My face heats. ‘But I told you I hadn’t made up my mind.’
For several long moments, as dread envelops my insides, all I can hear is the restaurant noise.
‘Has she got a problem with it? I knew she would,’ my mum comments saltily.
‘Well, it’s done now,’ Dad snaps, his hackles rising. He gets defensive when anyone points out anything close toresembling a mistake. ‘Check your email for confirmation. Alison managed to get you on the same flight as us, so make sure you thank her.’
My skin feels hot and prickly. ‘I will,’ I force myself to say.
‘You’re welcome,’ Dad replies acerbically. ‘See you tomorrow.’
The line goes dead.
I stand there on the pavement for a minute, some of the last words Stella said to me ringing in my ears.‘Stop being such a people pleaser – it’s frustrating!’
My fingers shake as I type out a text to her, fighting back tears:I really wish you were here right now.
It doesn’t come close to saying all the things I want to say, but there’s no time to get caught up in another monologue. I force myself to take a couple of calming breaths before setting off towards the bar on the other side of the road.
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 passedher 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 beginto 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.
