The Friends Forever Collection

“In that case,” said Harriet, “I very much hope that you will be. Do you have a copy of this one, by the way?”

“She’s got all of them,” said Annie.

“I haven’t got all of them.” Annie did exaggerate so!

“You’ve got a whole shelf full.”

“I’ve got thirty-four,” I said.

“Good heavens!” Harriet laughed. “You are a fan, aren’t you?”

I nodded, bashfully. “Victoria Plum was one of the first ones I had.”

“And I bet it’s in better condition than this! I’m afraid this one’s been read to bits.”

I have read my copy over and over, but I do try to look after my books and keep them nice. I was only young when I ruined Candyfloss. Now that I’m older I wouldn’t ever turn down the corners of pages or stand mugs of hot chocolate on them or leave them out in the rain. Poor Victoria Plum looked as if all those things had happened to her. I picked her up, and opened her at the title page. Across the top someone had written, “For Jan, with all my love, Mummy”. I wondered who Jan was, and why she didn’t take better care of her books. Maybe she was Harriet’s niece and knew that she could always ask for new ones. It made me feel quite jealous. Imagine having a famous writer as your aunt!

“Hey, look, Megs.” Annie lunged forward and poked a finger at me. “Isn’t that where we went when we visited your gran?”

Annie had come with me a couple of times, to visit Gran. Mum had thought she would be company for me, but then she had said we couldn’t behave ourselves properly, and made too much noise, and upset the old people, so now I had to go on my own.

“Megan’s gran is in a home,” said Annie. “She has Oldheimer’s.”

“Alzheimer’s,” I said.

“Oh, dear! That must be very upsetting,” said Harriet.

I said, “Yes, it is, ’cos me and Gran used to be best friends. Now she doesn’t even know me … like Clover’s gran, in Daisy & Clover. I cried when I read the bit where Clover wants to burst into tears. That’s just how I feel, when I see Gran … you always seem to be writing about how I feel! Like when Clover says about remembering all the things that she and her gran used to do together—”

“That was me,” said Harriet, “remembering my gran! She had Alzheimer’s, too. That’s what made me want to write about it.”

“Except that … Clover’s gran doesn’t actually have Alzheimer’s,” I said.

“She has a stroke,” said Annie.

“Oh! Well, yes. I changed it to a stroke for the purposes of the book. It would have been too painful,” said Harriet, “actually writing about Alzheimer’s. It would have brought back too many memories. So you know this area quite well, do you, Megan?”

“Only from coming to see Gran,” I said. “Over there’s where we get off the bus.”

“Darnley Manor. A very pleasant spot! We’re just a few miles further on. Are you feeling all right? Not getting sick?”

“She doesn’t give you any warning,” said Annie. “She just opens her mouth and does it … blurgh! All over the door.”

Annie doesn’t say these things on purpose to embarrass me. She just opens her mouth and words come tumbling out. Mostly I try not to mind.

“Well, just yell,” said Harriet, “if you want to stop. We’ve got a few twisty turny bits coming up. They’re always the worst, if you have a funny tum.”

I thought that Harriet was so nice! Every bit as understanding as she seemed from her books. A girl at school had once met this other author she was keen on and said she had turned out to be really cold and snooty. A huge disappointment! Harriet wasn’t in the least bit snooty. Or cold. She was just like one of us.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said, “I must just quickly ring home and … bother!” She was rummaging with one hand in her bag. “Would you believe it, I’ve gone and forgotten my mobile! Honestly, I’d leave my head behind if it weren’t attached to my shoulders! I don’t suppose either of you has one I could borrow?”

I said, “I do!” I felt quite honoured, offering my phone to Harriet! “You can use mine.”

“Bless you!” Harriet slammed the glove compartment shut and blew me a kiss. “You’ve saved my bacon. I should have rung half an hour ago! I’ll just pull up in this lay-by … mustn’t use a mobile while you’re driving. Very dangerous!”

I thought that Mum would approve of that. When we had gone to Alton Towers – the time I got sick and it sprayed over the door. On the outside, I should add – Annie’s dad had done lots of talking on his mobile. Mum had said afterwards that she hadn’t liked to say anything, as it wasn’t her car, but she had been on tenterhooks the whole time. So that was ten out of ten for Harriet. Hooray!

I felt very privileged and important, sitting next to a famous author as she rang home. I wondered who she was going to talk to. Could it be Lori? I knew it wouldn’t be her husband ’cos I’d read somewhere that she was divorced.

Harriet pulled a face. “Answerphone … I hate when it’s the answerphone!”

Me, too. I knew how she felt. Sometimes if I get an answerphone I just hang up, though I know it’s a bit rude and you ought really to say who you are and leave a message, which was what Harriet was doing.

“Darling, where are you? This is Mummy here! Where have you gone?” She sounded a bit upset. I guessed that Lori had gone off without telling her. “Can you hear me? Are you listening? Please speak to me! If you’re there … please! Pick up!”

Just for a moment it was like really tense. Even Annie must have felt it. She leaned forward intently across the back of the seat as we waited for Lori to pick up the phone. But she didn’t.

“Call me,” whispered Harriet. “Please, darling, call me!”

After that there was this long silence, and then she gave a little laugh, sort of half ashamed, like pulling herself together, and said, “Oh, dear! Mothers do worry so. Does your mother worry, Megan?”

I said that she did.

“Megan’s mum gets into total flaps,” said Annie.

“I’m afraid I do, too. You just never know … what might have happened …” Harriet’s voice faded out.

Trying to be helpful, I said, “Couldn’t you try her mobile?”

“Her mobile? No, she doesn’t have a mobile. If only she had had a mobile. She’s not answering … she doesn’t answer … I hope you have your mobile with you, Annie?”

Annie confessed that she hadn’t. “We came out in such a rush. I think it’s on the kitchen table.”

“That’s naughty! What would you do if Megan’s ran out?”

“Find a call box,” said Annie.

“Not good enough! You should always take your phone with you. If only—” Harriet stopped. “Well, anyway!” she said. “Let’s get on. I’m so sorry if I’m sounding a bit vague, but I’m in the middle of writing a new book and it’s going round and round in my head.”

“What’s it called?” said Annie. “Has it got a title?”

“Um … yes. How about … Jampot Jane?”

I giggled. Annie, in her bold way, said, “That’s a funny title! What’s it about?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” said Harriet. “I never discuss my books before they’re published!”

I hoped that Annie felt properly put in her place. Such nosiness! It was one thing to be a fan, and to show interest; but to poke and pry was just bad manners.