LITMIR.BIZ

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      Wait: is Annabel wearing an apron? I didn’t even know we had one. Both of my parents think that warming up a stale croissant qualifies them for MasterChef.

      “I’m ‘cooking’,” my stepmother confirms, inexplicably making quotation marks with her fingers. “‘Broadening my skill set’, ‘sustaining the family’, ‘providing nutrition, vitamins and minerals for my loved ones’ and so on.”

      That’s a lot of air-quotations for statements that probably should be said without irony.

      “You’re cooking?” I repeat in amazement. “No wonder I was confused. Tabitha, mark this historic occasion. It may never happen again.”

      Then I raise my eyebrows pointedly.

      “I probably deserved that,” Annabel smiles. “Even though your father has actually taken Tabitha out for a walk so I’m not entirely sure who you’re talking to.”

      There’s a soft jingling sound and Bunty pokes her pink head through the living-room door. “What do you think, darling? Apparently I can fit more souvenirs in my car boot than I thought.”

      She waves a ring-clad hand around.

      The living room looks like an enormous butterfly just went bang: brightly coloured printed blankets, dream-catchers, crystals, bells and cushions are everywhere. Lamps are switched on in every corner and new plants sit in pots. Crystals are spread on every surface.

      Huh. That was fast.

      “This is for you,” Bunty says, handing me two small brass cymbals on a long piece of leather. “They’re Buddhist Tingsha Chimes from Tibet. The sound is immediately calming. Try it.”

      I obediently hit them together. The air is filled with a sweet, high, long note that fades slowly into nothing.

      Nope. Didn’t work: still busy.

      “How about we all have a cup of tea?” Annabel says brightly. “The kettle’s just boiled.”

      “Yes, please!” I say gratefully, turning round and heading across the hallway. “You can leave it outside my door!”

      “Harriet, that’s not what I m—”

      “Thank you!” I shout.

      And with a firm click I close my bedroom door behind me.

      

      he next few days are manic.

      Sitting on my bed, surrounded by bright textbooks like a bird in a shiny and informative nest, I plough through as much schoolwork as possible.

      I study compositions of various amino acids: alanine, cysteine and valine. I memorise the tertiary structure of ribonuclease molecules, and precisely how the polypeptide is folded.

      Given that y = x5 – 3x2 + x + 5, I find dy/dx and d2y/dx2; I factorise x2 – 4x – 12 and sketch the corresponding graph. I learn the baryon numbers of quarks and antiquarks, and the properties of leptons and antiparticles.

      (I finally know what they are, by the way. No thanks to a certain American governess.)

      I even discover that there are as many bacteria in two servings of yoghurt as there are people on earth.

      Then promptly abandon breakfast.

      And – during my breaks – I make a JINTH Picnic Pack. There’s a menu and personalised paper crockery, napkins and music. I’ve even got mini sparklers just in case it gets dark and we want the calming, happiness-inducing party to continue.

      This fun is going to be off the chart, while also being very much on it.

      Every now and then Annabel and Bunty try to distract me – do I need my chakras cleansing? Why don’t I eat with them for once instead of on the floor of my bedroom? – but I cannot be moved.

      Even school can’t divert my focus.

      As India, Toby and Jasper disappear to their various billion extra-curricular activities, I hunker down with neat notes in the corner of the common room and study.

      By Tuesday afternoon, I’ve completed an entire week’s worth of revision. Which means I’m now available for any kind of spontaneous social occasion that might pop up.

      Whenever that might be.

      Although it’s been 71 hours and I still haven’t heard anything, so maybe my hints have been too subtle.

       Hey team JINTH! Weather forecast for Wednesday is good! ;) Hxx

       Partly cloudy with bursts of sunshine on Thursday! Wind only 11mph! ;) Hxx

       Humidity on Friday 73% so cover your sandwiches! ;) Hxx

      Finally – at 4:30pm, just as I’m arriving home from school – I get a reply.

       OK Harriet! Park at 5? Nat x

      Quickly, I calculate the timings.

      Ten minutes to prepare, five minutes to pack and get dressed, five minutes to run to the park, five minutes to recover from running to the park.

      That leaves me a few minutes to set up the picnic and that’s all I really need. Time to officially Get Happy, Team JINTH.

      They are going to be blown away.

      “Gosh,” Bunty says, appearing in the kitchen doorway as I’m quickly shoving together the JINTH sandwiches. “They look terribly creative, darling.”

      Jam, Nutella, Tuna and Ham.

      Admittedly I struggled with the I and settled for Iceberg lettuce but they can always pick it out.

      “These sandwiches have a very wide range of nutrients,” I inform her, tucking them into a Tupperware box. “Vitamin A, calcium, protein.”

      Not to mention saturated fat, but never mind.

      “Delicious,” my grandmother beams, leaning against the doorway. “You’re such a busy little bee these days, darling. Buzz buzz buzz.”

      I nod, chucking in a large packet of crisps. “There’s just so much to do.”

      “I can see that,” Bunty laughs. “Just –” she puts a heavily turquoise-ringed hand on my arm – “leave a little room in the garden for the fairies to dance.”

      I blink at her. Oooh. Dancing.

      Turning around, I quickly grab the break-dancing manual from the kitchen table. There should be plenty of room for that in the park.

      “I’m so glad you seem happier now,” Bunty continues more gently as I swing the enormous basket over one shoulder. “Tell me, after all those letters did you ever decide to get hold of N—”

      “Napkins,” I say quickly, grabbing a handful. “Yup, got some. Thank you!”

      I kiss her briskly on the cheek.

      Then I swing my satchel over the other shoulder and charge towards the front door.

      “Harriet?” Annabel appears at the bottom of the stairs with a damp, flushed Tabitha straight out of the bath. “I’m making some kind of Peruvian chicken stew from a recipe Mum brought back. Would you like some?”

      “Yes, please!” I call over my shoulder. “Leave some in the fridge and I’ll heat it up later!”

      Let

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