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Jenny and Edie's presents to each other are more like peace offerings. Jenny puts a chunk of her
Kid Code
money into Edie's campaign. And Edie gives Jenny a pair of silver roses on clips (found by me in Portobello) to cheer up her old Louboutins. Edie is really very thoughtful under all the Edie-ness.

Throughout the holidays, Amanda Elat is constantly on
the phone with ideas and suggestions. She's impressed with the amount of publicity we're getting and has donated a seriously generous amount of money already to Edie's campaign. And she doesn't mind the fact that the ‘Less Fashion More Compassion’ logo will be as big as the Miss Teen one at Crow's show. And this despite the fact that Miss Teen exists to sell fashion to teenagers and would look pretty silly if we all started giving all our money to charity and stopped spending it on cute little tops and cut-offs.

Thanks to Amanda, people keep on offering us favours, so we can stretch the budget. Which, frankly, needs all the stretching it can get, because while it initially seemed HUGE it's amazing how quickly it can get guzzled up by silk, shoes, printing, studio hire and all the rest, even though we're doing loads of the jobs ourselves. When I eventually get married I am seriously going to elope. Organising a big occasion is just crazy.

Anyway, usually when she rings Amanda is fairly excited about some idea she's had, but one day I get a call and she sounds like Jenny on helium.

‘Big news,’ she announces. ‘DJ Rémi has said he's going to do the music for Crow's show. He's an old friend of mine. You'll love him.’

‘Fantastic,’ I tell her, desperate to google DJ Rémi the minute she's off the line. ‘Thank you.’

‘He's in town for New Year. He's offered to come to the
studio to get an idea of the collection. Be very, very nice to him. He's a bit of a superstar.’

She gives me a number and I promise faithfully to call. When I google DJ Rémi, I realise I was right to sound impressed. He is THE DJ that everyone wants for all the shows. Lagerfeld loves him. Galliano went to his last birthday party. Donatella Versace has him on speed dial.

I sort of wish I hadn't googled him, actually. My voice is a squeak when I make the call. I can't really believe it when he casually agrees to pop round to the studio to talk to us.

What's more, when he comes over to Battersea, he LOVES the collection, which is set out in a series of bold designs all over the walls.

‘Ze skirts – ze pouff. So party. So feminine. Ze lace. Ze colours. So STRONG.’

They
are
strong. Jewel colours: emerald, sapphire, amethyst and ruby; silver and gold. They glow and shimmer.

He strolls around in his black leather coat and trousers, looking like an overgrown wallet, touching and enthusing. I follow like a puppy, not sure what to do. Crow stays where she is, at her design table, head cocked. Waiting.

Then he whips out an iPod, fits it into our speakers and starts running through a list of ideas.

‘I am INSPIRED. You need NEW. You need PARTY.
You need HOUSE. You need ATMOSPHERE. Listen to ZEES.’

He rapidly flicks through a dozen tracks, all with a heavy bass beat, all played at full volume. All mixed to within an inch of their lives and overlaid with strange sound effects, like jet engines taking off and raindrops on a tin roof.

Crow gives me a look.

I can tell she doesn't like it. I shrug helplessly. Donatella Versace has him on speed dial.

The look gets stronger.

‘Erm, actually, while we've been working on the collection we've been listening to some older stuff,’ I explain. ‘Like David Bowie. And Ella Fitzgerald. And . . . er . . . Chopin.’

DJ Rémi looks up from his iPod and gives me a long, appraising glance. I look down at myself and wish that for once I had dressed like a grown-up. Sure, these are my favourite leggings and my Converses still make me smile. But I'm all flowery and girly and I happen to have decided on a smocked dress this morning that makes me look about four. The only grown-up thing I'm wearing is my bowler hat and I'm not sure, in the circumstances, it's quite right for the effect I'm going for. I need to smarten up my act if I'm going to keep working with Crow.

‘Chopin?’

‘Yes. A sort of ballet vibe. It was my brother's idea.’

‘Your brother is a DJ?’

‘Yes, actually. Sometimes.’ I bite my lip.

‘Sometimes?’

‘Well, he's really a photographer. But he gave us loads of ideas for the collection. They've really helped.’

‘He has done music for a show before? He knows what they used at Dior? At Donna Karan?’

‘Er . . . no.’

Crow has turned her back on us. She's returned to working on a
toile
. Her back is an instruction to me. I know what she means, but I really wish she didn't.

‘So. You don't like house music?’

‘It's not exactly that. It's just, we wanted something more romantic.’ I realise that I am translating Crow's shoulders. They relax slightly and I know that I've got it right. Then I understand what she really wants.

‘Actually, thank you so much for coming, but I think we'll probably, er, stick with my brother. You know. He's kind of . . . been helping us since the collection started. He's sort of. . . got it.’

DJ Rémi pulls himself up to his full leather-coated height.

‘I am DJ Rémi,’ he points out.

‘Oh, definitely.’

‘I'm a busy, busy person. Amanda asked me to come here as a favour. I could be in a bar right now, sipping COCKTAILS. Instead I am here. If I leave now, I LEAVE. For good.’

‘Oh, right. I'm
really
sorry.’

I realise that I'm winding one leg around the other and that I've subconsciously channelled the look of the piano player in
High School Musical
and I feel utterly ridiculous. I notice Crow's shoulders moving slightly and realise that she is silently giggling. I could kill her.

‘Do not concern yourself,’ DJ Rémi says haughtily, removing his iPod from the speakers with a flourish. ‘They say never work with infants, you know? I will think of it as a lucky escape.’

When I tell Amanda, she's gobsmacked. There is silence down the line for a long time. Then she laughs so hard she can hardly speak, and says she only wishes she could have been there. And that it's a big commitment for Harry to take on and very kind of him to agree to it. Which is when I remember that we haven't actually asked him yet. I keep this to myself.

As usual, Crow hardly mentions it. She just gives me a wide smile and gets on with perfecting one of the outfits. Next time I turn up at the studio, though, there's a piece I haven't seen before. A mini dress, made out of cast-off bits of lace and silk, with knitted cobweb sleeves. It's a work of art. My size. I'm not sure whether to wear it or frame it. Crow grins as I try it on. As a way of saying thank you, it works for me.

Luckily, Harry says yes to doing the show. He seems to have all sorts of interesting tracks lined up already. It's as if he was waiting to be asked.

E
die is amazing and if she doesn't make the United Nations she may end up as a saint. Thanks to her getting everyone talking about Crow's village and the boys who were taken in the raid, two of them have been tracked down by charity workers in Northern Uganda. Funnily enough, although I'm ready and waiting for her to be SUPER-SMUG at the news, she isn't at all. One hundred per cent in maths? Insufferable. Two boys reunited with their families? Really humble and sweet. She only mentions it in passing.

I'm totally proud of her. However, after a while I sense that something's wrong.

We're getting ready to go back to school, but instead of cheerfully reeling off all the stuff she's read over the holidays and saying how much she's looking forward to all her clubs, she's gone all glum and silent.

Jenny's too busy planning what to wear with her CHANEL DRESS to impress her BOYFRIEND to
notice, but I do.

‘Out with it,’ I demand.

At first Edie pretends there's nothing to come out with. Then she starts looking guilty.

‘You mustn't tell Crow,’ she says.

‘Tell her what?

‘Promise you won't say.’

‘I can keep a secret.’

Honestly. Edie. She thinks that just because she has to tell the world exactly what she's thinking at any given moment, none of us are capable of keeping our thoughts to ourselves.

Anyway, regardless of what she thinks, she
is
incapable of keeping a secret. So she tells me.

‘You know those boys they found? One of them knows what really happened to Henry. He was with him in a raid a couple of years ago.’

‘And?’

She sighs. ‘They were ambushed. Henry got shot in the head and they had to leave him behind. This boy doesn't even know where he's buried.’

‘Oh.’

‘Don't tell Crow yet.’

‘Of course not! Anyway, it could be another rumour,’ I say hopefully.

She shakes her head. This is different. This time there's a witness. And life isn't that kind.

‘So when are we going to tell her?’

‘It's not up to us. They're still checking it out. Then I guess James will tell her.’

It's easy to keep the secret with Jenny. The Golden Globes are in a few days’ time and Jenny can't think about anything that isn't a diet, a fitness session, a Hollywood party schedule or a name beginning with J and ending with -oe Yule. I've been kind of giving her a bit of space myself recently, because this can get a little boring after a while. And she seems to think that me talking constantly about makeup designs and choreography and seating plans is pretty boring too (no idea why). But now I want to take my mind off Edie's news, so I'm happy to indulge Jenny by talking about Mr Drool.

The first time she'll see him is at a party for the
Kid Code
stars and crew, the night before the big event. The party itself will be a big occasion, because Hollywood's Hottest Couple will be there, along with some of their A-list mates. Jenny knows she has to make an impact, so she's packing the Dior cocktail dress that she wore on the Jonathan Ross show, and that brought her such good luck. She's spent hours working out how to perfect her makeup and got Granny's hairdresser to give her a short, new haircut that reveals EVEN JENNY has cheekbones. I'm gutted.

We spend an afternoon in Selfridges, choosing perfume. She wants to be mysterious and subtle, but also stand out in a crowd. By the time we've driven four sales
assistants to the point of madness with her demands, we both smell like an air freshener disaster and settle for the one with the most attractive bottle.

I pack her off to the airport with a playlist of inspirational music, courtesy of Harry, and a promise to watch every red-carpet second of her in Chanel on cable. She's so excited she can hardly speak.

‘Think of me tomorrow night,’ she says.

Tomorrow night is
Kid Code
party night. I promise I will. It'll be hard not to. I make her promise to text me as soon as she gets back to her hotel and tell me how it went.

‘Tomorrow night’ in California is early morning in London. I leave my phone beside the bed. But when I wake up, with light pouring through the window, there's still no text. I wait all morning. No text. My mind runs through a thousand possibilities. Some are very inappropriate for a nearly-fifteen-year-old. Some are dreadful. But the most likely explanation is that Jenny was having such a good time that she forgot.

Thank goodness for the internet. I google the
Kid Code
party and wait to see what the gossip is. Does it, for example, include any interesting updates on the love life of a certain Mr Yule?

It does. There's even a picture of the stars and their dates, posing for the paparazzi.

In the foreground, Joe looks like he's having the time of his life. Beside him is a girl beaming happily and
posing in her designer dress.

‘Joe Yule looking loved-up beside his new squeeze, the rising starlet, Sigrid Santorini.’

In the background, I can just about make out Jenny, in her Dior, looking as if she's been hit by a bus.

Sigrid Santorini starred in a Spanish film last year that won Best Foreign Film at the Oscars. She is part Swedish, part Spanish, part Italian and one hundred per cent Californian. She is nineteen, very talented and exceedingly beautiful, in a black-hair-red-lips sort of way. She's been filming with Joe Yule in New Mexico and her boyfriend is – or used to be – one of the producers. She makes Lila Riley look like Dora the Explorer. If this is the sort of thing Joe Yule likes, Jenny never stood a chance.

Still she doesn't call me, or text me, or answer any of the texts I send to her.

‘I knew it,’ said Edie, when I tell her. ‘Oh, Nonie, you're upset too. D'you want me to come over?’

We watch the ceremony together. Joe wins Best Supporting Actor. Sigrid Santorini, sitting beside him and shimmering in off-the-shoulder Givenchy, looks suitably thrilled when he gets up to accept the award. Jenny, sitting nearby in her beautiful grey Chanel, looks like a ghost. We rewind to her red carpet moment – which is gone in a flash – and she seems lost in all the pleats and feathers. She seems lost altogether. Even her hair seems to have downgraded its shade to a dull muddy
orange. There's another brief image of her when
Kid Code
is nominated for Best Picture. She doesn't seem to care either way and the camera moves on.