‘We’ve even bought a puppy together,’ he reminds me. ‘It takes most couples a lot longer to make that kind of a commitment.’
‘You don’t even know whether he’s survived the kiln,’ I say.
‘True, but I’ll find out this afternoon. Mum’s bound to spend ages with my great uncle. I’ll slip out for a breath of air and pick up the castle and Cuthbert. I’ll bring them to the party with me.’
‘And we’ll tell our parents then,’ I say.
‘Or we can wait until I kiss you at midnight. That ought to give them a clue.’
‘Everyone kisses everyone at midnight on New Year’s Eve,’ I say and feel his arm tighten around me.
‘Not the way I plan to kiss you. Would you like a demonstration now?’
‘In front of those boys who shot us? I don’t think so.’
He sighs. ‘You’re probably right. But they won’t be at the party, so all bets are off.’
We reach the bus stop all too quickly. We thank Ted and watch the teenagers walk down the high street, chattering and laughing.
Alex and I take the bus back to Little Mickton. Neither of us talks much on the journey. I’m trying not to think about New Year’s Day, and I’m pretty sure he is too.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow night,’ he says when we arrive at our stop.
I look along the street, but there’s no one there I know. I tiptoe up to kiss him. ‘I can’t wait.’
Chapter Nine
New Year’s Eve doesn’t start too auspiciously. First, Mum runs out of asparagus.
‘Someone will have to go to the supermarket,’ she says. ‘I promised to take a quiche tonight, and I can’t make it without the asparagus. How can a bunch of asparagus disappear? It can’t have grown legs and walked out of the fridge all by itself.’
‘Don’t look at me,’ I say. ‘I don’t even like asparagus. Can’t you substitute spinach or something?’
‘No, I can’t! Everyone loves my asparagus quiche. I really want to take one to the party tonight.’
As soon as I get back from the supermarket, she discovers she’s run out of eggs. I turn around and get back in the car. There’s no point in arguing with Mum when she’s in this sort of mood.
She cheers up a little after lunch. ‘Now that’s out of the way, I can spend the afternoon helping you with your packing.’
‘I’ve done it,’ I say.
‘But you’re bound to have forgotten something. And you’ve probably thrown everything in there any old how. By the time you get to Paris, it will be all crumpled and grubby. You know how important it is to make a good first impression. Those Parisian women are always perfectly turned out. I don’t know how they do it.’
‘They’ll be too busy sorting out their own outfits to care what I look like,’ I say.
But Mum is having none of it. ‘You’re an ambassador for your country. We can’t have their first impression of British women spoiled by crumpled clothes.’
‘I think they’ve probably met British women before,’ I say. ‘It’s the twenty-first century. I’m sure at least a few of them have ventured through the channel tunnel.’
But there’s no point in arguing. She ushers me upstairs, where she inspects my suitcase. ‘Just as I thought! Nothing gets done around here without me. You haven’t folded those shirts properly. It will take you hours to iron them all when you arrive.’
I sit on the bed. ‘It’s a good thing I never iron anything.’
She gives a gasp of horror. ‘Of course, you must iron your clothes! Have you packed your travel iron?’
‘Not only have I not packed one, but I barely even know what one is. I’m sure the family I’m staying with will have an iron if I really want one.’
‘Do you know the French word for iron?’ she asks.