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Nonie’s passion is fashion. Humanitarian Edie wants to save the world. And budding actress Jenny has just landed a small part in a Hollywood blockbuster. But when these three friends meet a young African refugee girl called Crow, sketching a dress at the Victoria and Albert Museum, they get the chance to pool their talents and do something truly wonderful, proving that fashion fairy tales really can happen.

Vibrant, contemporary and engaging, this is a wonderfully haute couture read.

Winner of the Times/Chicken House Children's Fiction Competition 2009.

Longlisted for the Branford Boase Award 2010

Reviews:

Exhilarating, entertaining and refreshing … JONATHAN DOUGLAS, NATIONAL LITERARY TRUST

A treat… elegant and funny and has real narrative verve. DAVID ALMOND

From the moment Nonie and her friend Jenny spot Crow sketching a dress wearing dungarees and a pair of pink fairy wings …you’re enchanted. AMANDA CRAIG, THE TIMES

Great fun. It goes at a cracking pace and girls will love it. JACQUELINE WILSON

Bang on trend, with some hilarious fashion faux pas … TBK MAGAZINE

A magical tale … BLISS MAGAZINE

…upbeat and thoroughly entertaining. BOOKS FOR KEEPS

Intelligent chick-lit with lots of heart. BOOKSELLER

The perfect stocking-filler for the girl who knows her Marni from her Matalan…EVENING STANDARD

Miss it, miss out. MIZZ MAGAZINE

The fashion story everyone’s talking about ... SUGAR MAGAZINE

… a must read … INDEPENDENT ON SUNDAY

 …a fun fairytale… WONDERLANDBLOG.COM

And so she comes.

She looks at my wall of Vogue photo shoots and my other wall of costume exhibition posters from the V&A, and I can tell she’s in heaven. She snuggles herself into my favourite purple velvet armchair and tells us about growing up in Uganda, where her parents are, and leaving them to come to England when she was eight.

‘Why?’ I ask, appalled. I mean, I love England, but leaving your parents to come here seems a bit extreme.

Crow looks at the floor and shrugs. For ages, she says nothing, but we wait. Eventually she looks up. ‘It was difficult in my country. My Dad wanted me to get an English education. When my little sister is older, maybe she will come too.’

‘How often do you see your parents?’ I wonder. My Dad lives in Paris and I see him twice a year, which really isn’t enough at all.

‘Not so much.’

‘How much?’

‘Never’, she almost whispers. ‘They send photos. My sister Victoria sends me her drawings. She’s four now.’ She reaches into her satchel and pulls out some folded sheets of paper. They are covered in pictures of smiling children with stick fingers and triangular, colourful clothes under bright blue skies. They are confidently signed ‘Victoria’ in careful four-year-old writing.

‘So who do you live with?’

‘My aunt. She came here years ago. She cleans at my school. She works very hard.’

Edie and I both smile encouragingly. We’re not sure what to say.

On Crow’s second visit, my room is a tip. I’ve been busy trying to perfect my design for the Yves Saint Laurent competition and I’ve been raiding my bookshelves for inspiration. The books are everywhere and there are lots of them. I’m not exactly literary, but if it’s a book about fashion, I have to have it. Mum, Dad and Granny are very generous (although Dad does insist on giving them to me in French, so I can practise). I have everything from serious histories of couture to cut-out paper dolls. I’ve been collecting them since I was seven. Most of them are lying open on the carpet and I desperately try and clear a path so Crow can get across the room without treading them. However, she doesn’t move. She’s entranced.

Edie gives me an astonished stare. She’s never seen Crow look enthusiastic about a book before. The great thing about fashion books, of course, is the illustrations. Huge, full-page photographs and beautiful drawings. Crow’s eye darts from a Balenciaga ballgown to an Elizabethan ruff. She crouches down and runs her fingers over the pages.

‘Does this say Dior?’ she asks.

‘Yes’, Edie says, instantly switching into teacher mode. ‘And that says Christian. His … er ... Christian name.’

‘Dior is my hero,' Crow breathes. There is a woman who lives near my aunt. She worked for Dior. She’s teaching me to knit and sew. Every night we practise. She tells me all about him.’

Edie and I exchange glances. We both suspect that someone is taking advantage of this innocent little girl from Africa with romantic, unlikely stories. After all, Christian Dior died fifty years ago. It seems too cruel to break this particular bubble.

‘May I take it?’ She’s indicating the book I’ve been using for my latest inspiration. It’s a history of the House of Dior (including the bit about Yves Saint Laurent) and it’s written like a text book. It’s not exactly the Famous Five.

‘Certainly,' says Edie, looking shocked. ‘I mean, she can, can’t she, Nonie?’

‘Of course,' I shrug. ‘Take whatever you like.’ To both our amazement, Crow chooses five books and happily piles them up. It occurs to me that maybe she’d have learned to read long ago if people had started her off with cocktail dresses and ballgowns, instead of kittens and puppies.