It Started With A Kiss. Miranda Dickinson
I heard him breathe out nervously on the other end of the line. ‘Cool. What you said yesterday – well, I didn’t take it very well.’
No kidding, Charlie.
‘I could have handled it better. I definitely shouldn’t have stopped following you when you told me to go home.’
‘It’s fine, honestly.’
‘I think we need to talk – to clear the air, Rom. I’d hate this to affect our friendship …’
Perish the thought. ‘It won’t …’
‘… and we’ve got those gigs coming up. Me and you need to be sorted for those, you know?’
Ever the practical realist, Charlie had managed to turn an awkward moment into an agenda item. ‘You’re right, we do.’
‘Good. So – er – Harry’s tomorrow about eight? Breakfast on me, OK?’
I pulled a face at the phone. ‘Fine. See you then.’
Ending the call, I threw my phone to the end of my bed, flopped back and placed the pillow over my throbbing eyes.
That night, the stranger from the Christmas Market appeared in my dreams again. There I was, once again, safely cradled in his embrace, inhaling the scent of his skin, gazing at that look resplendent across his gorgeous face.
‘Hello, beautiful.’
‘Hello, you.’
‘I’m waiting for you to find me.’
‘Really? But you don’t know me.’
‘Your heart knows me. And my heart has been searching for you.’
‘I don’t know where to find you.’
He smiled, his face moving closer to mine, his breath tantalisingly warm on my lips. ‘Follow your heart, beautiful girl.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
He blinked and shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I have no idea. This is your dream. But isn’t that what the heroes always say in those rom-coms you insist on watching?’
‘That’s not helpful.’
His eyes were so full of love as he gently stroked my cheek with velvet fingers that I immediately forgave his unhelpfulness. ‘Your heart knows me, beautiful. So follow your heart …’
Waking suddenly, I sat up and stared at the pinky-gold dawn breaking through the gap in the curtains. The birds had begun singing outside and the world was starting to wake up. My heart thundered in my ears as the memory of The Kiss magnificently returned.
Wren was right. I had to find him.
But first, I had to face Charlie.
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