finally, close to noon, black eyeliner smudged under her eyes, her usual sunny demeanor replaced by one that is surly and distracted, and horrifyingly familiar to me.
My God, I think. It happened, finally. My little girl just became a teenager.
I think back to a comedy sketch I once saw, a sweet little boy sitting with his parents waiting for the clock to strike midnight so he can turn thirteen. On the stroke of midnight he transforms, in a seemingly painful way, into a teenager. His short back and sides grow, werewolflike, to a long, greasy mess. His smile is replaced with a growl, and his response to his parents is a loud bark: I hate you! Oh, Harry Enfield, I think, how right you were. I just didn’t expect it to ever happen to my sweet little girl, and how is it possible that it seems to have happened, literally, in twenty-four hours?
“How was last night?” I say brightly, hoping to pull her out of her funk. “There are chocolate croissants there if you want breakfast, although”—I look at my watch—“it’s almost time for lunch.”
“It was fine,” she says, shrugging, taking a croissant and spraying crumbs everywhere. I resist the urge to reprimand her, instead quietly getting a plate and putting it in front of her.
“What did you do?”
“Went for dinner. Hung out.”
“So what does that mean?” I attempt, with a laugh. “Hang out? What do you actually do?”
“Nothing,” she barks. “That’s the point.”
“Okay. Sorry I asked. How was Julia? Is she fun?”
“Totally!” Annie says, in an almost perfect American accent. “She’s amazing! Oh, and Trudy called. She wants to see me tonight. Can I go?”
I start in surprise. “Ellie said it was okay?”
Annie shrugs. “I guess.”
Wow, I think. Julia really is that good.
Annie sidles over to me, sliding an arm around me and resting her head on my shoulder in a semblance of old Annie, sweet Annie. “Mummy?” she says, and I know this means she is about to ask for something. “Can I sleep over at Trudy’s tonight? Her mum is off island tonight and said she can have four girlfriends sleep over, and they really, really want me to go.”
“Her mom’s not going to be there and she’s allowing friends to spend the night? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Trudy’s completely trustworthy, and they are sixteen.”
“I know. That’s what worries me.”
“Mum! There won’t be any boys, it’s just girls, and she is my cousin. We’re going to hang out at the beach today, then go back to Trudy’s house. Her mum leaves at lunchtime, and I promise we won’t go to bed late.”
“There won’t be any drugs or alcohol?”
Annie looks horrified. “Who do you think I am? Of course not!”
“Okay, I was just checking. I’m just a little nervous about letting you go somewhere with no adult supervision.”
“You let me stay at Emily’s house all the time when her parents are in the country.”
That’s true, but it feels different. I have known Emily since junior school, know her parents, know how she lives. Also, Emily, as lovely as she is, is something of a nerd, a fact I am extremely grateful for. I would far prefer Annie to be hanging out with Emily, trust Emily far more than I trust Trudy. Not that I have any evidence to base it on, but Sam described Trudy as “fast,” and even though she is sweet, and has a lovely smile, and is polite, I have an instinct that all is not as it seems, she is not all she seems.
Years ago, I would override my instincts at every turn. I would meet some woman, and have an intuition that she was a little bit crazy, but she would go out of her way to befriend me, phoning me, inviting me places, so that I would soon decide I was the one with the problem and clearly my instincts were entirely wrong.
Except they never were. We would become instant best friends, until something would inevitably happen to prove me right. I would always look back in regret, wishing I had listened to that inner voice telling me something was wrong.
It isn’t that the voice is telling me there’s something wrong with Trudy, just that perhaps the sweetness isn’t all there is. She’s too sweet. It feels disingenuous.
“Let me think about it,” I say, watching Annie’s smile disappear, the sullen expression take over her face again.
“You can’t say no,” she snaps. “You just can’t. If you say no this will