Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
‘Smalltown Boy’ by Bronski Beat is playing over the sound system when I enter the dimly lit venue. I have this song on a playlist Stella and I made together and it does a good job of brightening my mood as I round the corner and take in the peculiarity of the interior. Glass cabinets, lit from within, line the walls and contain an array of memorabilia: plastic vintage Disney characters, old-fashioned board games, model train sets, folding paper fans, and so much more. The carpet is dark red, the ceiling is rose pink with gilded detailing on the plasterwork, and the polished wooden tables and sagging chintz-covered bench seats look as though they’ve been in use for decades.
There are a few groups of people dotted about, but it’s not that busy and there’s no sign of Ash, so I make my way towards another room at the back. A smartly dressed waiter in a blue waistcoat and bow tie comes through the doorway carrying a tray of colourful cocktails, just as the instantly recognisable piano melody of Bonnie Tyler’s ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ begins to play.
I step out of the way, feeling as though I’ve been winded. This was our song – Stella’s and mine – the first song that came on the radio after she picked me up, having just passed her driving test. We sang along to it at the tops of our voices, completely out of tune, and she had to pull over because we were laughing so hard.
I can picture her vividly, her mouth stretched ludicrously wide, her chin-length dark hair straightened to within an inch of its life, her heavily mascaraed eyelashes clumped together with tears of hysteria. Black winged eyeliner, hot-pink lipstick. Trademark Stella.
The backs of my eyes sting as I stand in front of a vintage map of the Portuguese Empire, trying to compose myself until I’m ready to carry on into the next room.
I spot Ash in his Hawaiian shirt immediately. His forearms are propped on the ornate wooden bar top running along the left-hand wall and he’s resting his weight on his right leg, his narrow hips jutting slightly to the side as he flips through a cocktail menu. As I stare at his tall, broad frame, my heart begins to beat a tiny bit faster.
The second verse is almost at an end and, as the song changes key with the lyrics ‘ Turn around, bright eyes ’, Ash looks over his shoulder and clocks me.
It is a moment of such perfect, silly coincidence that a giggle erupts from my throat.
And then the refrain repeats and Ash turns fully around, resting his back against the bar and giving me his biggest, sweetest grin as he folds his arms across his chest and watches me walk towards him.
The drums have kicked in and Bonnie is belting out the uplifting, heart-soaring chorus, and it’s all so dramatic and funny and so fucking tragic that I begin to laugh properly.
Maybe it’s because we’ve both had a drink and our defences are down, but the next thing I know I’m in Ash’s arms and his whole body is shaking with hysteria as the chorus builds to a crescendo. But when the song dies down again, a stillness settles over us. I rest my forehead on his shoulder and he moves his hands to my upper arms and just holds me as tears stream down my face.
I become aware of his warmth, of the steady, centring strength of his palms, and the oddest thought strikes me that it will be Ash I think of first, the next time I hear this song.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks in a low, deep voice near my ear.
‘I don’t know why I’m so upset,’ I reply, sounding choked.
But I do. I’m upset because I’ve just allowed my parents to railroad me again. I’m upset because I can never stand up to them – or anyone. I’m upset because I’m giving up on my dream of seeing Europe. And I’m upset because I would give anything to be here in this bar with Stella, drunkenly singing along to eighties classics and laughing until we cry.
But the only explanation I give to Ash is: ‘This song reminds me of Stella and I miss her.’
I feel his sharp intake of breath, and then he cups the back of my neck and draws me to his chest. The fabric of our market-bought clothes is thin and there’s barely a millimetre separating our skin as we stand there, connected all the way down to our knees. I’m conscious of my pulse skipping and skittering, and then I also become aware of his heart thudding against mine.
I’ve never properly listened to this song before, not even when I’ve caterwauled it at full volume, but the lyrics begin to register, sentiments like forever and love. On a wave of embarrassment, I pull away, suddenly overcome with shyness.
‘I’m going to nip to the toilet to sort myself out,’ I say with an awkward laugh, feeling Ash’s eyes on me as I brush away my tears.
‘Drink?’ he offers gently.
‘Yes, please. Can you choose me something? I’m not fussy. I promise I’ll get the next ones.’
In the bathroom, I splash my face with cold water and stare at myself in the mirror. I feel a little shaky as I retouch my make-up with the bare essentials I carry with me, and then I spy the red lipstick that Stella made me buy when she wanted me to feel bold and brave. I could use a little help with that right now, so I slick some on.
Ash has moved from the bar to a table in an adjoining room. ‘When You Were Mine’ by Cyndi Lauper is playing.
Stella loved Cyndi Lauper, but at least I don’t have strong memories attached to this one.
‘This place is so crazy,’ I say with a forced laugh as I sit down opposite him. I don’t want to dwell on what’s just happened.
‘Isn’t it?’ he says, following my cue. ‘It looks tiny from the outside, but it’s like the TARDIS crossed with Aladdin’s cave in here.’
The cabinets in this room are filled with vintage war toys and there are model aeroplanes and miniature die-cast soldiers hanging from old-fashioned parachutes attached to the ceiling.
‘There are pool tables here too!’ I realise with astonishment, peering over his shoulder at yet another room beyond this one that looks huge in comparison.
‘I know! Fancy a game in a bit?’
‘Sure.’
He slides two cocktail glasses on cardboard coasters towards me. One is a tulip glass filled with a garish green concoction. The other is a martini glass containing red liquid.
‘What are these?’
‘I actually can’t remember,’ he replies sheepishly, then, nodding at the green drink, ‘That one’s the house cocktail, but choose whichever you prefer.’
The green drink has a stirrer with ribbons of gold foil spilling from the top, and the red has a cherry and orange garnish that makes me think of Christmases at my grandparents’.
I try the red. It’s fizzy and tastes of strawberries. My decision is made.
‘You have the green one – it matches your shirt.’
He smirks as he picks up the glass. ‘You do realise that the red one is the same colour as your dress.’
I look down and laugh.
‘And your lipstick,’ he adds in a low murmur, ducking his head to take a sip through the straw.
‘How is it?’ I ask, my blood humming as his eyes rest on mine. They’re glinting under the light of the opulent cut-glass lampshade fixed above our heads.
‘Drinkable,’ he replies, straightening up. ‘Are you all right?’ He’s clearly still concerned.
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
‘Want to talk about it?’
‘No, I’ll only get upset again.’
He nods slowly. I try to think of something to say, some question that will direct attention away from me.
‘So why physics and astronomy?’
His smile instantly becomes relaxed and easy. ‘My answer is going to make me sound like I’m a five-year-old boy,’ he warns, before adding, ‘I love space.’
God, he’s cute. ‘What do you love about it?’
‘There’s literally nothing that I don’t love,’ he replies, swirling his elaborate gold stirrer around his drink. ‘It’s the only thing I’ve ever really been interested in. My friend Taran had a telescope and I used to hang out at his house a lot when we were growing up. Things could be a little hectic at home, but when I looked at the night sky, everything else just sort of faded away. It all seemed so still and peaceful, but later I learned that it wasn’t still or peaceful, that there are whole other worlds up there raging with storms and being blasted apart by volcanoes, and all of it made me feel small, as though anything I was dealing with was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Space has always taken me outside of myself.’
I’ve been watching, rapt, as he’s spoken about something he clearly loves with a passion. I have so many questions, but when he meets my eyes I forget them all.
‘What sort of job are you hoping to do?’ I ask, wrestling my concentration back under control.
‘Well, I’m going back to uni at the end of September to do a master’s in astrophysics, but after that, I’m not sure. I’m interested in the research that’s being done into space weather.’
‘I didn’t even know there was such a thing.’
‘There are these large explosions on the sun known as coronal mass ejections and they can spew out billions of tons of charged particles and magnetic field into space. When these disturbances reach Earth, they can trigger geomagnetic storms and increase particle radiation levels, which causes all sorts of disruptions to power grids and satellites. More research is needed to work out how it affects the weather and climate. Sorry, I’m going off on one.’
‘No, you’re not.’
He sounds really fucking smart.
He wraps his hand around his ice-cold glass and draws it closer. I’m staring as his lips quirk slightly at the corners, and when I lift my gaze, his eyes are already on mine.
‘Pool?’ he asks.
‘Is there a table free?’
‘Those people have just finished.’ He lifts his chin in the direction of a couple on their way to the bar.
‘Okay.’
I haven’t played pool in years. Not since Stella and I hung out at the pub where her older brother worked – he used to give us free games when we popped in to see him.
‘Do you want to break?’ Ash asks as he racks up.
‘No, go for it.’
The balls scatter as he takes his shot, then he turns to me and holds out the cue. Our fingers brush as I go to take it and, for a beat, our eyes lock and hold. He releases it with a small smile and my belly does a slow somersault.
I want him.
But I can’t have him , I remind myself. We’re going our separate ways tomorrow.
There’s always tonight , the voice in my head whispers.
No. No casual flings. I know my triggers and I can’t handle that.
I try to focus on my shot, but I slip and put barely any power behind the white ball.
‘Competitive?’ Ash asks, eyes sparkling as I let out an annoyed yelp.
‘Yes!’ I snap jokily, reaching out to give his shoulder a small push, but he’s too quick for me and he catches my wrist. ‘But only when it comes to games,’ I clarify as my heart hiccups inside my chest.
We’re standing inches apart, my wrist in his firm grip, and I wish he’d use it to pull me even closer.
‘I’m not competitive anywhere else in life,’ I add, sounding a bit breathless.
‘I’m the same,’ he replies, his voice low.
We’re still waiting for my ball to come to a stop, and he’s yet to release me. I feel edgy with awareness of his body, the air between us sparking as we watch the ball creep forward. It looks as though it will land a mile off the pocket, but then it slowly turns and begins to veer left. My eyes widen with delight.
‘Oh my God!’ Ash exclaims with outrage as it drops neatly into the pocket I was aiming for. ‘This table has got such a lean on it!’
‘Ooh, you are competitive,’ I tease as his grip on my wrist tightens momentarily before he lets me go.
I really like the feeling of his hands on my skin.
He’s right though, the table does have a lean on it. Every time either one of us shoots the ball towards that same end, it rolls into the corner pocket. To begin with, it causes cries of indignation from one of us and glee from the other, but pretty soon we’re both just laughing.
‘I know a poor workman blames his tools, but this is ridiculous,’ Ash says, taking the cue out of my hands and simultaneously reaching for the chalk behind me.
My breath catches as his arm brushes against mine and then it becomes shallow as he chalks up the cue, standing deliciously close. His gaze roves from my lips to my eyes and back again before dropping to the pool cue.
As soon as he moves away, I nervily knock back my drink and walk over to place my empty glass on a nearby table, but when I turn around, I feel as though I’ve stepped onto a merry-go-round.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks as I hastily place both hands on the table to steady myself.
‘I think I probably need to line my stomach before drinking any more.’
‘Shall we go get something to eat?’ he asks.
‘I noticed an Indian restaurant across the road and a Mexican a couple of doors down?’ I’m cutting my trip short, so I have money to blow. But does Ash? ‘Or we could go somewhere cheaper—’
‘I’d murder a Mexican,’ he interrupts me.
‘Let’s hurry up and finish this game then.’
He turns around and pots the black ball. ‘You win,’ he says flippantly.
‘I can’t believe you just lost on purpose!’
‘I’m sure you would have beaten me anyway.’
Generous and unlikely, given he’s already four balls down.
‘What do you feel like eating?’ he asks over his shoulder as we walk out through the bar.
‘I thought we were murdering a Mexican?’
‘Shh!’ he hisses, shooting an alarmed look at the other punters. ‘People might think we’re homicidal.’
I’m still laughing as we set off along the pavement.