When we get back and explain what happened – how Pink Hair shook her head at us and how Curtis was there, Mum and Dad go into Mission Control and have some tense conversations in code. Then they tell us that we’ll be going back to the newsagent first thing in the morning before school – Pink Hair will open up.
‘It’s vital I get that package no later than tomorrow,’ Mum tells us. ‘But to protect our profile HQ have insisted you two make all the collections so your dad and I can’t pick it up ourselves. I’m going to have to meet the double agent this afternoon with a cover story – which will be tricky.’
Mum and Dad exchange a worried glance.
So much for me getting everything right. ‘I’m sorry.’
Mum gets up and squeezes my shoulder, smiling. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’d rather you were careful than taking extra risks. Anyway, Pink Hair obviously felt it wasn’t safe to hand the package over anyway and you must always go by the contact’s instincts as well as your own.’
‘Being a spy is about never trusting that things are as they seem,’ Dad says. ‘And making sure people can’t guess what you’re up to.’
Mum makes a face at me. ‘Which also means that we need you to be my body double this evening while I’m out meeting the double agent.’
‘Today?’ I can’t believe it. I’ve only had one session in heels!
‘I know, it’s not ideal,’ Mum says grimly. ‘But it’s going to be hard enough to explain to the double agent why I haven’t got the gadget I promised without worrying about being followed as well.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Dad says. ‘I promise I’ll make the first trip easy.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Sam says. ‘And just remember, soon you’ll be a boy again and then all this will be behind you.’ Sam laughs but then her smile disappears like it’s been wiped off with a washcloth.
I know why because I feel the same way. This last mission already has as many yucky elements as the first two – but being able to be a spy with Sam has always made it worth it.
Almost worth it.
And soon I’ll be gone.
After Sam’s gone home, it’s back to the heels and outfit torture. I get my Mum Disguise on, trying not to look at it, and then add the Voice Over.
I take one deep breath and then another. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m doing this to protect Mum – and that soon I’ll be able to stuff every single part of this disguise in the bin.
We have another hour of me practising walking about in heels, this time with me trying not to hold my arms out like wings. I feel like an act at a circus, not like my mum!
By the end of the session, my feet have gone all red and squished, and I’m hobbling more than walking, but I’m managing not to fall over any more. Mum and Dad decide it’s time to sit me down and run me through some ‘Mum’ conversation rules.
Mum checks her notebook. ‘So when you like something you say it’s –?’
‘Blinding,’ I finish.
Dad laughs. ‘Um, no, definitely not a “Mum” word.’
Mum nods. ‘If I like something, I say it’s “great” or “very good” or, rarely, “excellent”’. She looks at me. ‘In the very unlikely event that you have to speak as me – and your dad and I will be doing everything we can to avoid that situation – you must say as little as possible and only the kind of thing that I would say. Not anything that you would say.’
‘You mean you want me to talk like a boring grown-up,’ I say.
‘A very boring grown-up,’ Mum agrees.
‘And be careful about the subject, too,’ Dad says. ‘No talking about Dan McGuire or what level you’ve got to on Mega Tank.’
‘Stick to how bad or good the weather has been,’ Mum says. ‘Or make conversation about the person you’re talking to. Say something nice about their suit, or their dress.’
‘Oh, what a lovely cherry pattern you have on your blouse,’ Dad says in a high voice. ‘That kind of thing,’ he says in his normal voice.
‘For heaven’s sakes, Jed,’ Mum snaps. ‘Undercover or not, I never talk like that.’
‘But you want me to talk like that,’ I say.
‘No, I just don’t want you to sound like you,’ Mum says. ‘This isn’t a joke, Josie. If you do have to impersonate me at some point, you have got to be convincing.’
Suddenly Mum and Dad look more serious than I’ve ever seen them. I understand more than ever that:
1. Mum wouldn’t be asking me to do this unless she really had to.
2. If I mess it up, she could be in huge trouble.
So if wearing shoes that turn my feet into strips of raw steak and putting people to sleep with my conversation about sunshine and rain and nice-looking suits is what it takes to keep Mum safe – I’ll do it.