Angeline and Annabelle are a classic sister act. Annabelle writes the songs and they sing together, but Angeline gets all the compliments. When a music producer offers a deal to Annabelle, she realises she can’t let the opportunity go. But what starts as a harmonious collaboration soon turns into a discordant nightmare…
Harold has terrible luck. Bus shelters collapse on him, he makes his dates vomit, and no matter how many good-luck charms he wears, his luck won’t change. So he decides that this New Year’s Eve, he’s going to follow every tradition and superstition in the world, to see if he can change his luck around.
‘I know you think you don’t want it,’ said Gary’s girlfriend, Claire, ‘but just think. When you turn 18, most of your friends will have their tattoos already. People will want to see yours. Look, you can tell them that you’re getting it later, that you couldn’t book an appointment, but how long can you lie? One day, you’ll look around and think, “God, why don’t I have a tattoo? Everyone else does.” ’
She was singing. She was drunk, I think, the way she sang. Maybe she had drunk a big glass of vodka. But her singing was good. She sounded sad, but the music was good. We were all so surprised to see her there.
‘No!’ said Max, shaking his head. ‘You don’t understand. I want to do this. Not just because I’ll have more time for Heroes of Forever. If you’re all busy at the academy, one of us has to deal with the sh—I mean, one of us has to stay and run The Shadow Club.’
‘Here you go,’ I said, giving her the book. ‘Los Gatos Luchadores. You like cats, right?’
Willow looked up at the word ‘cat’, and then her eyes grew wide.
She grabbed the book out of my hands and immediately started reading it. It was a Spanish translation of a Fighting Cats book, apparently.
The people began to shout and cheer: ‘You can do it!’ ‘He’s three quarters of the way across!’ ‘Just a bit more!’ Everyone’s hearts were open to the tightrope walker. They did not imagine him dying now. They imagined him making it to the end. They imagined the feeling, when he would make the last step, and everything would be OK.
So Saturday came, and I woke up nice and early to go to the football match. Normally, I’d be excited, but today my stomach clenched and I felt tired before the game even began.
‘I just have to make it through this,’ I told myself. ‘It’s half term afterwards and then I can have a proper rest.’
Why could nobody understand it? I loved Marmite, and so did my pet snake, Misty. Well, she wasn’t my pet. She was my ex-boyfriend’s. But I loved her more than him.
And she loved me, too. As soon as that letter had come through the door, I knew it. I was her real owner. Not my ex.