The Flower Power Collection

Mum said, “Lily!”

“Well, it isn’t,” muttered Lilly. “People don’t have to invite her just ‘cos they’ve invited me. Just ‘cos we came out the same egg doesn’t mean we have to do everything together all the time!”

“You don’t do anything together any of the time,” said Mum. “I just thought, this once —”

“But I don’t want to go!” I snatched up Horatio and buried my face in his fur. “Mm… yum yum,” I mumbled, nibbling at him with my lips.

“Stinking swizzlesticks, you’re disgusting!” said Lily.

She could talk! I’ve seen her doing things that are far more disgusting than chumbling in Horatio’s fur. I’ve seen her chewing her toenails. That is gross!

Later that day I heard Mum and Dad discussing me. They were in the kitchen and didn’t know I was there. Well, I wasn’t actually there, exactly. I mean, I wasn’t sitting in a cupboard or anything. What it was, I was outside the door, about to go in, when I heard Mum say “too much in Lily’s shadow” and I immediately froze.

I heard Mum say about Lily going off with her friends, and me not going anywhere. Then Dad said, “She’s my little shrinking violet,” and Mum said, “But she ought to have friends!” And then a tap started running, and the sound got blotted out, and next thing I heard was Dad saying something about chat rooms.

“That way, she could meet someone with her own interests… that’s what she needs! Someone to share her interests with.”

“Not in a chat room,” said Mum.

Dad said, “Oh, come on! We’d monitor her.”

‘No,” said Mum. “No way!”

She’d read this horror story just a few days ago about a young girl being picked up (in a chat room) by this middle-aged man pretending to be a fifteen-year-old boy. Lily had said boastfully that that could never happen to her. She’d soon suss him out! But Mum was now convinced that all chat rooms were full of middle-aged men in mackintoshes (I don’t know why she thought they were in mackintoshes), all looking for young girls and pretending to be fifteen years old. She had forbidden Lily to go anywhere near one.

She said to Dad, “If I’m not letting Lily visit one, I’m certainly not letting Violet!”

I wondered if this meant that Mum cared more about me than she did about Lily, or whether it simply meant she thought that I was more stupid than Lily and more likely to be deceived by the men in mackintoshes.

Probably she thought that I was more stupid, although in fact it is Lily who talks to strangers, not me. Lily talks to people everywhere she goes. In the supermarket, in buses, on trains. She just strikes up these conversations. I would be too shy! I was really relieved when Mum stood up to Dad and said no way. I didn’t want to visit any chat rooms! It would be too much like actually meeting people; I would get tongue-tied and not know what to say.

But then Mum had an even worse idea. Worse even than Dad’s!

“Maybe we could find some sort of club.”

I thought, No! Please! We’d already tried a club. An after-school club. I’d hated it! Lily had immediately made about twenty new friends and I’d just sat in the corner like a droopy pot plant waiting for Mum and Dad to come and pick us up.

“Maybe on her own,” said Mum, “without Lily …”

It is true that I tend to get a bit crushed by Lily. She is so loud, and so bouncy! She bursts through doors like she’s jet-propelled.

And then it is all shrieking and screeching and stinking swizzlesticks. (Her favourite expression for this term.) It is very difficult, when you are a shrinking kind of person, to have a twin that is so noisy. Everyone expects you to be the same.

Actually, it’s funny, but no one ever expects Lily to be like me. They all expect me to be like Lily. And I can’t be! I’ve tried. It just doesn’t work. Maybe if I was on my own, people wouldn’t think it so peculiar if I was a bit quiet. But I still didn’t want to join any clubs!

I never got to hear what Dad thought of Mum’s suggestion ‘cos just as he started to say something there was this loud CRASH, followed by a series of thuds and bangs, like the house was collapsing. All it was, was Lily, coming out of her bedroom and hurtling down the stairs. She always hurtles down the stairs. Dad asked her the other day if wild elephants were after her.

“Mum!” She went shrieking past me, into the kitchen. “I’ve been trying to find something to wear on Saturday and I can’t! I haven’t got anything! Mum, I need something new! I’ve got to have something new! ‘Cos it’s Riverside, Mum. There might be actors! I’ve got to, Mum!”

She goes on like this all the time. Like, if she’s already been seen wearing something, she can’t possibly be seen in it again. To be seen in it again would be death. It’s what happens when you lead a mad social life.

Under cover of all the shrieking I slid into the kitchen and helped myself to a bowl of cereal, which is what I’d been going there for in the first place. I stood by the sink, munching it, while Mum and Lily got into one of their shouting matches about how many clothes a person of ten years old actually needs.

Lily yelled, “Enough so your friends don’t keep seeing you in the same old thing all the time!” To which Mum retorted, “What utter rubbish!” and told Lily that she was:

a) too obsessed with the way she looked

b) in danger of becoming shallow-minded and

c) spoilt.

Lily screeched that Mum was mean as could be. “You don’t understand what you’re doing to me! You’re ruining my life!”

This is nothing new. Dad once counted up and said that on average Lily accused Mum of ruining her life at least three times a week. Sometimes I feel like telling Lily that she is ruining my life. If she weren’t so shrieky, I might not be so shrinky. Though I suppose it is not really fair to blame Lily.

At least it got Mum off the subject of clubs. By the time she and Lily had finished yelling at each other, Mum was all hot and bothered. She said she was going to go and soak in the bath and calm herself with thoughts of grass and trees and flowers.

“And not of spoilt selfish brats!”

So that was all right. But I kept thinking about it, especially when Saturday came and Lily went swaggering off (in new jeans and a new top, which were in fact mine). I would have loved more than anything to visit the set of Riverside! But you can’t barge your way in where you’re not wanted. Sarah was Lily’s friend, not mine. I would only be a drag.

I spent most of that day helping Mum in Flora Green, but somehow it wasn’t as much fun as usual. I kept thinking of Lily, on the set of Riverside. She might even get to see Tony! (Tony is my A1 favourite character. I once wrote him a fan letter and he sent me a signed photo, which I have on my wall.) Lily doesn’t have one because she never wrote to him. She doesn’t even specially like Riverside.

When we got home that evening, Lily was already there. She’d just been dropped off by Sarah and her mum.

“Well? So how was it?” said Mum.

Lily said that it was “totally and utterly brilliant”.

“You know the Green, where Nick and Tina live? Where all the little houses are? They’re not real! I always thought they were real. But it’s just the front bits. Like you can open the gate and go up the path, but when you open the door there’s nothing on the other side! It’s absolutely amazing! And there’s all these girls going round with clipboards and stuff. They’re called PAs.” She looked at me. “I don’t expect you know what a PA is, do you?”

I shook my head.

“It’s a production assistant” said Lily, all self-important. “They help the producer. Like Sarah’s mum’s got one called Lisa. She looks like a model! She told me all what they do. It’s what I’m going to be when I grow up. I’ve decided… I’m going to be a PA!”

She strutted off round the room, holding her imaginary clipboard and an imaginary something else which she kept looking at, and frowning at, and clicking.

“This is a stop watch,” she said. “I’m timing things. It’s very important to know how long a scene will take. You have to know exactly, down to the last second. It’s for programme planning, and fitting in the commercials.”

She couldn’t stop talking about it. She went on and on, all through tea. Suddenly she was like this huge fan.

“And hey, guess what?” she said, jabbing me in the ribs. “I saw your boyfriend!”

My heart went CLUNK, right down to my shoes.

“You saw Tony?” I said.

I hated her. I hated her!