Head Over Heels

Annabel frowns. “Well … not the whole night. She’ll need to get some sleep.”

Good point. Nat does get grumpy when she’s tired. “OK, we’ll probably be worn out by the choreographed dance routines anyway.”

“Choreographed dance routines?”

“Don’t worry. If there isn’t space in here we can move the break-dancing to the living room.”

“Break-dancing?” There’s a pause while Annabel shifts Tabs to her other hip. “Sweetheart, it’s very kind of you to arrange everything so carefully, but sixty-eight really isn’t as young as you think it is.”

I pause from randomly flicking a duster at the shelves and quickly do the maths in my head. Jasper and India are seventeen, but Nat and Toby are still sixteen.

So 17 + 17 + 16 + 16 =

“I think it’s sixty-six,” I correct as politely as possible.

“Sixty-eight, sweetheart.”

“Sixty-six. You’ve inaccurately added a couple of birthdays.”

“Harriet,” Annabel laughs, heading back towards the hallway, “I appreciate your enthusiasm for both maths and human development, but I know how old my mother is.”

I turn to stare at her blankly – what has that got to do with anything? – and that’s when I hear it. A familiar chug-chug-chug. A sputter-sputter-sputter. A thud-thud-thud.

The sound of an ancient pink VW Beetle, reversing up the driveway.

Apparently the human brain absorbs eleven million bits of information every second, but we only notice forty of them.

Right now you can make that just one.

There’s a loud crunch.

“Yoooohooooo!” a familiar voice calls as I run to my bedroom window and fling it wide open. “Kittens, I’m here early! Goodness, that’s a funny place to put a hydrangea.”

And there – beaming at us from out of the car window – is my hippy, nomadic grandmother.

Bunty.

(#ulink_da976459-d27d-5827-97c1-a4afed19f6ff)

o you want to know a fascinating fact about the salamander? It can have its brain removed, cut into slices, shuffled like cards, put back in and yet still function as normal.

The same clearly can’t be said for me.

I didn’t include Bunty in my earlier summary because I had no idea what to tell you. Last time I heard from my step-grandmother, she was camped out in a llama sanctuary in Nepal. Before that, she was trying to break into Tibet without a permit.

A couple of months before that, I got a postcard from Bolivia saying

Either way, she was anywhere but here.

Blinking, I watch my grandma hit the brakes with a loud squeak and then start cheerfully backing into our hedge. My chopped-up brain feels like it’s desperately trying to fit itself back together again.

Oh my God. Annabel wasn’t talking about my Team JINTH sleepover.

She was talking about Bunty.

No wonder there was such alarm about the dancing: it could literally breakmy grandmother.

“Harriet,” Annabel frowns, pausing in the hallway as she watches me work this all out, “this shouldn’t be a surprise. I’ve been reminding you about this visit for the last two weeks.” She sighs. “I knew I should have made you put that phone down.”

I stare at her, tiny bits of brain slowly dissolving into sludge. “Bunty’s staying with us now?”

“Yes, now, Harriet.” Annabel glances out of the window to where my grandma has begun three-point-turning across the lawn. “Although she wasn’t supposed to be here until later tonight.”

“But … I don’t understand. Where is she going to sleep?”

“You’re giving her your bedroom. I assumed that was what you were tidying up for.”

My eyes shoot wide.

I love my grandmother, but this is my sanctuary. My refuge. She’s going to rearrange all my bookshelves. “But I’m having a massive and seminal sleepovertonight. Where is everyone going to go?”

“You’ll just have to postpone it for a while, Harriet,” Annabel says calmly. “I’m very sorry.”

“But … I can’t postpone again. Everything’s arranged.”

“Then rearrange it.”

There’s the sound of a car door being shut outside, and flip-floppy footsteps crunching up the gravel. Annabel carefully shifts a gurgling Tabby and starts heading down the stairs.

In a panic, I race after them.

Quick, Harriet. Do something. Save the Team JINTH Sleepover Plan. “But can’t she just sleep on the sofa like she did when Tabitha was born?”

“No, Harriet.” There’s a knock on the front door. “She’s staying longer this time. I … don’t know how long for. She needs a real bed.”

“And I don’t? I have important exams coming up, Annabel. Homework. Coursework. Essential biology experiments.”

If in doubt, always fall back on academia.

“Chickens?” a bright voice calls through the letterbox. “You don’t have another birdhouse, do you? I think I’ve broken this one. They may need to temporarily squat in a tree.”

“Just one second, Mum!”

“But …”

“Harriet,” Annabel whispers sharply, spinning round. Her face is so firm and so lawyer-y, my mouth automatically closes with a snap. “Stop saying but. This is notup for discussion, so just try and be a grown-up about it. Please?”

I blink. Nobody wins an argument against Annabel. Ever. I bet she can make grown judges cry.