‘It looks as if we’re all going,’ I said.
‘Except Cecy,’ said Clover quietly.
I chose to ignore her.
I led the way to the gap in the hedge. Imogen looked aghast.
‘Oh, come on! Isn’t there a gate?’
‘This is a secret garden. Of course there isn’t a gate,’ said Elsie impatiently.
‘There must be a gate at the front.’
‘Yes, but it belongs to old Mrs Burton, and she doesn’t have a clue we creep into her back garden. Look, we’ll put the picnic blanket down on the earth, so you won’t get a bit mucky, I promise,’ I said. ‘You just have to do one quick wriggle and you’re through.’
Imogen gave a great sigh.
‘All right – but it had better be a good secret garden.’
‘It is, it is! It’s the most beautiful place in the whole world!’ Clover promised, wriggling through the hedge herself.
The others all followed. Tyler went through, and Coco, encouraged, darted through too.
‘There! Now you, Imogen,’ I said.
So she wriggled through daintily enough on top of the specially laid-down picnic blanket, but when I squirrelled through afterwards Imogen was still ostentatiously brushing herself down and peering round blankly.
‘Is this it?’ she said. ‘It’s just some old back garden!’
‘No, it’s a secret, see, and here’s our dear old willow – look, it’s just like a green cave inside. That’s where we’ll have our picnic. And this over here is our grand tree. I can climb nearly to the very top. I’m building a tree house on that big branch. I’ve nearly got enough wood collected. And the trunk’s quite hollow, so I’ve plans to make a slippery-slip slide, like in The Magic Faraway Tree –’ I hesitated. ‘Of course, I only read that when I was a little kid, but the others still like it.’
Imogen still looked blank.
‘But it’s just an ordinary tree now,’ she said. She consulted her phone again.
‘Let’s have the picnic,’ I said quickly.
‘Yes, let’s!’ said Dorry at once.
‘But we’ll have to save some for Cecy,’ said Clover.
‘Of course we will!’ I said, spreading the picnic blanket under the willow and opening the basket. ‘There! Let us commence our grand repast!’
Izzie had truly done us proud. There were the chicken breasts and a large mixed salad beautifully laid out in a pattern on the big plate, and the green avocado dip with the neatest little carrot sticks set all around it. There was an open mixed berry pie, the fruit all glistening, and a tub of Greek yoghurt, and little orange clementines, and a box of rose-pink Turkish delight.
‘Oh look! The kitchen maid has been truly diligent!’ I said, starting up the game.
‘Oh frabjous day!’ said Clover, doing the correct response.
‘Oh, the feast of kings and queens!’ said Dorry and Jonnie together, as they tucked in greedily.
‘Wait, wait! We must serve our honoured guest first!’ I said.
But the honoured guest wasn’t looking impressed.
‘That’s not quail, that’s chicken!’ she said.
‘Well, of course it’s not real quail. That’s just in old-fashioned storybooks. We’re playing, see,’ I said, putting my arm round her.
Imogen shrugged my arm off. ‘We have quail sometimes. And I love it. I thought I was going to have it now. And sweetmeats … That’s just Turkish delight.’
‘Yes, I know, but we pretend, you see, to make it more exciting,’ I said desperately.
‘I don’t see the point,’ said Imogen.
‘That’s because you’re stupid,’ said Jonnie, very rudely indeed. ‘But never mind. Dorry will eat your share if you don’t want it.’
‘Jonnie!’ I said furiously, but there was a little bit of me that couldn’t help agreeing.
I thought Imogen would flounce out of the feasting cave then and there, but she stayed, and she even ate a morsel of chicken and a sliver of salad. We all tucked in properly, but it felt awkward, and even Dorry didn’t eat with his usual gusto.
The three littlies crawled out of the cave as soon as they were finished and started up a complicated animal game.
‘Oh God, do we all have to bark and moo and hiss?’ said Imogen.
‘No, of course not,’ I said.
‘So what do we do?’
‘We tell stories,’ said Clover. ‘We make up what we’re going to be, like when we grow up.’
‘That’s more like it,’ said Imogen. ‘Shall I go first?’
She had it all mapped out, in immense detail. She was going to continue modelling all the way through school, and reckoned that by the time she was fourteen she’d be modelling proper adult clothes.
‘That’s where the money is,’ said Imogen in a worldly wise fashion. ‘I’ll develop a new look, maybe do something a little weird with my hair, whatever, and I reckon I’ll have my face on Vogue by the time I’m fifteen.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ I said. ‘But don’t you want to do something else too? Maybe travel to all sorts of exotic places?’
‘If you’re a top model they fly you all over the world,’ said Imogen. ‘I shall earn a fortune too, but I won’t stay a model. I’ll go to university, maybe somewhere in America – that might be less stuffy. I’ll maybe do some acting. Then again, I am quite musical, though practising gets so boring, but Sammy says I’ve got a great voice, so maybe I’ll be a singer with some totally cool indie band.’
Elsie was getting restless through this long recitation.
‘I’m going to do all that, modelling and acting and singing, and I’m going to have a husband and lots of babies,’ she announced.
‘I’m not sure about a husband – and I don’t think I want babies either,’ said Imogen, picking up Coco and cradling her. ‘I’ll have lots of cute little dogs like Coco instead.’
‘Won’t you be a bit lonely if you live all on your own?’ Clover asked.
‘Oh, I’m pretty sure I won’t be on my own!’ said Imogen. ‘I shall have lots of lovers!’
Clover and I gasped.
‘Shh!’ I said, nodding at Elsie.
‘Well, I shall. I’ve had heaps of boyfriends already. Haven’t you, Katy?’ she said. She was asking in an irritating way, clearly expecting me to shake my head sheepishly.
‘Yes, I’ve got a boyfriend,’ I said.
Clover and Elsie stared at me.
‘Really? What’s his name? What’s he like?’ Imogen demanded.
‘His name’s Ryan and – and he’s great fun,’ I said airily.
‘You haven’t got a boyfriend called Ryan, you fibber!’ said Elsie.
‘Yes, she has!’ said Clover. ‘She told me all about him. She just didn’t tell you because you’d blab to everyone.’
I felt like throwing my arms round Clover and hugging her. Besides, I wasn’t really fibbing. Ryan had asked me if I would be his girlfriend. All right, I’d said no – but he’d asked. And all that mattered now was that Imogen was at last looking reasonably impressed. But still suspicious.
‘A proper boyfriend? Have you kissed?’ she demanded.
‘Of course,’ I said breezily. I was really fibbing now. I could feel myself blushing, but that made Imogen actually believe me. She started asking me heaps of questions and I had to elaborate as smoothly as possible, though I was getting really scarlet by then. I tried hard to make Imogen think Ryan was a hot-looking teenager, rather than a boy a head smaller than me with freckles and very untidy hair.
‘What about your boyfriend, Imogen?’ I asked as soon as I could.
‘Oh, we broke up,’ she said. She gave a great sigh. ‘I was simply devastated. I don’t want to talk about him now, I’ll just get all upset.’
I peered at her. I wondered if perhaps she was good at making things up too. She started humming some pop tune about a broken heart, clearly expecting Clover and me to recognize it.
‘Oh, I love that song,’ I fibbed.
br /> ‘Isn’t she great on the video? That dance!’ said Imogen. She stood up and presumably did an imitation. It looked like very X-rated dancing, though she was brilliant at it.
‘Hmm!’ said Elsie, wrinkling her forehead. ‘My mum wouldn’t let us do dancing like that.’
‘Well, Izzie’s an old fuddy-duddy, just like Dad,’ I said. ‘We can dance any way we want.’
I tried my best to copy Imogen, but I could tell it wasn’t working.
‘You look stupid, Katy!’ Elsie cried.
‘No, she doesn’t,’ said Clover, but she couldn’t make herself sound convincing.
‘Oh well, I know I’m rubbish at dancing. Cecy’s the one who’s brilliant at it,’ I said. Then I stopped dead. I looked at my watch. It was nearly quarter to one now. Where on earth was Cecy? Why hadn’t she come to the secret garden? She couldn’t still be waiting for us, could she?
‘Hang on a minute,’ I said, and rushed out of the willow cave. I wriggled under the fence and rushed up to the garage. Cecy was sitting on top of the garage, her chin on her knees, looking agitated.
‘Katy! There you are! I was getting so worried. Where on earth have you been – and where are the others? I’ve been waiting ages.’
‘Oh Cecy! I’m sorry. I meant to leave you a message, but I forgot. We all went to the secret garden early. I thought you’d realize and come and find us,’ I said, feeling dreadful.
‘But why did you go without me?’ said Cecy, climbing down.
‘Well, I didn’t want to, but this new friend Imogen came round. Clover and I met her in the park the other day and we wanted to show her the secret garden. You must come and meet her, Cecy.’
I held out my hand. Cecy slapped it away.
‘No thanks,’ she snapped.
‘But you’d really like her. She’s so grown up and ultra cool, and she’s got this adorable little dog …’
‘I don’t want to meet her or her wretched dog. I’m going home,’ said Cecy, and she marched over to the gate and let herself into her own garden.
Then when I wriggled miserably back to the others in the secret garden I saw Imogen using her phone, texting her dad.
He picked her up ten minutes later. She said goodbye nicely enough, but she didn’t say she hoped to see us again. It was obvious, even to me, that she wasn’t going to be inviting us round to her house any time soon.
Imogen clearly didn’t want to be my new best friend. And it looked horribly as if I’d lost my dearest old best friend into the bargain.
10
I texted Cecy all that afternoon, but she didn’t reply even once. So at four o’clock I went round to her house – not nipping through the back garden gate as usual but knocking formally on her front door.
Cecy’s dad answered, a can of beer in his hand. I could hear Sky Sports playing loudly on the television in their living room.
‘Hi Katy,’ he said, not looking particularly welcoming.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Hall, but can I talk to Cecy please?’ I asked humbly.
‘Sorry, dear, she’s out shopping with her mother,’ he said.
‘Oh! Do you know which shops?’ I asked, wondering if I could get a bus into town and waylay them.
There was a sudden shout from the television.
‘Oh no, I think I’ve just missed a try!’ he groaned. ‘No, I haven’t a clue which shops.’
I trailed back home, feeling dejected.
‘Never mind, Katy. I’m sure Cecy hasn’t really broken friends,’ said Clover, trying to be comforting. She was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor with Elsie, both of them making bead bracelets. ‘Why don’t you make her a bracelet to make it up with her?’ she suggested.
‘Cecy’s got a whole armful of those bracelets already and she can make much fancier ones than me,’ I said. ‘She’s the bracelet queen.’
I decided to write her a letter instead. I still couldn’t find a proper pen, so I borrowed Jonnie’s set of felt tips and wrote in rainbow colours.
Dearest Cecy,
I totally understand why you’re cross with me. It was terribly mean to go to the secret garden without you. And it was a waste of time anyway, because Imogen wouldn’t play at anything and turned her nose up at the picnic feast. She’s nowhere near as nice as I thought she was. And even if she was extra-specially tremendously nice she could never be a patch on you. You’re my best friend forever.
Please say you’re still my friend too.
Love from Katy xxx
I drew a picture of me on my knees looking extremely contrite, begging Cecy to be friends with me again. I took particular care drawing Cecy, making her look extra pretty to flatter her. Underneath me I printed Bad stupid Katy and underneath Cecy I put Lovely perfect friend Cecy.
I put it in an envelope for privacy and posted it through her front door. Then I waited. And waited and waited and waited.
‘What time do the shops close on Saturday?’ I asked, when we were all sitting down to tea. It was our Saturday favourite, sausages and baked beans and jacket potatoes, but for once I wasn’t gobbling mine down.
‘Half past five – or maybe six,’ said Izzie. ‘Phil, don’t spear your sausage like that. Cut it up properly like a sensible boy.’
‘Then Cecy must be home by now! And yet she still hasn’t texted! Oh, what am I going to do if I haven’t got a best friend any more!’ I wailed.
‘You apparently acquired a new best friend only today,’ said Dad. ‘I’m sure Imogen is a charming girl when you get to know her, but she comes across as rather affected, wouldn’t you say?’
‘She has boyfriends and does very rude dancing,’ said Elsie importantly.
‘Then she doesn’t seem at all a suitable friend, even though she’s a St Winifred’s girl,’ said Izzie.
‘Don’t worry, I don’t want her to be my friend. I want Cecy to be my friend and now she’s not speaking to me,’ I snivelled.
But at that moment there was a knock on the door. I ran to it – and there was Cecy on the doorstep, holding my letter.
‘Yes, I am still mad at you!’ she said, but then she put her arms round me. ‘You total bozo. But I’m still your friend. I’m always your friend.’
‘Oh Cecy!’ I said, hugging her back.
We stayed hugging and exclaiming until Dad called, ‘Why don’t you two girls come in the kitchen? You need to finish your meal, Katy – and there’s plenty for Cecy too.’
‘Oh bum, I wanted second helps,’ said Dorry.
‘Dorry, please don’t use that silly expression!’ said Izzie.
Cecy and I looked at each other and laughed. Cecy stayed till bedtime, and she came over on Sunday too. We went to the secret garden, just the three of us, Cecy and Clover and me. I was a little worried that it would still look sad and ordinary, the way Imogen had made me see it, but once we were inside the willow cave, sitting squashed together in its green wavery light, the old magic worked.
I felt a little weird when Clover was busy telling Cecy all about Imogen, and what a drag she had been the whole time, so I crawled out of the cave and climbed my big faraway tree and sat on the branch. I swung my legs, and thought how wonderful it would be to have a proper swing. As soon as I’d got my tree house sorted I’d make a splendid swing too.
I remembered going to the swings with Mum and stared upwards at the blue sky and white clouds, wondering if there was really a heaven and she was up there somewhere.
She had got ill so quickly. It was hard remembering exactly when she got so sick that she had to stay in hospital. When we were taken to visit her she didn’t seem like our mum any more. She’d lost all her lovely long hair and she looked pale and pinched, and she didn’t even smell all sweet and rosy like our mum. But when she put her arms round me and hugged me tight I knew she was still our own dear mum inside. She whispered to me, ‘I’ll always watch over you, Katy.’ I’m pretty sure those were her exact words. I remembered, because I was still young enough to get a bit mixed up
and think she was talking about her wristwatch.
I fingered it now, then held it to my ear, listening to the steady tick, tick. It was easy to imagine it was saying, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.
I stayed up in the tree until Clover and Cecy started calling me. Then I swung down and was ordinary laughing Katy again, though every now and then I covered the watch with my hand, hanging on to it tightly.
So from that day on, Cecy and I were even closer friends. We walked to and from school together and we strolled round at playtime with linked arms, and sometimes I went round to tea at Cecy’s but mostly she came to us. Clover was with us too, of course, and part of everything – but the one thing she couldn’t be part of was the leavers’ disco.
It wasn’t going to be a prom. Eva Jenkins and her little gang had campaigned determinedly for a real prom so they could all dress up in huge long frocks and prance around like princesses, but Mr Robinson put his foot down.
‘Absolutely not! You’re all eleven years old, not high school teenagers. We’re having the usual disco. You can dress up a little if you want, but absolutely no ball gowns or fancy suits – and you come to school preferably on your own two feet, or in your parents’ car. No stretch limos or Cinderella coaches with white horses or I’ll turn you all into pumpkins!’
Eva and the other girls sulked. Even Cecy moaned.
‘I’ve seen this glorious long pink dress, all sparkles, when I went shopping on Saturday. It had proper straps and was quite low cut, just like a grown-up ball gown,’ she said.
I pulled a face but managed not to say anything, because I was scared of upsetting Cecy now. I suppose Cecy would look rather glamorous in a long sparkly dress, and maybe even the low neck would work, because she had started to get a little bit of a figure. I knew one thing: I would look totally ridiculous in a low-cut, long sparkly dress. I was flat as a pancake for a start, and I’d even look a sight from the back because my shoulder blades stuck out so sharply. And I was way too tall for a long dress. Even the longest would probably only reach down to my ankles.
‘Mum says I can still have a new dress, even if it’s just a disco,’ said Cecy. ‘So I thought I’d go for very short if I can’t have long. And tight. And maybe still sparkly, so it looks good under the disco lights. What do you think, Katy?’