Secrets by Nick Sharratt Page A

with some horrible, pretty, skinny daughter trying on the latest little Moya Upton number and they go all squeaky when they’re introduced to Mum. Sometimes they get her to do the dumbest stuff like sign her own label. All the time they’re admiring Mum their eyes keep swivelling round to me as if they can’t believe that I can possibly be her
daughter
.
    I sometimes long to be an orphan.
    Mum came back into the kitchen in her tiny grey jogging suit. She waggled her manicured nails at me and then darted off out the back door. She looked like a sleek slim rat, whiskers well shaved, eyes bright and beady. This does not sound flattering, I know. But if
I
were squeezed into her grey jogging suit another obvious animal springs – no,
lumbers
– into my mind’s eye. It is gross to compare your mother to a rodent. It is even grosser to know that she thinks of you as an elephant. Not just your mother. Lots and lots and lots of people make pachyderm remarks when I’m around.
    Maybe it’s not so bad. Elephants are intelligent animals. They are meant to have superb memories. It sounds like boasting, but my own memory is phenomenal. I can quote long passages of Anne’s diary by heart now.
    I shall lend it to Treasure because I just know she’ll love it too. I re-read a few favourite parts while I ate another little breakfast. (I’d discovered Wanda’s pop-tarts tucked at the back of the larder. She seems to have lost her appetite recently but mine is ever-present.) Then I wrote more of my own diary. Wanda was up by this time, yawning and sighing.
    â€˜What’s
up
, Wanda?’
    She looked at me, shrugged and flicked her long wet hair out of her face, making a tiny rainstorm over her shoulders.
    â€˜Is it Dad?’
    She jumped as if I’d shot at her. ‘No! What do you mean? Are those
my
pop-tarts you’re eating? Stop it, you greedy girl! Your dad! Why should I be upset about your dad?’
    It’s
definitely
my dad.
    She drifted off, saying she was going to dry her hair. I heard her going
mutter-mutter
upstairs with Dad.
    Then five minutes later Dad bounded into the kitchen, all wired up. Clicking his fingers and tutting his tongue against his teeth. He came out with all this guff about poor Wanda being homesick. Do they think I’m mad? I know what’s going on. I think
they’re
mad. Dad liked Wanda’s friend Suzi a lot more than Wanda herself. Everyone could see that at the New Year’s Eve party – even Wanda. And what is she doing getting mixed up with my dad? He’s old enough to be
her
dad too.
    I don’t understand love affairs. I’m not ever going to make a fool of myself that way. I’m
sooooo
glad Treasure hasn’t got a boyfriend. I don’t want one either.
    I hope we’ll stay friends until we’re grown up and then we could maybe share a flat together. I wonder what Treasure wants to be when she grows up? I want to be a writer, of course, just like Anne. It would be great if my books became big, big hits so that I don’t have to use a penny of Mum and Dad’s money. Yes, I shall earn all my own money – heaps of it – and then even if Treasure doesn’t have a well-paid job it won’t matter a bit because I could take care of the rent.
    If my books don’t sell well it won’t really matter. We could make do with a very modest flat. We could maybe even rent one on the Latimer Estate. Then Treasure’s family could come and visit every day. I don’t think I want my family to visit at all. Not even Dad. He hates the Latimer Estate.
    We drove through it after lunch. I was feeling sick. Dad said he’d take me out to lunch, just us two, anywhere I wanted. I was thrilled he was in a good mood for once. I thought hard, trying to think of the perfect place. I thought Dad would like somewhere really fancy and sophisticated. I remembered this lovely Italian place we went to once on