutely beautiful. The answer’s yes.”

I nod slowly.

“I understand. Thank you for your time and considera— Sorry, what?”

“You can go. Absolutely. Yes.”

“But …” My calmness has now evaporated. “
What
would you –
why
would you …
Why
?”

“Why not? You’ve just proved to me that you’re not a little girl any more. You’ve explained things logically, you’ve been honest and it makes total sense. It’s entirely our fault that you missed the first four weeks of term, so I don’t think two more days are going to make a vast amount of difference. In fact, I think a bit of an adventure in Morocco is just what you need right now given … everything. I’m wholeheartedly behind it.”

I stare at Annabel in amazement.

What?
She has got to be kidding me. I can’t believe I’ve spent so many years slamming doors: I could have saved
so
many hinges if I’d just tried this approach earlier.

I close my eyes tightly for a few seconds – relief rushing through me – then impulsively throw myself on the sofa and bury my nose in my stepmother’s pinstripe shoulder-pad.

“
Thank you
,” I whisper, lobbing my arms round her. “I’m going to be
so good,
Annabel. I’ll do everything I’m told, I won’t break anything, I won’t get into any trouble, and I’ll …”

Somehow lose Dad.

Maybe exchange him for a camel, or a really useful leather footrest.

“Oh, I know,” Annabel says calmly, folding up her crossword and kissing the top of my head. “Because this time, I’m coming with you.”