Welcome to the first instalment of Crossover Chronicles

Book 1 - The Blight of Beacon

from Chapter 1 "An Invitation to Oodles"

It was the letter Miranda had been waiting for.
“Dear Miss Crundle,” it said. “The Upper Drivell Young Ladies’ School is pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to the school on scholarship—”
That was all Miranda needed to read. She let out a cheer and threw the letter in the air, and then did a victory lap of the kitchen. Mrs Crundle caught the letter, beaming, while Miranda’s brother David watched his sister with disbelief.
“I’ve never seen anyone so happy to be going to school,” he remarked sourly.
“It’s not just a school, David,” Mrs Crundle reminded him, catching Miranda for a hug. “It’s the best girls’ school in the county.”
“Don’t you start,” he groaned. “It’s all she’s talked about these holidays. ‘Oh, I hope I get into Oodles,’ ‘I must get into Oodles,’ ‘oh, whatever shall I do if I don’t get into Oodles?’ She’s just about driven me bonkers.”
“Congratulations, Miranda,” said Katie, their foster sister, shaking Miranda’s hand enthusiastically. “I knew you’d get in – you’re awfully brainy.”
“Thanks,” puffed Miranda, sinking breathlessly into a kitchen chair. She didn’t usually run about like that – serious and tranquil was more her style. “I can’t believe it! This is going to be fantastic.”
“I suppose the one advantage is that you don’t have to go to Drivell Comprehensive anymore,” said David with a slight grin. “So you won’t end up doing your A-levels in swearing and petty thuggery.”
“Oh, David, your school isn’t that bad,” admonished Mrs Crundle. “Anyway, you have no right to complain. We gave you the chance to try out for Guilderton Boys’, and you said you’d rather…well, rather not go.”
“Rather use a dog turd for toothpaste, I think he said,” Katie put in.
“Yes, thank you, Katie,” Mrs Crundle replied, sounding faintly ill.
“I think it will be lovely,” Katie assured Miranda. “After everything you’ve told me about this Oodles place, personally, I’d love to go there.”
Mrs Crundle looked at Katie in surprise.
“Would you, dear?” she asked with interest.
“Of course!” said Katie. “All those plays, fairs and open days. It sounds like good fun.”
Mrs Crundle sat thoughtfully for a moment. “Miranda had already applied to get into the Young Ladies’ School by the time you came to live with us, Katie,” she said, “so we didn’t think about your putting in an application. We can’t afford to pay the school fees, and Miranda’s only going because she got a science scholarship, but you never know…perhaps you could get a scholarship too. Would you like to apply?”
“I’ll give it a bash,” said Katie. “Why not?”
Miranda watched her mother and Katie silently. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted Katie at her new school. A moment later, she remembered how hard it had been to win a scholarship, and shrugged off her concerns. The chances of Katie getting in were practically non-existent.
“Aren’t you going to miss your friends at Drivell Comp?” David was asking her.
“What friends?” Miranda returned sceptically. “Most of the girls there are only interested in fogging up the locker room with spray deodorant, or pretending to think all the boys at Drivell Comp are complete muppets.”
“You’ll be walking through the swanky part of Drivell to get to Oodles,” David remarked. “‘Upper Drivell,’ they call it. Like they want to be a posh little village somewhere. But really, they’re just in good old Drivell like the rest of us.”
“You can rag on it all you like, David; I’m still over the moon I’m going there!” Miranda told him.
“Well, you’re a nutter,” David shrugged. “But you’re a smart nutter.”
This was a high compliment from David. Miranda, still bursting with joy, went outside to her father’s studio to tell him the news.
“That’s wonderful, chickpea!” he exclaimed, hugging her warmly and covering her with clay off of his apron. “And it was on the science scholarship, you say? Well, they had to accept you. There’s not many twelve year olds about who know as much as you do about insect anatomy or the atomic composition of sulphuric acid.”
“H-two-S-O-four,” grinned Miranda, picking semi-dried clay out of her short, fair hair. “And, Dad, they’ve got a science club for the older girls, and they do real field trips out to ponds and drains and so on. I heard that, last year, they did testing on mud from a pig farm!”
“Sounds amazing,” Mr Crundle told her with rather blank enthusiasm.
“Oh, it was. Apparently they found a species of micro-organism which is normally only found in South America. It was absolutely brilliant.”
“Well, it sounds like just the right place for you,” her dad chuckled, returning to his sculpture. “Pass me that scraper, will you, Miranda?”
Miranda passed the scraper and then went to wander through the back garden and daydream about her new school. She had a moment’s discomfort when she remembered that her mother would be putting in an application for Katie but her logical mind took over almost immediately. They’ve already handed out the scholarships for this year, she said to herself, so she really doesn’t have a hope of getting in. And if she gets in next year, well, I will have been there for a year and I’ll have sorted out some friends by then, I’m sure. With these thoughts, Miranda was able to put the idea of Katie coming to Oodles almost completely out of her head.
In the coming fortnight – the two weeks before term started – Miranda was far too busy to think about anything but the whirlwind of preparation. She was out every day with her mother or father, getting things ready to start in second form at the ancient and prestigious Upper Drivell Young Ladies’ School. One day she was buying a second hand uniform from a local ex-Oodles girl who seemed very relieved to hand it over. The next day she was at the Drivell educational bookstore purchasing what seemed like an enormous amount of ridiculously expensive books. She was most disappointed by her father’s response when she wondered aloud which extras she should take.
“I really don’t think there will be any after school photography or Italian lessons, chickpea,” he said. He was wearing a hat he’d carved from a stale loaf of bread to celebrate the pagan harvest festival.
“But Dad!” exclaimed Miranda. “Everyone takes extras. I’ll be the only girl who doesn’t.”
“I doubt it,” he answered cheerfully. “I’d be surprised if the other scholarship girls can afford any extra classes.”
Miranda grumbled quietly to herself but she didn’t have the heart to complain too loudly. She knew the books and uniforms alone were stretching her parents’ finances.
“You need to sell a few sculptures, Dad, to fund Miranda’s swish hobbies,” David said helpfully.
“Oh, the art market’s dead on its feet,” Mr Crundle said airily. “I’d be lucky to sell one or two pieces a year with the collectors so reluctant to buy.”
Miranda couldn’t help but reflect that her father might sell more of his sculptures if they were remotely pleasing to look at. But they were frightening things – grotesque and gnarled looking shapes that didn’t resemble anything Miranda had ever seen. Once, when Miranda had been going through a horsey phase, Mr Crundle had sculpted her a clay horse. It really had looked like a horse. Miranda often wondered why her father didn’t make more things like that horse.
On the Tuesday before school was due to start, Miranda attended an orientation tour at Oodles. She found that most of the other girls on the tour were first formers. However, she swallowed her shyness and asked around the group until she unearthed a couple of girls who were also starting second form that year.
“Ellie Manjuli,” said one of them, grinning at Miranda. “And this is Felicity Van Hoeven. We met at the admission interviews.”
“Did you just move to Drivell?” Felicity asked her shyly. She had white-blonde hair and enormous frightened eyes.
“No, I’ve lived here all my life,” Miranda told Ellie. “I started at Drivell Comp last year, but I got into Oodles for this year.”
“I didn’t want to come here,” Felicity whispered confidentially. “But I didn’t do well enough at my old school, so mum forced me, in the end.”
“I wanted to come,” Ellie shrugged. “Mainly to see what all the fuss was about.”
“I’ve wanted to come to Oodles since I heard it existed,” Miranda said raptly, then she blushed a little. “I mean, it’s got to be better than Drivell Comp.”
“Why do they call it Oodles, anyway?” asked Ellie. “No one I’ve asked seems to have a clue.”
“My sister says it’s because they give you oodles of homework,” sighed Felicity.
“I think it’s something they’ve got from the school acronym,” said Miranda.
“Acro-what?” demanded Ellie. “Is that some kind of gymnasium apparatus?”
“It means the initials of the school,” said Miranda, unable to help smiling. “U.D.Y.L.S. Sort of sounds like Oodles.”
“Ohhh!” Felicity and Ellie both sounded enlightened, and they looked at Miranda with admiration.
Suddenly, Miranda felt on top of the world. She had a new school, a scholarship, a second-hand uniform that would pass for brand new, and she had already made two friends. She felt like nothing could go wrong. However, her delight turned to embarrassment when she turned around and saw her mother arriving with Katie.
“Mum,” she said, puzzled and very self-conscious. “You’re too early. The tour runs for another hour.”
“No, darling.” Her mother was beaming. “I’ve brought Katie to join the tour. We’ve just heard – Katie got into the school too! One of the scholarship girls had to decline at the last minute – her father got a job in Greece, or something. So Katie was given her place!”
Miranda stared. Her heart sank while she tried to prepare a face of pleased congratulations for Katie. Ellie and Felicity were looking on with interest.
“Uh, this is my…sister…my foster sister, Katie.” Miranda introduced Katie warily.
Ellie and Felicity welcomed Katie. Miranda worked valiantly to hide the dismay that was trying to show itself on her face. She didn’t want Katie at Oodles.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like Katie. In fact, she did like her, in a way. But she was so odd. A lot of things had changed since Katie had entered Miranda’s world, carrying all her possessions in a single, small, battered leather satchel from which she was inseparable. She didn’t want to blame Katie, but when the girl had arrived in the Crundle house, it felt like Miranda’s life quickly became something just short of chaos. Katie had blockaded herself in the Crundles’ third bedroom, blacking out the window with paint. In addition to the ordinary lock, she had placed a latch with a padlock on her bedroom door, and wouldn’t allow anyone in there. Each night at the dinner table Katie openly pocketed leftover food, either for late night snacking, or to add to the stash Miranda suspected she had in the locked room. Katie never turned on her light, but did all her homework, reading and dressing in her pyjamas by torchlight. Miranda thought she must have brought a lorry load of torch batteries with her from the home, because the pocket money the Crundles gave their children certainly wouldn’t stretch to cover them.
And Katie wasn’t just puzzling. Miranda was, in fact, a little suspicious of Katie. Something strange had happened just a couple of weeks before, when Mr Crundle had taken the three of them to the seaside for a summer holiday treat. At the end of the day, Katie had nipped into a souvenir shop and bought herself a cheap snow dome with an unnaturally happy-looking plastic seagull inside. She gave it to Miranda to hold while she went to change out of her swimming costume. Unluckily, Miranda dropped it on the grass and, while it didn’t smash, the dome part broke off the base. She examined it in vexation, thinking she would have to go and buy Katie a new one, but Miranda cheered up when she saw it was simply that the glue holding it together had crumbled – it would be easily mended. She put the pieces carefully in the front pocket of Katie’s satchel.
This in itself was not suspicious, but what happened on the drive home was.
“Oh, Katie,” she said casually. “That snow dome you bought came apart when I dropped it on the lawn – sorry. But it’ll be fine. I’ll fix it at home, I promise.”
Katie didn’t seem unduly concerned. “I thought it seemed a bit loose after I bought it,” she said. “Where is it?”
“In the front pocket of your satchel,” Miranda replied, glad that Katie wasn’t cross with her.
But now Katie’s face changed. She looked suddenly alarmed and her gaze flew to her bag.
“Don’t worry,” Miranda reassured her hastily, reaching into Katie’s satchel to retrieve the snow dome. “I’m sure I can glue –”
Later, Miranda wasn’t sure what had startled her more – Katie’s dismayed gasp when Miranda plunged her hand into the pocket or the fact that the snow dome came out in one piece – whole and unbroken. Miranda stared at it in amazement.
“But … it was in two bits,” she puzzled.
David glanced into the backseat. “It’s probably just slipped back into the base,” he commented.
Miranda tried to pull the two pieces apart again. But they were stuck together – utterly and completely stuck. She could no more pull them apart than she could understand the look of guilty horror on Katie’s face. She’d often thought about that incident, wishing she could get into Katie’s room to take a better look at that snow dome.
Add to all these things the scuffling noise from the girl’s bedroom that started late at night and only finished with sunrise, and Miranda couldn’t decide whether she felt more exasperated or curious about Katie. However, when she complained to Mr Crundle, he told her patiently that the social worker had advised them to let Katie “find her own way” in their household.
“What does that mean?” Miranda asked Mr Crundle crossly.
“It means that we should pretend it’s normal for her turn the spare room into some kind of secret military headquarters,” put in David.
“It means,” said Mr Crundle, chuckling slightly at David’s remark, “that we let her make the small changes she sees as necessary to make this house her home.”
“Small changes?” Miranda raised her eyebrows. “Dad, she’s put booby traps in the hall outside her room! I got squirted in the face with your shaving cream when I stopped to tie my shoelace yesterday.”
“Brilliant,” grinned David, impressed in spite of himself.
“Things will settle down with Katie soon,” Mr Crundle said mildly.
Observing Katie looking brightly around at the school buildings, Miranda sighed quietly. Mrs Crundle was explaining to the girls breathlessly that the Headmistress of Oodles had said she saw “something of a creative genius” in Katie.
“All right, Mum,” Miranda broke in. “The rest of the group is waiting for us. You’d better go.”
Mrs Crundle left, smiling proudly at Katie and Miranda.
“Mums, eh?” said Ellie, nudging Miranda. “My mum made aloo tikki for me to share out at morning tea time.”
Miranda grinned weakly. She was watching Katie closely, just waiting for her to say something peculiar. Katie regularly said something peculiar.
A moment later, Miranda forgot Katie altogether. They had arrived at the school’s science laboratories.
“This is Science One,” announced Mrs Huffington, indicating the gleaming white classroom. “Science Two is next door, but that is for the fifth and sixth form girls. The Upper Drivell Young Ladies’ School has the newest and most elaborate school science laboratories in the country.”
Miranda gazed around herself with delight. Science One was truly a thing of beauty – gleaming sinks, rows of Bunsen burners, glittering glass flasks, and test tubes in their dozens. Cabinets and cupboards promised probes and microscopes and scalpels. Miranda thought that she could live out her whole life quite happily in Science One. Her own most treasured possession was a microscope – a twelfth birthday present from her parents. Miranda was awfully proud of it because it wasn’t one of those play microscopes with a measly two or three hundred times magnification. This was a high-powered microscope – the kind used in real laboratories. It had cost the Crundles a small fortune and Miranda had traded not only her birthday, but also the following Christmas and Easter, in exchange for the present.
Mrs Huffington led them on down the school corridor and Miranda followed her somewhat reluctantly.
“Now I will show you your Common Room. First and second form girls share a Common Room. As you can see, there are some lovely comfortable chairs here for you, and a collection of books and magazines. You may add your own magazines to the collection, if they are appropriate. There is also a kettle so you can make yourselves tea, if you wish.”
“What, no jacuzzi?” whispered Ellie, making Miranda snort.
“We expect you to take care of your Common Room,” added Mr Huffington, “and if you don’t, you lose your privileges until further notice.” This was about as close to being stern as Mrs Huffington had come, and Miranda reflected that if all the teachers were like her, school at Oodles was going to be a walk in the park.
“So, unless there are any questions, we shall move on to the Great Hall,” finished Mrs Huffington. “Yes, er…?”
“Katie Pickerwick,” Katie replied, lowering her hand.
Miranda winced, waiting.
“I was just wondering,” Katie continued, “will we have somewhere to keep our things?”
“Each girl is given a locker,” Mrs Huffington told Katie. She led the girls into a small room just outside the Common Room. “Here is the locker room.”
Miranda relaxed. She felt quite proud of Katie for asking such a normal question.
“Oh, good, a locker,” Katie was saying, looking round herself in a slightly puzzled fashion. “And our lockers live in these little metal boxes, do they?”
For a second, Mrs Huffington frowned disapprovingly, but covered her irritation with a tolerant smile. Some of the other girls were tittering uncertainly. Miranda at looked at Ellie and rolled her eyes, hoping to distance herself from Katie’s peculiarity a little.
“Very funny, Miss Pickerwick. Come along now, young ladies.”
Miranda sneaked a look at Katie as they walked. She looked thoroughly bewildered as she glanced back at the locker room, and then hurried after the teacher. Miranda wondered for a moment if it could be that Katie genuinely did not know what a locker was. A moment later, she dismissed the thought. It simply wasn’t possible that a thirteen year old girl could be that ignorant.
The group of chattering girls fell silent upon entering the Great Hall behind Mrs Huffington. Clearly, the Great Hall was designed to inspire terror in disobedient schoolgirls. It was grand and highly decorated, with many pillars and even more arches. The walls were covered with wooden honour boards.
“Best Girl plaques,” whispered Felicity, awestruck. “Every year, there is a Best Girl chosen for each form. They’re all here for the last couple of centuries.”
“There’s hundreds!” Miranda whispered back.
“Look at all the Richman-Snoods up there,” muttered Ellie.
Miranda glanced sharply at Ellie. She was right – the boards were littered with the name “Richman-Snood.” Miranda knew the name well. Her mother was a lawyer. She was not a high-priced flashy lawyer, but a lawyer who was paid not very much by a community welfare organisation to help people who couldn’t afford lawyers. There was another lawyer in Drivell – and this one was a highly-paid, flashy lawyer – called Cynthia Richman-Snood. Mrs Crundle often came home from work complaining about Cynthia Richman-Snood. By all accounts, the woman was ruthless and sneaky. Miranda spotted her name on a plaque suddenly: Cynthia Richman-Snood, Best Girl, Sixth Form. It was on an honour board from about twenty years ago.
“There’s one in our form,” added Ellie. “Elspeth Richman-Snood. I used to go to ballet lessons with her.”
“What’s she like?” Miranda wanted to know.
“Don’t ask,” Ellie said darkly.
“Look,” said Felicity in a whisper, nodding her head towards a woman who was crossing the hall, “there’s the Headmistress, Ms Lycaon.”
“Who?” frowned Miranda. “At my interview, the headmistress was Mrs Gabbins.”
“Yes, she left suddenly,” Felicity replied. “She had an ill relative or something. This is the new one.”
“Is she all right?” asked Miranda.
“A bit scary,” said Felicity.
Miranda reflected that that might not mean much, coming from Felicity. Felicity seemed perpetually terrified. She suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be listening to Mrs Huffington.
“—and the annual school Exhibition Night is also presented here, of course. Do remember, girls, that the Great Hall is to be treated with veneration. There is no larking about in here – or there will be consequences,” she added warningly.
After a moment, Katie’s hand went up again.
“What consequences, Miss?” she asked meekly when Mrs Huffington nodded at her.
Mrs Huffington looked at Katie keenly, obviously deciding that Katie was one to be watched.
“What do you think, Katie?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “What do you think might happen if you lark about in here?”
“Um…” Katie looked around at the austere hall carefully. “I might be turned to stone? Or die a grisly death?”
The other girls giggled again and Ellie whispered to Miranda, “She’s got bottle, I’ll give her that.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Miranda replied, shaking her head.
Mrs Huffington chose merely to give Katie a stern look and resume the tour.
“Come along, girls. Now we shall go to the staffroom, where you will meet your other teachers and be our guests for morning tea. But wait – if you look up here, right to the top of the highest tower of the building, you will see the school’s pride and joy – the famous Box Hedges. These hedges sit right out on the ramparts of the North Tower, and it is the first formers’ duty to water them in the summer. The hedges are very old and we are fortunate enough to have a listing in Great Gardens of Great Britain because of them.”
The girls stared at the hedges dutifully, and then followed Mrs Huffington again. In the staffroom, the teachers were sitting at tables with cups of tea. Miranda caught some of the tail-ends of conversations before they went quiet for the introductions, and it seemed that the teachers were mostly complaining about the weather at various holiday locations they had visited for the summer.
“This is the teachers’ staffroom, girls, and this is the one time you will be permitted in here,” smiled Mrs Huffington. “This is Miss Byron, the sports teacher, Mrs Underly, the Home Economics teacher…”
Mrs Huffington rattled off a long list of teacher’s names and subjects – far too many for the overwhelmed new girls to remember. Miranda noted one or two: Mr Dirger, the science master, who seemed quite harmless, and Miss Goody, the history teacher – because she looked thoroughly nasty. It was impossible to forget Ms Lycaon, the new Headmistress. With her exceedingly straight posture and air of utter capability, she stood out. After the introductions, the girls were split up and seated at tables with the teachers. Miranda, along with Ellie, Katie and Felicity, was led to the table where Miss Goody sat with old Miss MacWhirter, the music teacher.
“Well,” said Miss Goody, smiling with a tight mouth around at the girls. “Isn’t this nice? Isn’t this nice, Wendy?” she shouted suddenly.
“Eh?” frowned Miss MacWhirter.
“I said, isn’t this nice?” Miss Goody shrieked even more loudly while the girls tried not to wince.
“Oh, yes, yes,” said Miss MacWhirter, who looked much more interested in the cake trays that were coming around.
“She’s a little deaf,” Miss Goody whispered to the girls.
“Not in the least bit deaf,” Miss MacWhirter snapped, which seemed to surprise Miss Goody.
“Well, and have any of you had older sisters at the Young Ladies’ School?” Miss Goody asked brightly. It seemed that she had to work very hard to be nice.
Miranda, Ellie and Katie shook their heads silently, but Felicity gave an unwilling, “Yes, Miss.”
“And what is her name?”
“Belinda Van Hoeven, Miss.”
“Violin,” said Miss MacWhirter with a nod. “Didn’t practice enough.”
“That girl didn’t spend nearly enough time on any of her homework,” Miss Goody added with an unpleasant smile. “I hope you’re not like her,” she told Felicity.
Felicity gazed at the table, unable to reply.
“I give more homework than any of the teachers at this school,” Miss Goody announced rather proudly and Miss MacWhirter harrumphed in agreement, biting into a scone. “I hope you girls like homework.”
There was nothing that could be said to this. The girls all pretended to be chewing and therefore unable to speak.
“Now, which schools did you attend before the Young Ladies’ School?” asked Miss Goody.
“Beaton Towers, Miss,” said Ellie.
“Hmm, not bad,” said Miss Goody with an air of superiority.
Felicity’s old school was begrudgingly announced to be “fair,” whilst Miranda’s old school got a decided, “oh, dear me.” Katie did not know where she had last gone to school.
When the Crundles had fostered Katie, the social worker told them that she was suffering from memory loss. Apparently Katie had been found alone, without any idea of where she lived or who her family was. She only knew her name and age. At first, Miranda had found this a little too hard to believe, and David had spent hours trying to make Katie recall her past. All he ever got out of Katie, however, was a cheerful, “sorry, I really can’t remember, David. But thanks awfully for trying to help me.” When Miss Goody heard this story, relayed brightly by Katie, she sat with her lips pursed for some time. Moreover, she seemed just as disapproving of Miranda, now that she knew they lived together.
“On scholarship, are we?” she sniffed, and Miranda and Katie nodded meekly.
It seemed that being on scholarship was not always a wonderful thing. Miss Goody seemed to regard it as positively shameful.
“Never mind,” she said, sipping her tea. “Perhaps you shall make something of yourselves nevertheless.”
“Nothing wrong with being on scholarship,” Miss MacWhirter broke in suddenly, spraying scone crumbs across the table. “Some scholarship girls end up as Best Girls, if they work for it.”
Miss Goody nodded curtly, but her real opinion was plain on her face: scholarship girls ought not to be made Best Girls at any time. She patted her neat perm and looked around at the other tables as though she felt she had been given a somewhat disappointing group of girls.
This was actually better, because with Miss Goody looking around for a higher class of girl and Miss MacWhirter engrossed in her fifth scone, the girls could chat quietly among themselves.
“This aloo tikki is pretty good, actually,” Miranda told Ellie. “My Dad makes it from time to time, but your mum’s is better.”
Ellie beamed when she heard this. “You should taste her cashew nut chutney,” she answered.
After morning tea, the tour was over and Miranda went to wait with Katie at the front gates for her mother. David was right – it was as though Upper Drivell did not want to be considered a part of the busy smoky town of Drivell. On this summer’s day, the lawns were bright and green, the footpaths spick and span, and the birds twittered at just the acceptable volume. Attractive houses lined the streets, and dotted here and there were little shops that sold useless crafts and didn’t seem to have any customers except tourists. Some of the tourists were even taking photos of the school’s shining old towers.
“Do you think you’ll like going to Oodles?” Katie asked her, sounding slightly worried.
“Of course,” said Miranda. “You?”
“I hope so,” Katie replied.
“Just…be normal,” Miranda said, feeling a little mean as she said it.
“What do you mean?”
“You know – don’t feel like you have to stand out from the crowd all the time,” she said gently.
“Do I stand out from the crowd?” Katie asked. She sounded genuinely astonished.
Miranda looked at Katie. Where Miranda was organised and calm, Katie was terribly, wildly messy. Where Miranda was thin and serious, Katie was stout and cheerful. She had a great bush of red-brown hair that was daily forced with little success into two frizzy braids. She had a wide mouth and a mass of brown freckles that looked as though they had been splashed out of a mud puddle onto her face. Her eyes were an uncannily bright orange-brown. Miranda sighed.
“No – look, just forget about it,” she told Katie.

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