two - battered
It starts with Lily sliding around on the kitchen lino in her socks as she dances to her Dad's old Elvis records and a snide remark from Petunia (actually it started in a deserted park with two swings and two girls and a boy) that escalates into a fully-blown argument over freaks in the family and not having your kind at the wedding.
Their Uncle John attempts to break in but gets shouted down by both his nieces so he passes his sister-in-law, shaking his head, and goes out to the garden to have a fag. Exasperated at his lack of courage, Sally grabs her purse and stuffs a fiver into James' hand.
"Take her out, pet," she says, with the air of a woman to whom these disputes are nothing new. "There's a chippie in town."
James catches his girlfriend's eye and nods to the door. She huffs and storms out of the room, stopping in the hall to jam her purple Doc Martens on her feet before stomping down the path. He hurries alongside her, pulling a coat off the hook to take for later.
"Lil!" he calls. "Where're we going?"
She waits for him to catch her up. "Dunno. It was your idea."
"It was your mum's actually," he corrects, and hands her the money. "She gave me this. I've no idea what to do with it."
She cracks a grin for the first time since Petunia entered the house that evening and hits him playfully.
"You're incompetent, you know that?"
He shrugs. "You love me, though."
Lily links her arm through his and tugs him in the right direction. "That I do. Fish and chips sound good?"
"Definitely."
They wait inside the brightly-lit chip shop, the neon strips glaring down at him. She smiles, giddy on the smell of chips and vinegar and battered fish that fills the air. Lily turns to James and kisses him, ignoring the wolf-whistles of the teenage boys sitting at a table down the room.
Lily orders for the two of them and they take the cones of newspaper-wrapped chips outside and munch them on a park bench off Cokeworth high street. Their shoulders bump and their hands meet and she lets him finish her food even though he protests he doesn't want it because, she informs him, that's what boyfriends are for.
He kisses her then, and it's sweet in the summer air and there's a cool breeze blowing. Strands of hair float by her face and her eyes are bright and there's a faint pink in her cheeks and James doesn't think he's seen anything more beautiful ever ever than Lily Evans.
She stands up to throw away the newspaper and brushes her hands on her jeans. Lily waves to a boy across the park who's playing football – Will, she tells him, but he's just a friend, so don't worry – and sits next to him again. He buries his face in her hair and kisses her neck and his fingers trace absent-minded patterns on her arm and she sighs softly and somehow the moment is perfect.