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just making sure you can’t get played. And a player CAN’T get played.”
    “Yeah, well, I’m not sure if playing’s my thing.”
    “Yeah, well, maybe you should check whether Robbie feels the same way first. I don’t trust him, Rem. He’s a bloke, for a start. Plus I’m not into that ‘leaving his mobile at the hotel’ crap. That’s why I reckon I forgot to tell you.”
    “OK. Point taken. Let’s just change the subject. By the way, Lance called for you yesterday. I forgot to tell you, too.”
    “Yeah, I know,” she said.
    “And I told him you’ve pulled a footballer. You should’ve heard him. He sounded gutted. A gutted little cad,” I added in Kara’s posh voice, giggling.
    Malibu didn’t join in. She sighed. “Yeah, well, they’re all the same.”
    “But not Roger,” I reminded her, thinking:
And maybe not Robbie.
    “No, not Roger,” she admitted. “That’s why he’s my fail-safe, but…”
    “But what?”
    “Nothing. You wouldn’t understand.”
    Grr. I hate when she does that. It’s like she thinks I’m still a baby or something. I understand loads. I got an A in GCSE English, for a start, and you can’t do that without being good in comprehension. Fact.
    “And what about Gold— I mean, Gary?” I asked.
    “What about him?”
    “Do you think a footballer can be good?”
    “Doubt it. But he is surprising me,” she said. “Some of the texts he sends are really deep. Like quotes from philosophers and stuff. So… I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”
    “Really?” I said, happy because that meant Robbie deserved the benefit of the doubt too (though I must admit his texts aren’t exactly deep).
    “Yep,” she replied. “Besides, anyone that says they want to take me to the Orchid Bar deserves it.” As she said this, Malibu broke into a massive grin.
    “The Orchid Bar!” I squealed. “No way!”
    We’d seen so many celebrities coming out of there in all the magazines that we read, and now my sister was going to be one of them!
    “When?”
    “Tomorrow night.”
    “You’re so–oo lucky,” I told her.
Saturday 28 June – 7.30 a.m.
    Day Six in the dysfunctional Bennet house, and yet again Dad spent the night on the sofa. This morning I popped my head round the living-room door and asked him if he wanted a cup of tea.
    “Sure, love. Why not?” he said, looking sheepish.
    Didn’t bank on bumping into Mum in the kitchen, though. She was up double early for Saturday shopping. Maybe she should buy some “moody knickers” tablets while she’s at it. That would help everybody. Anyway, after the look she gave me when I walked in, I didn’t bother to apologize for bringing Dad into our argument yesterday.
7.45 a.m.
    Yay! Robbie has just texted:
Getting on the plane princess. C u when I get back. x
    He’s boarding the plane but has still taken the time to text ME. He definitely deserves the benefit of the doubt.
    (Still not a very deep text, though.)
    Just remembered Malibu’s going to the Orchid Bar tonight. And the way my parents are going, I doubt they’ll be off down the pub – which means that they’ll stay in and ignore each other instead. I’d rather stick a hot needle in my eye than hang around their misery, so I’ll text Kellie and James. One of them must have something to do tonight:
Hey guys its Saturday whats going on? Lets partyyyyyyyy.
8.25 a.m.
    Result! Kellie has a birthday party to go to in Shepherd’s Bush. (She had been just about to invite me.) And James is going to hit the bars in Old Compton Street. He says I’m very welcome to go along. Decisions, decisions.
7.30 p.m.
    Had the day from hell and need my NVQ, pronto! Then I won’t have to sit at the reception desk with Malibu at her nail station – the first one behind me – boasting about the Orchid Bar and Goldenballs all day long.
    “The Orchid Bar!” the beauticians squealed when she told them she was going there first thing this morning.
    “The Orchid Bar!” all her clients