Charlie swallowed the dregs of her wine, grabbed my wrist and said, ‘Let’s go.’
As we left the pub, she turned back. ‘You can stick your bloody table up your collective arse.’
We ran out into the street, Charlie laughing and wiping her eyes. ‘Collective arse? What the hell was that?’
‘Oh my God,’ I said, panting. ‘Are you always like that?’
It was freezing outside and she exhaled mist as she spoke. ‘No, I’m usually a pussy cat. I haven’t scared you off, have I?’
The truth was, I’d found it mortifyingly embarrassing, but also exciting. ‘No.’
‘Good. What do you want to do now? Actually, I want to get out of these clothes.’ She laughed. ‘You should see your face. I mean, I want to get changed, Andrew. These are Charlotte clothes. I need to get into some Charlie stuff.’
She hailed a black cab and instructed the driver to take us to Oxford Street. She led me into the huge Top Shop and immediately started rummaging through the clothes racks.
With arms full of tops and trousers and skirts, she strode over to the changing rooms. For a moment, I thought she was going to ask me to follow her in, but she looked me up and down and said, ‘Do you want to get some new stuff too? Have you got any money?’
‘Yeah. OK.’
This was fun. I rode the escalator to the next floor and found a new pair of jeans and a party shirt. I paid for them then went into the changing room where I tore off the labels and put them on. With my scruffy old clothes in a carrier bag, I went back downstairs to find Charlie, who had done the same as me. Now, she was wearing a tight-fitting snakeskin dress that shimmered gold and green.
‘Not bad,’ she said, looking me up and down.
‘You look . . . amazing,’ I said.
‘Thanks. Actually, you look better than not bad, but I didn’t want to stroke your ego.’
‘I don’t have an ego.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Everyone has an ego, Andrew.’
She was right. It thrilled me to hear her say I looked good.
She grabbed a bottle of perfume and gave herself, and me, a quick squirt as we left the shop. We headed up Oxford Street and into Soho. I wanted to take her hand but didn’t dare. Actually, what I really wanted to do was grab her and push her into a shop doorway, pull her against me and feel her mouth on mine.
Instead, we went into a bar where we drank cocktails, then another bar, and then a walk through air so cold it almost sobered me up, to Leicester Square and a club, the name of which escapes me now but which was so loud it made my ears ring for a day afterwards, the drinks ludicrously expensive, the dance floor crowded and sticky underfoot, the toilets full of wankers snorting coke . . . But none of that mattered. I was drunk, I was high on Charlie’s company and I felt as if I was floating through the crowds of revellers.
There was a moment on the dance floor that will stay with me forever. A Calvin Harris track was playing, and Charlie was dancing in front of me, holding my gaze and smiling as she swung her hips and shoulders, the lights pulsing and throbbing, and I was aware, even as I lived it, that this was going to be one of the highlights of my life. When I was old this song would come on the radio and I would be thrown back in time to this golden moment, when I was young and dancing with a beautiful woman in the greatest city in the world and all my troubles were behind me and my life stretching in front of me. Then I stopped analysing the moment and melted into it.
We tumbled out of the club at two a.m. into the bitterly cold night. I put my arm around her and she didn’t protest. Her hip was bony and solid in my palm. I still hadn’t kissed her.
‘That was fun,’ she said. She yawned. ‘And now I’m pooped. I have work in the morning. The last day before the Christmas break.’
There were still a lot of people around. As we walked towards the taxi rank, Charlie flicked her thumb over her phone, texting someone.
A tall man was walking along the pavement towards us. He had a great mop of blonde curly hair. He had his head down, shuffling his feet. Then he looked up and the moment he saw us he crossed the road.
‘That was weird,’ I said.
‘Huh?’ Charlie looked up from her phone.
‘Some guy just crossed the road like we were a couple of terrifying would-be muggers.’
‘Ha – really? Well, you are scary looking, Andrew. I didn’t want to say, but . . .’
The tall curly-haired man had vanished into a side street.
‘Do you want to share a taxi back to south London?’ I asked. ‘I mean, it can drop you at yours first . . .’
‘You’re sweet. But I’ve just arranged to stay with a friend who lives around here. I’m sorry. I just can’t face having to make the journey back in tomorrow morning.’
‘No worries.’ I felt gutted.
‘Give me your number,’ she said, handing me her phone. I tapped it in and she saved it to her address book, then looked up at me. ‘I’ve had a great time helping you celebrate, Andrew Sumner.’
‘Me too, Charlie Summers.’ I didn’t want to say goodbye to her.
‘I’ll call you in a couple of days and we can do it again. Or something more sedate. How does that sound?’
My good mood returned immediately. ‘That sounds awesome.’
‘Like, totally, dude.’
‘Don’t tease me,’ I said, smiling.
Which was when she kissed me. Slipping her arms around my waist, she tilted her face upwards and we kissed. It seemed to go on for a long time. Someone wolf-whistled as they passed us in the street. It was the best kiss of my life.
She strode away, leaving me standing by the taxi rank, completely smitten. And the amazing thing was, she seemed to like me as much as I liked her.
Three
‘What’s the matter, bruv? You seem distracted.’
It was Christmas morning and, as always, I was spending the day with my sister, Tilly, in her purpose-built apartment in Eastbourne.
She manoeuvred her wheelchair closer to my armchair, the glass of Buck’s Fizz on her tray sloshing dangerously. The room was full of presents and discarded wrapping paper; the fairy lights on the plastic tree flashed on and off and a boy band mimed to their biggest hit on Top of the Pops.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Feeling a bit sick after that huge dinner.’
‘You’re so full of compliments.’
I laughed. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, sis. Come on, let’s go out, get some air.’
It had been six days and Charlie hadn’t called or texted, and no matter how many times a day I fiddled with my phone, making sure the volume was turned up, that I had reception, that I hadn’t missed a call, it didn’t ring or chime. Why hadn’t I taken her number? I didn’t even have an excuse to go to the hospital now I’d been discharged, though that would have been pretty sad anyway. I had to face it. She wasn’t going to call. We’d had one great night out together, a single kiss and that was it.