Lines We Forget (4 page)

“Sure, why not.” He smiles, even though he’s heard Eddie’s jangly, folk-inspired songs a hundred times before. He thinks of it as an excuse to sit back and admire her some more. Savour the joy on her face when music plays, like she’s never seen or heard such a thing before. Her friend Daisy with the wild hair looks on in awe too, staring intently up at poor Eddie like he’s her next meal.

She seems fun,
he thinks when another one of his friends gets up on stage to play. Because Daisy’s whooping and hollering along to all the songs, pulling at Anna’s hand to dance with her.

Joey is, of course, stealing the show. Ripping through classics and newer tunes. Switching them up with funky one-hit wonders. Charlie notices Anna trying to mouth along to his “Fresh Prince of Bel Air” mash up. How she whistles in delight at the end of another old-school rendition, which he believes is a little showy but gives applause for nonetheless.

“Wow that was really great!” He hears her shout over the loud interval music. It irks him, only because he has half the talent and showmanship of Joey and hates to admit it.

Which is why when he hears his name being called out over the PA system, he panics. Joey waves a guitar at him from the side of the makeshift stage and mouths,
Come on, dude.

Anna seems confused, but there’s excitement in her eyes. “Do they want you to go up there?”

“One of my good friends guitar maestro Charlie Stone is here tonight, everybody, and I’d like to invite him up to play a couple of songs with me,” Joey says into the microphone. “So come on up, man.”

Charlie sinks into his chair. He’s not ready yet for the spotlight and he feels stage fright kick in because Anna’s grinning, with expectant eyes, waiting for him to join in. There’s a real fear of messing up or making a fool of himself, especially on their sort of casual first real date, and it builds with every ring of microphone feedback.

“Charlie, he’s calling your name again,” she says as her hand rests on his shoulder.

“I know.”

“Don’t you want to go up?”

“This one tells me you’ve got the voice of an angel, so what are you waiting for?” Daisy yells over, poking Anna in the arm as she does. The blush that creeps to her cheeks from her friend’s slip of the tongue doesn’t make him feel much better. It just makes his own grow rosier. The rush of nerves through his veins and dryness in his mouth warn him that it’s not a good idea.

But with the small crowd that gathers at the front and with the tables behind whistling and clapping, Charlie sucks in a breath and steps out towards the stage. Thinks he’ll just rattle out a quick tune play some easy chords and then make an escape back to the dark safety of the bar.

His voice cracks and sounds hoarse as he speaks into the microphone. “So I wasn’t quite expecting to be up here tonight, but I’ll give it a go.” He hears some giggling. Watches Daisy gives him the thumbs-up as Joey plugs in the guitar behind him. Static rings through the small room.

“What are you going to play, mate?” Joey whispers into his ear, waiting for the cue.

With his heart in his throat, confidence faltering, Charlie mumbles something back and takes the guitar. Decides how he’s going to play.

And just like back out on the rainy Thursday evening when he’d seen her—Anna with the brown eyes—he follows his gut and starts to pick slowly at the steel strings. Finally, after a few off notes, he figures out another way to gain her attention and hopefully more importantly, her affection.

“I’m going to do something a little different with this one. You probably all know it, but this is a special version,” Charlie says, plectrum in mouth. “It’s dedicated to old and new friends alike. Thanks.”

When he eventually sings, his voice sounds husky, wise beyond its years. He slows the strumming down, closing his eyes so he can feel it all. At this point he’s not bothered by the audible groans from the old guys at the bar who are probably tired of the familiar lyrics. A busker’s classic, a true “Wonderwall” of a song. Overused since the late ‘90s.

Yet this time it’s different.

When he opens his eyes again, he catches Anna sitting, hands in her lap, head gently swaying. And she’s smiling.

He’s aware that the lyrics are cheesy as hell, that they’re also pretty deep. That it might be weird to sing them for a girl he barely knows. But two verses in and he’s starting to believe the words sliding out to the silent crowd.

He might as well have written it for her. Certain no one can see what he sees in her, how the night feels brighter and more optimistic with her in it.

And so Charlie lets the song do the work for him, all the while hoping that when he returns to her side she’ll still be smiling like he’s the only light left on in her world.

***

Anna

Lifting the latch on the iron gate that leads to home, Anna thinks it’s somewhat a miracle she’s made it back in one piece.

It turns out she was right—about the beer—because she’s swaying so much it feels like she’s walking on stilts. Made of empty pint glasses—eight of them to be exact.

Back at the bar she’d made the mistake of enjoying the buzz and confidence that every new drink bought. She remembers Charlie had attempted to slow her down a little. Asking his musician friends to stop including her in their rounds in a nice, subtle way, which she’s now really grateful for.

Because after she’d listened and watched him perform his weird but wonderful take on a song her older brother used to play endlessly on a cassette tape back when they were teenagers, she threw herself into the celebrations. Daisy paired off with Eddie, lost in his beard and stories of drunken tattoos, which had left her and Charlie the chance to talk some more.

Anna likes how he’d been really charming and watchful of his friends that sat next to them and how keen he was not to be distracted by their loud chatter. She really enjoyed observing all the little things, like how he fiddled with his hair and how it fell into his blue eyes even though he kept brushing it away. She recalls the burning urge she’d had to trail her finger along the light stubble that framed his jaw. Making do instead with the feel of his worn hands brushing up against hers, and how his knee would knock into hers under the wobbly table every time he said something humorous.

How she got a feverish desire witnessing the definition in his forearms from years of playing guitar, picking up heavy amps. There was something even about the braided piece of cord wrapped round his thick wrist that set her fire alight.

There wasn’t really much logic to liking such trivial things, but for Anna and the eight pints of beer it meant everything. All of it left her feeling hot with anticipation. Which built with every step they took back along the cobbled streets to get her home safely, once Daisy decided to catch a cab and call it a night after she’d got her signed flyer with Eddie’s number on it.

Charlie offered, as a true gentleman should, to be her chaperone so that the bleary-eyed, drunken girl she’d become didn’t end up in a gutter. Not that she minded. Not at all.

“Is it the one with the blue door?” he says pointing past the iron gate. Anna mumbles back that it is whilst spinning on the balls of her shoes. Giggling when he catches her before she trips.

And that’s when she decides she really wants to kiss him. Unfortunately, he’s still busy rooting around in the bottom of her handbag for the keys she’s had trouble finding.

“Right, I’ve got them. I’ll help you up the stairs. Careful, watch your step.”

She feels like it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to her and she pulls at his shirt, which is warm. It smells like him, and she continues to lift herself up on the stone step.

When she pushes her face hard against his chest, she hears him say with a nervous laugh, “Uh, okay. I don’t know if now’s the right time for that.”

He’s pushing her away but he’s also gently holding her by the waist. He’s just not putting his face any closer. Not until he lowers his head down to plant a soft, warm kiss on her cheek.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. Not even drunk,” Anna attempts to say in her own defence. In between the hiccups and slurs. “I really want to. Promise.”

Charlie kisses her other cheek. It burns, and makes her want him even more, which she doubts is his intention.

“Put the key in the lock and go get warm, Anna. It’s late and I know you have work in the morning because you’ve told me a thousand times,” he teases, letting go to guide her to the door.

She knows he’s watching, waiting as she twists in the key to stumble inside with all her shame and regret for being such a terrible drunk.

“Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. Honestly, you have no idea how hard it is for me right now to leave, but I am because I want you to remember it. When it happens.”

Anna really wants to bury herself deep in his lush smile.

She begins to hum to herself whilst shutting the door. The crack in the door allowing her to watch him walk away, hands in his pockets.

There’s a relief to know he’s far enough away not to hear her swear and kick back the door in frustration. Eternally grateful that he’s nowhere in sight when all eight beers come swelling up again, mixing with the regret and embarrassment.

And if there’s a chance she hasn’t ruined the potential between them, then Anna thinks she needs to make a promise to never drink again.

But if she has screwed it all up, then it was no one’s fault but hers, and she’ll just have to get used to the hangover.

Chapter Four

Charlie

November 5
th
2008

Adjusting the collar on his shirt again, Charlie sighs at the reflection in the bathroom mirror and wonders why he doesn’t own anything smarter. Like a suit or a grown-up-looking tie.

The iron’s broken, so he settles for a wrinkled black shirt that he pairs with a white half-button-down t-shirt and black, worn-out jeans. He’s sure he looks stupid and completely underdressed, but gives in because it’ll have to do. There’s ten minutes left on the clock before he needs to leave the flat and hop on the bus if he doesn’t want to be late. Something he’s overly cautious about because Anna really didn’t deserve to have another guy pull that kind of stunt on her.

Charlie hurries along the grooming process by forgetting to brush his untamed hair or shave. He gets cologne in his eye as he grabs the wrong belt for his jeans and smears deodorant along the creases of his t-shirt.

He knows he’s not cut out for the evening that lies ahead, which involves acting mature and polite. To show that he can be presentable not only to Anna but also her work colleagues too. In a moment of regrettable spontaneity, he’d agreed to join her at the opening of a new art gallery. Her PR company has had staff running rings round the event, and from her messages during the week it seems like she’ll need the support.

Charlie has been learning just how much Anna dislikes her job and those she works with. He’s heard all the terrible stories, the names of women who harassed her daily, and just how inconvenient it has been since Daisy ducked out of helping to organise by going on a week’s jaunt to Paris.

She insisted, rather sincerely, that he wasn’t just a last-minute option even though he didn’t mind if he was. Until it dawned on him that he’d have to stand in a room full of strangers and pretend like he cared about the arts.

Unfortunately Anna has been much too persuasive and too wonderful for him to make an excuse and cancel. In the week since he got her safely home, she’s sent him messages that were sweet and funny, filled with snippets about her life, and he’s grown much too fond to pass up any opportunity to see her again.

Between their daily chats, Charlie found out that she loves soaps and live TV shows, stand-up comedians with brash accents, and weekend cookery programs. He has come to hear about how she recently made a roast dinner to little success, almost burning down her housemate’s kitchen and setting off fire alarms for the whole row of picturesque mew homes in her street.

He has begun to think of her like an open book. Anna has the ability to bounce off the walls and act crazy, like lightning in a bottle, and yet she can still be sweetly endearing and sensitive. There really is a different kind of thrill that comes with knowing her and the enjoyment of how she speaks a million miles an hour, losing her trail of thought so easily.

It also feels good to know that she has a genuine interest in him too. How she asks lots of questions and doesn’t make him feel stupid about the answers or belittle him for liking different things. It’s a relief to be able to tell her all about his interests and favourite foods, musicians, and movie stars.

Because Anna gives off the sense that she cares, unlike many of the girls he’s been with before. Not that they are technically together or dating. A fact he has to keep repeating in order not to forget and cross the line. The moment to bring up such a topic hasn’t really revealed itself. Besides, he still hasn’t kissed her yet. Something he hopes will happen soon, without alcohol interfering.

Not that he minded how drunk Anna had gotten the night of the open mic. He’d actually felt bad for her when she confessed the morning after that she’d thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with her again.

She clearly felt mortified and even called herself a “gigantic twat” for her behaviour outside of her house, though he assured her she shouldn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed. Told her he’d been in her situation more times than he could remember, and that if anything he just liked her even more. Because she was so unafraid of grabbing life and taking hold of what she wanted from it.

As Charlie fumbles for his jacket, finally ready to leave the flat, he thinks about that again, how alive and fearless she is, and it creates a heavy swell in his chest. The worry builds on the way to the bus stop, because he realises he doesn’t quite have the same zest or energy. That it won’t take long before she soon finds out that he’s just another quiet guy without much to his name and that he’s not the type she truly deserves.

And even though it feels inevitable, the disappointment of letting her down deepens with every passing minute.

***

Anna

Pacing up and down in the stark white foyer to the gallery, Anna holds tight a flute of champagne in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other. Demands come through it every few minutes and she continues to ignore them, feeling like she’s done enough running around for one night.

When she checks the time on her watch she notes that Charlie’s fifteen minutes late. Begins to panic since there’s been no sign of him and soon she’ll have to scurry off and be sociable with all the guests. To greet them with a pleasant smile, which is proving difficult to maintain because her flesh-coloured tights are itching like mad, and her hair up in a twisted bun feels too tight, too formal.

Anna worries that she’s becoming the type of woman she despises with her glossy lipstick and jangly jewels. Ordering about the lower rank juniors to hand out canapés whilst she totters about in too-high heels and a figure-crushing dress. All the while treading the fine line between being professional and being a bitch. Close to falling off into the deep end of a San Pellegrino, three diamonds, and kale-only nightmarish future version of herself.

And this why Charlie needs to arrive quickly
, she thinks. So he can remind her that there’s a life outside of the current fancy PR bubble she’s drowning in, trying to pull off the perfect event—for paintings, and not even great ones at that.

When he does finally arrive five minutes later, she throws her arms up and forgets about the champagne. Too in awe of his figure coming through the doors, his hair all windswept from the gale blowing down the river, to even care.

“I’m so happy to see you.” She smiles, ignoring the puddle of bubbly between them.

“Really sorry I’m late. Couldn’t find this place. Followed the river and ended up in the wrong direction,” he replies. Anna likes how he casts his eyes down when he speaks, and how his cheeks are still just as rosy as ever.

“You look great. Amazing,” Charlie tells her, in between catching his breath.

“Thank you.” She tries hard not to blush. “So how was your day then?”

“Long,” he sighs. “Been at the music shop for most of the day.”

“Sell anything nice, anymore ukuleles?” She hopes he’ll realise that she’s been listening, paying attention to all his text messages and chat for the past week about where he works, what he does for a living.

Ruffling his wild hair, he grins and shakes his head. “Bad day for ukes, unfortunately.”

“Oh dear.”

Taking his jacket over her arm, she slowly walks him towards the gallery doors and holds her hand against his chest.

“Prepare yourself. It’s like a zoo in there. People falling over themselves just to look at splodges of paint or a few brass sculptures of naked chicks.” Anna senses he’s hesitant. Probably wishing he hadn’t agreed to come and be her companion for the night. Which she can’t really blame him for, because it’s as stuffy and pretentious as it sounds—an art gallery opening. But she hopes he’ll see she’s not the same as them, as all the people fawning over crappy artwork. Even if she does resemble the Lucys and Marissas that first greet them.

“Anna, darling! We’ve been looking all over for you. Wait, who’s this?” they both say in unison, eyes rising up gradually to drink him in.

“Oh, this is just Charlie,” Anna replies, super casual about the fact she’s got a handsome blond man beside her.

When he extends a hand to them their looks of shock and awe are delectable. The only problem is that, even though he’s head and shoulders above every boring old soul in the room, he’s the only one
not
wearing a suit. Not even a pair of smart shoes or a tie. His shirt’s hanging over his trousers too, and she doesn’t want to think or pay it any attention but she knows exactly what Lucy and Marissa are like. How they’ll see his lack of appropriate dress attire as something to joke and tease her about.

And this is when she hates how stupidly shallow she’s suddenly become.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Anna’s a dark horse, isn’t she? Never told us she was bringing a date with her.” Marissa grins slyly like a snake deploying its poison.

Anna begins to say, “Well, actually it’s not a date—” until she’s cut off by Charlie, who nods and confirms they’re here together, that he is in fact her date.

His wide smile and how chuffed he looks about it makes her feel awful for thinking bad things about his choice of outfit. Especially when he looks at her like she’s the only one in the room. She knows that is something that matters, deeply. Much more so than ties and pressed trousers, shiny shoes and stiff jackets.

And so she links her arm in his, and takes a deep breath. Casting out any lingering negative thoughts as Lucy and Marissa walk off.

Charlie gazes down, and then does the unexpected. Gently he buries his mouth in the crook of her neck to whisper something. She laughs into the palm of her hand at the way he says,
“Well, they seem like
arseholes
,” and she wishes to reciprocate the gesture with her own mouth, higher up on his, but the time and place won’t allow it. Not with so many eyes gawping, watching.

“You fancy coming to get some champagne before going to huddle round some abstractly shit painting to pretend like we know what’s supposed to be so great about it?” Anna asks, stifling a fake yawn.

Charlie laughs. “You do know I studied fine art history back at university, right?”

“Oh, get you, Mr. Fancy Pants.”

“I’m an unofficial expert at differentiating between the forms. Great at stroking my chin and titling my head at such an angle, it proves without doubt I know everything there is to know about art.”

Anna’s ecstatic that he’s so good at being sarcastic. Just like her. How quick he is to play along. “Who knew you’re such an expert. Did you really study art, though?”

“No, I studied English actually. If I’m honest, the mention of the free bar sounds more appealing than staring at white walls all night, but I know you’ve got work to do, people to see.”

She won’t say it, not right at that moment, but she really loves the way he talks. She knows he’d been educated at a posh-sounding private school and has parents who own stables, acres of land, and something called a drawing room, which apparently isn’t a place to practice anything in. Still, she finds herself slack-jawed in amazement at just how well-spoken he is. Pronouncing all his words perfectly without stumbling over them, unlike her. Although sometimes it gives the unwelcome reminder that she’s too common in comparison, not nearly educated to the same degree.

Shaking off the thought that she’s not good enough for a guy like him, Anna lets out a throaty laugh and says, “What are you like, Charlie! Of course we can rinse the free bar. That’s why I invited you, silly. I just need to make one quick lap round the gallery first, and then I promise I’ll do my best to get you tipsy.”

***

After wandering aimlessly round the bright gallery to say polite hellos to guests, Anna pulls Charlie to the bar and gets him a drink. Which turns into two more, as the event begins to warm up with bodies all swarming to see the “art”.

With champagne confidence, she thinks it might be hilarious to play a little game. Just to see who can make the most absurd and silly observations about the work on show. And so like a couple of gatecrashers they invent dares for each other. She nervously watches as he takes the first cue, to make up facts about the artists exhibiting and pretend to see things in the paintings that clearly aren’t there.

When Charlie, third drink in hand, wanders over to an older couple and begins to tell them the completely implausible meaning behind a pretty bog-standard impressionist landscape piece, Anna gets the giggles. She feels like she hasn’t giggled so much in ages, and it feels wonderful. Like the stress from earlier in the night has completely been lifted from being in such great company, laughing into her champagne glass whenever he says something ridiculous, and just how he always looks over to her, eyes alight and alive.

Later, when the gallery starts to thin out, he turns to her and says. “I think I’m over this art thing now. It’s hard work being a fake critic.”

“Me too. Sure they won’t miss me for a few minutes,” Anna replies, edging away from the main foyer. She thinks it might be nice to get some alone time with him, and when he suggests they go and sit by the river, she jumps at the chance.