Les grabbed my right hand.

When you’re little, you think a lot about whether or not you should kiss a boy on the first date. Will he think you’re easy? Will he think you kiss every boy you meet like that? Will you catch something?

But since we hadn’t technically been on our first date yet, I didn’t worry about it. As soon as I felt his skin on mine I turned to face him. I’d practised kissing my pillow and stuff like that (so I’d know what to do), but kissing Les was not like kissing my pillow. His lips were warm, and soft as the centre of a chocolate cream. I was melting from within. I didn’t even jump or gag or anything when he stuck his tongue in my mouth. It was hardly slimy at all.

“How about Sunday?” he whispered when we came up for air. “I’ve got to work Saturday and Sunday night, but we could do something in the afternoon. After lunch.” He stroked my hair. “If you’re not busy.”

He had to be joking. I would never be busy again in my life.

She was waiting up for me, of course. She’d ruined the first part of my birthday for me, and now she was determined to ruin the last part as well. She must’ve sensed I was having a good time somewhere. I always said she was a witch.

She launched herself from the window as soon as she saw me come down the street and popped out of the living-room like a cuckoo in a clock as soon as I stepped into the hall.

“I’d like to talk to you,” she said in this dead flat voice.

She was a bit drunk. Alcohol’s meant to make you jolly, but she always gets really earnest and serious when she has a bit to drink.

I didn’t meet her eyes. I wasn’t going to let her spoil what had turned out to be the best night of my life. I was going to go to bed and pretend that Les was beside me, holding me tight, telling me how wonderful I was.

I locked the front door and marched past her.