The next day, I’m in an art lesson with Mae when I say, ‘My dad’s written a book and it’s going to be published.’ Then I take a sharp breath in. My own words have surprised me. Why did I tell her?

Mae’s paintbrush, halfway between paint pot and paper, stops in mid-air. She looks very impressed. ‘Really? What kind of book?’

‘It’s an important historical one,’ I say. I blush slightly. ‘It’s called A History of the Lemon.’

‘The lemon?’ asks Mae, looking puzzled. ‘Which lemon?’

‘The lemon,’ I say. ‘I mean, all lemons. It’s about lemons through history: where they came from, what they’ve been used for, all that.’

‘Wow. It sounds big.’ She puts the paintbrush back into the pot.

‘It is. He’s been working on it for years.’

Mae nods. ‘That would be really amazing, to have your name on the front cover of a book.’

‘I know.’

‘I want to write books when I’m older,’ Mae says.

I blurt out, ‘Me too!’

I’ve never told anyone that before. We stare at each other, bound by this invisible ambition.

Mae looks very serious now. There is something in her eyes. Recognition. ‘I knew you were a kindred spirit,’ she whispers.

I take a breath and let it out very slowly. ‘You’ve read Anne of Green Gables.’

‘Of course I have. We’re like Anne and Diana.’

‘I want to be Anne,’ I say quickly.

‘I think you are,’ she agrees. ‘Because you have red hair and you read a lot. And I have dark hair and cry at everything, like Diana.’ She grins suddenly, and it’s like the sun has come out.

We have become friends and I didn’t even mean to.