Page 30 of When We Were Young

On the train into town, Will sipped whiskey from his dad’s pewter hip flask as suburbia slid by in the dark. She would let him down gently, face to face. That’s why she wanted to meet.

He was early, so he sauntered through town and found the ancient wonky bar she’d chosen with an hour to spare.

Hops dangled from heavy beams on the ceiling and shabby antique mirrors advertised stout with faded lettering.

He bought a pint and settled at a table next to an old guy wearing a fedora, reading an SAS survival book.

Beyond him, by the window, a girl was holding something up to the lamp on the table.

Was that Emily? He grabbed his drink, took a few steps in her direction and saw it was her.

‘Will! You’re early…’ She stood and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Just as she did when she came to the house for dinner with Aidan.

‘So are you.’ He smiled – happy to see her, happy she was early too. ‘What’s that you’re looking at?’

‘I just picked up these transparencies from a lab around the corner.’ She showed him a plastic sleeve filled with photographic images. ‘We can only process black and white film at college.’

‘Can I see?’ He pulled up the chair beside her.

‘Sure.’

She held the sleeve up to the lamp and he had to put his face close to hers to see.

Each image was a splash of iridescent colour, a couple of inches square, all the same subject but with slight variations in composition.

A small wooden treasure chest sat open in the centre and pouring out of it, in all directions, were butterflies and beetles.

The colours ranged from vibrant purples and emeralds in the middle to deep, glittering black at the edges. It was intricate and beautiful.

‘Wow. I love it. Where did you get all those creatures?’

‘I made them. They’re paper sculptures sprayed with metallic paints,’ she said, her voice animated.

‘That must have taken ages.’

‘It did. I found some of the objects – like the peacock feathers. I collect stuff.’ Her eyes were bright like they were that day at her college. This was her passion.

‘Is this for college, then?’

‘No, it’s for a competition. The winner gets five grand and their own exhibition at a gallery.’

‘You’ll win it easily,’ he said.

‘I doubt it,’ she laughed. ‘But the runner-up prizes are quite good. Maybe I’ll get a year’s supply of pencils or something.’

‘No, you’ll win it. Seriously. That one’s the best.’ He pointed to his favourite. ‘You’ve got this in the bag.’

‘I like that one too. I’ll get it printed. Fingers crossed.’

‘Is that the dream for you? To have your own exhibition one day?’

Her face flushed. ‘I suppose so. It’s the one thing I’m good at. But it’s not like I have a choice about it. I have to do it. It would be amazing if one day someone liked my work enough to pay for it.’

Will knew exactly what she meant. He understood that compulsion completely. ‘It’ll happen! You’re uber-talented.’

‘Even if you’re “uber-talented” – which I’m not – it’s difficult to earn a living. I chose my course because you study design and illustration as well as art, so hopefully I can support myself that way. I couldn’t work in an office. It would kill me.’

‘Me too.’

The guy in the fedora lit a pipe and the smell wafted over, reminding him of his grandad who died a long time ago.

‘So, what’s the big dream for you?’ she asked.

‘Same as you. I just want to earn enough money to carry on with my music. It’s about doing what you love. Because you have to.’

She looked at him. Really looked at him, like she was peering into his soul. And something in her expression made him worry she was about to deliver the bad news.

Well, he wouldn’t make it easy for her. He wasn’t going home yet.

‘Same again?’ he asked, nodding to her half-empty glass.

‘White wine would be great, thanks.’

As they drank, she told him about her course. How the rich kids spent so much money on their projects it was hard to compete. He told her about the record company that was interested and the gigs he had lined up. Neither of them mentioned Aidan or his family.

They had a few more drinks which – along with the whiskey he’d had on the train on an empty stomach – were taking effect.

He was loosening up, enjoying himself even.

He still rushed to fill gaps in the conversation – he didn’t want her to say what she’d come to say.

She was tipsy, too, leaning in when she spoke and laughing at all his lame jokes.

He kept her talking right up to last orders.

‘Oh no!’ she cried when she heard the bell. ‘I didn’t realise the time. We’ve missed the last train.’

‘We’ll have to get the night bus. We can get one from Trafalgar Square.’

They downed the dregs of their drinks, put on their coats, and stepped out into the cold.

‘Do you still live with your parents?’ His words formed clouds in the chilly night air.

‘Yes. Unfortunately.’

‘It’s not far from mine. I’ll see you home.’

‘If you’re sure…’

They chatted as they walked past the theatres on Shaftesbury Avenue, underneath the tunnel of lanterns in Chinatown and on down a narrow lane that opened out onto Trafalgar Square. As they passed the fountains and lions, he fought the urge to take her hand.

The bus stop was across the square and the bus came while Emily was still checking the timetable.

He followed her to the top deck. She warned him the journey was long – but it was the shortest hour and a half Will had ever experienced.

They talked about everything and nothing.

When he thought she might give him the bad news, he distracted her with the book of poetry he’d folded into his coat pocket to read on the journey.

He explained how they inspired his lyrics and pointed out his favourites.

Then she got out her sketchbook, and he was mesmerised.

As they got closer to home, and he relaxed his hold on the conversation, she hit him with it: ‘Will, we need to talk about––’

‘Look!’ cried Will. ‘There’s a chip shop! It’s still open! If we jump off now, we can get some chips and walk the rest of the way.’

He ushered her off the bus, adding another ten minutes to their walk, but at least he’d diverted the conversation. They bought chips and ate as they strolled, steam rising from the wrappers.

‘We still need to talk—’

‘Can you hold my chips a sec?’

He dipped into the shadows of an alley to take a leak. His heart raced as he walked back to where she stood waiting under a streetlamp, holding the chips like an illuminated angel.

‘Sorry about that.’ He took his chips back and they continued walking.

‘You can’t keep changing the subject, you know. I need to tell you this.’

‘I wasn’t, I—’

‘I saw Aidan last night.’

Will’s heart sank.

‘I wanted to talk to him before I came to meet you,’ she continued. ‘I told him it’s over between him and me.’

Will’s heart jumped back up, hammering hard. Did that mean what he thought it meant?

‘That shut you up.’ She popped a chip into her mouth, then screwed up the bag before throwing it into a nearby bin. No longer hungry, he did the same.

She shivered and folded her arms across her chest, shoulders high.

‘I’ve got something to warm us up.’ He patted his coat pockets and pulled out his dad’s hip flask.

‘What’s in there?’

‘Whiskey.’ He handed it to her.

She unscrewed the cap and hesitated before taking a swig. As she swallowed, she scrunched her face up and squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Oh yeah. It burns all right!’ she wheezed, handing it back.

He took a swig himself and struggled not to cough.

‘We should play a drinking game,’ she suggested.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Okay.’

‘I ask you a question and if you don’t answer, you take a drink.’

‘Challenge accepted.’

‘Right. My first question is…’ She looked skywards. ‘Have you written any more songs about me?’

Her directness threw him.

‘I have an entire album’s worth,’ he joked, but it wasn’t far from the truth.

She went to ask another question, but he cut her off: ‘No more, my turn.’

‘Okay, fire away.’

Her question emboldened him. ‘Have you thought about me at all since we last saw each other?’

She smiled and put her hand out for the flask.

‘Ah, avoiding the first question: very revealing.’ He handed it over.

She drank and pulled the same pained expression as before. ‘My turn. What are you going to do now I’m available?’

He’d been in a daze since she said they’d broken up. Now, these words, so forward and flirtatious, left him reeling. He shook his head to clear it.

She giggled, her voice tinkling in the night air. ‘I haven’t been able to get a word in all night and now… silence.’

He came to a stop, but she didn’t notice for a couple of steps and turned back.

‘I meant what I said at Christmas.’ His voice came out quieter than expected.

She stepped closer. ‘Sorry?’

‘I meant what I said at Christmas,’ he said again.

‘You said a lot of things at Christmas.’ But she wasn’t teasing now.

‘I know.’ He dragged a palm over his mouth. ‘I’ve messed stuff up, caused trouble for both of us. Hurt people. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for… I don’t even know how long.’

She dropped her chin. Was she hiding a smile?

She screwed the cap back on the flask. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

‘Sorry…’ He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. ‘Why are you here?’

She exhaled a little cloud of steam. ‘I’m here because nobody’s ever done anything like that for me before.’

He stood there trying to grasp what she was saying. All evening, he’d thought she was telling him one thing and now she was saying the opposite. His head hurt.

‘And I like it,’ she added.

She slipped the flask into the pocket of his coat and kept her hand there.

Half a second later, her other hand hooked into his other pocket, her fingers like ice touching his.

She had never been so close. Energy thrummed in the air between them.

A break in the traffic left the street silent as her gaze dropped slowly to his lips.

She tilted her head slightly and inched her face closer until her nose was alongside his, her breath warm on his cheek.

His heart was beating so hard he could feel it reverberating through his entire body.

The tiniest brush of her bottom lip against his and his insides melted.

Her face was hovering there, and he was paralysed, waiting for her next move.

A van rumbled past. He couldn’t wait any longer.

The slightest dip and his chin and his mouth was on hers, soft as marshmallows.

She parted her lips. The tips of their tongues touched. She tasted of whiskey and salt.

It was a brief kiss. There was a lot more almost kissing than actual kissing. Before he knew it, she’d retrieved her hands and was walking away and he had to run to catch her up.

She stopped at a gate two houses up. ‘This is me.’

All he could think about was kissing her again, but she had opened the gate and was on the other side.

‘Call me,’ she said

He composed himself. ‘Oh, I will.’

‘Goodnight,’ she called from the door.

‘Night.’

She smiled and closed the door.

He turned and headed for home, a ball of excitement bursting in his stomach and a huge grin on his face.

He paid no attention when the car engine started up behind him. As it pulled up alongside him, he barely noticed. He didn’t even look over until the door slammed, but by then it was too late to run.