or the second time in a week, I am totally the wrong colour. All I need now is a little gold lamp and a curly black beard and I’ll look exactly like the genie from Aladdin.

What is wrong with me?

“For the love of dingle-bats,” Wilbur sighs down the phone as I clamber back into a taxi and sit carefully on a towel. “This is exactly what I was talking about, Honeytoes. Do I need to get a portable naughty step sent with you everywhere?”

I rub my nose guiltily and then look at my finger. It’s faintly purple. “I’m so sorry, Wilbur. I honestly don’t know how it happens all the time.”

“Really, Plum-pudding? No idea at all?” He sighs again. “I suppose I’d better ring Yuka and try to calm her down before we both get fired. But please, my little Carrot-cake. If we speak again this week I want it to be because you’ve found a sparkly pink unicorn roaming the streets of Tokyo and you’d like to gift it to me as my new steed, OK? Not because you’ve mucked something up again.”

There’s a silence.

“Are you thinking about a sparkly pink unicorn now?” Wilbur asks sternly.

“What if it’s purple?”

He sighs for the third time. “I think, Kitten-shoes, this may be part of the problem. Try and focus.”

Nat’s not as surprised about my octopus mishap as I’d like her to be either. According to the poet, Christina Rossetti, a friend is supposed to:

a) Cheer one on the tedious way.

b) Fetch one if one goes astray.

c) Lift one if one totters down.

d) Strengthen whilst one stands.

 

They are not supposed to send one a text message that says:

AHAHA u r such a plonker. xxx

While I’ve been busy turning everything in a ten-metre radius blue, I’ve also had eleven missed calls from my parents, two wrong numbers, four answer machine messages and nine text messages. Most of which want to know if I’ve arrived in Japan safely, and four of which want to remind me of what I’m missing:

1. You left a multipack of Mars Bars on top of your wardrobe. Can I have one? Dad x
2. I had three. Hope that’s OK. Dad x
3. I’m just going to have one more. Dad x
4. Harriet, your Dad’s made himself sick on an entire multipack of Mars Bars again. Please don’t leave sweets where he can find them. Ax

I begin to smile, and then I remember.

Maybe it’s best for everyone if she’s not here.

My bottom lip sets, and I glare at my phone. They wanted me to leave: they can’t get all clingy now I’ve actually gone.

I abruptly type:

Am fine. Stop eating my stuff. H

Then I press SEND, turn off my phone and stare miserably out of the taxi window. Tokyo is just starting to wake up: people in suits are swarming in and out of stations and music is beginning to blast out of speakers. The sunshine is bright, and the air is starting to thicken up with heat and smells.

I cannot believe I’ve managed to screw up already and the shops aren’t even open yet. That’s speedy, even by my own standards.

All I really want to do is go straight back to bed, pull the duvet over my head and wait for the day to end. Again.

So that’s precisely what I do.