“Nope.”
“You’re world-famous for something brilliant?”
“Nope again. I’m just a uni student. But Iamkeeping score that you thought I was a criminal before you thought me brilliant,” I say smoothly, smiling before I work on my ale. It’s delicious, but not as delicious as the sight of him. Even a cynic like me has eyes. “I’ll help you out a little. I’m not online for the simple reason I’m private. I mean, I’m not a total Luddite. I have email. And a phone. But you could always impress me and write a letter. Longhand and in cursive.”
Ben laughs and gives me an unexpectedly disappointed look. “I probably won’t be able to quite manage a letter, but if you texted me your address, one day I could probably send you something fabulous in the post. To make up for myfaux pas in assuming you’ve turned to a life of crime. That’s my area.”
My eyebrows lift. “Only digital communication for you?”
Ben shakes his blond head, fringe falling into his eyes as he brushes it away. He chuckles. “No, no. It’s not about format, though predictive text can help. I’m dyslexic.”
“Oh! Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”
“Not at all.” Ben shrugs. “It’s nothing new to me and you didn’t know. I find ways to work around it, but I’m horrible at letters and numbers and things. But I’m all right with images and sounds. I learned to play guitar by ear before I got lessons. And I have a devil of a time trying to read music, even guitar tabs. So I don’t. I just practice and remember. Music was my escape.”
“Wow.” I let this all sink in. How does one navigate daily life with dyslexia? Like uni or work or anything like that? How many daily things require reading something or other? I don’t want to pry, because I feel like I’d unintentionally stuck my foot in it somewhat with teasing him about social media and letters, so I ease off. “That must be tough.”
“Sometimes.” Ben gives a quick smile, enough to warm me from the inside out. “I’ve had a few epic disasters, it’s true. And I was bullied in school for it because I couldn’t keep up. Because I was different. But we all have our things, don’t we?”
“I suppose that’s true.” It’s hard to imagine anyone bullying Ben. He’s self-assured, friendly, adventurous. He’s been successful with Halfpenny Rise, an underground idol for indie musicians to aspire to. But I suppose he’s a person, just like the rest of us. And not just someone to lust after. “Kids can be proper arseholes.”
He laughs. “Aye. They can be. And my family helped me a lot when I was younger, through school and homework and everything else that came after. I couldn’t do what I’ve done without my mum’s help.”
For a moment, I fall quiet. Even with that little hint of his private life, I can’t help but feel a moment of envy for his having a supportive family. I wipe my palms against my jeans under the table. “That sounds brilliant.”
“I’ve been lucky. My mum’s amazing.”
Around us, the murmur of the dark bar provides comfort. The low light makes it easier to feel safe. And with Ben, it’s a lot easier to talk to him, even as a total stranger, compared to my friends. He’s leaning in, listening carefully.
“It must be nice to have your family on your side,” I admit. “I’m the outsider, if I’m honest. I mean, even as a kid they sent me away to school. Till I got kicked out of them for being an arse, and then I did day school.”
And I’ve said too much. I don’t talk to anyone about my family except Emily, who’s a brilliant listener. Why am I telling him about my family? I’m notoriously private.
Shit. Oversharing, Charlie. Too much. Definitely too much.
But Ben’s expression softens. He takes my hand across the table. I let him. The squeeze of his fingers wrapped around mine gives me a visceral thrill. Even with feeling raw in front of him. “You can tell me about that, if you want.”
Drawing in a breath, I look at him, then away. The man behind the backlit bar, which has an impressive wall of spirits, works to neaten up before the evening crowd, lost in a deep clean. He methodically puts glasses away after wiping down the shelf and straightens bottles into a tidy line.
Well, he did ask.
“I know I’m lucky about some things, but my parents have never seen eye to eye with me. And I can’t entirely blame them,” I confess, glancing at him. “I’m not always easy to be around. I’m now trying to make up for all of my past mistakes, so I study full-time and work full-time, and I have my band too.”
I can’t bring up my daughter. Not over pints to a stranger, even if I’ve told him about my family of origin. My real family are Carys and Emily. And Michael. But it’s too soon to let him know about all of that, about the people who matter more than anyone else in the world, and the past. After all, it’s supposed to be a fun round of drinks. Yet somehow things got more serious. I’m not sure how that happened.
“I’ve had troubles with my family, a long time ago. And I feel guilty for leaving my mum alone back home.” Ben chews his lip, considering me. “But that sounds tough to live with. If your family’s not in your court.” He squeezes my hand. “I think you’re brilliant to be around, Charlie. You’re funny and confident. So clever, with your uni and talk about writing letters. I could never do all of that and work too. God, sometimes I get so nervous in daily life because I think everyone’s far more clever than I am. And you work so hard. I can see that even at the café the times I’ve been in. You’re never standing around, waiting to be told what to do. You’re getting things done. It takes me ages to do anything useful with reading or writing.”
I gulp and squeeze his hand back, running my thumb over the callouses of his fingertips from playing the guitar. Did he really say those things about me? “I’m not actually confident, it’s fake. Believe me. Inside my head’s a mess. And I work because I have a lot of obligations.”
He laughs with delight. “Ach, only a confident man would take me into the stockroom and have a session like that. And I can’t see inside your head. Just the outside bits. Which are fab to look at, by the way. I just know whatever you tell me.”
“Did you miss the rest about me continually making myself an arse in front of you?”
“I think you’re amazing.”
I shift, focusing on my pint for a moment to center myself. Perhaps a slight shift in conversation is in order, to safer topics.
“Um, cheers. New question.” Straightening in my chair, I do my best to gather myself after that unexpected moment of opening up to Ben. How did that happen? It’s too easy to let my guard down around him. I’ve got to be careful. Yet some other part of me just wants to keep talking to him, to tell him everything. Which would be a guaranteed disaster, and I selfishly want to keep him here a while longer yet.
