You, Me and Him by Alice Peterson

replied.
    ‘That was a waste of a question.’
    ‘It doesn’t count.’
    ‘Yes, it does.’ I hit his arm and he hit me back.
    ‘That was a warm-up.’
    ‘I’m waiting.’
    ‘I’ve gone blank now, I’m still thinking about you in a lace dress. Do you have brothers? Sisters?’
    ‘Only child.’
    ‘Parents still together?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Lucky you. What’s your favourite food?’
    ‘Pecan pie. Yours?’
    ‘Lemon meringue. OK, next question …’
    ‘That’s three,’ I reminded him. ‘And they’re slightly boring so far, I have to say.’
    ‘Right, got to make the next two seriously more interesting then.’ He stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘What’s the story between you and Clarky?’
    ‘Story? We’re friends.’
    ‘Friends,’ Finn repeated. ‘Only he acted strange when I picked you up earlier. I don’t think he likes me. And then the other night, at the club, he was all over you.’
    ‘We were dancing.’
    ‘Mmm. And then telling you to forget about me?’
    ‘He can be over-protective, that’s all.’ I was worried about Clarky, though. He had been behaving strangely around me lately and was hardly encouraging about Finn. When I’d asked him about it he’d simply said, ‘If you like him, go for it. It’s your life.’
    ‘I didn’t think boys and girls could be just friends?’
    ‘’Course they can. It’s a different shade of love, isn’t it?’
    ‘Shade? What, like red love is passion; blue platonic?’ He wasn’t taking me seriously.
    ‘Only one more question.’ I shifted into a new position and adjusted my hair.
    ‘Are you nervous?’
    My ‘No!’ came out in a high-pitched voice as Finn moved in to kiss me. I shuddered, moving jerkily away like a startled rabbit. His kiss landed on the middle of my left cheek. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry.’ I started to laugh. ‘I
am
nervous.’ I brushed the dust off my jeans.
    ‘Why are you nervous?’
    I held his gaze. ‘I think you know.’
    We moved closer to each other then, knees touching. A surge of electricity shot right through me. If he could have measured my pulse then it would have been off the scale. ‘My turn,’ I whispered. ‘Will you just kiss me otherwise I’ll go mad and …’ His lips were pressed against mine. Our kiss was soft to begin with but then it became intense. I shut my eyes, lost in his touch. One hand was cupped around the back of my neck, the weight of it telling me this wasn’t a dream.

CHAPTER TEN
    I open the oven to check on the turkey and steam rushes to my face. The turkey smells of congealed fat and the Brussels sprouts smell of George’s socks. ‘Are you all right?’ my mother asks, standing over the stove heating up the bread sauce. I feel like nothing on earth, I want to say. ‘Fine,’ I tell her.
    My father is helping Finn lay the long oak table with our best silver which we were given as a wedding present; I bought dark red candles for each end of the table, white linen napkins and gold and silver crackers. George is upstairs playing with the toys we put into his stocking. Last night he left a glass of sherry and an oat biscuit outside his bedroom for Santa, along with his Pokémon cards. I believed in Father Christmas until I was ten. Finn stopped believing when he was four. ‘I heard Mum and Dad arguing,’ he’d told me, rolling his eyes, ‘my bedroom door was flung open and the entire contents of the stocking thrown in.’
    ‘Why don’t you have a rest after lunch?’ Mum suggests. I want some of her energy. The only things that give away her age are her lined hands, fingertips roughened from gardening, and I sometimes catch her out squinting because she will not wear her glasses except in bed when she reads.
    My father, on the other hand, looks his age, with deep frown lines from the years spent commuting into London. His grey hair is thinning and wispy and his skin fragile, like thin tracing paper, showing a cluster of tiny red veins in each cheek. Today he’s dressed