Thursday 17th September 1992   Morning surgery 11:00

“Have you been kissing anyone?”
15 year old Alice Braithwaite blushed. I could have died of embarrassment.

Last night, I had arrived home to find Declan in bed. He had a terrible sore throat and the glands in his neck were the size of golf balls. He had been exhausted all day and reported a temperature. Every one of his muscles was aching.
Dad promised to check him over in the morning if he wasn’t better but Mum had diagnosed glandular fever.

Had she been kissing anyone? Every night for several weeks, Alice and Declan had been snogging like mad in the park. Half the kids in Portmere had seen them.

Alice bit her lip. Dad had been quite composed until then, when he caught on. His cheeks turned crimson. He coughed but did not ask any more questions.
“You’d better book in for a blood test,” he said grimly.

Have you been kissing anyone?