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for a moment or two longer. ‘Me too.’
    We sat there grinning at each other. It was the kind of thing that’s a bit sickening if you’re not actually involved in it. But I
was
involved in it and it was brilliant.
    It was nearly three o’clock by the time we’d finished eating. I went to get my wallet out but one stern look from Kate stopped me in my tracks. I held up my hands in surrender and she looked smug. ‘You can pay next time …’
    Another next time. Another chance. I wondered if she kept saying ‘next time’ deliberately, like she sensed I needed reassurance. Or maybe
she
was looking for reassurance.
    We left the restaurant and wandered back up the hill towards town. I didn’t say anything when we passed the end of my road. Princes Street was rammed with people who have nothing better to do on a Saturdayafternoon than shop for crap they don’t need. I waited with Kate at the bus stop. There were loads of people waiting – old ladies and women with buggies mostly. The bus came and we stepped back to let everyone else on first. Kate took my hand and squeezed it. She whispered in my ear and her breath tickled a bit. ‘I really want to kiss you but I have terrible garlic breath and I’d rather not do it in front of all these people. Can we go somewhere more private next time? Assuming you … um … want to kiss me too?’
    ‘I … yes. I really do.’
    I had never wanted anything more.
    *
    It was a good first date. As good as a first date can be when there’s a secret that huge hanging over you, threatening to flatten you the minute you slip up and say or do the wrong thing. There was only one thing missing, but I was happy to wait. It was excruciating, of course – the anticipation of what it would be like when her lips met mine.
    I took off the bandages as soon as I got home and breathed the biggest sigh of relief. Now that I knew for sure that Kate wanted to kiss me, I was on top of the world – nothing could touch me. When Mum and Dad got back from Glasgow and Mum was in a foul mood because there was nothing in the fridge for dinnerso we’d have to get takeaway again, I just smiled and fanned out the menus in front of her like a magician. Said I’d even go and collect it. She looked at me suspiciously; I never volunteered to get the takeaway.
    Mum knew something was up, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. It must have been the smiling. I wasn’t one for pointless smiling. Anyway, she didn’t push the matter and we actually had a pretty decent evening, stuffing ourselves and taking the piss out of people on some TV talent show. Kate texted a couple of times and asked what I was up to. I said I was listening to music in my room. Weirdly enough, this tiny lie made me feel guilty. Probably because there was no good reason for it, other than the fact that I didn’t want Kate to think I was the sort of loser who watched Saturday night telly with their parents. I decided that one day soon I’d come clean about it. Strange how you can focus on the little things when there’s a massive black cloud looming over you.
    *
    On Monday the real world was waiting for me. I showered quickly and got dressed. I zipped up my skirt and stared at myself in the mirror. My shirt was at least three sizes too big. Most of the girls wore theirs tight, desperate to show off their boobs. Which you could just about understand in a co-ed school, but in agirls’ school it was just bizarre. Everyone else usually rolled up the tops of their skirts to make them as short as possible. I never bothered. There was no way to make it look good so what was the point of trying? I hated the tights too. I went bare-legged for as long as possible every year, waiting for the day Mum insisted I wear tights. By that time it was usually so cold that my legs went mottled and blue-ish.
    I looked like crap in my uniform, there was no question about that. It just looked
wrong
somehow. Like I was wearing a costume, dressing up like