t takes a good six minutes for Dad to pick up.

Predominantly because he can’t work out where the phone call is coming from. I’ve rung the home computer from my mobile, and this complicated trick of modern technology creates total havoc. By the time Dad has run round the house, finally worked out what’s going on and pressed the right button, all I can hear is him shouting upstairs: “Annabel, there’s a video phone in our computer! Was that your idea?”

The webcam finally clears, but all I see is Dad’s dressing gown. “Look,” he adds as I hear Annabel lumbering heavily down the stairs. “Harriet hasn’t died. We’ve still got a teenage daughter. Cancel the application for a replacement or we’ll end up with two.”

I scowl. “Nice to see you too, Father.”

The dressing gown moves slightly. “Can she see me?” Dad’s stomach asks curiously.

“You need to sit down, sweetheart,” Annabel says.

There’s a swift, stripy movement of dressing gown. “Is that better?”

Now all I can see is Dad’s left ear. Annabel wheels him across so he’s in full screen. Then she pokes her head into the corner of the screen.

“So, what delights of the fashion world have prevented you from ringing us until now?”

I shrug awkwardly. I didn’t realise I’d be so happy to see them, but now I feel so homesick I just want to climb through the screen, curl up in the armchair and never ever leave again.

But I can’t, can I?

It’s just better if she’s not here.

“Somebody wants to say hello,” Dad says, handing Annabel what looks like an olive covered in peanut butter. “You’re so disgusting, Bels,” he tells her proudly, scruffing up her hair. The screen suddenly fills with white fluff. “Grrrr-d morning, Harriet. How are woof?”

I smile. “Hey, Hugo.”

“I miss you terrier-bly, Harriet,” Hugo/Dad says, licking his nose/wiggling his eyebrows. Then the camera points at Annabel’s stomach. “Hello, Harriet,” a squeaky voice says. “I can’t wait to meet you.”

“That’s ridiculously creepy, Richard,” I hear Annabel say. “Our child is not going to sound like a chipmunk.”

“It’s not my fault if it does,” Dad replies. “That’ll be your half. It’s only fifty per cent Total Legend.” He leans towards her belly, pretends to listen and then adds, “What’s that? You want to be called Ralph?”

“After the world’s biggest rabbit, I presume,” Annabel says calmly. Then she looks back at me. “Are you actually OK, Harriet? Are you having fun?”

I swallow, hard. There’s no point telling them. They only want to talk about the baby. As per usual.

“I’m great,” I lie. My face is starting to hurt with all the pretend emotions. “The campaign’s going great, I’m getting on great with my flatmates and Yuka’s really, really … great about my incredible modelling skills.”

When people lie, they look to the left because that’s the part of the brain associated with the imagination. When they’re telling the truth, they look to the right because that’s the part of the brain linked to memory.

I look to the right as hard as I can.

Annabel frowns. “What’s happening to your face, Harriet? Where’s your grandmother? Let me speak to her.”

Sugar cookies. I keep forgetting that Annabel is possibly related to Gandalf, Merlin and Zeus, all at the same time. “Bunty is …” I have literally no idea. “Umm …”

There’s a small knock on the cupboard door next to my head.

“Harriet? Are you in here?”

“If not Harry-chan, we have big problem,” I hear Rin giggle. “We have talking cupboard.”

“I’m here,” I call out, and then turn back to Annabel and Dad. “Oh,” I say in my least wooden voice. “That’s my flatmates. I should go.”

“There’s a strange lady at the door, Harriet. She says she wants to see you.”

“Cute pink hair and sparkles,” Rin adds merrily. “Like Hello Kitty.”

I drop my phone.

“What?” I hear Annabel snap into the floor. “What did they just say?”

“Darling?” a familiar voice calls. “Can I stay here tonight? My friend has been hosting a party and it seems to be going on indefinitely. I haven’t seen a mattress in days.”

“What’s going on?” Annabel shouts. “Why don’t your flatmates know your grandmother? Where has she been? MOTHER, YOU PROMISED!”

Oh my God. Do something, Harriet. Anything.

“Oh dear,” I say, picking my phone off the floor and shaking it furiously up and down. “Earthquake.” Then I hang up and switch off my phone as quickly as possible.

Slowly, I open the cupboard door.

Bunty’s standing there in a blue, floor-length floral dress, with white lace trailing all the way around the bottom and a blue mirrored blouse tied up in a knot at her waist. There are six or seven beaded necklaces of different colours around her neck, bells around her ankles and her pale pink hair has been piled on top of her head and appears to have been secured by a chopstick.

Not a pretty, decorative chopstick.

The kind of chopstick you get in white paper packs at convenience stores that give you mouth splinters.

“What a lovely place to hide!” Bunty says gaily, wrapping me in a hug and patting my head. One of her enormous rings bashes my forehead. “How’s your adventure going, darling?”

“A-are you back for good?”

“Absolutely. I thought we could do a bit of girly catch-up. Paint our fingers, pull our eyebrows out and put bits of papaya on our eyes …”

“Nails?” Rin says. “Cucumbers?”

“I think they might be quite dangerous next to the eyes, darling. Let’s go for something nice and soft.”

Bunty kicks her flip-flops into the corner of the hallway, wanders into the kitchen and pulls the fridge open. “Choccy biccies?” she adds. “For the tummy,” she says to Rin. “Not for the eyes. Don’t worry, I’m not insane. Now, I’ve got this strange hair that grows out of my cheek and if it gets too long I feel a bit like a cat. What shall we do with it?”

She leans towards Poppy. “Darling, I don’t want to be rude but I think you might have one coming too.”

“I am a top model,” Poppy says indignantly. “We don’t have whiskers.”

“How sad,” my grandmother says, nodding at Rin and wandering back into the hallway. “They’re awfully handy for working out whether you can fit through a small space.”

And, just like that, my grandmother is back.