Clara squints at me. ‘You don’t think what you say to the future love of your life is important?’
I splutter. ‘Thelove of my life? We don’t even know if this is a man or a woman yet. Never mind if they’d be age appropriate or a decent human. I’m still ninety-five per cent sure it’s a stroppy lady with boundary issues.’
‘The note has the air of thirty-year-old man,’ Salma says confidently. ‘There is a lot of main character energy here. I mean, jeez, even having the confidence and audacity to write a message to a stranger in the first place could only come from a man. When you’ve been brought up with society telling you you’re number one and everything you do is fantastic, you believe in yourself.’ She looks aroundthe group, adding archly, ‘For example, men don’t have to crowd-source greetings.’
‘I’m a man,’ Harry points out meekly.
‘Shush,’ Salma tells him. ‘You’re a man, but you also went to an all boys’ school where uniformity and falling in line was drilled into you. You follow the crowd, basically, Harry. We are the majority here and we are all shouting a lot. So you’re falling in line. I bet loads of your school mates ended up in the military. But not in the normal military; in the fancy bit of the army that, like, the princes all served in, where there’s not as much danger.’
Harry looks like he will protest but then nods dumbly.
‘So, anyway…’ I clear my throat, trying not to sound annoyed. I really regret letting this lot get involved. ‘Shall we get back to the note and what I should write?’
Salma nods importantly. ‘Y’know, it would really help if we could see your last few messages to each other.’
It’s a fair point, and I reach for my bag where I’ve stored all our notes so far. I hesitate as my hand closes around the wad of papers. There is no reason at all for my reluctance. This person is a stranger and these are my closest friends. And yet, I feel like this is a betrayal, somehow.
‘Come on!’ Clara cries impatiently and I hand them over, my stomach on the floor.
‘It’s mostly just silly chat,’ I mutter defensively and Salma shushes me as they all crowd around. They pull out one of my replies; one where I shared my own favourite childhood book.
I lovedThe Very Hungry Caterpillar, too! He represented a simpler time – an easier life! – didn’t he? He was a bug after my own heart. Except I feel like all that fruit he ate would get a bit boring after a while, wouldn’t it? Personally, I’m more of a biscuit fan, so I’d go for one shortbread on a Monday, two chocolate Hobnobs on a Tuesday. On a Wednesday I’d have three digestives. On Thursdays I’d get four jaffa cakes. On Fridays I’d get five Viennese whirls and then it’s a free-for-all on Saturdays, so I’d have a whole box of chocolate fingers. And instead of a green leaf on Sunday, I’d have a Garibaldi because they’re practically healthy, right? All those currants?
This whole thing has made me very hungry. A very hungry caterpillar.
I also still loveThe Tiger Who Came to Tea,which – I’m realizing now – was also about a greedy creature eating everyone’s dinner. I think this may explain some of my attitudes to food…
Salma giggles, delighted by the silliness, and turns to the note writer’s reply – much to Clara’s irritation.
‘I hadn’t finished reading!’ she cries with fury, and Salma sighs impatiently.
‘Hurry up,’ she instructs, but I see her eyes sliding over my pen pal’s next note without waiting for the slower readers.
Hello again. I’m so thrilled to hear you’re a biscuit person. I am, too. Although, I would swap out your Friday Viennesewhirls for custard creams. And surely a ginger snap has to get a look-in? Maybe on free-for-all Saturdays? I have to sayThe Tiger Who Came to Teawas a gamechanger for me. I made my mum take me to the zoo so I could throw buns and biscuits at the tiger enclosure. Can you believe they didn’t seem that interested? It was incredibly upsetting, but I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I’ve tried to live a full life since then.
‘He’s funny!’ Salma crows with delight and I smile, feeling somehow proud. After another minute, Clara finishes, looking up with amusement.
‘Bit weird if you ask me!’ she says cheerfully.
‘It’s just a bit of fun,’ I snap and she grins.
‘There aren’t many clues about their identity,’ Harry points out, ever analytical, as Clara rolls her eyes.
‘All this kid book chat – I don’t get it,’ she shrugs, and I grab for the remaining notes. Of course Clara doesn’t get it – she doesn’t understand me or my book friend – so she doesn’t get to read any more of them.
To be honest, it’s a lot more of the same silliness anyway.
Salma starts to protest, but Clara interrupts, looking faraway and dreamy. ‘When I meet Milo for the first time, I’m going to have the perfect conversation ready. None of this caterpillar weirdness.’
I hold back a frustrated scream.
‘Milo?’ Harry frowns. ‘Who’s Milo?’
‘The actor!’ Clara looks exasperated by our blank faces.‘FromBook Boyfriend? Come on, guys, I’ve told you his name loads of times!’ I glance at the coffee table where the plastic-covered book sits ready to be returned to the library. She nods her head quickly. ‘Yes, from your book – I mean, from the TV show.’ She shakes her head again. ‘This is confusing. I mean the main guy.’ She waves at me. ‘The one who plays George.’
‘I haven’t really been watching it, don’t ask me,’ I say.
‘Milo?’ Salma narrows her eyes. ‘That must be a stage name, it’s far too cool to be British.’
