Lines We Forget (22 page)

With an indifferent shrug, Eddie gets his own phone out to begin to search for Daisy, and more importantly to begin the search for Anna.

That is until the sticky cobwebs of the past clear again and Charlie abruptly stops him. “Actually, don’t. It’s probably not a good idea.”

“Okay then.”

“Hold on, maybe you should.”

“Do you want me to or not? Make your mind up, mate.”

Charlie dithers, can’t decide if he’s quite ready to talk to her yet, but he knows that the pounding in his chest is telling him otherwise. He should know better than to trust his heart again, especially when it came to the complex matter of Anna, but it’s hard to dismiss.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s your choice.”

He pauses, takes a breath. “No.” It’s a firm and wise answer, he believes. Saving Eddie the hassle of having to listen and deal with his sudden irrationality and complicated past history with a girl who still spins her web in his dreams at night.

“Shall we get some food, or are we just going to talk about girls and stare at our phones all evening?” Eddie chuckles, lightening the mood slightly, for which Charlie is grateful. It reminds him that he’s supposed to be having an overdue catch up with a friend, not spending it having a crisis over an ex-girlfriend.

So that’s what he does, hiding away his mobile in the depths of the many pockets his new jacket bestows. Laughs along with Eddie and listens to his animated talk about the gigs he’s got lined up.

It temporarily takes his mind off the pulsing alarm that’s lurking in the space where his heart belongs, because otherwise it’ll go off and send him crash landing back to the beginning again, undo all his hard work, all the many months spent trying to forget.

And when the drinks and plates of food are finished, Charlie lets Eddie take him in for a big, manly bear hug and thanks him for a great evening before watching him disappear into the night’s crowds.

Outside, the rains picks up and the force of the wind nudges him closer to home with each step.

And that’s when he hears it.

A vibrating, pulsing sensation against his chest that makes him freeze and search through every pocket in an attempt to locate it. Charlie thinks it’s probably Emily again, until the tiny red dot he’d noticed earlier continues to bleep and flash, prompting him to touch it.

He realises that his technophobia means that he’s been completely in the dark to the fact that he’s got a new voicemail waiting. Pausing to figure out how to turn the sound up, he almost gets blown sideways by a strong, surprise gust of wind.

There’s a small voice on the other end telling him something but it just comes out muffled. Red buses splash past and he comes to a grinding halt to avoid a cyclist as he crosses the pavement to find a suitable doorway to huddle in so he can listen properly.

And when he does, everything around him fades out because he hears her voice and it catches him all over again.

“Uh…Hey Charlie. Hope you don’t mind me calling to leave you a message. I just wanted to say that I’ve recently got a new number and, well, I thought you might want it.”

He catches a breath at the exact same moment she does, and he waits for her to start up again. Feels his throat tighten when she clears hers to continue.

“Actually I’m also calling because, well, I don’t know how else to say this but believe it or not, I am back. As in back properly in foggy old London town, which is crazy but yeah, thought it might be nice to catch up, or something.”

There’s another long pause, which feels like minutes but is only really a few seconds.

“Or maybe not, it’s up to you of course. Completely. Because you might be thinking why the hell is she calling, and not want to hear from me. Shit. I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Her familiar laugh spikes through and he imagines the way it used to light up her eyes. Finds that it’s got him smiling, face pressed against the cold screen as he continues to hang off every nervously stuttered word.

“I’m probably just wasting your time, so I’ll wrap this up before I get cut off. Sorry. Okay, so yeah, I hope everything is good with you. You know…‘Good in da hood’. Fuck, that was an awful joke, wasn’t it? Right, well, I am going to hang up now, so take care I guess. It’s Anna by the way, in case you weren’t sure or had forgotten. Crap. Okay, bye.”

When the voicemail cuts off, Charlie listens to it again. Standing out in the pouring rain just to hear her speak his name in only the way she ever could. He thinks she sounds happy and alive, and she hasn’t lost her heart-warming laughter that keeps his ear glued to the speaker once more to listen to her message.

He’s surprised to find that even after all this time she’s kept his number, and it makes all his hopes take flight, soar through the wind, and dreary night’s sky. A hope that maybe he played on her mind the same way she did, day and night, and that surely it means something.

And as Charlie walks home, he thinks it must do. Because it feels good to know that Anna hasn’t quite forgotten him either.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Anna

October 23
rd
2010

Cursing her appearance with frustration at changing outfits for the fifth time, Anna takes one last glance in the mirror and with it a deep, shallow breath.

She wonders if there’s anything else in her wardrobe that can hide or conceal nerves better than the dress and jumper combo she’s picked out. Not that it should matter, because she knows that Charlie never cared much for what she wore or how she looked.

Still, it hasn’t stopped her from believing it to be a good a time as any to indulge in a little retail therapy, for a pick me up and for a particular type of confidence that comes with buying a new pair of boots or strappy black dress. But even they had limitations because she still feels apprehensive. The mass of expectations weighing heavy in her chest as she continues to think about the actual reality of how such an evening can go.

Anna hopes she’s not overanalysing the situation before it’s even happened. Because after all, it’s nothing more than just a casual meet up. Certainly not a date, even though she’s marked it down in her diary planner as if it were. Writing his name again after so long had felt weird, yet oddly exciting too.

The thought of seeing him again after close to a year of nothing keeps her hopeful even if she is more than aware it’s not in the rules. That she can’t just waltz back into his life and expect him to welcome her with open arms or an open heart.

She’s under no illusion either that Charlie is once more eligible and well within his rights to find affection with another. That he deserves to find comfort and happiness, to sing songs like he’d wrote them for a new lover. And she knows that she shouldn’t feel jealous or bitter, hurt or angry, but she does, often when she recalls his face—boyish yet rugged and handsome. Remembering the way his kisses and hands on her spine felt doesn’t help either.

Which is why she’d rushed home from work, bundling Molly, her lovely new housemate, into the first Tube station she could find. In an effort to be on time, to shower and pick out something to wear that shows she still has it without screaming “please find me attractive again.” Because Anna wants nothing more than to remind him that she still is worth remembering.

Five dresses and ten jumpers later, however, she starts to believe that maybe it wasn’t such a great idea after all, because she hates her appearance and how tired and worn out she looks. With the same old wonky fringe and knotty, slightly shorter hair, smudged eyeliner and stumpy legs.

She wonders if Charlie has changed at all or if he’s still the same too. Anna hopes he hasn’t lost the mess of blond hair she adored or the light in his blue eyes, the flannel shirts or tatty jeans. Thinks maybe it’s been too long a gap between communication to find hope in such things, and she’s scared to wonder if there’s anything salvageable between them if it turns out he has. The way his voice sounded so reserved in his reply voicemail message didn’t give much joy or ease her worries.

Anna wonders too if he could secretly tell it had taken her a few glasses of wine to get the courage to phone, let alone dial in his number. She remembers how Charlie always had a knack for sussing out when she was a little tipsy or worse for wear. How he’d told her that the pitch of her voice rose at the end of sentences when she was under the influence. Once upon a time he’d even called it cute.

Still, even with the possibility of wine playing a large part of her out-of-the-blue call, he had replied and taken up the offer of an after-hours coffee, which Anna hoped he’d find ironic, a nod back to the day they first met. She hopes he remembers that she in fact still hates coffee and prefers tea, that it might bring back some long lost nostalgia between them.

And even though he just said “Okay, sounds nice,” hearing any words from him felt like music to her ears. As if his posh, soft accent was a drug she’d kicked but still craved because it made her stomach somersault and yearn for a fix.

When Anna catches a glint of the ring on her finger shining back in the mirror, she takes it off and heads for kitchen. Often she forgets it is even there, which says more about her feelings towards the giver of such a gift than anything else. Because the gold band with the fake emerald set in it has the awkward memory of Ollie written all over and it’s often best to try and forget.

She feels bad that she thinks of him as nothing more than a temporary puzzle piece, a rebound to fill in the gap left by Charlie.

But Ollie, with his stocky build, laddish ways, and brash behaviour, didn’t quite fit properly, not after the initial buzz had worn off and she’d realised that maybe he wasn’t the right guy to mend her heart.

It was strange how the once quiet Ollie Griffin
,
with the floppy hair and freckles, had gone from being an old college crush to a drum bass devote with a souped-up sports car and a penchant for lifting weights at the gym. At first it was exciting, a weird thrill to observe the man he’d become over the years and how he’d taken an interest in her as she waited at the bar of her local pub after a long shift at work. He’d acted all surprised to bump in to her again—little loud-mouthed Anna, a term he’d affectionately remembered her by.

And even though she was beyond drunk at the time, there was something oddly appealing about his large biceps and the faded tattoos that snaked round them, so very different in comparison to the arms that held her before. How he smelled like cheap supermarket cologne and cement from laying down bricks as labourer at a new housing development out of town.

He’d called her babe and bought her shots of pure syrupy sours, before insisting she join him and his mates for a game of pool and cigarette out in the garden. Anna had been pretty blasé about the whole thing, casual and cool to all his show-off tales about college hijinks and memories of her, of them. Somehow she even managed to bite her tongue, hold back her temper when Ollie and his rowdy friends heckled an old man with a guitar who was doing his best to sing out golden oldies over the noisy pub crowd.

And when he walked her home, Ollie stuck his tongue in her mouth and told her that she had a sexy pair of eyes. She remembers that it wasn’t terrible, because the sours had softened her expectations, but that it wasn’t really anything to write home about either.

No sparks, no dancing wild flutter in her tummy, though she felt like it was all she really deserved—a sloppy, semi-decent rebound was all that she had to look forward to now that Charlie was only a distant and painful memory.

The thought of such a loss was what kept her going back for more, sometimes wanting to just have the company and attention, to find a different kind of love under the sheets and in between. To have someone to call or eat dinner with, a person who could listen to her and all her drama, but it came at a cost.

Ollie didn’t love the same way Charlie did and the nights spent in his bed felt empty in comparison. His hands weren’t as soft or gentle and his experience with women, or lack thereof, showed. Every time he’d kiss her forehead with a grunt before rolling over to fall asleep, Anna would feel sick and guilty. Sick for still staying and leading him on and guilty for erasing the once wonderful memories of her and Charlie with every half-hearted thrust and sloppy, wet kiss.

The true cost was that she had to forfeit her true heart’s desire for routine companionship, leading Ollie to believe in the process that he was the man she was happy to share that with. Evident by the chunky ring he’d given her from the Saturday market and the bunch of pink roses for her birthday, ones he gave after only knowing her properly again for a month.

It was kind of sweet, but only semi-so and she felt awful for accepting his generosity. Even after he’d presented it to her in a less than appealing way.

How he’d said, “Got it from a market stall because it reminds me of your eyes, thought it would look good on you. You know, to doll you up a bit.”

“But my eyes are brown,” she’d told him after, though she was unsure if maybe the colour of her eyes had decided to change too, so as not to be a burden of a memory either, and she just hadn’t noticed.

Ollie had laughed it off. “Only joking, babes, I knew that. Course I did. You’re my Brown Eyed Girl, no doubt about it.”

It was a sick, twisted, and ironic reminder and Anna couldn’t settle for the rest of the day. Hearing Ollie utter the very same words as Charlie had done so many times before left her reeling and sad for all that had been lost.

Eventually she let it go but she had her doubts, more so because she didn’t want the ring to act as reminder that he paid less attention than Charlie, which unfortunately it did every time she caught sight of it. She hated how it evoked thoughts of the birthday card that landed through her letterbox a week after she’d turned twenty-four. Addressed to her with scribbled handwriting that was all too familiar.

Even after time and distance had got in between, Charlie had still remembered. His small card with a watercolor ginger cat on the front stirring a cup of tea made her miss him more than previously possible. It probably wasn’t his intention, but the note inside to wish her a happy birthday, signed with a small kiss, got her thinking that maybe she was wrong to believe he didn’t care or think about her anymore.

And Anna kept it—on her table dresser when she was at home and in her bag when she was out so she could keep a small piece of him close by. It was all she had left and it meant more than any ring or rose ever could.

It was part of the reason why she decided to call him, once she’d settled into her new job and home. To find out once and for all if there was any hope that he felt same way too. It’s why she takes off the heavy ring and leaves it on the bedside table. Pulls out her hair so it falls loose and relaxed instead of fixed to within an inch of its life in a neat bun that Ollie would have liked.

Upon approaching the kitchen, Anna smiles at Molly sat up by the breakfast counter, and she makes her presence known with a small cough and click of her boots.

Molly raises her head, coos, “Wowie, you look great! Got a hot date tonight, have we?”

“No, you know where I’m off to,” Anna replies, tipping out the last of the wine from the bottle on the counter before taking a quick sip. “Definitely not a date or anything of the sort.”

“Ah crap. I’m sorry, I forgot! Your dazzling beauty had me believe otherwise,” Molly jokes, flipping over the page of the magazine she’s reading. Anna laughs, and is happy to have someone like Molly in her life because she’d quickly become not only a great work colleague but also a flatmate and friend.

Molly is a motherly figure even if she is a year younger. She has welcomed Anna with open arms, inviting her to live in her cute apartment until she had enough money for a place of her own. Her warmth and kindness have been needed, and she is great fun too, not least because of her fondness for wine and soap operas but for cats and the Spice Girls too.

It’s been a perfect fit and another piece to slot into the puzzle that is Anna’s new, slightly improved life back in the city.

“Shit.”

“What?”

Anna sighs. “I’m so nervous.”

With a gentle smile, Molly says, “There’s nothing to worry about, love; it’s just a chance for the both of you to catch up. Maybe clear the air, to feel like you’re on better terms.”

“You’re right, as usual. It’s just I can’t help but feel weird about it all. Like I need a bottle of wine to get me out the door.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time!”

“Suppose I’ll just have to suck it up and hope for the best.”

Molly leans over the counter and pushes a strand of hair away from getting stuck in Anna’s lip-gloss. “There we go. Beautiful. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

Anna wants to tell her how the thought of seeing him waiting for her outside the café has kept her awake at night. How she’s been unable to sleep without waking up in pools of sweat even though it was a million degrees below freezing outside.

The thought of Charlie played on her mind at work and on the walk home, on the Tube and in the shower. Every damn minute of every hour until the time arrived to meet again.

“Can I ask, is it the ex-boyfriend from the pictures?” Molly says, and Anna knows she’s referring back to the time when they unpacked boxes of her stuff only to find a pile of photographs in a shoebox. Ones that had been taken with a disposable camera she’d stolen from Jaz’s wedding the summer before. Most had been of Charlie, and Molly had gawked, told her he was a cutie, and asked what had happened.

“Yeah. That’s the one.”

“Thought it might have been. Look, just go for it and be yourself. Show him that you’re still just as amazing as when he last saw you.”

Anna wraps her arms round Molly’s shoulders and gives her a squeeze. Tells her she’s the best friend a girl could ask for. Doesn’t mention that she’s actually technically tied with Daisy for fear of spoiling the moment.

“You’re the best. Can’t you come along and sit behind me, incognito style? Tell me exactly what to do and say, please?”

Molly shakes her head. “Stop worrying and just go.”