French Kissing by Lynne Shelby Read Free Book Online Page A

said.
    â€˜Yes,’ I said. ‘He is.’
    â€˜I can’t believe that you’ve been writing to him all these years and you’d no idea that he was so utterly lush.’
    The image of a shirtless Alex floated into my mind.
    â€˜Well, it’s true.’ I said. ‘Actually, the first time I wrote to him, there was some confusion over his name, and I thought he was a girl. I was horrified when I found out that my penfriend Alexand ra was a boy named Alexand re .’
    â€˜But why?’
    â€˜I was eleven. To me, at that age, boys were just annoying, noisy creatures who talked about football all the time.’ We both glanced towards our male colleagues who were grouped around the water cooler, animatedly discussing the weekend’s sporting highlights.
    â€˜Point taken,’ Izzy said. We exchanged smiles.
    â€˜I found it really hard to write to Alex at first,’ I said. ‘What with him being a boy. And because I had to write in French, which I wasn’t very good at. It was only after his school came on a visit to England that he and I became friends. We started writing to each other so often that my French improved dramatically.’
    â€˜That’s what Alex told me at the party. He said that you were both thirteen the last time he came to London. I’m guessing your opinion of boys had changed by then?’
    â€˜Well, yes … Did Alex tell you what happened on that school visit?’
    â€˜Only that he stayed with you and your family.’
    â€˜I wasn’t very nice to him. He was very shy, and I thought he was a geek.’
    â€˜This is the same Alexandre Tourville you’re talking about? The guy you introduced met to on Saturday?
    â€˜Yes. He’s changed –’
    â€˜I’ll say he has.’ Izzy smiled dreamily.
    I said, ‘Day one of the French children’s visit, we were all taken on a coach outing to Madame Tussauds. Afterwards, we had a picnic in Regent’s Park, and then we were given some free time. We were supposed to stay in the park, but a group of us sneaked off and took the tube to Trafalgar Square. I was too busy flirting with a French boy called Gérard to notice that Alex had got separated from the rest of us …’
    We’re standing on the platform at Marylebone Station. Gérard is telling me his family owns a gîte in the Dordogne. I’ve no idea what a gîte is (or where the Dordogne is either – presumably somewhere in France?), and I can only understand about half the words he says, but I smile up at him (he is so tall!) and wonder if he’ll kiss me before he goes back to Paris. I’ve never kissed a boy. The thought of kissing Gérard is thrilling – and just a bit scary.
    The chittering of the rails announces the arrival of the train. The doors open, the crowd on the platform surges forward, and we go with it. It’s only when I’m sat next to Gérard, with Beth and Fabienne sitting opposite, and Sean standing precariously between us, all of us laughing as he tries to keep his balance as the train jolts along, that I realise Alexandre isn’t with us.
    â€˜Where’s Alexandre?’ I say
    Gérard looks at me blankly.
    â€˜ Où est Alexandre? ’ I say more urgently, looking up and down the carriage.
    Gérard shrugs, unconcerned.
    Beth looks worried. ‘I think he must still be on the platform.’
    I groan. ‘We’ll have to get off at the next stop and go back for him.’
    It takes a while for Gérard to understand this (his English is even worse than my French), but he refuses to go back for Alexandre. And because he’s put his arm around my shoulders, I decide to stay on the train as well. And when we get to Trafalgar Square, we’re too busy clambering on the lions to think about Alex, who must be the only teenager in France whose parents won’t let him have a mobile phone …
    â€˜â€¦ so it was only