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was about to say mock steak and kidney, but I suddenly remembered that we were hoping Caroline would think it was chicken.

      “Actually, I forgot,” I said. “It was going to be steak and kidney, but then at the last minute we changed it to chicken and mushroom.”

      “Still sounds delicious,” said Caroline.

      “It will be,” I promised. “Cass is a really good cook!”

      “Yes. Well.” Dad sounded as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of everything. “Bitsy, could you take Caroline’s coat and hang it somewhere?”

      I said, “Where?”

      “In the – um – closet?” said Dad.

      What closet? I didn’t know what a closet was! I didn’t think we had one. We usually draped coats and stuff over the banisters, but maybe Caroline wouldn’t like that.

      “I’ll take it upstairs,” I said.

      I cantered back up. When I came down I found Em hovering.

      “We weren’t supposed to lie,” she hissed.

      “’bout what?”

      “The pie! Cass said … she didn’t think we ought to lie about it.”

      “I didn’t lie!”

      “Yes, you did, you said it was chicken and mushroom.”

      “That’s all right. Soon as we’ve finished I’ll tell her the truth.” I giggled. “She won’t half be surprised!”

      “She might be cross,” said Em. “I would be, like, if someone gave me meat and pretended it was something else.”

      “That’s cos you’ve got principles,” I said. “People don’t have principles about eating vegetables.”

      “All the same,” said Em.

      Oh dear! Em is such a worrier.

      We went into the sitting room to find Caroline holding out my sherry glass I’d so lovingly polished so that Dad could pour sherry into it. Hah! I knew it would come in useful.

      “Do you think Cass would like any help in the kitchen?” she said.

      Dad very quickly said, “No, no! And if she does the girls are here to give her a hand.”

      He probably didn’t want Caroline seeing the mess the kitchen was in. We always make a mess when we cook. I reckon all the best chefs do.

      “I’ll go,” said Em. She pulled a face at me as she left the room. She was going to tell Cass that I’d pretended we were having real chicken in the pie. I just knew she was. Well, so what? I bet when people eat in restaurants they’re given all sorts of stuff they don’t get told about.

      I went over to the sofa to sit with Caroline.

      “My,” she said, “that is a real miniskirt, isn’t it. What you might call a mini miniskirt!”

      Dad looked at me like it was the first time he’d ever seen it.

      “It is a bit on the short side,” he said. “Did Cass buy it for you?”

      I said, “No, I bought it for myself. Lottie’s got one as well. I’ve had it for ages.”

      “You presumably don’t go out in it?” said Caroline.

      “I should hope not!” said Dad.

      “I …” I hesitated, not quite sure what to say. Was there something wrong with going out in it? I was saved by Cass coming through from the kitchen.

      She said, “Oh really, Donald! Don’t be such a prude. She always wears leggings with it, or thick tights.Absolutely nothing to get fussed about! Hello, Caroline. Good to see you again. Dinner won’t be long; just finishing it off.”

      Dad, sounding puzzled, said, “If she’s had it all this time, why haven’t I seen it before?”

      “Because you go round with your eyes closed,” said Cass. “I’m afraid, Caroline, this brother of mine is so wrapped up in the eighteenth century he really has no idea what’s going on in the real world.”

      Caroline laughed. She said, “Tell me about it! Anyone who can reverse into somebody twice in just two minutes …”

      I liked that she could laugh about Dad reversing into her. Not everybody would. She was obviously a very tolerant, good-natured sort of person. Not someone who would lose patience with Dad when he couldn’t find his front-door key or forgot to put petrol in the car, both of which had happened in the past week. I decided that Caroline was exactly what he needed!

      I was glad, though, that Cass had spoken up in defence of my skirt. Just for a minute I had started to feel a bit self-conscious, thinking that maybe it was indecent or something. I knew it couldn’t be, or Lottie’s mum would never have let Lottie buy one. As mums go, she is quite strict. But I didn’t want Caroline to think badly of me. At school recently we’d been discussing role models and I’d decided that that’s what Caroline was – my role model. She was so smart, and so cool, and so … sophisticated! I really wanted to make a good impression on her.

      Em stuck her head round the door and said, “Shall I start bringing things in?”

      “I’ll help!” I went racing after her into the kitchen. “I suppose you went and told her?” I hissed.

      “Told her what?”

      “About me saying it was chicken and mushroom!”

      “All I said,” said Em, “was are we supposed to be telling her the truth or not? OK? Here! Take the sprouts. And don’t go dropping them.”

      “Oh, this looks very tasty,” said Caroline, as we all took our places. The pie sat steaming in its dish, the top all beautifully brown and crusty, with little pastry roses decorating it. Cass had gone to such a lot of trouble.

      “I hope it meets with your approval,” she said, passing Caroline a plate. “I don’t want to mislead you … it’s not actually real chicken.”

      “It’s not?” said Dad. He sounded a bit put out. “Bitsy? I thought you said it was!”

      Em looked at me, rather hard.

      “Just for once,” said Dad, “it might have been nice.” He turned apologetically to Caroline. “I’m afraid I live in a house full of mad veggies,” he said.

      “You’re one too!” cried Em.

      “Not through choice,” said Dad. “They bully me, you know. I have no say in the matter, I just have to eat what I’m given.”

      “I’m sure it will still be delicious,” said Caroline.

      I kept shooting little glances at her as she ate. I think she enjoyed it. At any rate, she cleared her plate. She didn’t come back for seconds, though. I did! But I am quite a greedy sort of person. You don’t get to be as slim as Caroline by gorging yourself.

      Triumphantly, as Cass began to clear away the dishes, I said, “If you hadn’t been told it wasn’t chicken I bet you wouldn’t have known, would you?”

      “Well … I think I probably would have done,” said Caroline, “but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t very lovely.”

      “But how could you tell?” I said. “It looks like chicken.”

      “I suppose it doesn’t quite … taste like it.”

      “Chicken tastes of blood,” said Em.

      “Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Dad threw up his hands. “Do we have to?”

      “I’m just saying,” said Em. “It’s full of stale blood.”

      “Em!”

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