As he talks, his warm breath hits my cheek no matter how much I try to keep my distance. It’s hot and cramped in the pub, but Billy isn’t getting the hint at all that I’m a tiny bit uncomfortable right now.
My eyes scan the small room and are drawn magnetically to the door as it opens and another thirsty customer stoops under the door and squeezes past people on their way to the bar. He’s wrapped up in a coat, scarf and hat that will no doubt soon be shed when the heat of the fire and the atmosphere takes over.
I watch him as he greets strangers with a smile and a nod. His back is to me now. He is tall and broad-shouldered in a strangely familiar way, and when he takes off his woolly hat and runs his hand through his dark hair, I feel a sharp intake of breath.
It’s Charlie.
He glances around and catches my stare before I’ve time to look away, then he slowly raises his hand to acknowledge that he’s seen me. He takes out his phone and within seconds my own phone bleeps.
There you are.
I reply even though Billy is still in my ear.
Hello. I can see you.
I know you can. And I see you’ve got company. Just saying hello.
I crack a smile and my heart lifts, yet I don’t understand why. I see him look around, then he signals to me to question if I want a drink. Billy backs off from my table, getting the message that I’m not interested in small talk when it’s so noisy in here.
I shake my head and lift my glass of wine to show Charlie, wondering why my cheeks feel like they’re suddenly on fire. I take off the hooded jumper, glad I’ve a baggy T-shirt on underneath, and when I’m sure he isn’t looking my way I blow on my chest, determined to cool this unnecessary flush that has swept over me unawares.
There’s an empty stool beside me which I know is the only one left in the whole place, and that makes my heart thump. Charlie makes his way over, shuffling past all the applause and the swaying audience who are too caught up in the music to notice him.
‘Sorry,’ he says, pointing at the stool. I try to avoid eye contact and top up my wine, determined not to make this a big deal.
It isn’t a big deal. We’re sharing a holiday cottage for goodness’ sake, so it’s no issue to sit so close to each other in a public place, is it? Plus, it’s not like we must communicate at all if we don’t want to.
And for a good while, we don’t.
Charlie sips on his pint, then takes off his coat just as I’d anticipated would happen sooner rather than later. He iswearing a black shirt, the one I saw in his closet, and I stare at my glass when I find myself noticing how he unbuttons it to loosen his collar when the heat of the pub takes over.
I feel a little bit dizzy. I blame the wine. And the fire. I glance again at his side profile, but he barely acknowledges I’m here now as he settles into the famous warmth of the Lighthouse Tavern.
A friendly old man who sits next to me says something in my direction, but I’ve no idea what it is so I just smile and give him a thumbs-up sign which seems to satisfy him as a response. We spent ages earlier talking about everything from the commercialism of Christmas to the awful weather we’re having, and he taught me a lot about how he lives off grid, but now it’s impossible to keep any sort of conversation going as the music has taken over.
I’m quite happy to sit here and say nothing. It’s nice to just take it all in.
Charlie, who hasn’t turned around since he took off his coat, lifts his phone and punches in a message which allows me to sneak a quick glance his way. He’s probably messaging Helena. He’s smiling as he types, and then he sets his phone on the table beside mine. Mine lights up, I don’t think anything of it at first until I see his name on my screen.
Is he texting me from where he is sitting less than a metre away? It makes me a little bit giddy, I must admit, especially since his expression hasn’t changed, nor have his eyes diverted in this direction.
I thought you’d drowned in the rain, his message says. Good to see you’re dry and safe.
When I look up, he still isn’t looking my way, but instead is po-faced and focused on the music.
No need to worry. You’re not my keeper.
I press send. He casually turns and spots the message. He opens it, then types a response.
Correct. But I won’t apologise for being concerned. You were upset earlier.
This jolts me a little.
I’m fine now.
Glad to hear. You’ve got an admirer, I see?
I glance across at Billy, who is all smiles and eyebrows in my direction. Oh Lord.
