worry about missing someone you’d never even dreamed of meeting a few weeks ago?
‘See you later, Xavier. Have a good day,’ I say. I flash him a coy little smile. I expect him to wish me the same, to give me a quick peck on both cheeks, and then to turn and walk
away.
But he doesn’t. He says, ‘Goodbye, Veecks.’ And then he grabs my face in both his hands and kisses me. He kisses me properly, deeply, as if he really means it and wants
everyone to know that we’re together. The kiss takes me by surprise and, for a moment, I can’t relax into it. I know that people are watching, not just Rosie and Manon but girls in my
year too, girls like big mouth Lucy Reed, whose mum has just dropped her off outside the school gate. I close my eyes tight to shut them all out and let myself melt into the kiss. Soon, I
don’t care who can see us; I don’t care about any of them. I don’t care if the news is all around the school in a few hours. I only care about the kiss. For thirty gorgeous,
exquisite seconds, nothing else matters, nothing at all: not the fact that Manon clearly now hates me so much that she’d probably like to chop my head off with a guillotine, French Revolution
style; not the fact that Rosie is being weird with me; not even my Mum’s illness. I’m as happy as happy can be. I’m floating high above the world, weightless and absolutely free.
I’m on cloud . . . a cloud that’s way, way higher than nine. I must be on at least cloud one hundred. No, one hundred thousand. Or even higher: somewhere in the millions . . . How about
cloud five million, eight hundred thousand, nine hundred and fifty-seven? Yes, that’s my personal happiness cloud. I don’t ever want to come down from it.
Too soon, Xavier pulls away and the world roars back into focus. I had no idea so many people were standing around. It seems as if almost half the school has arrived in the last few seconds, and
Xavier and I are the main attraction. Looking into the faces of the crowd, I feel like I’ve accidentally just auditioned for a new type of reality TV show:
Britain’s Most Talented
Kisser
. Somebody is clapping, someone else calling out, ‘Get a room, guys!’ and Lucy Reed is holding her mobile up in the air; I think she might actually be filming us. My cheeks
are glowing hot and I’m not sure whether to feel proud of myself or deeply ashamed. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.
I try to catch Rosie’s eye; she looks shocked and disapproving. Manon has her arms folded, a look of disdain on her face. I’m sure I’m going to have to pay for what just
happened. I’m also aware that cloud five million, eight hundred thousand, nine hundred and fifty-seven is very, very high up. That means there’s a hell of a long way to fall.
y mum is getting worse, little by little. As much as she denies it, and as much as I try to pretend that
it’s not happening, the signs are obvious. Most days now, her walking is so unsteady that she can’t even manage two steps without her stick. She’s in so much pain that she’s
given in and started taking the strong painkillers she hates, and they’re making her woozy and dizzy and sick. She can’t sleep a wink at night, but she is so tired during the day that
she usually falls asleep in the afternoons in her armchair, like an old lady.
She says she loved going to the theatre last week with her friend, only it did her in; she doesn’t think she can attempt a trip out like that again for a long time. I think she might be
feeling depressed. I don’t blame her, anyone in her position would be. She’s on her own almost all the time, stuck in the house, unable to concentrate on anything for long. She’s
bored and lonely and miserable.
I feel bad for her, I really do; but the problem is, I don’t want to be the solution. I know it’s selfish of me, but I don’t want to spend all my spare time talking to Mum when
I’m at home. It’s already taking longer and
‘See you later, Xavier. Have a good day,’ I say. I flash him a coy little smile. I expect him to wish me the same, to give me a quick peck on both cheeks, and then to turn and walk
away.
But he doesn’t. He says, ‘Goodbye, Veecks.’ And then he grabs my face in both his hands and kisses me. He kisses me properly, deeply, as if he really means it and wants
everyone to know that we’re together. The kiss takes me by surprise and, for a moment, I can’t relax into it. I know that people are watching, not just Rosie and Manon but girls in my
year too, girls like big mouth Lucy Reed, whose mum has just dropped her off outside the school gate. I close my eyes tight to shut them all out and let myself melt into the kiss. Soon, I
don’t care who can see us; I don’t care about any of them. I don’t care if the news is all around the school in a few hours. I only care about the kiss. For thirty gorgeous,
exquisite seconds, nothing else matters, nothing at all: not the fact that Manon clearly now hates me so much that she’d probably like to chop my head off with a guillotine, French Revolution
style; not the fact that Rosie is being weird with me; not even my Mum’s illness. I’m as happy as happy can be. I’m floating high above the world, weightless and absolutely free.
I’m on cloud . . . a cloud that’s way, way higher than nine. I must be on at least cloud one hundred. No, one hundred thousand. Or even higher: somewhere in the millions . . . How about
cloud five million, eight hundred thousand, nine hundred and fifty-seven? Yes, that’s my personal happiness cloud. I don’t ever want to come down from it.
Too soon, Xavier pulls away and the world roars back into focus. I had no idea so many people were standing around. It seems as if almost half the school has arrived in the last few seconds, and
Xavier and I are the main attraction. Looking into the faces of the crowd, I feel like I’ve accidentally just auditioned for a new type of reality TV show:
Britain’s Most Talented
Kisser
. Somebody is clapping, someone else calling out, ‘Get a room, guys!’ and Lucy Reed is holding her mobile up in the air; I think she might actually be filming us. My cheeks
are glowing hot and I’m not sure whether to feel proud of myself or deeply ashamed. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.
I try to catch Rosie’s eye; she looks shocked and disapproving. Manon has her arms folded, a look of disdain on her face. I’m sure I’m going to have to pay for what just
happened. I’m also aware that cloud five million, eight hundred thousand, nine hundred and fifty-seven is very, very high up. That means there’s a hell of a long way to fall.
y mum is getting worse, little by little. As much as she denies it, and as much as I try to pretend that
it’s not happening, the signs are obvious. Most days now, her walking is so unsteady that she can’t even manage two steps without her stick. She’s in so much pain that she’s
given in and started taking the strong painkillers she hates, and they’re making her woozy and dizzy and sick. She can’t sleep a wink at night, but she is so tired during the day that
she usually falls asleep in the afternoons in her armchair, like an old lady.
She says she loved going to the theatre last week with her friend, only it did her in; she doesn’t think she can attempt a trip out like that again for a long time. I think she might be
feeling depressed. I don’t blame her, anyone in her position would be. She’s on her own almost all the time, stuck in the house, unable to concentrate on anything for long. She’s
bored and lonely and miserable.
I feel bad for her, I really do; but the problem is, I don’t want to be the solution. I know it’s selfish of me, but I don’t want to spend all my spare time talking to Mum when
I’m at home. It’s already taking longer and
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