bviously, it’s important to stay realistic.

So as much as I’d love everything to go perfectly on Saturday morning, I’m not really expecting to stick precisely to my Plan A itinerary.

In fact, given the Universe’s refusal to ever – in sixteen whole years – follow my plans properly (or, frankly, at all), I’ve actively lowered my expectations.

This means I’ve also written a Plan B:

A brief Plan C:

And a very cursory Plan D:

Mainly because these are all things that have already happened to me at some point so I need to stay on guard in case they decide to happen again.

It turns out I don’t need any alternative plans.

For the first time ever, the Universe decides it’s on board with my preferred itinerary.

Inexplicably, I fall asleep at 10pm and wake up a full nine hours later, feeling refreshed and full of energy. A quick experimental prod confirms that the pulsating spot on my cheek has magically disappeared overnight.

Then I roll over and read these three texts:

With a tiny squeak of excitement, I check my emails, jump out of bed and do a little Dance of Triumph around my bedroom: I’m one step further on my Get Wilbur Happy Again plan.

Then, following my clearly outlined Team JINTH instructions, I somehow manage to get ready without spilling foundation on my black Lycra or brutally stabbing myself in the eye with a mascara wand. I don’t burn breakfast or resort to half a bar of chocolate instead, and I actually remember to tuck a pile of comp cards in the front of the orange PEAK portfolio Wilbur sent me.

(Yes, I Googled what comp card means.)

Finally – after a quick check that I’m not sporting a moustache or gold face paint or odd shoes – I start bouncing optimistically towards the door.

Plan A has been completed in its entirety.

I can’t believe it: karma actually works.

After years of the cosmos ignoring every plan I’ve ever had, now I’m dedicated to helping others the Universe has finally started appreciating just how efficient and well thought through my arrangements actually—

“Harriet? Sweetheart, where are you going?”

Annabel appears at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in a smart white shirt and ironed black trousers, with Tabby curled sleepily in her arms.

It’s 8am on a Saturday morning: at this point, my family’s normally running round in a panic, trying to coordinate my sister’s various body functions.

“Good morning!” Smiling, I kiss Tabby’s cheek. “I’m off to London for the day. Remember?”

Annabel blinks a few times with puffy eyes.

“N-ooo. I don’t … think so.”

“Sure you do.” Swiftly, I grab the smart black coat Nat’s lent me so I don’t ‘ruin all her hard work’. “I told you over breakfast on Monday that a musophobist is a person who distrusts poetry and turophobia is a fear of cheese and a Hellenologophobia is a dislike of Greek terms, and then I told you I’m doing some castings in London today for Wilbur.”

I’m not going to lie: I may have slipped it on the end of that very long list intentionally.

My facts have cunning multiple purposes.

“But don’t worry,” I add cheerfully, swinging open the front door, “I’ll definitely be home before it gets dark.”

According to the itinerary I definitely won’t, but even Frodo only needed to confront one difficult mission at a time.

Waving, I start down the garden path.

“Umm.” Annabel clears her throat behind me. “Oh God, Harriet. I’m so, so sorry, but I didn’t hear you and I thought I’d told you but I obviously didn’t and … things are a bit up in the air and I must have dropped that particular ball … and …”

I stop walking and turn round slowly: doom starting to impend.

“Told me what?”

Annabel has a very un-Annabel look on her face. “Your dad’s got a second interview in Manchester today. He left an hour ago.”

I blink. “Really? But that’s great!”

“And your grandmother and I have an important day booked that we really can’t get out of. A spa-type thing.”

“How lovely!” Doom’s still impending, but I can’t work out which direction it’s coming from. Unless they expect me to sit with them in a sauna, because that’s never going to happen: I spend half my life bright red as it is.

There’s a long silence while my stepmother apologises energetically with her eyebrows.

“And …” I prompt, waving my hand in a circle.

“And …” Annabel says, then – incredibly slowly, with the speed of a feather falling – she looks straight at me, and then pointedly down at Tabitha.

And there it is: DOOM.

The cutest, fluffiest, most adorable fat-cheeked doom known to mankind.

“But …” No. No no. This can’t be happening. My plans. My perfect plans. “I can’t stay home to babysit, Annabel. I promised Wilbur. I’ve spent a whole week preparing for this.”

I used up seven plastic folders.

“I’m so sorry, Harriet,” Annabel says, her complexion changing from white to slightly grey. “We have to leave right now and it’s just too late to find anyone else. Maybe you could rearrange it?”

“Sure,” I snap. “I’ll just ask all the top photographers and designers and editors in London to reschedule their job interviews to a time more convenient for me, shall I?”

Annabel looks up from trying to gently disentangle Tabby’s clingy little hands from around her neck, like one of those gooey little rubber men stuck to a window.

“Hmm?” she says, kissing the top of Tabby’s head. “That sounds like a great idea, sweetheart. Do that.”

Oh my God.

Do I have to explain sarcasm to her too?

“But …” Say something, Harriet. “Annabel, I don’t … This is … Can’t you … I won’t …”

According to my fact books, the Spanish national anthem has no words. In an incredibly unfair turn of events, apparently now I don’t either.

“Thank you so much, darling,” Annabel says quickly, plopping a sleepy Tabitha in my arms. “We’re both very grateful.” Then she leans into the hallway. “Mum! We’re late! Are you ready?”

There’s a tinkle of bells.

Then – in a floating mass of scarves, feathers and long skirts – Bunty wafts out of the living room, pink hair piled into a top-knot, large tasselled bag flung over her shoulder. Smelling of something smoky and sweet, like barbecued cherry blossoms.

“For my next adventure, darling?” she beams brightly, kissing me on the cheek. “Always.”

Then they both climb into the pink VW Beetle and drive off at top speed.

Leaving me holding the baby.