Blueberry Wishes by Kelly McKain Page A

somehow messing up our group. I’d need to be totally sure they liked each other before I said anything.

    I found myself watching Ben and Summer on Friday too – I didn’t realize I was, but when they were sharing a textbook in Geography, Summer suddenly did that goggly eyes thing at me, as if to say, What are you staring at?
    â€œSorry, I’m miles away,” I whispered. “Just thinking about seeing Dad tomorrow.”
    She looked all concerned then and asked me if I was feeling okay about that, and I felt really bad for fibbing. I realized when she asked the question that actually I was just mainly looking forward to seeing him, and I only had a tiny bit of the stomach-churning, how-dare-you-wreck-our-family type feeling that I used to get all the time, whenever I even thought of him.
    I hoped Grace and Saff would be alright too. Well, I mean, they’d both sorted out their differences with him and things were all okay on the phone, so there was no reason why they wouldn’t be. In a strange, non-logical way, I wished Mum could come too, so we could all be together again, and get along just like we used to. I guess what I really wanted to do was turn back time, to when we were in our cosy, happy house in Ealing, laughing and teasing and bustling about and talking non-stop.
    But I’d accepted that we could never go back – and at least now we had some way of going forwards. Mum, Grace, Saff and I had Rainbow Beauty, new friends, the flat and each other. My sisters and I had Dad back in our lives. It wasn’t perfect, but it was our life now, and I was really beginning to love it.

On Saturday afternoon, Dad met Saff, Grace and me at Victoria Coach Station in London and we all had massive hugs (and Dad had a couple of tears, which Saff didn’t notice and Grace and I pretended not to see).
    â€œNice look, Dad!” said Saff approvingly, and I remembered that only Grace and I had seen him go back to being suited and booted and smelling of aftershave like he used to.
    We were expecting to head back to his flat – well, bedsit – but he had a surprise for us. Massimo, the owner of a gorgeous vintage-style beauty shop called Beau, had invited us in to present the new range at two o’clock. We’d pitched to him before when we were selling our Beauty and the Beach range, and he’d ordered loads, so Saff and I were really excited.
    But Grace looked horrified. “Dad, it’s already twelve,” she gasped, “and we haven’t even shown you the new products or gone through the pricing or anything!”
    â€œWell, we’d better get cracking then,” said Dad, with a grin.
    So we found an Italian cafe just down from the coach station and us three ordered paninis while Dad got a massive plate of Bolognese. Grace made him wear a load of paper napkins tucked into his collar in case he got any down his shirt right before the pitch. I couldn’t help smiling, watching her fuss over him – I knew just how much courage it had taken her to give him another chance.
    We walked into Beau at two on the dot and were greeted like old friends by Massimo himself, with the three-kisses-on-the-cheek thing that Marco’s mum does. He’d made us coffee in a posh cafetière and there were long, thin biscotti with pistachios and orange peel. He told us how well the Beauty and the Beach range had gone down with his customers, and then we pitched the Rainbow range to him. He loved the concept and was especially keen on the Red Spicy Delight Bubble Bath and the Blue Massage Oil Blend. He took ten each of those and eight of everything else, as well as five of the gift packs.
    Saff’s eyes were popping out – she hadn’t pitched with us before, so she was only used to seeing people buy one or two products at a time. Grace and Dad looked quietly pleased. Over lunch they’d agreed that sixty orders would be brilliant. Luckily I managed to