ime doesn’t actually exist.

Even a second isn’t what we think it is: it’s officially the duration of 9,192,631,770 periods of the radiation corresponding to the transition between the two hyperfine levels of the ground state of the caesium-133 atom.

And unicorns aren’t exactly roaming the streets either, so technically Wilbur is making no sense whatsoever.

But I know exactly what he means.

I just can’t quite bring myself to believe it.

I stare at my beautiful team picnic, heart sinking. “Th-there’s a job this evening?”

“No, a big casting in London.” I can barely hear Wilbur over the clattering noise in the background. “I only just found out, olive-pip, but if you leave right away you can make it.”

I glance back at my friends, now peeling open the sandwiches and peering curiously at their contents. “And there’s no way we can postpone?”

“I’m afraid not, monkey.” The noise in the background is getting even louder. “They’re sending the details over, so I’ll email them straight through.”

In a panic, I quickly race through my options.

There aren’t any.

I made a promise to Wilbur that I’d help out with his new agency, and I should stick to it: regardless of how little I actually want to. I start dejectedly buckling my satchel back up.

What were the chances of this happening?

One in 228, that’s what.

I’ve been modelling for fifteen months – 547 days –and in that time I’ve done just two official castings. One with Yuka and one with an American magazine. I had a statistically higher chance of winning a cash prize with Premium Bonds than getting this call right now.

Maybe I should think about investing.

“Sure,” I sigh, standing up. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“Just remember your book, poppet. That’s super important.”

I nod. “Got it.”

“Fantasmico,” Wilbur breathes. “And baby-baby-panda? Thank you.”

I put the phone down and look sadly at the gloriousness in front of me. My wonderful, carefully planned picnic, completely ruined.

Unless …

“I have to go to London,” I say, looking at my watch. “But I can be here again in … an hour, maximum?”

Then I glance up at them hopefully.

“That’s not a question, Harriet,” Toby points out. “You’ve put a question mark on the end, but it’s actually a statement.”

I look beseechingly at Nat. She understands my subtle rhetoric. “Umm,” she says after a few beats, glancing around the park. “Sure. I guess we can wait.”

“We won’t start playing Scrabble until you return,” Toby agrees.

“And we’ll try as hard as we can not to eat the meat-chocolate-fish-salad sandwiches,” Jasper says, lifting his eyebrows. “But I can’t promise anything: we’re only human.”

India’s jabbing her purple heel into the mud in silence. She’s clearly even more disappointed by this crushing news than I am, poor thing.

The happiness factor is depleting by the second.

“Don’t worry!” I say, patting her arm. “I’ll be back before you know it and then you’ll have so much fun, just wait and see! Team JINTH forever!”

Quickly, I type a quick text to Dad:

Just going to London for Wilbur! Won’t be long! Hxx

And I start running.