Sunday 15th June

I really don't know how Natasha gets herself involved in these escapades, and more annoyingly I don't understand how I always manage to be implicated too.

We're going to get in to so much trouble if anyone ever finds out about what has happened, and if Harry Styles blabs then I'll smack him even harder than I did when he told everyone that I fancied David.

We've lost Natasha's grandma's neighbour's pet parrot. A bird of paradise has left the safety of its coal shed and is flying wild amongst the mean streets of Brighouse. It doesn't stand a chance. I mean, even if it manages to survive these still chilly June nights, how is it ever going to integrate amongst the local avian community? For all the other birds will be thinking, "why does she get to be so fancy, with that fan of feathers on her head, when all we are is a bunch of boring brown starlings?"

I'm reassuring myself that Mrs Woodhouse can't have loved it that much since it was living in her coal shed, but still we have lost possession of something, no not something, a pet, a companion, a best friend, which was not ours to lose.

Natasha had the kind spirited idea of tending to Mrs Woodhouse's garden. You know pulling up some weeds and mowing the lawn, helping out an old lady who can no longer attend to such activities for herself. But I'm not fooled by her altruism one bit. I know that all she wanted was to earn a few quid to buy some cigarettes.

'Simone, will you get me the hoe?' She ordered, 'it's in the shed.'

Uncertain of what this mysterious implement might be, I scrambled about, trying to find the un-findable, when I was distracted from my task by a tinny screech of "Hello". Now I know that spiders can't speak, and they were the only living creatures in residence in the shed, but there it was again, and this time a whistle too.

'Natasha, there are some really strange noises in here. Will you come help me please?'

'Argh, watch out! Run, it's a UFO!' Natasha screamed.

'A UFO? Let me out!' I banged at the door which had now slammed shut in my face, leaving me trapped with the alien creature. At last the door swung open and I fled, closely followed by a blurring mass of grey and white feathers.

'It's the budgie. Mrs Woodhouse's pet budgie!'

'Don't be stupid, that's not a budgie, it looks more like a parrot to me.'

'Never mind what breed it is, where's it gone?' We hurriedly searched the locality, but there was no point, the bird had escaped.

'It must have flown off somewhere.'

I dragged Natasha back in to the shed and hurriedly closed the door. 'What are we going to do now?'

'I don't know,' she shook her head flustered. If Natasha was worried then it must be serious, 'we're going to have to make a run for it.'

'What do you mean, make a run for it? We can't just leave.'

'What choice do we have? Or do you want to tell Mrs Woodhouse that you've lost her budgie?'

'Don't blame me. This is categorically not my fault. And may I remind you that it's you who made me go in to the shed, that it's you who opened the door, and that it's you who volunteered us for this whole rotten job in the first place.'

'Shut up Simone. Anyway, it dive bombed me. It's happened now, there's no bringing it back, and so we might as well make our exit before Mrs Woodhouse notices that it's gone. The garden's nearly finished, so we should just pack up and tell her that we're done for the day. By the time she realises we'll be long gone.'

I had no choice but to admit she was right. The bird had gone, and if it knew what was good for it would already be departed on the long journey home to its native country. I couldn't face telling Mrs Woodhouse what had happened, and I certainly couldn't face listening to Mrs Woodhouse telling Mother what had happened.

"Daddy thinks you shouldn't hang around with Natasha anymore." That's what she'd say. Why can't she just admit that she's the one that doesn't like me being friends with Natasha?

We left unsuspectingly, with Mrs Woodhouse giving us three pounds each for our efforts. I felt ashamed to accept the money, but what choice did I have?

'Stop, wait!' Our cycle home was halted as a laughing tweet sing-songed its ways in to my ear. 'Did you hear that?'

'Hear what?'

'There it is again. You must have heard it this time?'

'Oh no. Do you know what it is? It's the budgie. It's whistling at us!'

'No way! Where is it? Can you see it?'

'Can I see it? Have you seen how many trees there are on this street? It could be anywhere.'

'There again, I can hear it again. It's like it's laughing at us; it's having a joke at our expense.

'Hi Simone. Hi Natasha.' How did the parrot know our names?

Of course it didn't, but something much worse did. Harry Styles, and he was grinning. Yuck, where had he come from? He's such a bad smell, always turning up uninvited and impossible to get rid of.

'What's the matter? Have you seen something?' He asked, as perceptive as ever.

'No!' Was our guilt so transparent?

'Well you're staring at those trees like a pair of gormless loonies.'

'Actually Harold, we're very interested in the local environment, and we're counting the different varieties of trees for our log book.'

'A log book? You two?' Of course he didn't believe us, even I didn't believe us, 'I think you're lying to me.'

'No we're not!' I tried to convince myself.

'There it is. There's the little bugger,' Natasha was jumping up and down pointing.

'What's where?' Harry was now truly unconvinced of our new found passion for ecology, 'I knew you were looking at something. What are you hiding?'

Another whistle.

'Is that some sort of parrot?' Damn it, Harry had located the bird.

'It's not a parrot, it's a budgie,' Natasha corrected him.

'Well it looks like a very posh budgie to me; and what's it doing in that tree?'

'You see, what happened is...' and before I could stop her Natasha had divulged a detailed entry of the afternoon's events to Harry. What was she thinking by so freely releasing information to the enemy?

'Ha ha, that's too funny. You're never going to get it back without my help. Do you want me to climb up the tree and catch it for you?'

'No we do not!' I may regret losing that blasted thing but I would rather confess to Mrs Woodhouse than accept help from Harry Styles.

'Yes we do, we'd love you to help us,' Natasha gushed.

Never quick enough to intercept his pathetic enthusiasm, he was off and scrambling up the wall next to the tree.

'Hey Simone, don't look now, but your boyfriend is headed this way,' Harry sniggered from a branch above. Why he's even more annoying than that bird.

'Natasha,' I hissed, 'it's Michael and David, and they're walking towards us.' It really couldn't get any worse. 'If you say a word to them, I swear I'll climb up this tree and punch you in the jaw again.'

How unfair can life get? After everything that has happened, why do we have to run in to Michael and David now? No wonder they don't want to talk to us; we must look like a right pair of immature twerps, hanging around with Harry Styles and an estranged parrot.

'Natasha, you've got to say something to them,' I pleaded.

'Hi boys, I don't suppose you're any good at catching exotic birdlife are you? And I don't mean us,' she gave them her trademark wink. Yuck, she really does make me cringe sometimes. Of all the things why did she have to say that? Why couldn't she say something normal, like, "lovely day isn't it?", but oh no, she's totally unable to resist using such brie smeared chat-up lines.

'Are we good at catching what?' They looked appalled, but who could blame them? Michael and David are the sort of boys who go out with grown-up sophisticated girls, the type that go to dazzling wine bars and the most VIP nightclubs, and who stay out all night wiggling their perfectly formed bottoms, and quaffing champagne from the most elegant glasses, but most of all they go out with girls who are really fashionable. They don't go out with girls who wear tracksuits and tend to old ladies gardens and who hang around with children, because that's what Harry Styles is; a child. If only there was some way of making it clear that it's Natasha who is friends with Harry, that it's her who got us in to this mess, and then at least they might consider me to be the more appealing option of our gruesome double act.

Once more they stood awkwardly, both with their hands punched firmly in to their pockets. Why must they always do that? It's like they don't know what to do with themselves. Even after being so sure as to put their tongues in our mouths, when it comes to their hands it's quite the conundrum.

'So are we playing football again anytime soon?' Natasha winked again. Maybe they'll just think she's got a nervous tick? God I hope so.

'Oh,' Michael stuttered, 'we're really busy, what with...studying for exams. So we don't really have time right now. Then we're going on holiday, and then it is the start of University.'

'University?' Natasha's voice reflected my own feelings of rejection.

'That's it, I've got you; you little sucker.' A bundle of fraught feathers catapulted across the road, striving to save itself from Harry's filthy hands, which were now grasping tenuously at a delicate branch. 'Damn I nearly had it! I'll get you parrot!' He yelled in the direction of the fugitive bird.

'Okay anyway, we've got to go, so we'll see you later,' Michael spoke, 'I hope you manage to catch it, whatever it is.'

'You know, if they weren't going away to University, I reckon we'd be in there.' Natasha gave hope as we watched the outline of their delicate frames disappear into the dusk stained horizon. 'They clearly don't want to put themselves through the pain of having to leave us behind. I think that they like us too much.'