‘You think I’m playing this again?’
‘Of course. Don’t tell me you didn’t have a good time?’
‘I suppose I did,’ I admit. ‘Shall we go and get some lunch?’
Ted is waiting for us at the meeting place. He looks at me in surprise. ‘How many people shot you?’
‘Only two,’ I say, helping myself to a sandwich. ‘But it was at pretty close range.’
‘Ah, well,’ he says philosophically. ‘I hope you enjoy your lunch. There’s a flask of hot coffee over there.’
An hour later, everyone is back in the car park. A fair-haired girl of about sixteen is the only one not to have been shot. She’s awarded a small trophy while everyone whoops and cheers.
‘That’s the third time you’ve won, isn’t it?’ asks Ted.
‘It’s good practise,’ says the girl. ‘I do archery in the summer, so this is a way to keep my hand in.’
‘I’m glad we were only doing paintball,’ whispers Alex. ‘I wouldn’t want to be around her when she has a bow and arrow. It would be like taking part in the Hunger Games.’
We all pile onto the bus, talking and laughing.
‘I’m sorry I can’t spend the rest of the afternoon with you,’ says Alex as the bus set off. ‘I told Mum when I came home that I’d go to see my great uncle with her. And this is the only afternoon he’s free. Maybe we could meet up this evening?’
‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘I’m going out to dinner with my family.’
‘And I’m at my grandparents’ house all day tomorrow. So, it looks as though I won’t see you until our New Year’s Eve party.’
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ I say.
‘So am I. But I’m not looking forward to New Year’s Day.’
I sigh. ‘I know, but let’s not think about that now. At least I’ll see you on New Year’s Day, even if it’s only for a few minutes after midnight.’
‘What time do you leave for Paris?’ he asks.
‘Dad’s taking me to catch the seven o’clock train. I’m really not looking forward to that. Everyone else will be tucked up safely in bed when I leave.’
‘Can I come and see you off?’ he asks.
‘Do you really want to get up at six thirty on New Year’s Day and come to the train station?’
‘If it means seeing you.’
I feel a rush of pleasure. He doesn’t seem to regard this as nothing more than a holiday romance, to be forgotten the moment I leave the country.
‘You’d be very welcome to come,’ I say at last. ‘But don’t forget that Dad will be there.’
‘Not if I pick you up and take you,’ he says.
‘I’d love that. But then everyone would know about you and me.’
He put his arm around me. ‘They have to know sometime or other. I thought we’d agreed to tell them at the party if things were going well.’
‘We did,’ I say. ‘So, things are going well?’
He draws me closer. ‘I think so. Don’t you?’
‘I do.’ I rest my head on his shoulder.