Paparazzi Princess Read Online Free

and it widened out towards the skirt like the branches of a fir tree.
    Mad, but that was Mum. She liked to dress up for any occasion, any excuse. She’d also make her own mince pies and cake and for weeks, our house would smell of nutmeg, cinnamon and oranges. She went the whole hog: advent calendars, red candles that smelt of frankincense and sandalwood, tinsel everywhere, even on the taps in the bathroom!
    We always had a great tree, a real one that smelt of pine and was decked with loads of red and gold baubles with silver and gold tinsel circling from top to bottom. She loved the card sending too – no copping out and doing it by email for her. She’d spend ages buying and wrapping presents and never got bored with it like Aunt Maddie did. Aunt M said doing Christmas cards year after year made her feel like she was trapped in a groundhog day. She gave up doing it years ago and donated the money for cards and gifts to charity, telling us that Christmas was nothing but a commercial venture. One year, she gave my and Charlie’s Christmas present money to a farm in Africa. Typical of her as Missgoodietwoshoes-savetheworld but so different to Mum’s attitude which was Christmas was a time to celebrate life, loved ones, a time to be joyful and blow the expense.
    Mum bought the cards, gifts and all the seasonal trimmings and donated to charity. That was her attitude to everything – yes, put something back into the world but make sure you have a good time while you’re here too.
    An image of Mum in the kitchen wearing her red-and-white Santa hat and singing, ‘It’s getting to feel a lot like Christmas,’ flashed through my head and my eyes filled with tears. I missed her as much now as when she first went – more even, because the longer it was since she died, the more final it seemed. She hadn’t gone away for a break, on a holiday. No. Wherever she’d gone, she wasn’t coming back. Not even for Christmas. It sucked.
    Pia turned around in her seat and gave me a sympathetic look. She sensed what I was feeling and she was right. I say bah humbug to your project, Mrs Moran.
    *
    ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do at Christmas?’ asked Pia as we filed out of class in the break.
    I shrugged. ‘Not sure. Ignore it? Hide under a holly bush and only come out when it’s all over.’
    Pia linked arms with me. ‘I know it’s hard for you but I remember your mum and how she loved it all. It was her favourite time. She’d hate to see you unhappy. I reckon you should carry on the traditions she started, get into it all big time like she did. Do it for her.’
    ‘I . . .’ I had no defence. Pia was right, and Mum had said almost exactly the same words to me in her last week. She said she was sorry she couldn’t be around and that I was to try my best to be brave and to celebrate the joy of being alive and the spirit of Christmas. I’m sure that she’d have understood that I couldn’t do it for her last year but maybe this year, I could. I should .
    ‘It’s our first Christmas at Porchester Park,’ Pia continued, ‘Mum told me that the decorators are coming in this week to do a number in reception. I bet they’ll make it look fabulous, plus we’ll be together. Maybe we should throw a party. Get Tom and the others from school to come. We could put up a ton of mistletoe for snog sessions.’
    The idea of seeing Tom over the holidays did appeal. Maybe we could take things to the next level, from flirting and the occasional kiss to being an item. My first proper boyfriend.
    ‘OK, yeah. I guess we could have a cool yule with no school,’ I said.
    ‘You’re a poet and you didn’t know it,’ Pia added.
    I went into my version of what was meant to be street dancing but had a feeling looked more like I’d put my hand in an electric socket and was having a seizure.
    ‘Cool yule, outta school,’ I said in a rap style.
    Pia joined in. ‘Don’t be a fool, no rules.’
    I grabbed my crotch à la the late