Читать книгу It Started With A Kiss - Miranda Dickinson - Страница 10

The next morning, I bundled myself up in as many layers as I could realistically get away with and set off along the frozen pavements towards the train station. I’d secretly been hoping that the near-arctic conditions would cause considerable delays to the trains, thus keeping me away from the toe-curlingly awful conversation I knew was in store. But the train carried me to Birmingham with perfect punctuality and even though I walked slower than usual to the bus stop, my bus arrived on time. It was clear that nothing was going to keep me from this particular engagement. Accepting my fate, I reluctantly climbed on board.

My mind was distracted as the city suburbs passed by in a hazy blur. All around me, excited children and raucous teens gabbled, the thrill of Christmas tangible in their laughter. Only two days to go before The Big Day, the same topic of conversation buzzed between my fellow passengers: was it going to snow this year?

‘Midlands Today reckons there’s heavy snow heading our way,’ the lady behind me was telling her friend, as two chubby tots gurgled on their laps. ‘They’d put that poor Shifali out in a park last night to talk about it.’

‘Poor love,’ the other mother tutted. ‘It’s a wonder she doesn’t catch her death with all those outside broadcasts they make her do. Still, when it comes to the weather she doesn’t often get it wrong.’

‘Hmm, well, I hope she has this time. Our Dave will go berserk if it snows. He’ll be out all hours making snowmen to compete with the neighbours, you watch. It’s bad enough with the Christmas lights war in our road without a snowman competition too.’

I smiled into my scarf and took a deep breath as my stop appeared ahead.

There are some places that become landmark locations in your life: for The Pinstripes, Harry’s Café is one such place. Ever since Wren, Charlie and I first discovered the greasy, no-frills charms of the small, single-window café as secondary school pupils, Harry’s became the setting for countless key (and not-so-key) moments; then we introduced Tom, Jack and Sophie to the café’s manifold delights when we met them in our college years. Since The Pinstripes officially formed, Harry’s has assumed the status of our unofficial office – most of the major decisions about the band have occurred within its warm, steamy interior.

Given all of this shared history, it was fitting that the inevitable conversation with Charlie should happen here. That and the fact that Harry makes quite possibly the best bacon sandwich around. Not that I was particularly hungry that morning, though, as I stood outside the café willing my stomach to unknot itself. Take a deep breath, Rom. Gazing through the steamed-up window I could just make out Charlie’s messy mop of chestnut brown hair and the familiar hunch of his shoulders at our usual table by the counter. Right, I said to myself, let’s get this over with.

A humid rush of fried-breakfast-scented air hit me as I pushed open the door and Harry raised a stained tea towel to greet me.

‘Romily! Where you been this last week, eh?’

‘Oh you know, Harry, Christmas and all that.’

He raised his eyes to heaven. ‘Christmas this-and-that – it’s all I hear for weeks. You want bacon? I’m a-making one for Charlie now.’

I smiled. ‘Go on then.’ I looked over to see Charlie raise a self-conscious hand and felt my head spin a little as I approached.

‘Morning,’ he smiled, half-standing to meet me. He was wearing the dark blue sweater that I like so much because it makes his midnight blue eyes look amazing, with a white t-shirt underneath it and indigo blue jeans. This combination didn’t help the butterflies in my stomach one bit.

‘Hi.’ Not really knowing how to begin the conversation, I bought myself a few precious moments while I removed my coat and slowly unwound my scarf, placing it on the seat beside me.

Charlie resumed his seat and fiddled with an empty sugar packet as he stared at the melamine tabletop. When he lifted his eyes to meet mine, I was surprised to see vulnerability staring back at me.

‘It’s good to see you.’

I folded my arms protectively. ‘I can’t stay long.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘I’ve got about forty-five minutes, though, so …’

‘Good.’ He raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose – something he always does when he’s nervous. ‘But I’m glad you came. I wasn’t sure you would.’

‘Neither was I.’ Every word felt like extracting teeth without anaesthetic.

He looked away. ‘Man, this is tough.’

‘I know.’

‘Charlie-boy! You want-a espresso?’ Harry called from behind the counter, causing us both to jump.

‘Always, Harry,’ he replied with a smile, turning back to me and pulling a face. ‘Not that I think it’ll be any better than usual.’

The in-joke served as a small icebreaker and I felt a modicum of ease in the tension between us. Only for it to instantly disappear when Charlie said: ‘Look, Rom, about Saturday …’

A sickening rush of nerves swept over me. If the worn olive-green lino beneath our feet had parted to swallow me up at that moment I would have been the happiest woman in the world. Ever since Saturday’s debacle I had found myself wishing fervently that I could do that thing Christopher Reeve did in Superman, where he flew up into space and reversed the rotation of the earth to turn back time. But the fact remained that this wasn’t something that was going to disappear. Gathering what courage I could, I faced him.

‘I’m sorry I embarrassed you.’

‘You didn’t.’

‘Yes I did, Charlie. I embarrassed myself, too.’

‘Rom …’

‘No, please let me say this, OK? Because if I don’t say it now I never will.’

He nodded and folded his arms.

‘You see, the thing is, I got my wires crossed. I obviously thought we were heading a certain way when, clearly, we weren’t. It’s my mistake. I just don’t want to lose your friendship over this.’

‘You won’t.’

‘Well, good.’

Charlie was about to say something else when the café door flew open and a large group of builders burst in. Their raucous laughter and loud voices rendered further conversation impossible as they spread themselves liberally around the café. I wondered if this would bring our meeting to a premature end, but Charlie motioned for me to stay where I was and left the table to go to the counter, where a slightly startled Harry was surveying the onslaught on his establishment. A few minutes later, he returned with two takeaway cups and a brown paper bag.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I know a better place to have these.’

I followed him out of the noise of the café and out into the High Street. Five minutes later, we were walking down the steep hill towards Cannon Hill Park.

While I wasn’t entirely sure that I wanted this conversation to be prolonged, I had to admit that Charlie knew me well. Everywhere I turn memories surround me in this park: summer weekends spent as a kid feeding the ducks; fun bank holiday picnics with Wren, Tom, Jack and Sophie; lunchtime meet-ups on sunny spring days – it’s all happened here. Like Harry’s, the park is an integral part of our lives.

And what Charlie could never know – but what now stabbed at my heart like sharp winter icicles – was that this park was the place where I first realised I was in love with him.

We had arranged to meet for lunch by the lake on the first Saturday in September, three years ago, just as we had countless times before. The deal – as always – was that he would bring sandwiches if I provided some of my aunt’s homemade cake, so I had made a special trip to collect a particularly spectacular white chocolate and elderflower cake from her that morning. Charlie’s smile was pure delight when he saw the cake and it made me laugh.

‘You’re so easy to please,’ I mocked him. ‘One cake and you’re anybody’s.’

‘Ah, but this isn’t just a cake, Rom. It’s love at first sight.’

‘Blimey. So all those girls who try to get you to go out with them have clearly been missing a trick. All it takes is cake.’

He grinned, broke a piece off the cake and popped it into his mouth. Closing his eyes, he clasped a hand to his heart. ‘Find me a woman who makes me cake like this and I’ll be hers forever.’

‘I’m afraid my aunt’s already taken.’

‘Shame.’ His eyes flicked open and the twinkle in them was unmistakably Charlie. ‘Maybe I should settle for a girl who can bring me cake like this, then …’

‘Yeah, well good luck finding her then,’ I grinned back.

He smiled again and his midnight eyes held mine a moment longer than usual. And that was when it happened. I felt my heart skip and the world began to swim a little – and I knew I was in love. The revelation rocked me completely and, when Charlie turned his attention back to the cake moments later, I was left dazed by what had just happened.

In the following days I tried to dismiss it as a freak occurrence and almost managed to convince myself until the next time we met on a Friday night at Jack and Sophie’s. As soon as Charlie walked into the room, my pulse began racing and all evening I had to resist the urge to stare at him. Suddenly it was as if I was seeing him for the first time – his easy smile, the twinkle in his eyes as he joked about with Tom and Jack, how he used his hands when he talked. I’d known him all my life but somehow I’d never noticed how wonderful he was.

From that moment on, I fell deeper and deeper in love with him. Every minute we spent together reaffirmed my feelings and then, last year, I began to notice his attitude change towards me. He sought my company more often and when we were together the chemistry was astounding. Or so I’d thought …

Today that blissful summer day three years ago felt light years away. The park was covered in a thick layer of frost, the lake an icy winter blue as we walked along the icepuddled path. I stole a glance at Charlie, trying to work out his feelings from his nondescript expression. The little we had already said to each other this morning clearly wasn’t enough for him, otherwise this unscheduled jaunt in the park would not be happening. On the walk down from Harry’s our conversation had retreated to safe small talk, Charlie telling me about an art launch his father’s gallery had managed to secure and me amusing him with the latest double-glazing advertising jingle I had written for Brum FM.

We walked away from the lake until we reached a Victorian ironwork bandstand. Tiny snowflakes began to swirl about our ears as we climbed the steps and sat down on the wooden bench seats for our alfresco breakfast. Charlie bit into his bacon sandwich and as silence fell between us I felt my stomach begin to knot once more.

‘Good sarnie?’ I offered, reasoning that any conversation was preferable to none at all.

He nodded and turned the full force of his stare on me. ‘Rom …’

The excruciation factor shot up a million-fold. ‘Charlie, can we just forget Saturday ever happened, please?’

‘I still think we need to talk about it. I reacted badly, and I’m sorry.’

‘You were just being honest.’

‘As you were. And I should have handled it better.’

‘You don’t have to say that. I know it wasn’t what you were expecting.’

He smiled. ‘It wasn’t. It came totally out of the blue. I mean, one minute we were talking about Quincy Jones and the next …’

‘I know. I’m sorry, Charlie. I should never have said anything. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

Charlie sighed and looked at me. ‘I think you’re amazing, Rom. I always have. But you’re my best friend and that’s what matters to me. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I … that we … you know.’

Instantly, I looked away. As I stared at my coffee, a sudden image of the handsome stranger from the Christmas Market flashed into my mind. Despite the intense embarrassment still working its way through my guts, the memory of his lips on mine gave me a welcome boost of hope. I remembered Wren’s words to me yesterday, when she gave me the bauble from the scene of the kiss:

‘Let this remind you that there is at least one amazing bloke in the city who thinks you’re beautiful …’

And suddenly, everything came into sharp focus. True, this wasn’t particularly helpful right now, seeing as I didn’t actually know where he was, or have any idea of where to start looking. But I was going to find him. Somehow.

‘So where did you go after you left me?’ Charlie asked, dragging me back to reality.

I kept my expression steady, despite my heart performing cartwheels. ‘Just into the Christmas Market to finish my shopping.’

‘Hope you got me something nice,’ he quipped, obviously instantly regretting it. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine. Don’t worry.’ It wasn’t fine, of course, but I really didn’t want him to be apologising every time any flicker of normality appeared between us.

Charlie studied my face. ‘So – what happens now?’

I unwrapped my sandwich to avoid his eyes. ‘We enjoy our breakfast before it gets cold.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I don’t know, OK? I haven’t ever been in this situation before.’

‘Me either.’

I looked at him and attempted a smile. ‘I know, I’m sorry.’ I didn’t want to see the hurt in his eyes, didn’t want to face the consequences of my confession, but we needed to move on from this – for the sake of the band, if nothing else.

‘We have all these gigs coming up, so maybe we should focus on that.’

‘Right.’ He paused, carefully selecting his words before he spoke. ‘And what about – us?’

‘There’s nothing to say about us. It’s going to be awkward for a while, but I’m willing to carry on as before, if you are?’

The strangest look drifted across his face. ‘Sure.’

It was an uneasy truce, but it was a truce nonetheless. As I headed towards the city centre offices of Brum FM later that morning, I consoled myself with the thought that at least I had tackled the subject head on with Charlie before anyone else was involved. Hopefully we could move on from this without the rest of the band noticing too much awkwardness – I really didn’t need any more embarrassment.

Ted, the gruff-looking security guard, greeted me at the door as I arrived.

‘Morning. Didn’t think you’d be in today, what with Christmas and all.’

‘I’m only in for a couple of hours, Ted. Looking forward to Christmas?’

He gave an almighty sigh and rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘Well, if by Christmas, you mean being holed up for three days in my mother-in-law’s semi in Nuneaton with the wife and all the nutjobs in her family, then no, not particularly.’

‘Ah. Well, hope it passes quickly for you.’

‘That’s all I can hope for, Romily.’

I took the lift down to the depths of Brum FM, known affectionately by our small team of three as the ‘Bat Cave’, which consists of a production room and a minuscule vocal booth that would make the smallest broom cupboard look capacious.

For the past five years I’ve worked here writing jingles for the radio adverts that pepper the station’s schedule. I’m never likely to win any Brits or Ivor Novello Awards for my daily compositions, but my work never fails to keep my friends entertained.

The Bat Cave was noticeably more pungent than normal today, the stale remnants of late-night curry, sweat and acrylic carpet fug from the soundproofing fabric that covered its doors, floors and walls meeting my nose as I walked in.

Mick, the department’s studio engineer, looked up from his already grease-stained copy of the Mirror. ‘Romily! How the devil are you?’

‘Good thanks. What died in here, though?’

He let out a thundering laugh. ‘That’ll be our esteemed colleague Nev Silver. Apparently he had another row with the wife last night – I found him on the sofa in his sleeping bag this morning.’

I hung my bag up on the rickety coat stand in the corner and filled a mug with coffee from the filter machine. ‘Not again. Does that mean he’ll be staying over Christmas?’

Mick sniffed. ‘Probably. So, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company this morning?’

‘I need to finish the mixes for the New Year campaign so they’re ready for next week. Anything else in?’

‘Bits and bobs for the new schedule – nothing particularly earth-shattering, I’m afraid. Jane Beckingham wants a new jingle for her morning show, if you don’t mind. Oh, and Amanda’s on the warpath. Again.’

News that my department manager was upset about something didn’t surprise me. Amanda Wright-Timpkins is so uptight she makes a coiled spring look relaxed. The twinkle in Mick’s eye revealed all I needed to know about his opinion on the matter – there is very little love lost between him and the woman who takes her persistent frustration at being ‘sideways-promoted’ to our department out on us whenever possible. ‘What is it this time?’

‘She reckons she’s been overlooked for another promotion,’ Mick replied, folding his newspaper and rolling his chair over to mine. ‘Apparently she was going for the producer job on the Breakfast Show.’

‘Ah.’

‘Exactly. So best to keep your head down, eh?’

The morning passed slowly. As I composed the music for Brum FM’s New Year, New You campaign, my thoughts strayed back to my conversation with Charlie. What would the year ahead bring for us?

Squeezed into the vocal booth a couple of hours later, I was recording the vocal parts for the jingles when one of the lines struck me:

This could be the year when all your dreams come true.

Instantly Charlie left my mind as I remembered my handsome stranger. Maybe he was the start of my dreams coming true – after all, hadn’t he turned up exactly when I needed him? Unlike Charlie. Maybe all the time I had spent waiting for Charlie to notice me was actually preparation for meeting this man. Let’s face it, if I hadn’t been running away from Charlie, the chances were we would never have met. But was it possible to find him again? I wasn’t sure, but I was determined to try. All I had to do was to figure out how …

‘Er, Rom, whenever you’re ready?’ Mick said in my headphones as I bumped back to reality.

‘Sorry. Let’s do that line again …’

All day, the first sparks of possibility glowed brighter in my mind. It had to be possible to find the stranger – even in the sprawl of England’s second city. Compared to the situation with Charlie, which I could do no more about, looking for the man who kissed me seemed an enticing alternative. After all, what could be more positive than searching for someone who clearly thought I was beautiful?

‘Positivity is key,’ Wren said that evening, when she joined me for dinner in my little house in Stourbridge, ‘or else you’ll never go through with it. Still can’t work out where you should start looking, though.’

I handed her a glass of red wine. ‘Me either. But I’ll think of something.’

‘So, things with you and Charlie are a bit better?’

‘I’m not sure they’re better, but at least we’ve talked about it. One thing I do know is that I definitely made a mistake. He’s only ever seen me as a friend.’

‘Yeah right,’ Wren muttered into her Merlot.

‘Sorry?’

‘Who can fathom the minds of men, eh?’ she replied dismissively. ‘Charlie will sort it out eventually.’ She looked over to my Christmas tree in the corner of the room and smiled. ‘I see the bauble has pride of place.’

I followed her gaze and felt a shiver of excitement as I watched the reflections of the tree lights passing smoothly across its surface, remembering the stranger’s voice by my ear. ‘Yes. It’s lovely. Makes me feel Christmassy – I was worried I wouldn’t feel like that this year after what happened with Charlie.’

‘Everyone should feel Christmassy, no matter what,’ Wren said, raising her glass in a flamboyant toast. ‘It should be law. Or at least a tradition.’

‘Talking of traditions, are you looking forward to the band Christmas meal tomorrow night?’

‘Of course, wouldn’t miss it. You?’

I shrugged. ‘It should be OK. I think Charlie and I will be putting on a united front. Hopefully nobody will notice any difference.’

Wren took a rather large gulp of wine. ‘Absolutely. And it will be good to hear about the gigs Dwayne has booked for next year.’

‘They’d better be good. He hasn’t exactly been successful with bookings this year.’

‘Don’t pick on him; he’s still learning about the business. He hasn’t managed us for that long, remember,’ she replied, frowning at me. ‘Dwayne tries his best. And he needs our support. Anyway, from what he’s said, he has some great gigs lined up.’

‘You’re too nice to him,’ I smiled. ‘He has to prove himself tomorrow night, that’s all I’m saying.’

‘Hmm,’ Wren replied, her sly expression clear behind her half-empty wine glass. ‘And he won’t be the only guy there who’ll be proving himself, will he?’