which means the chances of me bumping into him anywhere are slim, unless we are talking séances and time travel. Somehow, freakily, I seem to be dreaming Clara’s memories, her story. I meant to start reading through Clara’s letters to try to work it out, but I got distracted the other day and when I looked for them again they weren’t where I’d left them.
I remind myself to look for them properly; I have to unravel the mystery.
‘I don’t want a boyfriend,’ I say firmly now. ‘And especially not Alfie Anderson.’
‘You love him really,’ Summer says, gliding up behind me and swiping the grapes from my fruit salad. ‘Don’t try to fight it.’
Tia flops down into a seat beside Millie, winks at me and blows a kiss at Alfie. Luckily, he is too busy clowning around to notice.
‘You’re not funny,’ I say.
‘You are,’ Summer grins. ‘You’re just so easy to wind up! Relax, we know you’re not interested in Alfie. Who would be?’
‘I think he’s got potential,’ Millie says thoughtfully.
‘I think he’s got jam all over his face,’ Tia adds.
I glance across at Alfie, who is trying to stuff an entire sponge pudding into his mouth at once, and sigh. If there is potential there, I can’t quite see it.
Alfie spots us watching him and turns a dark shade of red before wiping his face, gulping down the sponge pudding and sitting down quietly. I know he doesn’t fancy me, but it’s just possible that Tia or Millie might be his secret crush girl. Well, maybe not Millie, because Alfie wasn’t exactly friendly to her on the school bus the other day, but that could have been an attempt to hide his true feelings, couldn’t it?
I think he probably does need some advice. On using less hair gel and less Lynx bodyspray and not stuffing so much cake into his mouth that he looks like a demented hamster streaked with strawberry jam. I could help him.
It would be a kind thing to do, like picking up litter from the side of the road, or knitting blankets for earthquakevictims, or having a cake sale to raise money for endangered species.
‘He definitely likes you,’ Summer whispers.
Spots of pink flare in my cheeks, but I pretend not to care. ‘Trust me, he doesn’t,’ I say firmly. ‘Maybe it’s one of you lot?’
‘Oh!’ Millie gasps. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Ugh,’ Tia huffs.
‘As long as it’s not me,’ Summer says. ‘I just don’t see what all the fuss is about boys. I mean, there might be one or two reasonable boys in our year, but Alfie is not one of them. Romance is over-rated. I am going to focus on my dance career, unless I happen to meet Rudolf Nureyev, of course …’
‘Not sure that’s going to happen,’ Millie says. ‘Rudolf Nureyev is dead. And gay. And frankly, men in tights are a definite turn-off.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ my twin says darkly, and flounces off to the salad bar.
‘I thought you were the history nut, not Summer?’ Tia says. ‘Falling for a guy who’s been dead for decades sounds more like your kind of trick!’
I can’t help smiling because Tia has a point. After all, I feel like I am falling for someone who could’ve been dead for decades too … or someone who doesn’t exist at all, and whichever way you look at it, that’s pretty weird.
I don’t care, though. Finch may not be real, but he is whole lot cooler than the boys at Exmoor Park Middle School, and way better-looking too.
When Alfie finally corners me after history, I have no energy left to argue. I think of him with jam on his face, his tie askew, and find myself agreeing to meet him at the weekend so that we can talk ‘in private’.
‘I’ll buy the milkshakes,’ he says brightly.
‘Make it hot chocolate with marshmallows and you might have a deal,’ I sigh.
‘Done,’ Alfie grins.
12
So that’s how I end up in the Mad Hatter on Saturday, sitting opposite Alfie Anderson, spooning up hot chocolate and soft, chewy marshmallows topped with cream. He has
I remind myself to look for them properly; I have to unravel the mystery.
‘I don’t want a boyfriend,’ I say firmly now. ‘And especially not Alfie Anderson.’
‘You love him really,’ Summer says, gliding up behind me and swiping the grapes from my fruit salad. ‘Don’t try to fight it.’
Tia flops down into a seat beside Millie, winks at me and blows a kiss at Alfie. Luckily, he is too busy clowning around to notice.
‘You’re not funny,’ I say.
‘You are,’ Summer grins. ‘You’re just so easy to wind up! Relax, we know you’re not interested in Alfie. Who would be?’
‘I think he’s got potential,’ Millie says thoughtfully.
‘I think he’s got jam all over his face,’ Tia adds.
I glance across at Alfie, who is trying to stuff an entire sponge pudding into his mouth at once, and sigh. If there is potential there, I can’t quite see it.
Alfie spots us watching him and turns a dark shade of red before wiping his face, gulping down the sponge pudding and sitting down quietly. I know he doesn’t fancy me, but it’s just possible that Tia or Millie might be his secret crush girl. Well, maybe not Millie, because Alfie wasn’t exactly friendly to her on the school bus the other day, but that could have been an attempt to hide his true feelings, couldn’t it?
I think he probably does need some advice. On using less hair gel and less Lynx bodyspray and not stuffing so much cake into his mouth that he looks like a demented hamster streaked with strawberry jam. I could help him.
It would be a kind thing to do, like picking up litter from the side of the road, or knitting blankets for earthquakevictims, or having a cake sale to raise money for endangered species.
‘He definitely likes you,’ Summer whispers.
Spots of pink flare in my cheeks, but I pretend not to care. ‘Trust me, he doesn’t,’ I say firmly. ‘Maybe it’s one of you lot?’
‘Oh!’ Millie gasps. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Ugh,’ Tia huffs.
‘As long as it’s not me,’ Summer says. ‘I just don’t see what all the fuss is about boys. I mean, there might be one or two reasonable boys in our year, but Alfie is not one of them. Romance is over-rated. I am going to focus on my dance career, unless I happen to meet Rudolf Nureyev, of course …’
‘Not sure that’s going to happen,’ Millie says. ‘Rudolf Nureyev is dead. And gay. And frankly, men in tights are a definite turn-off.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ my twin says darkly, and flounces off to the salad bar.
‘I thought you were the history nut, not Summer?’ Tia says. ‘Falling for a guy who’s been dead for decades sounds more like your kind of trick!’
I can’t help smiling because Tia has a point. After all, I feel like I am falling for someone who could’ve been dead for decades too … or someone who doesn’t exist at all, and whichever way you look at it, that’s pretty weird.
I don’t care, though. Finch may not be real, but he is whole lot cooler than the boys at Exmoor Park Middle School, and way better-looking too.
When Alfie finally corners me after history, I have no energy left to argue. I think of him with jam on his face, his tie askew, and find myself agreeing to meet him at the weekend so that we can talk ‘in private’.
‘I’ll buy the milkshakes,’ he says brightly.
‘Make it hot chocolate with marshmallows and you might have a deal,’ I sigh.
‘Done,’ Alfie grins.
12
So that’s how I end up in the Mad Hatter on Saturday, sitting opposite Alfie Anderson, spooning up hot chocolate and soft, chewy marshmallows topped with cream. He has
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