It Started With a Kiss (4 page)

Added to this, it’s a veritable education in How To and How
Not
To Do a Wedding. It never ceases to amaze me just how awful other people’s weddings can be. It’s a constant source of amusement to us all, not least to Wren and I, who pore over each successively horrific detail with unrestrained glee. Then there are the weddings that are truly inspirational – when everything seems to come together at once and the adrenalin rush sends your head giddy. These we hold in high regard and recall in hushed tones because they are evidence that what we’re doing is more than simply paying the bills. The guys in the band are a bit more cynical about it all, but even they have been known to shed the odd telltale tear at certain moving celebrations.

I’ve sung with several bands throughout my life, but I can honestly say that nothing beats performing with my best friends. There’s a different level of understanding than I’ve experienced with any other musicians – it’s like we all know what the others are thinking. And I love it.

Gig stories form a central part of any conversation when we all get together. It’s something that has built a rock-solid bond between the members of the band, but can be a cause of irritation to the non-musician partners among us, who frequently pull faces and moan when tales of songs that went wrong and strange weddings we’ve played at begin floating across the dinner table on a Saturday night at Jack and Soph’s. We all keep saying that we should try harder to curb the stories when non-band members are present, but it’s kind of a default setting for us; usually by the time we’ve realised what we’re doing, we’ve been happily swapping tales for hours. I’m not proud of it, but the gig stories have definitely caused casualties. Although Wren won’t admit it, the closeness of the band was one of the major reasons that Matt, her last boyfriend, didn’t stick around for long. Sophie told me he asked Wren to choose between The Pinstripes and him. The rest, as they say, is history.

Of course, there are numerous challenges to being in a function band: the sheer logistics of getting five über-busy people together for rehearsals; the internal squabbles that occasionally rear their ugly heads; the stressful load-ins and sound-checks; the late finishes and the often long journeys home in the early hours of the morning, knowing that there’s a van packed with equipment to unload before you can get to bed. But despite everything, it’s great to be able to hang out with your mates and get paid for it – something that makes all the bad stuff pale into insignificance. Some of my best times have been spent breaking into impromptu jam sessions during sound-checks and discussing obscure music trivia in half-closed motorway service stations at some ungodly hour in the morning. I couldn’t bear to lose all that – yet this was what I was risking by continuing to ignore the situation with Charlie.

Staring at my phone alone in my bedroom that night, I knew Wren was right – I had to call him. Mustering every scrap of courage I could, I found Charlie’s number and dialled.

I could hear the stress in his voice as soon as he answered.

‘Rom – hey.’

‘Hi, Charlie.’

‘I didn’t know what to … what to do … or say …’

‘I’m sorry, mate. I was embarrassed.’

‘You weren’t the only one,’ Charlie laughed. My stomach rolled over and I swallowed hard. After a pause, he spoke again. ‘You still there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Look – this is such a mess. Can we meet up tomorrow?’

‘I don’t know …’

‘Don’t say no, Rom, just listen, OK?’

‘OK.’

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 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.