omehow, I escape unnoticed.

Against all odds I manage to scuttle out of the restaurant without falling over, knocking anything to the ground or taking a tablecloth covered in china plates with me.

Then I round the corner, slump to the kerb and cover my face with my hands. The Pygmy Marmoset is the smallest monkey in the world, but I feel so tiny right now I could climb on to its back and it wouldn’t even notice.

Wilbur doesn’t know about the casting.

He doesn’t know that his only model went into that big, important audition he so carefully arranged and screwed it up. That I did so badly I actually made him look unprofessional for even sending me.

Swallowing, I feel myself shrink further: to approximately the size of an Etruscan Shrew, the tiniest mammal on earth.

Wilbur’s not just my agent.

Nearly a year and a half ago he swooped in and pulled me out of a pile of broken hats, and – in one way or another – he’s been swooping in ever since.

Saving me from meltdowns, sabotage and anxiety attacks; defending me against boys and protecting me from designers. Complimenting my Winnie-the-Pooh jumper when nobody else ever does.

Without Wilbur, I wouldn’t be a model.

Wouldn’t have found the confidence to stand up to my bully or make new friends; wouldn’t have flown around the world.

I’d still be a scared little girl breathing hard into a salt and vinegar crisp packet and reciting the periodic table backwards.

My life wouldn’t have changed at all.

And he asks for my help – just once – and what happens?

I don’t even listen to him.

I mean, who are we kidding?

I put ten times more preparation into the bunting I made for the Team JINTH picnic.

And – with a hot wave of shame – I shrink further and further: to the size of a bee hummingbird (two centimetres).

A sea urchin (one centimetre).

A mycoplasma gallicepticum: the smallest living organism on the planet, and (quite fittingly) the tiny bacterium that lives in poop.

Because … Peter Trout was right.

I fell into modelling by accident and I’ve been attempting to wing it ever since. Letting other people save me, over and over again.

Pretending to try, without actually trying.

I sit for a few more minutes, thinking hard.

Then I take my hands from my eyes, uncurl from the pavement and stand up straight.

I might only be one girl, but I can do this.

I know if I just redirect some of my attention and focus, I can get modelling jobs, make money and save Wilbur’s agency.

Because now it’s my turn to be the fairy godmother.

I’m going to flip this fairytale over.

And change Wilbur’s life instead.