I’m not sure what Threads 3 will be called yet. ‘Beads, Boys and Bangles’ took AGES to think of. I quite like the idea of ‘Stars and Spangles’, but I have a feeling the publisher he say ‘no’. It’s a bit early to be sharing stuff. I wish it wasn’t, but I’ve been busy, OK?
So instead, here’s a bit of book 2, to celebrate the fact that I SENT THE PROOFS OFF YESTERDAY!!! and I won’t see the text again until it’s a real book with a cover and everything. I call this the ‘silver dress’ bit.
‘And it’s not the top award or anything,’ Edie continues. She really is so embarrassed about this. ‘It’s just the “rising star” category.’
‘OH MY GOD!’
‘Nonie? What’s happened?’
It’s what’s about to happen. The words ‘rising star’ have reminded me: I have a DATE with my nearly-boyfriend in TWO HOURS! What have I been thinking?
‘I have to go. Alexander … but well done. And good luck. And do the tee-shirts, of course. I’ll even buy one. And Crow’ll be fine. I’ll just …’
‘Oooh, Alexander!’ she yells at me, excitedly. ‘Shut up and get going! We’ll sort it out later. Just have a good time, OK?’
It’s how we stay friends. She can switch from Saviour Of The World to normal person, just like that. And she totally understands how cute my nearly-boyfriend is.
Ninety minutes later, I’m in Crow’s workroom, staring at myself in the mirror. Crow’s staring at me too, needle in hand, just in case I need any last-minute adjustments.
She gives me one of her rare, incredible smiles.
‘I think we’re done,’ she says.
We are. I have been transformed from wonky-haired midget into glamorous fashion queen. I’m in a gorgeous, silver knee-length dress that makes me look at least eighteen. I have proper, grown-up tights on without any patterns, sequins or holes. I have not only high heels but PLATFORMS that give me ten precious extra centimetres in height. Designer platforms by Prada that I shall probably leave to my children in my will.
I’m wearing enough eyeliner for an emo convention and individual fake eyelashes, for extra oomph. And possibly a tiny spritz too much perfume, but it’s too late now.
I have never looked like this before and I probably never will again. I’m a hot babe, basically, and Alexander is going to adore me.
‘Jewellery?’ I ask, panicking suddenly.
Crow shakes her head. She’s probably right. There’s enough going on already.
I grab my jacket and my vintage bag from a little pile on the workroom floor (I’m not totally careful with my clothes, I admit), and I’m ready to go.
Mum’s standing in the hall, waiting.
‘Wow,’ she says. ‘You look … different. Go gently on him, darling. He won’t know what’s hit him.’
Different good or different bad? It’s too late to find out, so I give her a quick kiss and head out of the door before she realises quite how much of her perfume I’ve borrowed.
‘Back by midnight, don’t forget,’ she shouts after me.
SO Cinderella. I’ve been given an extension because Harry will be there.
‘And don’t let him …’
Yada yada yada. I can’t hear because I’m rushing into the taxi and concentrating on not doing a Naomi Campbell in my platforms down our front steps. They’re not quite as easy to walk in as I’d hoped.