Freax and Rejex. Robin Jarvis

She was too busy flicking her blonde hair extensions back and casting a critical eye at her reflection in the glass of the vehicle’s door. Her mother was just as eager to meet the Ismus and the Jacks as the other parents, but she had resisted the powerful urge and remained with the girl.

      “Make sure you get your face on camera as much as possible,” she instructed. “Soon as the rush dies down, we’ll move in. You latch on to his Lordship and hang in there like a limpet.”

      The girl nodded. “I know,” she said. “Like he’s a Clooney or a Rooney. Aww, I made a poem, innit!”

      “And remember, you’re here to learn as well as get your face in the papers and glossies. I don’t know why the book hasn’t worked for you yet, but I’m sure there’s a good reason. Just taking a bit longer with you than the rest of us.”

      “It’s not cos I’m fick, Ma.”

      “I didn’t say you was. But this is your big chance – don’t cock it up. What has your mother always said? ‘You have to turn every setback into a lesson to do better next time.’”

      “You ain’t never said that! You always told me to act dumb and common cos no one likes a clever bird.”

      “Well, I’m saying it now. There might not be a next time after this. You’ve got to grab this chance by the curlies and make the most of it. You’re gonna wake up from this miserable dream world sometime this weekend and find out you’re royalty – a Jill or higher, not a three of clubs laundress like me. Can’t be nothing else with that pretty face.”

      “I’m a princess, innit,” the girl told herself. “You an’ Uncle Frank always said I was.”

      Her mother gave her an appraising look then prodded her chest. “You got those chicken fillets in? Should have used ostrich’s. Put your shoulders back so they stick out more.”

      “Do they have things like these in Mooncaster?” the girl asked. “I don’t wanna be no flat-chested munter when I wake up there. I wanna good boob rack.”

      “Don’t you worry about that. We’ve got corsets and bodices to show off our milk puddings a treat. It’s Boots’ make-up counter I miss when I’m there and those other silly fripperies they have here in my dreams. I’m not sure about sleeping with raw bacon on my eyes to keep the crows’ feet at bay or rubbing goose fat on my poor chapped fingers. If I could afford some of the Queen of Hearts’ concoctions, I would, but laundresses don’t earn many sixpences – silver coin isn’t easy to come by. I’m not complaining – that’s just how life is there and it’s a bushel better than here, I promise you.”

      “You don’t half talk funny since you been goin’ there. It’s mad. Like you’re in an old film about history, like that Shakespeare’s Got Love. It’s not fair the book hasn’t worked on me. It should of. You know how hard I been tryin’. You know me an’ readin’ don’t get on, unless it’s Cosmo or Hello or a catalogue or Garfield or a text message. That book’s the longest fing I ever read in my life. Took me over a month solid an’ I’ve done it dunno how many times since – and had that sloppy minchet stuff in all my Slim Fasts an’ mixed in with my avocado salads, but I’m still bleedin’ here! What’s that about then?”

      Her mother shushed her. The Black Face Dames had emerged from the first coach, leading a straggly line of unhappy children. The musicians played with even more gusto and dancers came skipping forward to perform. The Ismus was there, accompanied by a woman and a straw-haired young man who was busily filming the last few children emerging from the vehicle. The black youth at the very end pushed the lens out of his face and gave him the finger.

      “There’s His Highness, the Holy Enchanter!” her mother exclaimed. “And there’s a camera – perfect moment. Get in there!”

      The girl didn’t need any persuasion. She tottered hastily over the grass in her pink diamanté heels, making a beeline for the Ismus.

      Kate Kryzewski was wondering how she could get away from him and his bodyguards and make it to the car without being noticed, when the girl and her mother bore down on them.

      “Your Lordship!” the woman cried, bobbing into a curtsy. “I am Widow Tallowax of the wash house. A lowly matron, though of good character, far beneath your notice I’m sure. After a long day at the steaming coppers, when I nod off on my comfy rocker by the ingle, I find myself here where I am this girl’s mother. The pity of it is the poor mite can’t find her way back to the castle so we’ve no idea who she really is, but she’s a rare beauty and obviously a personage of quality and standing whom no doubt the Limner will be sure to paint a likeness of.”

      The Ismus listened with faint amusement.

      “And what is your name here?” he asked, addressing the girl directly.

      “Charm,” the teenager said, nodding perkily and pushing her shoulders back. “Charm Benedict, but we dropped the last bit. It were goin’ to be Charm Bracelet for my modellin’, but Uncle Frank, he’s my manager, said that were a bit naff. I really liked it, but he said brands work best with just one word and he’s right when you fink about it. So it’s just Charm now, innit?”

      The girl thrust her arm through his and ran a hand over his sleeve.

      “This velvet is well lush,” she said enthusiastically. “You look well elegant. Ooh, that sounds funny! Is there such a word as ‘welegant’? There should be.”

      “Thank you, now if I may…”

      “I bet you’re an After Eight!”

      “A what?”

      “You know… them skinny square chocs at posh dinner parties. See – I reckon everyone has their own flavour. You’re classy, right – like an After Eight. There it is, nice and slim in its special little bag fing, all dark chocolate but wiv a minty cream fillin’. Smoove an’ sleek on the outside, zingy like toothpaste in the middle. Hidden Depps – like the actor.”

      “She’s always putting flavours to people,” her mother added, beckoning to Sam to bring his camera over. “It’s just one of the pretty quirks she has. I’m cookie dough apparently. Tell them what you are, Charm, go on.”

      The girl managed to flick her hair back and swivel both herself and the Ismus round so that the camera was fully on them.

      “I’m a rainbow sherbet,” she said with a perfected smile. “Mixed with that space dust stuff, so I froth and sparkle with sweetness on your tongue.”

      “Effervesce,” her mother corrected in a muttered aside. “Froth makes you sound like you’ve got rabies.”

      The Ismus tried to disentangle himself, but the girl wasn’t going to let him escape that easily.

      “I am well looking forward to this weekend!” she declared, clinging on with determination. “I’m so excited I could wet my knickers. This is what I’ve been waiting for, ever since the book come out and I couldn’t get my head round it. There’s no one who wants to go to Mooncaster more’n I do. Me ma’s told me so much. Sounds amazin’! I am going to work so hard and make sure I get there. I’ll do anyfink I will. Look what I had done soon as I knew I was coming here.”

      She unzipped her leather jacket and lifted a skimpy T-shirt to show the heart-shaped, pink diamanté stud that pierced her navel.

      “You getting that?” she asked Sam, angling her midriff so the diamanté glinted in the sunlight. “Matches my Dolce Gabbanas as well, see. Course I don’t know what I’ll be when I wake up in the castle, but I hope it’s Hearts, cos I luuurve ’em; them’s the prettiest, but I don’t mind what I am – honest. I can change this for whatever. Diamonds would be well good.”

      Sam kept the lens on her. The teenager’s attitude was the weirdest he had encountered so far. She babbled away like a Valley girl, not letting the banal chatter drop for a moment. She fired off questions then gabbled over the answers and her mother chipped in whenever there was a pause for