I laughed, shedding off my layers on the chair opposite him. “Okay, I’ll get one. Though maybe you need to take a break?”

  “What? Never. I need the sugar otherwise we’ll never make it till midnight.”

  I went up to order, smiling.

  We’ll.

  Did he really just say that? Was our one-hour coffee window actually an eight-hour one? I glanced back at him as the barista steamed milk for us and he was glued to his book.

  Elijah broke into another giant smile when I handed over his drink.

  “You sure you should have a third? I’m jittering just looking at you.”

  He held out a shaking hand and laughed. “Discontinued tomorrow, remember? We must seize the day, Paige. Carpe diem, etc. Anyway, you’ve not tried it yet. Try it. Try it now.”

  “Okay.” I sat down, blew on my drink and took a hot slurp. He watched my face change. “Oh my actual God.”

  “I know, right.”

  “They can’t discontinue this,” I said. “It would be a crime against milky drinks.”

  “Now can you see why I’m on my third?”

  “I withdraw my initial judgement and humbly apologize.”

  “Good. Anyway…” He gestured out to me. “How are you? How was Christmas? Doesn’t it seem like the longest of times ago?”

  I nodded. “Christmas was…fine. Yep. Same old. You?”

  “Oh yes. Nothing like the adverts at all, as usual. Though my stepmum managed to buy me one present that vaguely gave me a vague idea she had the slightest inkling of who I am as a person for the first time ever, so that gave me the tiniest hope.”

  “What was the present?”

  “Some socks.”

  “Oh right. Any particular kind?”

  “Navy-blue.”

  “Well.”

  “This is huge progress, Paige. You see, I have feet. My feet need socks. She gets me, she finally gets me.”

  I took another syrupy slurp of my drink. “I’ll take your socks and raise you a generic knitted hat and scarf set.” I pointed to myself, then felt weird that I’d been mean about my mum.

  “It’s generic but yellow suits you.”

  I then felt weird that Elijah had complimented me and hid behind my cup again. “So, er, you don’t get on with your stepmum then?” I asked.

  “Nah, it’s nothing as dramatic as that. No, just her and my dad…they have their own family…they don’t have time to really know me. Which is fine. Fine. But you know, also not great. But not awful enough to merit whinging about, you know?”

  “God, I know,” I said. “Your stepmum should meet my dad…”

  The second I said it I was seized with guilt. Elijah noticed. He didn’t say anything though. He just picked up his book and returned to sunny weather mode. “So then… I think I’m going to win this sifting competition. No biggy. But I’m quite sure I sifted to the sweetest of sweet spots in this bad boy.” He flicked the faded front cover.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

  “How cute will it be if we sifted the same sentence?”

  I dug around in my bag. “I mean, that would be something.”

  “It would mean we would definitely have to get married. Right away. We’d have to elope to Gretna Green.”

  I ducked down to put my bag on the floor, using my hair to cover up my instantaneous blush. I knew he was joking, but still. Elijah should know better than to joke about something like that when he was as good-looking as he was. I sat back up, and tried to continue acting totally unflustered. “Right, so how are we going to do this?”

  Elijah bit his lip, and grinned. “Well, we can do it two ways. One, two, three, then show…or take it in turns to reveal, with a brief speech citing why this quote is the best quote in the book.”

  “Elijah, I have not prepared a speech.”

  “Those are the best types of speeches. Ones without prep. Straight from the heart.” He started rifling through the pages. “Shall I go first? I love going first. To be honest, if I don’t go first, I won’t concentrate properly on your speech as I’ll be too busy thinking about mine.”

  I snort-laughed at his total, blunt honesty. “That sounds like an area for personal development.”

  “I’ll add it to the hugely long list. God, this drink is good. Hang on, let me have a bit more.” He took three giant slurps, giving himself a tiny chocolate moustache. “Right, okay.” He wiped his mouth and did a loud, dramatic cough that echoed around the coffee shop. “Here it is…A Christmas Carol’s most significant line is…‘I wear the chain I forged in life,’ replied the Ghost. ‘I made it link by link, and yard by yard.’”

  He looked up at me over the top of his yellowed page. “Same as you?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. A noble effort though.”

  “Bollocks. Now we can’t elope to Gretna Green.”

  “Alas. And my mum had bought a hat.”

  Still somewhat uncomfortable with his hint of flirting that couldn’t possibly be flirting, I tapped the top of his book. “So, why this quote?”

  “Do you like it? I really like it.”

  I nodded again. “I like it. I’m not sure I picked up on it when I read it, so I’m interested to know what landed with you that didn’t land with me.”

  His grin rose to both of his eyebrows. “Well, I liked the metaphor in it. How our lives are chains that we make, one link at a time. Because that’s all life is, right? Just a bunch of tiny decisions, one after the other? And if you make bad decisions and more bad decisions, decisions that hurt people in particular, well, it drags you down over time. You’re, like, pinned to your cruelty.” He sat back in his chair. “Plus, karmically, I like the idea that if you’re a twat, it means, when you die, you have to literally drag the chains around with you in the afterlife.”

  He beamed at me proudly. “And so, Miss Vickers, FURTHERMORE, and in conclusion, I believe this to be the strongest sentence in A Christmas Carol. Thank you for your A star, and your sticker, and your trophy. I will be taking bookings up until the end of the year.” He stood up and bowed in all directions, confusing the barista clearing the table next to us.

  “Bravo, bravo,” I said, clapping quietly.

  He sat down. “Tough act to follow, Vickers. I’m worried for you.”

  “I’m worried for me too.”

  His speech had already found a comfy warm spot in my heart. I’d read the book twice over Christmas and not noticed that line, but now, with his view on it, it came alive and danced and made me love it.

  “Right, missy. Your turn.”

  “Hang on. I just need some of this sweet chocolate milk from the gods.” I composed myself with the cup to my lips. Everything about this social interaction was still too much. Felt too good. Too natural. Too long overdue. Too precious. Like it was going too fast. I was scared to gorge on it, worried it would make me sick.

  Fuelled by the sugar, I picked up my book. “Right, here we go…No space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunity misused.”

  Elijah sat back in the chair, letting out a long whistle, and ran his hands through his hair. “Woah, strong contender.”

  “Thank you. I thought so.”

  “And your speech? From the heart, remember?”

  I looked down at the underlined text, and traced it with my thumb. “I guess I like how…blunt it is. About regret, and how…pointless an emotion it is. How regret can’t bring anything back. Can’t transport you in time to redo things. Like, we only get one life. One. One opportunity at every moment we are given, and every moment we are given is totally irreplaceable…these precious gifts. And, if you waste them, then…well, regret, what do you do with it? It makes no amends at all. Like you said, if life is just a bunch of decisions that make you who you are, if you don’t take advantage of life because you’re scared, or you upset people by being an arsehole, regret doesn’t make amends. Regret just proves you’re a coward, or a dick. Or both.”

  The page blurred and waves of pointless regret washed over me as I reflected on my own tiny, quiet existence and all the nothingness I’d done with the opportunity of life. I blinked. Gulped.

  But I haven’t been cruel, I reminded myself.

  I may not have done much, but at least I hadn’t ever really hurt anyone. At least I didn’t have the regret of that. The only harm I’d ever done was to myself.

  I made myself look up and Elijah’s eyes were waiting for me. He was quiet for the first time since I’d met him. A heaving sigh of a moment passed between us, cupped us in its hands, as we sat quietly and looked at one another. A moment so huge surely he was feeling it too?

  Another one of life’s opportunities, and what was I going to do with it?

  Nothing. I just stared back and waited for him to make the call.

  Elijah shook his head, pulling a pantomime impressed face, and chose to end the moment.

  “Goddamnit, Miss Super Sifter. I knew that you’d win.”

  We flicked through the rest of Dickens, reminiscing about watching The Muppet Christmas Carol as children.

  “Gonzo should always be Dickens, always.” Elijah almost knocked over his drink, he was so high on sugar. “It’s the best casting of anyone in anything, ever.”

  I nodded a lot – feeling the effects of my second drink. “My favourite muppet is Beaker,” I said.

  “Beaker? Which one’s that?”

  “The really thin orange one who sort of squeaks instead of talks.”

  “Oh my God – the super nervous one? I love him! Beaker’s his name?” Elijah started clapping and laughing. “Beaker. That’s brilliant. God, you’ve successfully sifted the muppets too, and found the best muppet. You have a gift.”

  The cafe emptied out and I got more and more twitchy. The staff eyed our empty cups, checking their watches, making hushed conversations about New Year plans. I couldn’t fully listen to Elijah as I was falling down a spiral staircase of neediness.

  What are we doing next? Will we just say goodbye? Is he bored of me? Or did he mean what he said about us staying up till midnight? Can he smell how much I want this? Is that off-putting? Am I showing it on my face?

  His random rant about Blue Monday was interrupted by a brusque lady telling us they were closing in ten. “Yeah, so, think how much money the drugs companies make off us being sad…” He picked up his phone to check the time. “Woah. That went quickly. I was talking too much again, wasn’t I? Time flies when you’re being attention-seeking…”

  “You weren’t talking too much.”

  “Well you were definitely listening too much. SO rude. All that listening.”

  “I…”

  “Relax, I’m joking.” He clapped his hands. “Right. Where next?”

  “I…I dunno.” I found myself scarcely able to talk.

  “Well, it’s not midnight for hours yet. But it’s also freezing cold. And all the shops are shut apart from the off-licences and they won’t serve us anyway. So…” He picked up his empty cup, passing it from hand to hand. “You could come to mine, if you like?”

  “Huh?”

  “I mean, my mum’s having this stupid party, which, as you can imagine, is going to be the worst thing ever. Just a bunch of psychologists, standing around, drinking Malbec, and congratulating themselves on how brilliant they are. There’s actual nibbles. That’s the word my mum used…nibbles.” He shuddered. “But, anyway, it means there’s food and we can just stay upstairs. But if you’re busy, or if it sounds lame as hell, well, we never made any plans, did we?” When he glanced over at me, he was blushing. The tiniest hint of it, but still.

  “Going to yours sounds great,” I managed.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Warm. Nibbles. What else does anyone need? As long as your mum doesn’t mind, of course?”

  “No. She won’t mind. I mean, she may be a bit weird for a moment because you’re a girl, but I’ll explain to her it’s nothing like that, you know.”

  Oh…

  I mean, I’d assumed as much. I mean, we didn’t even really know each other. We’d only met twice. I’d tried very hard not to think of him like that. But still.

  “Exactly,” I said, not blinking.

  “And you don’t have anything else on tonight?”

  I considered fibbing for a second but a throb of instinct told me to be honest with Elijah. “No, nothing. Usually I stay up and watch Jools Holland. But that’s been ruined since I found out he films it in September or something and fakes being excited about the countdown.”

  Elijah’s face erupted into a giant grin. “Lies. Lies. Everywhere there are more damn lies. Great, great.” He knocked over his empty cup. “Whoops. Sorry. But that’s great you can come. Oh shit. I didn’t tidy my room. Oh well, never mind. Come on, let’s go. I cannot wait to freak out my mum. Can you pretend to have an attachment disorder, just to mess with her?”

  “An attachment what?”

  “I’ll explain on the way there.”

  It took us several minutes to wrap ourselves back up in the required mounds of winter layers. I arranged my yellow scarf carefully, feeling a swell of gratitude to Mum for buying it, even though I knew hardly any thought had gone into it. As we walked to the nice part of town, I realized I should probably tell my parents where I was.

  Paige: Over at a friend’s tonight. Back after

  midnight. Have a good shindig. Happy New Year!

  xxx

  Mum didn’t reply for over three hours, and then only:

  Mum: K. Happy new yr x

  Like I was a mate she was sending a generic response to.

  “We’re here,” Elijah said, huffing from our walk up his road.

  We stood outside a detached, modern-looking house. He pulled out a key and pushed his way through the green door laden with a tasteful holly wreath. “Honey! I’m home.” It echoed around the grand entrance.

  I followed him in, trying not to gawp too much. The word tasteful could be used about literally everything. Elijah plopped his keys onto the tasteful side table, and we shrugged our coats off and hung them on the tasteful coat stand. We stepped across the tasteful floorboards, following the tasteful jazz music echoing softly along the tasteful vanilla hallway, hung with tasteful art canvases of naked women and then stepped into the tasteful kitchen.

  Elijah’s mother was at the stove, stirring a pot of mulled wine. She had the same dark hair as him.

  “Elijah, darling. I didn’t hear you come in. Oh, who’s this?”

  I found myself practically unable to speak surrounded by all this tasteful tastefulness.

  “This is a friend from school, Paige. She’s not my girlfriend,” he added. “Just a friend.”

  His mum put her ladle down on a tasteful side plate. She held out a hand. “Paige, was it? Lovely to meet you.”

  “You too,” I squeaked. “Umm. Your house is nice. Very tasteful.”

  “Oh, is it? Thank you. Well I’ve tidied, for tonight you see. Having some drinks and nibbles.”

  It was funny to watch Elijah flinch.

  “We’re just going to hang upstairs and watch TV,” he told her.

  “Oh. Okay. You will come down and say hello to everyone, right?” She picked up the ladle.

  “Yeah, sure, whatever. Can we grab some nibbles?”

  “Go for it. Hang on, I’ll get you some from the pantry. You promise you’ll come down?”

  I watched her pad over to a little door.

  “Sorry she’s being so weird,” Elijah whispered.

  “She is?”

  “Why’s she making mulled wine from scratch? She should just buy bottles of it. It’s because she knows they’ll ask.”

  “It smells good.”

  “It smells phoney.”

  “Alright.”

  She returned with a tray of what, as promised, could only be described as “nibbles”. Pastry puffs topped with cheese, posh crisps, even posher dips, home-made in an expensive blender.

  “You’re allowed two beers each from the outside fridge,” she told me sternly.

  “Oh, that’s okay, I don’t…”

  Elijah lightly trod on my foot, and I realized he might want my allocated beer.

  “That’s great. Umm, thank you. Cheers. Yeah, thanks.”

  She examined me again, taking in my yellow knitwear, my make-up free face. “Door open at all times,” she said to Elijah, who beetrooted so hard I caught it off him.

  “Oh my GOD, sorry about her. I’m so sorry,” he said upstairs on the landing, our feet sinking into the plush carpet. Things were a bit more dishevelled and chaotic up there, and I realized she’d just done a ground-floor tidy to trick the guests into thinking the whole house was like that. There were bookshelves everywhere, half-blocking the entrances to the five doors that led off the landing. All non-fiction wedges with important titles.

  The Marshmallow Test, and Other Psychology Lies

  Through a Child’s Eyes

  Naming. Feeling. Healing.

  Attached

  I plucked Attached off the shelf and held it up to Elijah. “Is this the disorder stuff?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, that one’s quite good actually.”

  “You’ve read all these?” I asked in awe – there were so many of them. And they all looked academic and hard.

  “I’ve skimmed through most of them. It’s the only way I know what my mum might actually be doing when she’s not here.” He leaned backwards against a door, nudging it open with his bum. “And, of course, it makes me the most psychologically well-adjusted human ever. Right, this is me. Come on in. I’m warning you, it’s generically teenage-boy disgusting.”

  I followed him into his room. A boy’s bedroom. The first boy’s bedroom I’d ever been into (Adam’s doesn’t count). The room was Elijah all over – a haphazard and bizarre creation between four walls. It was painted a calming pale green, which juxtaposed with all the stuff everywhere. He’d essentially made two walls into a pinboard, crammed with a bizarre assortment of papers he must’ve found interesting – postcards, random quotes from books written out and stuck there, photos ripped from magazines. On his desk he had piles of books everywhere, so much so there was hardly any working space. I spotted a red pen and my heart twinged. Above his bed was the only thing that had any order: a bookshelf with all the books lined up neatly. I stepped further in and realized they were all the same book, different editions of The Catcher in the Rye.