I mumble a reply and step out into the fresh air, gasping a great lungful of it as I walk away and don’t look back.

She wanted to practice kissing, she said. So that when the time came and she had a boyfriend, she’d know exactly what to do.

Time had passed and we were older now. Teenagers at last. Thirteen is an odd age. Some days you feel almost grown-up. Other days, you’re still very much a child. Building dens in the woods. Fishing for tiddlers with nets and jam jars. Stuffing your face with so many strawberries you feel sick.

“Proper French-kissing,” she said. “With tongues.”

My cheeks burned. Surely she didn’t mean to practice with me? And yet, now that the words were out there, I knew it would happen. Because it was always like that. Her coming up with the plans and me falling in with them. What else could I do? She was the only friend I had.

First, we pushed a chair against her bedroom door. Then we sat on the edge of her bed. My armpits were wet with nervous sweat. My mouth was dry. I wanted it to be over as quickly as possible because we still had an hour’s worth of homework to do and it was pressing on my conscience. But as soon as our lips parted and the tip of her tongue found the tip of mine, I never wanted it to stop.

I wanted to practice forever.

23

THEN: BEFORE

FRIDAY, MAY 25, 2007

It’s Friday evening at last and Alice and I are getting ready for the youth-club disco. Next week is half-term, thank God. Mum calls it the Whitsun week.

Alice takes hold of the strawberry lip gloss and leans toward the speckled mirror in her bedroom. She slides the rollerball from side to side across her mouth. I suppose it’s only fair that she gets to use it first, seeing as it’s hers.

Then she presses her middle finger in the blue eyeshadow palette and smears it over her eyelids, blending it into the creases and dabbing another layer on the outer corners.

“Do you see how I’m blending it in?” she says, as if she’s some kind of makeup guru and I’m her student. Alice is my best friend ever, but sometimes she’s really, really annoying.

I pick up the discarded lip gloss and put some on my own lips. I don’t like the sickly sweet smell in my nostrils, or the sticky feel of it, but if Alice is using it, I want to as well.