‘Come with me,’ said Sally.

We walked across the playground together, right to the fence at the end. The gate was locked and bolted, because it was strictly forbidden to go into the orchard behind. Sally vaulted right over the gate, and so I did too.

I’d been there once before, to rescue a football. The boys all dared me – so I did. It wasn’t really a big deal. It wasn’t as if it was a special secret garden with wonderful flowers. It was only an old orchard with small stunted trees, and all the apples were maggot-ridden and sour. In December there weren’t even any apples, and the ground had so many rabbit holes you had to watch where you were going or you’d twist your ankle. But somehow it felt as if Sally and I were wandering in an enchanted wood.

She jumped up to grasp an overhanging branch and swung herself backwards and forwards, laughing. ‘You’re staring at me,’ she said.

‘Well, you’re acting so weird,’ I said. ‘Why were you so mean to Marnie and Georgia and Scarlett just then?’

‘Because they get on my nerves sometimes. They’ll get over it. What do you care anyway? They’ve all been mean to you.’

‘Yes, and you’ve been the meanest of all, Sally Mac,’ I said.

‘You shouldn’t have slapped my face like that, in front of everyone,’ she told me, jumping back down.

‘You shouldn’t have been so hateful about my mum,’ I said.

‘I know,’ said Sally meekly, taking me by surprise.

‘She isn’t a drunk. She’s ill,’ I said.

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Only I don’t want anyone to know.’

‘I don’t want anyone to know about my mother. Because she is a drunk,’ said Sally.

I thought maybe she was just saying it for effect. I probably looked suspicious, because she took hold of my elbow.

‘She is,’ said Sally. ‘I don’t just mean she gets a bit tiddly at parties. Before she even gets home she’s had several glasses of wine with the people at work. And then she opens another bottle and carries on. She’s all chatty at first, and she can be quite funny, I suppose, but she never stops at that stage. She starts getting sarcastic, picking holes in everything Dad says and does, and that’s when my brother and I clear off to bed. You can still hear her ranting away though, even if you put a pillow over your head. And then sometimes she rushes upstairs sobbing and comes into my room and cries about her life being rubbish, all self-pitying and maudlin. Sometimes she just passes out on the sofa. If I go downstairs for a glass of milk, she’s lying there, snoring away, with her mouth open, drooling.’ Sally said it all in a rush, her face getting pinker and pinker. ‘There. I haven’t told anyone else that. Not even Marnie. She envies me my high-flying executive mother. If she only knew what she’s really like!’

‘So why on earth be so horrible about my mum?’

‘I don’t know. I just started saying it. I can’t seem to help it. I turned myself into your worst enemy when I actually wanted to be your friend,’ said Sally. ‘There’s something about you. You don’t suck up to me all the time. You act like you don’t care what people think of you. You’ve never even said a word about Sammy. If any of us had a boyfriend like that we’d be showing off like mad.’

‘He’s just Sammy. It’s not like he’s on YouTube with a million followers,’ I said.

‘Where does he go to school? The grammar?’

I nodded.

‘I thought so! So he’s a total brainbox as well as hot?’

‘I suppose.’

‘And you hang out together a lot?’

‘Most of the time,’ I said, shrugging.

‘I bet your sister fancies him, even though she’s older,’ said Sally.

‘No she doesn’t!’

‘But you fancy him?’

‘Well, of course,’ I said, after a little pause.

‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic!’ said Sally. ‘Like you take him totally for granted!’

‘I’ve known him all my life, so it’s different for us,’ I explained.

‘So what’s going to happen, do you think? You’ll stay childhood sweethearts and go to the same uni and set up home together?’ Sally asked.

‘Perhaps,’ I said.

‘You’re not so keen on that idea?’ Sally put her head on one side. She was looking at me intently.

I shrugged. ‘Yes. No. Maybe. What about you?’

‘Oh, I’ve got it all mapped out,’ she said. ‘I’m going to get Sammy to go out with me instead, and we’ll be the childhood sweethearts and all the rest of it, blah blah blah, walking off into the sunset together hand in hand. Oh, your face, Frankie. I’m joking!’

‘You’d better be!’ I said.

I heard the distant ringing of the bell for afternoon school. Sally didn’t seem to hear it. She was dancing round and round in the tufty grass, waving her arms in the air.

Then she tripped in a rabbit hole and nearly lost her footing. ‘Whoops!’

‘Are you OK?’

‘Course I am,’ said Sally, quickly rubbing her ankle and then starting to dance again.

‘Anyway, the bell’s gone,’ I said.

‘I know.’ She jumped up to grab another branch and made her feet polka in the air. She was immensely good at it and made me laugh.

‘Come on then!’ I said.

‘Not coming,’ said Sally. ‘Neither are you. We’re going to stay here in this gnarly old orchard and have fun. Who wants to do … What the hell is it?’

‘Biology. And then double PE.’

‘Well, we’ll do them here. We’ll look at flowers and their petals and sepals and what have you—’

‘It’s December, idiot. No flowers,’ I said.

‘Then trees! And for PE we’ll climb trees rather than boring ropes. And we’ll run around in circles and dance,’ said Sally.

‘And fall down more rabbit holes.’

‘And have a cup of tea with the Hatter and the March Hare and the Dormouse,’ said Sally.

‘When I was little, Mum made us fancy-dress costumes for some summer fete. Zara was the Hatter with a proper top hat and a checked coat, and I was the March Hare with long ears and whiskers, and my little sister Rowena looked adorable as a sleepy little Dormouse. We came second,’ I said.

‘You should have had me as Alice, then you’d have come first,’ said Sally. ‘What about Sammy?’

‘He was going through a Star Wars phase and already had a Luke Skywalker costume,’ I said. ‘Sally, we’re going to be ever so late. We have to go now,’ I insisted.

‘We don’t have to do anything. We can just stay here and chill.’

‘We’ll get into so much trouble.’

‘Oh dear, I’m so fwightened!’ said Sally in a little girly voice.

‘Look, I don’t really care either, but if we play truant someone will ring my mum and I don’t want her to get stressed. It’s not good for her,’ I said uncomfortably.

‘Mine wouldn’t notice if I stayed out for a week,’ said Sally, but she jumped down from the tree and started walking back towards school. ‘So what illness has she got?’

I took a deep breath. ‘Promise not to tell. Not even Marnie?’

‘I actually tell her very little,’ said Sally. ‘Go on. I totally promise.’

‘Well, she has MS.’ I tried to say it casually, but my voice went wobbly.

‘MS? What, that illness where teenage girls can hardly get out of bed?’

‘That’s ME. Totally different. MS is a neurological disease. It affects your nerve fibres and your nerve cells. They gradually conk out,’ I said.

‘That’s awful. So how long will it take your mum to get better?’ Sally asked.

‘She won’t,’ I said.

‘What? Not ever?’

‘Well, she’s OK some of the time, but then suddenly something goes wrong and it can take weeks to get right again. Or it doesn’t get right at all. And she’s always so tired now. She has to go to bed right after tea sometimes,’ I said. It felt so weird saying it all out loud. I felt a tear roll down my cheek and prayed Sally wouldn’t notice.

‘You’re crying,’ she said softly, and then she put her arm round me and kissed my cheek. ‘No wonder you slapped me. Like I said, I’m so, so sorry. Come on then, let’s hurry. I’ll make something up so we won’t get into trouble.’

She started running and I ran after her, in a daze. Sally Mac had just kissed my cheek! We weren’t worst enemies any more. She was acting like we were best friends.

‘I’m so sorry we’re so late, Miss Eliot,’ she said when we burst into our classroom to get our school bags for the afternoon. ‘It’s all my fault. I was messing about doing this silly dance and twisted my ankle. I could hardly walk at first, but Frankie was so kind and helpful, and massaged it until it was better.’

Miss Eliot stared at us. She was well aware that we were deadly enemies. It seemed so unlikely that she ignored Sally and looked at me.

‘Frankie?’ she said. ‘Did Sally really twist her ankle?’

‘Yes, she did, but I don’t think it’s a proper sprain. She can walk on it now, more or less,’ I said.

‘Well, she’d better hobble off to biology pronto,’ said Miss Eliot. ‘And you too, little Florence Nightingale.’

When we were out in the corridor Sally high-fived me. ‘See! I told you we wouldn’t get into trouble,’ she said.

Well, we did actually, because Mr Peters, the biology teacher, gave us a pompous little lecture and set us extra homework – as if I cared. Sally kept catching my eye, and it was hard not to burst out laughing. Then Sally and I were on the same team in netball and I scored three goals and all my team patted me on the back and Sally gave me a hug in front of everyone. Marnie and Georgia and Scarlett huddled in a corner, whispering like the three witches in Macbeth trying to hex me.

I practically skipped out of school I was so happy. Mum and Rowena were waiting at the gate. They looked like they’d had a good day too. Rowena was holding a baby badger wearing a minute pink nappy knitted in embroidery thread.

‘Look, I was playing Sylvanians with my friend Molly and we did swapsies and I’ve got Baby Betty Badger – isn’t she sweet? Molly’s nan knitted the nappy. I don’t think it comes off, but isn’t it adorable?’ said Rowena. ‘Such teeny weeny stitches. Could you make a little nappy like that, Mum?’

‘No, I could never make a little pink nappy for a tiny badger, but actually it’s not high on the list of things I agonize about,’ said Mum cheerfully.

‘Did your kids like the gingerbread-man lesson?’ I asked.

‘They loved it! Well, Danny Diddums got a bit whiny and spat his gingerbread man out because he said it tasted horrid – but he’s always a pain,’ she said.

I’d never set eyes on this Danny Diddums, and he obviously had a different surname, but we all loved Mum’s tales about teaching him. Rowena sometimes asked for them instead of a bedtime story. She listened to ‘The Day Danny Diddums stuck a Smartie up his nose’; ‘The Day Danny Diddums wet his trousers and insisted the boy next to him in class had made the puddle’; ‘The Day Danny Diddums stole a unicorn pencil from a little girl and denied all knowledge of it, even though the head was sticking out of his jumper’.

We were all laughing about Danny as Sally and Marnie and Georgia and Scarlett came out of school together. They seemed to have made friends again. Sally was looking at Mum. She came right up to her.

My stomach churned. I tasted a little bit of sick in my mouth. Had she been playing a trick on me? Maybe she wasn’t really a friend now, even though she’d said she was sorry and kissed me. And I’d told her that Mum had MS when I knew it was meant to be a strict secret.

Sally opened her mouth and I stood there, dying. But she simply said, ‘Hi, Mrs Bennet. Frankie scored three goals at netball. She was ace!’ and then she walked on, the other three following.

Mum raised her eyebrows. ‘Isn’t that Sally? I thought you’d gone off her?’ she whispered.

‘Well, we’ve kind of made friends again,’ I said.

‘Good Lord.’

‘Oh, Mum!’ said Rowena. ‘That’s what girls are like. Me and Molly are forever breaking friends and then making friends.’

‘I know you are, darling,’ said Mum. ‘You’re right. It’s the same for me.’ She said it light-heartedly, but it made me burn. Mum used to have a little bunch of women friends, and they’d play badminton on Monday nights, and often go for a Thai meal on Thursdays, and then set out for a long walk together along the river on Saturday afternoons. It was their girl time.

But then Dad cleared off and wasn’t around to look after us, so Mum couldn’t go out so much. Then she got ill and was too tired to play badminton or go for long walks anyway. Zara and I insisted we’d be fine looking after Rowena on Thursdays so she could still go for the Thai meal, but Mum said she’d sooner stay in with us, and every now and then we treated ourselves to a Thai takeaway.

Mum asked her friends round for drinks one evening, and everyone seemed to have a good time, but no one asked Mum round to their place in return. As they were fetching their coats I heard one of them say, ‘Jen’s not so much fun now, is she?’ I wanted to slap her, and ask if she’d feel like being the life and soul of the party if she was dog tired and her legs were burning and she was scared of another relapse. But Mum still didn’t want anyone to know so I had to keep quiet.

Mum had some teacher friends, but they never went out in the evenings. She was sort of friends with Lucy, Sam’s mum, but Lucy had been a bit odd when our dad left, sort of extra kind and concerned and yet acting wary too, as if marriage break-up might be catching.

If my lovely godmother, Coral, was still living here instead of thousands of miles away in Hong Kong, I’m sure she’d still be a wonderful friend. They’d always got on so well together. Mum wouldn’t be able to keep her MS a secret from her – she’d just guess. I wished Mum would tell her during one of their FaceTime sessions.

‘I don’t want to worry her or start whining away when there’s nothing she can do about it,’ Mum said.

She was so determined to keep quiet about it now. She needed to keep her job for as long as possible, and she didn’t want people feeling sorry for her. I did understand. I wished wished wished I hadn’t blurted it out to Sally. I’d told Sam too, but I knew he’d never tell. I didn’t know Sally properly at all. What was the matter with me? I still didn’t really trust her. I’d been terrified that she’d blurt out something awful to Mum. It was as if she had some kind of weird power over me. Why was I so thrilled that she seemed to like me now?

Zara was astonished when she came hurrying out of school and Rowena told her.

‘Frankie and Sally are friends now!’ she said.

‘Yeah, as if that’s ever going to happen, silly girl,’ said Zara.

‘We are, actually.’ I felt myself blushing crimson.

When we were in bed that night, Zara made me tell her the whole story. I didn’t really want to talk about it. It was special. Precious. I knew Zara would spoil it. And she did.

‘Are you thick, Frankie? It’s totally obvious why she’s suddenly sucking up to you. She wants to take Sammy off you,’ she said.

‘She said that herself,’ I told her.

‘She said it herself?’ Zara repeated.

‘Yes, but she was only joking.’

‘You’re the joke, Frankie! How can you let her treat you like this? What’s the matter with you?’ she demanded.

I didn’t know. I couldn’t sleep for a long time, thinking about Sally, going over everything we’d said in the orchard. There was a constant murmur inside my head: Sally, Sally, Sally, Sally, Sally …

When I woke up in the morning I couldn’t quite believe that it had happened. It was just like a dream, lovely but embarrassing. I kept blushing just thinking about Sally. I started to dread going to school. I tried to get out of it, telling Mum I had a bad headache.

‘Oh, come off it, Frankie,’ she said.

‘Seriously. And I feel sick. I think I might be sick,’ I lied.

Mum peered at me. ‘You do look a bit pale,’ she said, putting her hand on my forehead. ‘I hope you’re not going down with something.’

‘She’s fine,’ Zara snapped. ‘She’s just gone off her head, that’s all.’

‘Shh, Zara, don’t be mean,’ said Mum. She put her arm round me and gave me a cuddle. ‘Do you feel really dreadful, baby? I don’t know what to do. I’ve really got to go into school.’

‘It’s OK, Mum. If I just go back to bed I’m sure I’ll be OK,’ I said, feeling guilty.

‘I can’t leave you on your own though,’ said Mum.

‘She needn’t be on her own,’ said Rowena. ‘I could stay at home with her. I don’t really want to go to school today either because Molly might want Baby Betty Badger back, even though we both said swapsy-no-backsy and shook hands as a solemn promise.’

‘No, you’re both going to school,’ said Mum. ‘But if you feel any worse, Frankie, then ask to go to the sickroom. If you feel desperately terrible, then get someone to phone me and I’ll try to find someone to look after my class and come and get you.’

I nodded, and tried to smile to reassure Mum. It was horrible of me to worry her so. When we got out of the car, Zara made everything worse, telling me over and over again that Sally was playing games with me.

‘She just wants to make a fool of you. You don’t want to end up looking a total loser,’ she said fiercely.

‘Just shut up, will you? When I want your advice I’ll ask for it,’ I snapped.

‘I just don’t want you to get hurt.’

I didn’t want me to get hurt either. I chickened out of going straight into the classroom. I went to the library instead. Mr White greeted me warmly, Ivneet smiled, and the computer kids and the Year Elevens ignored me. It felt safe and ordinary.

I browsed in the Myths and Magic section, wanting to look up the concept of ‘enchantment’. It was depressing reading. I flipped through the pages of a fairy-tale book, beautifully illustrated with medieval princesses, golden hair in plaits, and sad, wizened little creatures crouched in corners, staring at them wistfully.

‘Are you in a fairy-tale mood?’ Mr White asked, standing beside me.

‘I suppose it’s a bit babyish,’ I said sheepishly.

‘Not at all! They’re frequently bloodier, scarier, sexier than – I don’t know, Game of Thrones, which I very much hope you haven’t watched, because you’re too young,’ he said. ‘They fascinate me, though when I was four years old I was scared silly by the picture of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. Howled the house down. To this very day I go a little quivery when I see a long-haired German Shepherd.’

‘Seriously?’ I said, because I was never sure whether Mr White was simply fooling around. It was one of the reasons I liked him so much. ‘Then I’d better not invite you to my house because I’ve got an enormous hairy German Shepherd called Bear. He’s an absolute softie and would never hurt a fly, but I suppose he can look a little scary.’

‘Particularly if he’s got big white teeth, all the better to eat me up,’ said Mr White.

Ivneet looked up from her colouring. ‘Actually, that’s a fallacy. Healthy wild wolves rarely attack human beings. And domestic German Shepherds only attack when they have been treated savagely or trained to be guard dogs.’ She paused. ‘But actually I’m still a bit scared of them too.’

‘No going round to Frankie’s house for you either then,’ said Mr White.

‘That’s a shame,’ said Ivneet, which surprised me.

‘I liked the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood,’ I said. ‘I cried when the huntsman chopped him up.’

‘Perhaps you should rewrite the story from the wolf’s point of view,’ said Mr White. ‘Ah! This could be the first task for our writing group. Over the Christmas holidays let’s each choose a fairy story and write it from a different point of view. Do you fancy that, everyone?’

Ivneet and I nodded enthusiastically.

‘What about you two, George and Peter?’ Mr White asked.

‘Write a fairy story?’ said George, screwing up his face in disgust.

‘What, like homework, when we haven’t even done anything wrong?’ said Peter.

Mr White sighed. ‘It’s an uphill battle with you two. How about working together on a scenario for a computer game based on a fairy story? Not the pretty princess type. Something with a dragon? An evil monster? A giant with an appetite for wriggly little boys?’

They looked more enthusiastic and conferred.

Mr White shook his head at them fondly.

‘So which fairy tales will you choose, girls?’ he asked Ivneet and me. ‘Have a think about it today.’

Ivneet was clearly thinking about it already, staring into space, her eyes dreamy behind her little glasses. I tried too – but all I could think about was Sally.

My tummy went tight when the bell rang for morning school. It was a help walking to the classroom with Ivneet, who was counting all the fairy tales she could remember on her fingers. There was Sally, sitting on her desk, eating a rosy apple for her breakfast. Was she Snow White – or her wicked stepmother?

She smiled at me. Marnie and Georgia and Scarlett frowned. I gave her an airy little wave, trying to look ultra casual – and she waved back, calling, ‘Hi, Frankie.’

Then Miss Eliot came into the classroom and we all scrambled to sit down properly. It was almost a relief. My mouth had gone so dry I didn’t think I was capable of saying hi back.