Model Misfit

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or the next couple of days, I simply refuse to leave my room.

There’s no point. The alternative is to watch my parents take all my impeccably arranged books out of the study and pile them in a not-even-vaguely alphabetical order outside my door.

By the time it gets to Friday afternoon, I’m so sick of hearing Dad say “another book of random quotations? Seriously?” I decide to go for a long, cathartic walk. My ex-best friend will be in France by now, getting chased about by Mr Green Lycra Cycling Shorts.

Good. Serves her right.

I hope he doesn’t even use proper virgin olive oil, and opts for low-grade cooking oil instead.

Unfortunately my stress-reducing exercise efforts are ruined within two minutes by a small, fluffy-headed figure creeping from tree to tree in front of me. I have to keep looking in the opposite direction so I don’t hurt his feelings.

“Toby,” I finally say as I turn back on to my road. He flattens himself behind a lamp-post considerably thinner than he is. “I can see you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, yes.”

“Oh dear,” he says sadly. “My homemade camouflage stalker kit may need some more work.” He points at his grey T-shirt and grey trousers. They have faint black lines drawn on them in criss-crosses.

I stare at him, and then totally give up. “What on earth are you camouflaged as?”

“Pavement.” Toby lies down on the floor and holds himself very rigid and still. “See? It’s only for urban settings, obviously. It wouldn’t work in the countryside.”

I laugh and carefully step over him.

“Harriet,” he says, jumping up and running after me. “Are you and Natalie OK? I couldn’t help overhearing a small amount of very loud fighting the other day when I was sitting in the rhododendron outside her house waiting for you to come out.”

Clearly Toby hasn’t moved on quite as much as I thought he had. “I’ve had an unexpected best-friend position open up,” I say tensely. “Would you like it?”

“Would I?” Toby shouts, jumping up and down. “I mean, I would. Just to make that clear.”

“Great,” I say sharply. “We’re now Best Friends. We can go and get some badges made up or something.”

Toby bounces along next to me in contented silence, and then sighs. “I’m afraid I don’t think I can take the job, Harriet,” he says sadly. “You and Natalie are soulmates, except you don’t kiss. It would be wrong to try to ever separate you.”

I make an ambiguous snorting noise. Soulmates are usually happy for each other when supermodel ex-boyfriends text them. “Either way, now I’m not going to Tokyo, it’s just you and me this summer.”