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with a communal green area in front of the houses. I wondered what it would be like to have neighbours that you probably saw every day, coming and going. The wooden gate swung listlessly on one hinge, the white paint flaking off it. My father would never have allowed Avalon to fall into disrepair; anything broken or damaged was fixed or replaced immediately, regardless of our changed circumstances. Appearances were important to him. Helen’s family were slovenly, I decided. They did not have a long driveway and land like we had, but a short front garden and a gravelled area for a car. There was no car.
    I got quite a surprise when she answered the door. We had both just got out of school, but Helen had found the time to change her clothes, curl her hair (her straight, silky hair was the one thing I really did like about her) and apply make-up. The lipstick was a dark purple and had stained her teeth. Her black leather-look jeans were not tight enough on her bony legs to achieve what I assume was the desired effect (Sandy in
Grease
). Helen looked like a proper grown-up. I was immediately at a disadvantage. In my tight school blazer, I was still, painfully, a schoolboy.
    ‘S-sorry,’ I stammered. ‘I didn’t have time to change …’
    But Helen was delighted to see me. ‘Come in!’ Her welcome was effusive. Had she worried that I wouldn’t come?
    The house reeked of cigarette smoke and was overwhelmingly floral. Rugs, curtains, upholstery, table mats, carpets, cushions and wallpaper. I could have been in the Botanic Gardens. And there were scribbled words everywhere, on walls and mirrors. There were sheaves of paper and books of every size and description on every surface.
    ‘Oh yeah, my mam’s a poet,’ said Helen by way of explanation. ‘She’s out for the night and my little brothers are staying with Auntie Grace, so we’ve the place to ourselves.’
    This information was given casually, but meaningfully. There was now nobody who could stop whatever it was that was going to happen. Judging by Helen’s demeanour, at the very least
kissing
was definitely going to happen.
    ‘Is your dad at work?’ I asked, not without a little hope.
    ‘My dad? I haven’t seen him in years.’
    I wondered when The Kissing would begin.
    ‘We can have dinner now – there’s pizzas I can just throw in the oven. They’re only small. How many do you want?’ She produced a bag of frozen discs from the freezer. I wanted four. No, five.
    ‘Two, please,’ I said. I was aware that my appetite was a source of great amusement to some, and I had not forgotten the promise of her mother’s cake, though I was slightly concerned there was no sign of it.
    ‘Have three,’ said Helen, ‘they’re only small.’
    I warmed to her now, as she tore the cellophane with her teeth.
    ‘Do you like gin?’
    ‘Does your mum let you drink, then?’
    ‘What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.’
    Helen poured us some drinks. I remembered the carnations in my satchel, which I’d left at the front door. I had meant to present them to her on arrival. It seemed to me like the moment had passed. If we were now to drink gin, then The Kissing was imminent and the flowers were no longer necessary.
    I knocked back the gin and tonic she had poured for me. I winced at the sharp taste. I then realized why my parents sipped at their alcoholic drinks. Nevertheless, I managed to drink two more gin and tonics in quick succession.
    Dinner was pleasant enough, I suppose, though I know I ate four of the pizzas, leaving Helen with one. I recallenquiring after her mother’s cake, and hiding my disappointment on finding myself presented with what I would describe as a sliver of plain sponge cake on a floral plate. Helen poured us more gin. When The Kissing started, I was very pleased. We had sort of inched towards each other on the living-room sofa. Her hand stroked my thigh. I am not sure who started it, but there were teeth and tongues and sucking and slopping