Oh Non. She’s so brilliant.
A week until I turn sixteen. Also, a week before I have to fulfil my promise to Mum that I will spend at least two hours per night revising for my GCSEs – four on a weekend. Basically, the day I turn sixteen is the day I lose all semblance of a social life.
I open the door to my playroom, thinking I’ve got to sort out stuff for school tomorrow… and stop dead in the doorway.
There’s someone in here.
A second before I scream, I realise that this person is me, only old.
“Shut the door will you, before Mum notices?” Old-me says, glancing up from whatever she’s holding.
Is that what my voice sounds like?
I shut the door and we stare at each other. Old-me is what? Twenties? Thirties? Forties? God knows. I’m not wildly enthusiastic about how bad her skin looks, how long her…
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