Zodiac Girls: Brat Princess Read online

  Contents

  Chapter One - Welcome to my world

  Chapter Two - Rules for life

  Chapter Three - Pas Paris

  Chapter Four - Queen of Sheba

  Chapter Five - No escape

  Chapter Six - The others

  Chapter Seven - Wakeup call

  Chapter Eight - Brekkie

  Chapter Nine - Routine

  Chapter Ten - Bah humbug!

  Chapter Eleven - Christmas past

  Chapter Twelve - Christmas present

  Chapter Thirteen - Christmas future

  Chapter Fourteen - Christmas Wishes

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Welcome to my world

  “No. I am not ready. Do I look like I’m ready?”

  I was lying on a sun lounger by the pool at our villa in St Kitts in the Caribbean, my mobile in one hand, a chocolate milk-shake in the other. Coco was lying on the sunbed next to mine, also wearing shades. She’s my dog – a pink bichon frisé. (Everyone at my last school had a dinky dog, but no one had had theirs dyed the way I had. I had to do something – all the pooches looked the same, white and cute but now Coco stands out in a crowd and matches my new nail colour perfectly.)

  I’d just been thinking how utterly cool life was here on this paradise island when I was interrupted by a demand as to whether I was ready to leave. Anyone with half a brain should have been able to see that I was no way prepared to board a flight to Europe. Like what kind of idiot would travel to Paris in a turquoise bikini? Even if it is from Prada’s new collection and on everyone’s must-have list for the season? We used to live in England when I was younger so I know how cold it can get over in that part of the world. Like, Brrrfreezingville.

  “Sorry, Miss Hedley-Dent, but…” whinged Henry. (He’s my dad’s chauffeur, PA and handyman, though you’d hardly know it. In his usual garb of Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt, and with his shoulder-length blond hair, he looks more like a professional surfer than a servant.)

  “What now, Henry?” I was beginning to feel cross and would have been more snappy if it weren’t for the fact that my friend Tigsy was on hold, waiting for me, on the other end of the phone.

  “Just, er… the plane has been ready for some time and the pilot has been waiting for you for over an hour.”

  “So? Tell him that he may have to wait another hour because I am not ready and I want to catch some more rays before I leave.”

  “May I at least give him some idea of when you may be ready for take off?”

  I gave Henry my best withering look. Tigs and I’d practised it for ages in the mirror at school last year before I got expelled. One eyebrow up, nostrils breathed in and lips tight. Tigsy said that I appeared more constipated than cross when I did the “look” but, whatever, Henry got the message, backed out of the room and closed the door. He’s so pathetic when he does that droning on thing. Like timetables… airports… Like it’s my problem. Not.

  At last I could resume my call. I lay back on the lounger, took a sip of my milk-shake and, erghhh… I spat out the shake. It was LUKEWARM!

  “Shirla. SHIRLA,” I called.

  A few minutes later, Shirla, our Caribbean housekeeper, came out from the house. She always does everything sooo slowly. Like it’s all one mighty effort. Probably due to the fact that she is about five million stone heavy. She’s like a house on legs. Legs that are made of jelly – she doesn’t so much walk as wobble her way along. I pointed at the glass. “More ice. And a dab more of that yummy chocolate.”

  “Oo you likes the chocolate. If you not careful girl, you going to become one big melted chocolate in that sun,” she said as she swayed over, took the glass, then waddled off towards the kitchen.

  “Oh and can you get Mason to do me some chips before the flight takes off. Those big square ones he does. And bring a little pot of that scrummy sour cream and chives to dunk them in. And something for Coco.” (Mason’s our cook and Shirla’s husband. They’re an odd couple, he’s as skinny as she is large.)

  Shirla stopped for a moment. “Uhuh, I guess I could,” she said, “but you ought to eat some greens one of these days or else them spots on your chin there are going to be breaking out all over your pretty little face. And don’t you go giving that dog no chocolate neither. It ain’t right.” She tutted to herself then disappeared inside before I could say anything.

  I picked up the phone again.

  “Yum. Chips,” said Tigsy at the other end. “Think I’ll get our maid to do me some. I lurve chips.”

  “Sorry, Tigs, guess you heard all that? Like, welcome to my world. Can you believe it? Henry trying to tell me when we have to leave, like, who pays who round here?”

  “Exactement,” said Tigsy. “You have to let them know who’s boss, yeah?”

  “Yeah. It’s Mummy’s fault. She’s way too nice with them all. Like a little mouse. She’s like, er, pardon me for squeaking. And Dad’s never here, so what can one expect? It’s left to me to let them know who’s in charge. Like I haven’t got enough to do as it is.”

  “Totally.”

  I stared out over the infinity pool and the sea beyond. It was glistening with a thousand tiny stars in the afternoon sun. “Yeah. Like sometimes I think that just because I’m only fourteen, they, like, think they can tell me what to do. But I say, no way. No way.”

  “Yeah. No way. Er, but, Leonora, I’m not being difficult or anything but one thing I do know and that is that sometimes when travelling, like, doing a strop can work against you. Like, it’s the beginning of December, coming up to Christmas yeah?”

  “Yeah. Like, deck the halls with Christmas holly, blah de blah de blah, de blah de yawn.”

  “So everyone’s on the move, yeah? Not just us?”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, I know from when Daddy does his own bookings for coming into land in our ickle jet, if you miss your slot, particularly at busy times, you don’t get another.”

  “Oh. Un problemo you think? So you’re saying what exactly?”

  Tigsy laughed at the other end of the phone. “That you’d better get your stonkingly rich butt off that island in the Caribbean, Leonora Hedley-Dent, and onto the jet or else we’re not going to be able to do our shopping trip in Paris and get back in time for Christmas.”

  “Like I care about Christmas. Hah bumhug to all that, I say, it’s just another excuse for the staff to skive off for the day,” I said but I did get up, slip my feet into my Gucci mules with the kitten heels and make my way through the open French windows to my bedroom. Coco got up and followed me. She’s sooooo cute. She walks like she’s wearing heels too.

  “I know,” said Tigsy. “Three weeks to go and it will all be one big bore as usual. The fun part will be you being here and the shopping beforehand, although there will be presents on the day. Daddy said he might get me a new diamond Cartier watch this year. I’ve put it on the list as I am getting tired of my Rolex. It’s so last season. But really, Lee Lee, I mean, I’m going to be okay for getting to Paris. I’m in Geneva and only have to hop on a train to get there.”

  “It’s cool. I get you. I’ll get a move on,” I said as I took a couple of chocolate bars out of a drawer and flung them into the suitcase on the bed. “I’m packing as we speak but I’m not going to let Henry think that I’m doing it for him.”

  “No. Course not. But do hurry. I’ve got no-one to plaaaay with over here.”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Excellent. Kissy-kissy. Daddy’s booked us the whole of the top floor at the George the Fifth hotel. I’ve been there before when Imelda Parker Knowles had her sixteenth birthday bash there in the summer. It’s utterly dinky. I think you’ll like
it.”

  “Sorreee. Packing. Be there. Bysie-bye.”

  “Bysie-bye.”

  I put my phone down by the bed and went to the mirror, spritzed on some of my Goddess perfume, picked up my brush and brushed my hair through. I was pleased with the way it was looking. The sun had made my new blonde highlights even lighter. One day, Shirla caught me before I’d used my hair straighteners. She said that I had fabulous hair. Hah! She has no idea of the work it takes to keep it looking good. Like, I would be mortified if anyone saw me with my hair in its natural state (curly wurly), but she said that it suited my birth sign, which is Leo. My hair, which is halfway down my back, is like a tawny lion’s mane. Huh. Like why exactly would I want to look like a lion, for heaven’s sake? I thought as I applied a slick of mascara. Most of them have manky manes, hardly the honey and fudge organic highlights that Daniel Blake, stylist to the stars, runs through mine!

  I put in my blue contact lenses to cover my boring brown eyes, applied some concealer over my spots and glanced round to see what else needed to be done. Coco was watching my every move.

  “Oh don’t look at me like that, boo-boo,” I said. “I’ll only be gone a few days.”

  Coco rolled over on her back and wriggled on the bed. She’s sooo sweet, even if her tummy is a different colour to the rest of her. (I ran out of dye.)

  Mummy and Shirla had done most of my packing but I threw a few more things in, just in case. All essentials that they’d missed. Lip gloss. Latest chill-out CD. More choccie bars for emergencies. I glanced over at the photo in a silver frame by my bed. Mustn’t forget to pack that, I thought. I never went anywhere without it. It was of me and Poppy, my sister. It was taken when I was twelve and she was ten. Oh. Hair straighteners. I threw them in on top. I couldn’t believe they’d forgotten them, although actually yeah, I could – another example of how nobody around here has a clue about what matters to me. To travel without them would be like being without an arm or a leg, they’re that important. It was hard to know what else I’d need though. Tigsy said it was unseasonably warm in Europe, but it wouldn’t be as hot as it was here on St Kitts. The only clothes that I’d worn for the past week were bikinis and sarongs. Still. If it got too cold, I could buy a new set of cashmere. I’d worn the ones I got last December at least three times in the winter season, so I was well due for new ones.

  I pulled my fave pair of skinny jeans out of the cupboard and began to put them on. Erg. Arff. They were meant to be tight but not that tight!

  “MUMMY!!!!”

  Mummy appeared at the door a few seconds later. “Yes, darling?”

  “My jeans! They’ve shrunk.”

  Mummy came in and watched me struggling to get the jeans done up.

  “Er… you don’t think, darling, that you could have maybe put on a teensy weensy bit of weight do you?”

  I could feel a tantrum coming on. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach bubbling and boiling like a volcano about to erupt, like, it was all right for her, she never put on an ounce of fat no matter what she ate. She was so lucky with her straight blonde hair and her perfect figure. She didn’t look her age either, and people always thought we were sisters. As if. It soooo wasn’t fair that I’d inherited Dad’s frump genes and his stupid curly hair rather than hers. “Me? Put on weight! These are MY BEST JEANS. I HAD TO WAIT THREE MONTHS ON A LIST FOR THEM TO COME IN TO THE SHOP AND THAT DOPEY DORA OF A HOUSEKEEPER HAS GONE AND SHRUNK THEM IN THE WASH!”

  For a split second, I swear I saw a hint of a smile cross Mummy’s face which made me madder. She put her hand on my arm. “Now calm down,” she said in a soft voice that made me want to hit something. “You’re a growing girl…”

  I brushed her hand away. “Calm DOWN? Growing GIRL? I CAN’T GROW ANY MORE. I’M ENORMOUS AS IT IS.”

  Mummy sighed. “You’ve got a lovely figure, Leonora, and fabulous long legs, you’re—”

  “WHAT DO YOU KNOW? I’M ALREADY A SIZE TEN AND EVERYONE IN MY CLASS IS A SIX OR A FOUR! And Lottie James is even a size ZERO! I’M AN ELEPHANT! MY WHOLE DAY HAS BEEN RUINED. I HATE YOU. YOU NEVER UNDERSTAND.”

  I wriggled out of the jeans. They wouldn’t do up no matter how much I yanked at the zip. I tossed them onto the bed then threw myself, front down, on after them. And then I went for it.

  “WaaaaaaARRRRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

  I thrashed my arms, pummelled my pillows and threw my legs up and down. And then I felt sick. Yes, I was going to be sick. I could feel it. I sat up. “And now I FEEL SICK.”

  Mummy looked at me with wide eyes and an expression of terror. Why oh why couldn’t she ever say or do the right thing when I feel like this? I wondered. I’m sure I’m adopted. I can’t be her daughter. We’re nothing like each other and she hasn’t got a clue what to do with me. My head started to throb. “And now I’ve got a headache coming,” I wailed. “And I’m fat. And spotty. And it’s all your FAULT!”

  At that moment, there was a gentle knock at the door and Henry put his head round. I picked up a pillow and threw it at him.

  “GET OUT! GET OUT. ALL OF YOU. OUT. OUT. I HATE YOU ALL.”

  Henry disappeared mega fast and Mummy scurried out like a frightened rabbit.

  “WahurggghhhhhhhhhHHHH,” I yelled at the ceiling. “No-one understands me. Not anyone. I hate everyone. I hate them all. I hate my life. I’m so ugly. And fat. I am sooooooooooooo unhappy.”

  Chapter Two

  Rules for life

  Rule one: I am going to go on a diet. A serious diet. In fact, I shan’t eat anything until I am a size zero like Lottie. Or… Hmm... Maybe there’s some miracle fat-diluter pill that Mummy could get me. Yes. Must be. Or maybe liposuction? Cassidy Poole at my last school had her bum done over the Easter hols. She couldn’t sit down for weeks when she came back after the break. So maybe not that option. I so don’t do pain.

  Rule two: no member of staff must look at me until I am size zero.

  Rule three: Shirla mustn’t use that perfume she wears. It smells of vanilla and cocoa, and that makes me want to EAT chocolate.

  Rule four: Shirla must come with me to Europe as she is the only person I can stand to have around me at the moment (as long as she doesn’t wear that perfume).

  I was ready for my trip, sitting on the patio with Coco and waiting for the car to take me to the plane. I was using the time to come up with some rules to make my life more bearable. Not that anyone cared apart from Coco, who adores me. They were all too busy with their own lives. Daddy hadn’t even called this morning to say goodbye. Too busy busy making millions. Still I supposed someone had to. He works with banks and although he’d tried a few times to explain what he does, I still don’t get it. It’s something to do with markets and shares and money going up and down. Whatever. Who cares? We’re loaded. That’s what counts. I have my own savings account with hundreds of thousands in it.

  Mummy had been busy with Shirla in the kitchen working out the menus for Christmas Day. She was having a bunch of boring neighbours over this year and came out onto the patio laden down with recipe books. I so wasn’t interested – like, Christmas in the Caribbean? It’s not quite right. There ought to be snow, but even in Europe it hadn’t snowed at Christmas for years and years.

  “All ready honey?”

  I nodded curtly. I hadn’t forgotten how unsympathetic she’d been about my weight gain and come to think of it, she hadn’t asked me what I wanted for Christmas dinner like she usually did. Not that it mattered any more because I’d be having a lettuce leaf and boiled water with a slice of lemon. That was all that Madison Peters had for a whole term at my last school, and she was as thin as a rake. Miserable cow she was but then so would I be if that’s all I had for weeks on end. I was fast going off my diet idea. Thinking about my last school made me feel sad for a moment. It was the fifth school I had been expelled from in over two years and it was where I had met Tigsy. I would be sorry to have to start another school without her – that is if Mummy and Daddy can find me
somewhere that hasn’t blacklisted me. Whatever. I suppose I can always do home schooling. Loads of people do, although I’ve heard it said that home schoolers sometimes lack social skills on account of not having mixed with other people. I wouldn’t like that to happen to me. Last thing I’d want is to be thought of as lacking social skills or being difficult. I can be firm and strong-minded, but never difficult. Not me.

  “And thanks for asking what I want for Christmas dinner,” I said to Mum.

  “Oh, didn’t I? Oh. I meant to. Are you sure I didn’t? Hmm. Oh…” Mummy blustered on, obviously embarrassed by the fact that she’d forgotten to ask. I decided to put her out of her misery.

  “Well, actually you needn’t include me in any of the Christmas meals as I won’t be having any.”

  She looked shocked. “Whatever do you mean, Leonora?”

  “Diet. I am on one from now on. I shan’t be eating again for at least a month.”

  Shirla came out behind her and overheard me. She was carrying my plate of chips. “Ah. So you won’t be wanting these, then?” She dipped a big juicy one in sour cream and popped it into her mouth. I felt my mouth water as I watched her lick her lips. I do so like eating. It is one of my few pleasures in life. So sad that I will have to suffer and deny myself just so that I can look good in my jeans. Never was there a truer sentence than: you have to suffer to be beautiful. But… maybe I could start tomorrow. No. That would be awkward being in Paris and in such a swanky hotel. Shame to miss out. Best time to start properly is when I get back. Or in the New Year. Yeah. That’s always a brilliant time to start with diets. Resolutions and all that.

  “Er… Well. I ought to maybe just force something down before I go,” I said. “And Mason did go to all that trouble of making them, Shirla.” (Never let it be said that I don’t appreciate what people do for me. I do.)

  Shirla turned to go back inside. “No problem dahlin. Me likes the chips, too. Um, uh, they’s good.”