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  ‘Quiet at the back, please,’ said Mrs Vaughn in a trembling voice.

  ‘Mutant,’ muttered Meredith, before returning to her timetable.

  In 1741, the teachings of the Italian scientist Galileo Galilei convinced the Catholic Church that the Earth was not the centre of the universe. However, even if Galileo had been alive today, he could never have convinced Imogen Dawson that she wasn’t. With her lustrous blonde hair, perfect pale skin, luscious lips and plummy yet sexy English accent, Imogen was a bombshell and she knew it. At break-time, she sat in the school cafeteria with a bottle of Diet Coke in front of her, religiously checking Perez Hilton’s blog from her BlackBerry. From Imogen’s point of view, the world before Perez or her BlackBerry quite simply hadn’t been one worth living in – they ranked alongside the Bible, high heels and Kimora Lee Simmons as the greatest products of civilization. Ever. At the centre of the table, she had left an enormous baby-pink folder, which contained the plans for Kerry’s Sweet Sixteenth the following Saturday, including the guest list (with staggered arrival times based on how much Kerry liked each individual person).

  Meredith and Cameron sauntered past the queue of terrified first-years. Cameron looked longingly at a white-chocolate-chip muffin, but just as his hand began twitching towards it he felt Meredith’s icy stare on his back and he stopped. He picked up a Diet Coke and walked over to the table.

  ‘I think this might be a record,’ Imogen said as they sat down opposite her. ‘It’s eleven o’clock on the first day back and I’m already dealing with a full-blown emotional emergencia.’

  ‘That’s impressive,’ congratulated Cameron.

  Imogen bit her lip in exaggerated worry, timing her revelation perfectly as Kerry and Catherine approached. ‘I’m an adulteress.’

  Everyone around the table moved in closer at this shocking statement. Kerry all but swooned into the seat next to her, breathily asking, ‘Are you cheating on Stewart?’ in a voice that was trying very hard to be disapproving but still couldn’t quite hide the wild excitement.

  ‘Not physically,’ said Imogen, ‘but unfortunately I have fallen in love with Michael Laverty. You know – the six-foot-tall blond hotty with the abs of steel and eyes of passion? We met him at Zach Stevens’s pool party in July. He’s in sixth year at Immaculate Heart.’

  ‘Oh my God! I know him!’ gasped Catherine. ‘His parents and mine go to the same golf club!’

  ‘Good story, Catherine.’ Meredith turned to Imogen. ‘Imogen, I think you should ditch Stewart, immediately.’

  ‘Oh, Mer, you’re always so sweet, but it’s not that simple. After all, I am technically in love with Stewart – we’re even an official couple on Facebook – and his parents worship me. I mean, let’s be honest, I am probably the best thing that’s ever going to happen to him.’

  ‘Well, what’s happening with Michael, then?’ asked Kerry. ‘No kissing?’

  ‘Nothing. Apart from the fact that we text each other, like, every day,’ said Imogen.

  Cameron, crippled by paranoia, was always the one to think ahead to possible espionage. ‘What if Stewart goes through your messages and finds them?’

  ‘It’s OK,’ answered Imogen quickly. ‘I mean, I haven’t quite been able to bring myself to delete them. Apart from the filthy ones – they had to go – but I have cunningly saved Michael’s number as Kerry New Mob. So apart from the fact that Stewart thinks Kerry is a repressed lesbian, everything’s fine.’

  ‘But everything is not fine!’ said Catherine sadly. ‘This will break Stewart’s heart if he ever finds out.’

  ‘You’re always trying to make her feel bad,’ Meredith snapped irritably. ‘Stewart clearly isn’t providing Imogen with enough emotional support. If anything, she’s the victim in all this.’

  Kerry nodded in melodramatic and forlorn agreement, taking Imogen’s hand in a gesture of solidarity.

  ‘So we think it’s OK to keep texting Michael?’ Imogen asked. ‘Just to see where it’s going?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Meredith. ‘I mean, it’s not as if you’re planning on marrying Stewart anyway, is it? His family does have a history of gingers.’

  ‘I know,’ said Imogen, shuddering.

  Just then, Mark Kingston sauntered over to the table and said, ‘Hey, Cameron.’

  At the sound of an outsider’s voice, the change in the group was immediate. They all began doing an amazing job of pretending that they had been discussing nothing more interesting than the weather. Kerry valiantly tried to cover up by saying loudly, ‘Yes, I love clouds!’

  ‘Hey, Mark.’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt. Cam, I just wanted to check if you’re still up for watching the movies at Peter’s on Saturday?’

  ‘Yeah, definitely. It sounds like good banter.’

  Mark stayed for a few more minutes to ask the girls what they thought of their new timetables, but neither he nor Meredith exchanged a single word. Meredith’s face did not change one iota, but Cameron, sitting next to her, felt, rather than saw, her spine stiffen with the hatred she felt for Mark Kingston. Her eyes glazed over slightly as if she had deliberately drained them of all feeling and it was almost comical to compare Meredith’s glacial reaction with Catherine’s over-bubbly excitement. She was currently staring up at Mark with wide-eyed admiration, a star-struck grin plastered on her face and laughing far too loudly at every mildly humorous thing he said.

  Ordinarily, Cameron would have found Catherine’s desperate crush on Mark more than entertaining, but today he was too busy feeling uncomfortable in the face of Meredith’s ice-cold disapproval. Mark Kingston had been Cameron’s best friend since nursery school and the strong bond between them, coupled with a slight physical resemblance, meant that every now and then they were mistaken for brothers. Like Cameron, Mark had blue eyes and a tall, trim figure, although Mark was slightly better built and his hair a touch lighter than Cameron’s. The main differences between them lay in the way the two boys carried themselves. Mark had more of a mannish swagger; his hands were usually in his pockets and his movements were forceful, deliberate and confident. Cameron, on the other hand, generally lounged back when people were talking to him, deigning to lean in only to exchange a secret with one of his best girl friends and it was often quite difficult to tell if he was actually listening to you or not, unless there was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

  When Mark finished talking to the other girls, he nodded curtly to Meredith and walked off. She smiled icily then turned very briefly to Cameron and raised an eyebrow. In that single movement, she managed to convey that she definitely did not approve of whatever was happening on Saturday.

  ‘Ladies, on Saturday, I think we should have a group day – a proper one to recover from the first week back at school: brunch, shopping, manicures, party-planning for Kerry’s b-day, dinner at Deane’s and then back to my house for a sleepover.’

  Kerry’s hand shot up in excitement. ‘Oh, I have an idea! Let’s watch Marie Antoinette and drink every time she wears a dress we like!’

  ‘Sounds super-fun,’ said Imogen.

  Meredith smiled. ‘Super. It’ll be just the girls, since Cameron’s got plans with Mark and the boys. Without us. Again.’

  2

  SARUMAN THE STUPID

  Seven hours and eleven minutes into it, the boys were beginning to wonder if watching all three Lord of the Rings movies in one day had been a particularly good idea. In hindsight, picking the extended editions had probably been a mistake, given that they had only just finished The Two Towers and had yet to embark on the four hours and eleven minutes of The Return of the King. The long-term, brain-melting impact of their decision had been made obvious by their slowly developing signs of insanity. Cameron had steadily consumed five large bottles of Diet Coke and given the amount of sweets he and Mark had gone through it looked as if they were in a race to see who could give themselves diabetes first. The other two boys – Peter and Imogen’s boyfriend, Stewart – were also beginning to show signs of Hobbit-induced Dementia, with Peter running around with his grandfather’s skullcap on his head and Stewart having inexplicably removed his top somewhere between Helm’s Deep and Osgiliath.

  Adjusting the skullcap and looking deep in thought, Peter turned to Mark and asked in a serious tone, ‘Mate, what is the deal with you and Meredith? How can you not like her? She’s unbelievably hot. Like, I mean, unreal.’

  ‘She’s not just hot,’ answered Mark. ‘She’s probably the hottest girl I’ve ever seen who’s not in the movies, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s an evil bitch.’

  Cameron giggled before remembering that in this group ‘bitch’ wasn’t a compliment. ‘Mark! Stop it. Meredith’s one of my best friends … she never says anything bad about you.’

  Stewart looked up from the DVD player, where he was inserting disc one of The Return of the King, and sighed. Meredith’s name had always caused problems in the group and the sooner the topic was dropped, the better. ‘Lads, forget about her. Cameron likes her, Mark doesn’t. OK?’

  The Return of the King began and the boys settled back on the sofa. For some time, Mark remained in a huffy silence, infuriated that Cameron had once again defended Meredith by telling him something which was clearly a lie. Did Cameron really think he was stupid enough to buy that kind of crap? Meredith Harper could have found something bad to say about a saint if she wanted to, so there was absolutely no way she had never said anything bad about him!

  Had he been more analytical, Mark would probably have realized that he was angrier with himself than Cameron. For the last year or so, Mark had struggled to fight his strange fascination with Meredith. This fascination irritated him, for he believed quite firmly that had Meredith been ugly the only word used to describe her would have be
en ‘bully’. But she was not. In fact, as he had just admitted to Peter, she was anything but. She was beautiful, she was clever, she was rich and she was glamorous. There was also no denying that she had a way with words and that helped her a lot as well. People found it harder to be angry with cruelty if it made them laugh and Meredith played upon that. She was also cleverer, by far, than most of the other people in school and there was quite simply no one who could read people or manipulate them like Meredith Harper.

  Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a sip of his Diet Coke, annoyed at how frequently Meredith Harper appeared in his thoughts these days. Still, he, at least, was able to see her for what she really was; Cameron, on the other hand, seemed to delight in everything about her – especially the bad bits. Trying to break his best friend away from the popular set’s busy socializing schedule was becoming especially difficult for Mark. Days like this – just hanging out with Cameron and the guys – were turning into things that needed several weeks’ notice. Mark found it increasingly difficult to ignore what he knew were slightly petulant feelings at Cameron not being particularly upset about this. But, after all, if Imogen could make time to see Stewart on a regular basis, there was really no logical reason why Cameron couldn’t do the same, unless, of course, Meredith was deliberately attempting to pull him away from his friendship with Mark – something that she seemed more than capable of doing.

  ‘You know, Cameron, you want to try having some balls once in a while. And stop letting Meredith walk all over you,’ Mark declared self-righteously.

  Stewart sighed, picked up a Walnut Whip and threw it directly at Mark’s face.

  At precisely seven thirty, as the early Saturday morning sun lit up the day of Kerry’s sixteenth birthday, an e-mail arrived in the in-boxes of Meredith Harper, Catherine O’Rourke and Imogen Dawson, announcing that a crisis had erupted in the middle of the night. Sometime on Friday evening, Kerry had gone into meltdown with the stress of the impending birthday. Apparently overwhelmed by her own fabulousness, she had very quietly excused herself from the dinner table and tottered upstairs to her bedroom, where she had crawled under the covers and proceeded to have a full nervous breakdown. Her mother, who had learned the hard way what to do in such situations, made a telephone call to Cameron and it was left to him to contact the others.

  From: Cameron Matthews

  To: Meredith Harper , Imogen Dawson , Catherine O’Rourke

  Everyone,

  As we all know, today is a v. important day. Kerry is sixteen but has unfortunately been in bed for the last twelve hours due to an FIB (Fabulous Induced Breakdown). So far, we have got things under control this end and her sister has managed to recurl her hair – we’re hoping the 1 o’clock trip to the beauty parlour will force her to leave her room.

  Now. This is very important: we have a list of things to do and I have numbered them so no one gets confused – Catherine.

  Manicure, pedicure, wax (if Kerry cannot be persuaded to leave the house then Imogen will need to be here at 12.45)

  Champagne (Kerry’s Dad is picking this up on his way from the airport)

  Costumes (EVERYONE had better have a good Marie Antoinette or similar themed costume ready for this evening)

  Snackages (please bring treats so that we line our stomachs in preparation for tonight)

  No one – and I mean NO ONE – is to mention the following to Kerry over the next 24 hours

  a) Lisa Flaherty

  b) The Biology homework that was due in yesterday, which she has clearly completely forgotten about

  c) How her sister’s lost weight (seriously – she looks AMAZING – you can hardly even notice that beak nose of hers)

  d) That Catherine’s lost series 5 from her box set of S&TC

  e) How she really reminds all of us of Eddy from Absolutely Fabulous

  f) That they’re definitely not making a sixth series of Footballers’ Wives

  g) Or suggest that her curls are anything other than totally and utterly amazing

  No one is to steal the limelight from Kerry in any way, shape or form. I know we would all like to, but while she cannot punch or bite like the rest of us, she does have the ability to cry and whinge about ANYTHING that goes wrong for years & years to come.

  Love,

  Cameron xxx

  PS – Catherine, don’t wear that weird Bo-Peep costume again.

  Within an hour, every socialite who wasn’t bedridden with stress was frantically getting ready to go over to Kerry’s house. Cameron was pulling on a pair of Dolce & Gabbana jeans and furiously styling his hair, before hurtling into his father’s car to be driven to Kerry’s, receiving breathless phone calls from her every ten minutes. Meredith was strutting down her driveway in a pair of Manolos to get a lift with Cameron, Catherine had draped a rosary round her neck in the hope it would help with the crisis and Imogen was taking delivery of a package from London, which she had a sneaking suspicion might get her in trouble later since it definitely contravened point 6 of Cameron’s e-mail.

  By the time they had arrived at Kerry’s house later that morning, it was clear the birthday princess wasn’t going to be moved and it was time for emergency mani-pedi-waxing at the house. An expert with nails, Imogen began manicuring Kerry’s cuticles, while Catherine carefully wiped away the tears that Kerry was periodically shedding. Cameron was downstairs in the kitchen, frantically calling the caterers to make sure all the cakes were the required pink and Meredith, never a team player, was drumming her nails on the marble-top counter.

  ‘I mean an FIB is totally understandable,’ she hissed, ‘but she’s been like this for fourteen hours.’

  Cameron pulled the phone away from his ear and nodded. ‘I’ve told you – if she’s annoying you this much, hit her.’

  ‘I can’t hit her, Cameron. She bruises like a peach … selfish bitch.’

  The doorbell rang and it was the waxing lady from the salon, who had agreed to make a house call in return for time and a half. Cameron dashed to the door and breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God you’re here. It’s a total emergency!’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Upstairs – in the pink bedroom. I’ll take you up in a minute. Can I get you a drink? Tea, lemonade, rosé?’

  In the meantime, Meredith, Imogen and Catherine had gathered around Kerry, who had stripped down to her underwear in preparation. Having at last risen from her bed, she was now flouncing around her room trying to decide what type of wax to go for when she spotted Meredith’s costume – a black velvet dress with gold and pearls around the neckline.

  ‘What is this?’ she asked dangerously.

  ‘It’s my costume,’ said Meredith.

  ‘It doesn’t look very Marie Antoinettey.’

  ‘That’s because I’m going as Anne Boleyn. I love her. You know that.’

  ‘Well, I love Strawberry Cheesecake Häagen-Dazs but I’m not going to a Marie Antoinette party dressed as it, am I?’

  ‘They both got beheaded!’

  ‘That’s not the theme!’ roared Kerry. ‘It’s Marie Antoinette’s time and you’re going as Anne Bo-freaking-leyn.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Meredith snapped. ‘It means one less woman wearing a similar style of dress to you. Less competition.’

  ‘No!’ screamed Kerry, her curls burling around her head. ‘You’re only doing this because Anne Boleyn dresses make you look really thin and because you want to stand out and steal the limelight from me!’

  ‘Everything makes me look thin, Kerry. And do you know why? Because I am thin!’

  At that point, the waxing lady entered and Kerry settled down for the wax. It was a couple of minutes into the ‘what wax’ discussion that Meredith finally deigned to speak again.

  ‘You should get the Brazilian,’ she said calmly. ‘It’s nowhere near as painful as people make out and you really should get it done at least once.’

  ‘I thought it hurt like a mo-fo,’ said Kerry, her lip trembling.