Do You Remember the First Time?

…’
    The noise shocked even me, and caused everyone to pause. I paused for less time, though, as I’d been expecting it, and I had the reaction times of a peak-fitness teenager. I sprinted across to the fire exit and bombed it down the stairs like a wet cat, as the hubbub of an unexpected time off at lunchtime came rising up behind me.
    I banged out the doors at the back of the building, and heaved round to hide behind the bushes to see if Stanzi would make it out in time. She did, heavily camouflaged in the careful meander of bodies, as people tried to pretend that if it was a real fire they were being completely brave and unconcerned about it all. I used some of my precious phone card to call her over.
    She giggled. ‘We do this? Is an initiation?’
    ‘Something like that,’ I muttered. ‘Let’s get back.’
    Dammit, if I was going to cease to exist, I wanted to have done some good in the world.

Chapter Eleven
    I had a problem. Well, of course, I had many, many, many problems in the scheme of things, and proper ones too, not those along the lines of worrying about picking the right time in the London housing market, or being unable to hire the right cleaning lady or the kind of guff that I used to hear at dinner parties all the time in my old life.
    So this, for me, was more of a mini problem. It was Saturday, and I had simultaneously promised to go shopping for a bridesmaid’s dress with Tashy, to go shopping for something hot to wear to Justin’s party that night with Stanzi, and to go bonding shopping with my mum and dad as part of some ropy ‘keeping the family together’ session. I hadn’t meant to mix it all up, but if I (possibly) only had three weeks on this earth, I wanted to make the most of it and see as many people as I could. Plus, it was shopping times three. We’d decided to go to Kingston; Mum couldn’t cope with the West End, and Tashy didn’t mind.
    ‘Hurry up, Flora!’ said my mother. Normally Olly chivviedme along with my breakfast too. Clearly I had some sort of breakfast speed disorder.
    ‘Yeah, yeah,’ I said, spooning my cornflakes round their bowl in what I best remembered as a sullen teenage manner. Oh no, hang on, I used that one with Olly too.
    My dad looked a bit mournful, smoothing down his polo shirt in front of the mirror.
    ‘You all right, Dad?’ I said.
    ‘Yes … yes, of course I am. I’m taking my favourite girls out, aren’t I?’
    I felt sorry for him, eyeing himself up in the mirror. I knew how much more weight he was going to put on than that too. He was probably wondering if he’d ever get good sex again … well, I couldn’t think about that.
    ‘You look great, Dad,’ I said as warmly as I could.
    He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. ‘If you think that means I’m going to buy you lots of tarty outfits, you can forget it.’
    ‘Just a little bit tarty?’
    ‘Absolutely not.’
    ‘What about sluttish?’
    He smiled. ‘No.’
    ‘Forward?’
    ‘Flora Jane, please don’t make me have this conversation.’
    ‘I’m a good girl really, Dad,’ I said, with a stain-free conscience.
    He half smiled.
    ‘Well, I try,’ I said, guiltily thinking about the previous week’s activities. In addition to work-related mischief I had also eaten sixteen cartons of Pringles, worn odd socks and snuck out all night to go dancing at the local nightclub,even though it was rubbish and I got hit on all night by the same stupid tossers I remembered from Mr Dean’s office.
    Kingston High Street was mobbed. It wasn’t nearly as much fun coming here without a credit card. Tashy had subbed me again, but I wasn’t entirely sure how much fun that was for her. Still, it would probably be enough, seeing as my parents insisted on constantly steering towards Marks and Spencer’s and Bhs. I kept sneaking glances around. Then I realised that I was actually surreptitiously checking to see if Clelland might happen past and see me out shopping with my parents. Curse these blasted hormones! I caught sight of my reflection in a shop window and shook my head in disbelief at my knobbly knees and baby pout. But I couldn’t help but wonder where Clelland was. Probably buying muesli and planning a baby with Madeleine.
    ‘Can’t we at least go to Gap?’ I said. ‘They’re not sluttish.’
    ‘Gap,’ said my mother, tutting. ‘Totally overpriced …’
    I remembered why I told my mother everything I bought cost a tenner in the sale.
    ‘… and nothing I