It Started With a Kiss (16 page)

‘I think it’s cheesy beyond belief,’ I admitted, ‘but it might help to jog someone’s memory.’

Tom handed me a strong cup of tea as Jack joined us. ‘I can’t believe we’re the first ones to show it to you.’

‘To be honest, I hadn’t made that much of an effort to get hold of a copy,’ I confessed.

While I was touched that Wren was supporting me, I remained unconvinced about placing the advert in the paper. Still, at least someone was doing
something
– and, like Auntie Mags had put it recently (over the most amazingly sticky St Clements cake that, unsurprisingly, turned out to be exactly what I needed): ‘It’s any port in a storm now, kid.’

‘But do you think he’ll still remember meeting you, bearing in mind it’s three and a half months since it happened?’ Jack asked, yelping as Wren clipped his ear.

‘Don’t listen to him. He’s being pedantic.’

‘That
hurt
. You’re vicious, Wren.’

‘Well, consider it your just reward for overt pessimism, Jack. Seriously, Rom, I think this could work. And if he was as bowled over with you as you said he was, he’ll be searching for you, too.’

With every last ounce of optimism within me, I hoped he was.

Two hours later we broke for lunch, Wren, Tom and Jack heading into town to grab food for us. With the rehearsal room empty, I grabbed the kettle and walked to the tiny kitchen down the hall to refill it.

When I returned, I was shocked to see Charlie standing on the far side of the rehearsal room, head bent over the open newspaper where Jack had left it on the amp beside his keyboard. I had wrongly assumed he had joined the others on the food run. I stopped in the doorway, kettle in hand, debating whether or not to leave. As I stepped back, the floorboard creaked and Charlie looked up.

‘Brief Encounter, huh?’

I walked into the rehearsal room and replaced the kettle on its base, flicking the switch to boil it. ‘It was Wren’s idea.’

‘Hm. Any replies yet?’

I shrugged. ‘It’s only just come out. This morning was the first time I’d seen it.’ That frustrating barrier had appeared again between us, blocking the usual flow of conversation, forcing every word to be considered before it could pass. ‘Cup of tea?’ I offered, desperate to find anything to recapture some of the easiness I so longed for between us.

‘Probably should wait until the others get back.’

‘Oh.’ Unsure whether to leave him reading the offending column and occupy myself with tea-making duties anyway, or wait for his next comment, I remained where I was, goosebumps prickling along my arms as I searched for something else to say.

Why was this so hard? Even though I absolutely believed in my quest and nothing would persuade me otherwise, the atmosphere between Charlie and I sat uncomfortably with my soul. Unfinished business, I suppose. After being convinced that I loved him for the best part of the last three years, perhaps this was understandable: feelings harboured and nurtured for all that time didn’t disappear overnight, did they? As no more was said, I busied myself with making tea, hoping fervently that Wren’s crazy advert would encourage some kind of response soon. I needed to focus on the quest: rogue thoughts about Charlie were most definitely
not
welcome.

In the event, the first response arrived far sooner than anyone could have predicted:

‘I don’t think that’s him,’ I said, peering at the reply. My heart was beating like the Duracell Bunny at a rave and my palms were damp.

‘How do you know? He answered the ad, didn’t he?’

‘But
Sebastian
?’ I pleaded.

‘What’s wrong with Sebastian? It’s a lovely name.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with Sebastian on the whole. My stranger didn’t strike me as a
Sebastian
, that’s all.’

Wren scowled at me. ‘Romily Parker, I can’t believe what I’m hearing.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re a
name racist
!’

A group of businessmen at the next table were now staring at us. Embarrassed, I lowered my voice. ‘No I’m
not
. I’m just trying to get my head around the fact that my handsome stranger might be called Sebastian.’

‘Well, what name were you expecting?’

This was an interesting question, one I had mulled over many times since the day I met him. Is it possible to guess someone’s name merely on the strength of two words, a gorgeous face and a striped scarf? He could be a Matt, or a Ben, or maybe a Joe at a push – but he couldn’t be a Sebastian, could he?

Wren’s eyes were sparkling dangerously. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

‘I know. But I need a little more time to prepare myself before I decide whether or not to reply.’

‘Too late. I replied this morning.’

‘
What?
’

Wren sipped her tea with self-satisfaction. ‘Well, if I’d left it up to you it would never happen. So you’re meeting Sebastian tomorrow evening in the café overlooking St Martin’s church. All you have to do is to decide what you’re going to wear to meet the man of your dreams.’

Robbed of my usual arsenal of witticisms, I nodded blankly. One thing I know about Wren: when she sets her mind to do something, nothing short of a freak meteor strike will dissuade her from seeing it through. The die was cast. I was meeting Sebastian tomorrow.

It’s funny the things that hurtle through your brain when you’re heading towards a possibly life-changing situation. All day, alongside the usual ‘Will he turn up?’, ‘Will he like me?’ and ‘What will we talk about?’ questions, other issues – such as whether the blue printed White Stuff dress and orange scarf I had chosen after several hours of trying on seemingly every item of clothing I possessed was, in fact, the correct choice – joined in the onslaught on my consciousness.

Mick had noticed my distractedness as soon as I arrived at work, but left it until almost the end of the day to question me.

‘Alright, Parker, what’s up?’ he asked, striding back into the Bat Cave with a mug of tea and an air that said he wasn’t going to let me go until he received a satisfactory answer.

As it was less than an hour before I was due to meet Sebastian, nerves were threatening to remove any remaining shreds of sanity I still possessed and support was badly needed. So I told him everything: Wren’s advert, the speedy reply, the unexpected name of my possible stranger and the worries I had been battling since yesterday.

‘Wow. No wonder you haven’t been with it today. Are you excited?’

‘Yes, of course I am. I’ve thought about this guy so much since Christmas and gone through about every scenario possible in my mind. I want it so much to be him that I’m meeting today …’

‘But?’

I searched his face for reassurance. ‘But what if the picture and the person I’ve built up in my mind don’t match the reality?’

Mick rubbed the stubble along his square jawline. ‘You can’t worry about things like that, Rom. I guess what’s important is that you’re willing to find out either way. Just focus on the excitement and you’ll be fine.’

His pep talk certainly helped to bolster my self-confidence. An hour later, walking towards the venue for our meeting, I felt like a changed woman. It was
just a coffee
, I reminded myself, not a marriage proposal. I could do this!

I was almost at the entrance to the glass-fronted café when my mobile rang. ‘Are you there yet, bab?’ Uncle Dudley asked, his exuberance instantly making me smile.

‘About three steps away,’ I whispered.

‘Ooh, we’re so chuffed for you, we are. Your aunt has been cooking all day she’s been that nervous. The galley looks like the swanky cake counter in Selfridges Food Hall now.’

‘I’ll have to pop over and sample some of those, then.’

‘Make sure you do. We’re proper rooting for you, sweetheart. You have a fantastic time and let us know how you get on, OK?’

Ending the call, I paused at the entrance to the coffee shop, straightened my dress and, heart in mouth, walked in.

With ten minutes to spare, I ordered a caramel macchiato and found a seat by the window. The lights around the beautiful red sandstone church in the centre of the modern shopping centre were starting to come on as dusk began to fall, making everything feel magical, while a cloudless sky arced over the considerable crowds of people as they made their way home from the city shops, banks and offices. As I watched them I thought about the stranger, about
Sebastian
– that name was going to take some getting used to – and wondered how close he was to me right now. Was he as nervous as me?

A polite cough summoned me from my reverie. Standing next to my table was a well-dressed man with wavy blond hair and blue eyes. By my estimate, he must have been in his mid-to late thirties and appeared to be rather nervous.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I very much hope so. I’m Sebastian. Sebastian Myers. May I sit down?’

The weight of crushing disappointment was breath-stealing as I forced a smile at the random stranger who wasn’t
my
random stranger, mentally kicking myself for investing so much thought and emotion into this meeting. I felt like the whole coffee shop could see just how much of an idiot I was feeling.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. Your reply only had your Encounters box number on it,’ Sebastian smiled, ‘and I can’t spend all night referring to you as “BE1712”, can I?’

Wait a minute –
all night
? Who said anything about all night? As far as I was aware, this was just a coffee. Either Sebastian was getting ahead of himself or else Wren was guilty of gross misrepresentation on my behalf.

‘I’m Romily. Nice to meet you, er, Sebastian.’ There was one bright spark in the quagmire of discouragement I was experiencing at that moment – at least now there was little danger of me ending up as one half of a couple that would have sounded more at home in the register of a home for retired theatre luvvies.
Have you met Sebastian and Romily, two of our most senior residents?

‘Can I say, before we do anything else, how attractive you’re looking this evening?’

‘Thank you.’ More than a little concerned by the lascivious twinkle in his eye, I decided to cut to the chase. ‘Look, there’s clearly been some mistake here. You’re not the stranger I met at Christmas.’

From his nonchalant expression it was blatantly apparent that Sebastian had no intention of even trying to pretend he was. ‘I know I’m not. But I could be just what you’re looking for.’

Argh!
Standing quickly I clutched my bag to myself. ‘Well, thank you very much for meeting me. Um, have a nice life.’

‘Romily! Wait!’ he called after me as I bolted out of the coffee shop. ‘We could have a brief encounter all of our own!’

No,
thank you
!

I didn’t stop running until I was several hundred feet away. My head was spinning, the disappointment of finding a dead-end in my quest tempered by the utter hilarity of meeting Sleazy Sebastian. I was just about to call Wren when I heard running footsteps and heavy panting behind me. Turning, I was amazed to see my aunt and uncle dashing towards me, faces flushed and bodies protesting at the effort.

‘What on earth are you doing?’

‘Well,’ Uncle Dudley panted, leaning his hands on his knees to catch his breath, ‘you left the coffee shop so fast we had to run to keep up with you.’

‘Hang on, you were just in there?’

Auntie Mags flashed a contrite smile at me. ‘It was my idea. I was worried about you meeting a stranger all alone. We were just round the corner from your table. I’m sorry, chick.’

‘We even had disguises,’ Uncle Dudley admitted, holding up a threadbare trilby and a pair of dark glasses.

The thought of my aunt and uncle engaged in a covert surveillance operation was too funny for words, its effect magnified by their guilty expressions. I burst out laughing, startling a Hare Krishna follower who was handing out leaflets outside Primark. And such was the release after all the recent tension, anticipation and disappointment that, for a full five minutes, I shook with laughter, tears streaming down my face and my sides aching, while Uncle Dudley and Auntie Mags stood helplessly by. When it finally subsided I was exhausted, but feeling a million times better.

‘I take it you’re not too upset it wasn’t him?’ Auntie Mags asked as she hugged me.

‘I’m
relieved
it wasn’t him. He was so sleazy and suggestive he made Leslie Phillips look reserved.’

‘And it means your chap is still out there,’ Uncle Dudley added.

‘Absolutely. Onwards and upwards.’

Initial disappointment (and cringe-worthy conversations) aside, today had turned out to be an important step for me. As I mulled everything over later that night, I realised that the experience had only served to strengthen my determination to find the man who kissed me. I had seen him for the briefest of moments in February, I now possessed photographic proof that I hadn’t dreamed the whole thing and I carried with me the well-wishes of the people who loved me and the countless strangers who believed in what I was doing. With all this in my favour, how could the quest fail?

‘How many more times do you want me to apologise? The wedding planner lied, not me. I’m sorry about the bunny ears, but what could I do?’ D’Wayne faced us, his brow furrowed as he protested his innocence once more. To be fair to our manager, we knew it wasn’t his fault, but Jack and Tom found D’Wayne’s propensity to rise to the bait just too tempting to ignore.

We were sitting in the melamine splendour of Harry’s, primarily to hear the latest juicy details of the millionaire gig after Tom had called an impromptu band meeting.

‘I think we should let up on him now,’ Wren said, shaking off the ‘oooohs’ from Charlie and Jack. ‘No, I’m just saying. D’Wayne’s arranged some really good bookings for us this year – apart from the tights gig and the bunny gig – and let’s face it, it’s a lot better for us than when Jack and Tom were organising things.’

‘Hey!’ Tom protested.

‘She has a point,’ Charlie conceded, receiving an accusatory glance from Jack. ‘Although Tom might just have come up trumps with this gig, eh, mate?’

Tom made no attempt to disguise his disdain. ‘Cheers.’

With perfect timing, Harry chose that very moment to bring over his mama’s secret recipe doughnuts.

‘I take it you all kissy-kissy made up, now huh?’ he grinned as we descended like locusts on the hugely calorific but thoroughly amazing golden twists of sugary gorgeousness. ‘Good. I need my customers to be ’appy, you know? All this English down-in-the-mouth I am seeing from you is not so good for my business.’

Jack brushed sugar from his chin and grinned at Tom. ‘So what’s the news about the millionaire gig?’

‘It looks like everything is set,’ Tom said, in between mouthfuls of doughnut. ‘Justin – my boss – told me he’s arranged it all for us, including a dressing room, a P.A. so we don’t have to bring ours, accommodation nearby the day before and the night after the gig. He’s even covering our travel expenses. So what we’re basically looking at, people, is an all-expenses-paid trip to London!’

This was fantastic news, and exactly the thing to take my mind off the temporary hiatus in my quest. I could see the excitement washing over my friends; even D’Wayne’s eyes were sparkling at the prospect.

Wren squealed. ‘It’s like a
dream
! I can’t believe they want us. This is serious stuff.’

‘Yes, it is,’ D’Wayne conceded. ‘It’s a great coup, Tom. You did good.’

‘Good? I did more than good, I think you’ll find. Julian said that he’d recommended us to two friends already, purely on the strength of our demo CD and our “can-do” attitude. And trust me, Jules is the kind of guy that doesn’t get impressed very often.’

Wren clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. ‘Please
heaven
let us get more of these! I want to kiss my credit card bills goodbye!’

‘I hear you, sister!’ Tom adopted a Southern Baptist drawl. ‘And all the people said …’

We raised our hands and chorused: ‘A-men!’