It Started With A Kiss
‘Some entertainment,’ he laughed, almost immediately hiding his amusement when he saw my expression. ‘So – you’re OK? I mean, you aren’t hurt or anything?’
His concern was touching but bearing in mind the afternoon I’d had, the last thing I needed was the pity of a gorgeous man. ‘All good. Nothing broken.’
‘Good.’ He stared at me and this time there was something more in his eyes than concern. ‘Look, this is going to sound mental, so I’m just going to say it. I couldn’t let you go without telling you that you’re beautiful. That’s why I followed you here. Please don’t think I’m a psycho or that I do this a lot: I don’t. But you’re beautiful and I think you should know that.’
Stunned, I opened my mouth to reply, but just then a shout from behind us caused him to turn.
‘Mate, we’ve got to go … Now!’
What happened next was so fast that even now the details remain frustratingly sparse in my mind. But here’s what I know.
When he turned back to face me, the way he looked at me took my breath away. It was the kind of look you see in movies when a bridegroom turns to see his bride walking towards him for the first time: a heady, overpowering mix of shock, surprise and all-encompassing, heart-stopping love. It was the look that Charlie should have given me when I told him I loved him. But this wasn’t Charlie; and that, in itself, was part of the problem. Because – apart from not being the man to whom I had publicly expressed my undying love not half an hour beforehand – this person was almost perfect: from his wide, honest eyes and shy smile, to the woody scent of his cologne now surrounding me.
But most of all because of what happened next …
He took a step back and I could see a battle raging in his eyes as the voice behind him called again, more insistent this time.
‘We have to go – come on!’
‘One minute,’ he called back, just as a hurrying shopper crashed into his shoulder, momentarily throwing him off balance – and straight into my arms.
In utter surprise, I held on to him and his strong arms reached round to cradle my back. The shock of it blew all thoughts of Charlie instantly from my mind. Heart racing, I gazed up into his eyes.
‘I’m so sorry, I have to go,’ he whispered, his lips inches from mine. ‘But you’re beautiful.’
And then, he kissed me.
Although our lips touched for the smallest of moments, it was unlike anything else I’ve experienced. It was the type of kiss you only expect to see in Hollywood films, finally uniting the two leads as the credits start to roll over the delicious tones of Nat King Cole. In fact, even the soundtrack was perfect because at that very moment Mr Cole himself began crooning ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ via the muffled speakers of the bauble stall’s CD player. All thoughts of Christmas shopping dissolved from my mind as I closed my eyes and gave in to the unexpected gift of the stranger’s lips on mine.
It was almost perfect. Almost. But not quite. Because, as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone: swallowed up by the heaving, unyielding mass of shoppers. I remained frozen to the spot for what felt like an age, dazed yet elated, my heart beating wildly.
And then, from somewhere deep in the recesses of my consciousness, a thought began to push urgently through the swirling mass of emotions.
Go after him!
‘Wait! Come back!’
I looked in the direction I thought he had gone, but there was no sign of him. Nevertheless, I began to shove my way through the crowds, rising on tiptoes to scan across the sea of bobbing bodies for a glimpse of his hair or his scarf as I ran. Shoppers tutted as I pushed past, but I was a woman on a mission and oblivious to their disapproving glances.
As I neared the end of the line of wooden stalls, I suddenly caught a glimpse of russet-brown hair, hurrying ahead of me. Heart thumping hard against my chest, I pressed on, gaining on him. Soon, I was within touching distance, so I reached out my hand and tapped his shoulder.
‘Hey, you can’t just kiss me and then leave without giving me your name,’ I said. He turned to face me … and my heart plummeted.
‘That’s one hell of a chat-up line, love,’ the older man grinned. His yellowing teeth and pockmarked skin were anything but kissable. ‘Now I don’t know about any kiss but I’m happy to oblige if you want.’
I recoiled, dropping my gaze as I backed away. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.’
‘Story of my life, chick,’ he laughed as I hurried back towards the safety of the Christmas Market stalls. Utterly deflated, I stopped and looked up at the darkening sky, heavy with snow-laden clouds. I had lost him.
How was it possible for something so amazing to happen and then disappear as quickly as it had arrived? And how stupid was I for not asking his name? At least then I would know something tangible about him. My scarf still retained traces of his cologne and my lips were tingling from our brief kiss, but that was all I had to show for an event so significant it might just have changed everything.
All I knew about him was what I could remember. To all intents and purposes, he was just another stranger existing in a sprawling metropolis – another life lived in parallel to mine, with little chance of meeting again. But when he looked into my eyes and kissed me, I felt like I had known him all my life. More than an attraction, there was a connection that resonated deeper within me than any other. That one single meeting in a lifetime of acquaintance was enough to alter my life irrevocably.
And that’s why I had to find him.
CHAPTER TWO
Dream a little dream of me
‘He’s a psycho.’
‘He is not.’
‘Or some kind of twisted stalker …’
‘Wren, he wasn’t like that.’
‘How do you know? He could have been walking round kissing random female shoppers all day! He could get his sick, evil kicks out of doing that …’ Wren’s cocoa brown eyes opened wide. ‘Maybe he kisses the women he’s about to murder in cold blood … Oh-my-giddy-life, you’ve just had a Judas kiss!’
I let out a long sigh as I sank into Wren’s oversized sofa in her chic city-centre apartment. ‘I wish I hadn’t told you about it now.’
Wren placed a concerned hand on my arm. ‘No, Rom, you were absolutely right to tell me. If only so I could stop you making a terrible mistake!’
Sometimes I wonder how I came to have a friend quite as theatrical as Wren. But then, being a drama teacher, I suppose it’s something of an occupational hazard for her.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this now, but I was still reeling from the events of the day before. In a daze, following the stranger’s hasty departure, I had stumbled to the train station in a fog of emotion and shock. Slumped in my seat, mind numb, I had called the only person who would understand. Wren has been my closest friend since primary school and she’s known Charlie almost as long as I have. Initially, she insisted that I catch a train back into the city and head straight for her home, but all I really wanted to do was to sleep. So instead she made me promise to visit her the next day.
After a restless night with images of Charlie and the gorgeous stranger interchanging in my mind, I arrived at Wren’s chic canalside apartment, just along from the elegant bars and restaurants of Brindley Place.
Eyes wide with concern, Wren had listened quietly as I relayed the events of the previous day; but as soon as I finished she launched into an impassioned commentary.
‘The way I see it, this bloke is just a diversion from the real issue – you and Charlie. I mean, come on, Rom, one minute you’re telling Charlie you love him and then you “just happen” to meet the love of your life?’
‘It doesn’t make sense, I know. But honestly, Wren, it was the most intense, amazing moment. He took my breath away …’
‘And your mind off Charlie.’
This was useless. ‘Forget I mentioned it, OK?’
Wren gave me her best impression of a serious look (which, in truth, is about as serious as engaging in a staring contest with a fluffy kitten …). ‘Oh, Rom, I’m sorry. It’s just that you have to admit it’s a bit odd. Someone you’ve never met appears out of nowhere, does the knight-in-shining-armour bit and then kisses you. What kind of crazed, maniacal freak does things like that? And if he thinks you’re so amazing, how come he didn’t stick around?’
I had been asking myself that very question ever since it happened. ‘I don’t know.’ The events of our encounter remained imprisoned behind a frustrating haze. Whatever – or whoever – had called him away had seemed import ant; but then I’d hardly had sufficient time to know anything about him, so how could I really know what was important to him? ‘That’s the problem: I have no answers. All I can say is that it was the most amazing moment I’ve ever experienced. He was … perfect.’
‘He was a nutter. Believe me, hun, you’re better off not knowing who he was. I’ve chased handsome princes before and they’ve always turned into proper fairytales.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’
‘No – I mean Grimm.’ Seeing my face she quickly hid her mirth. ‘Sorry, bad joke.’
I shook my head. ‘I know it’s crazy. But I can’t stop thinking about him.’
‘Thank heaven you had the good sense to come here, then! Are you feeling OK now? Do you need anything?’
‘I’m fine …’
Wren snapped her fingers. ‘Tea! That’s what you need – hot, strong, sweet tea!’ She jumped up and dashed into her smart-yet-bijou kitchen before I had a chance to protest. Cupboard doors banged, crockery clanked and spoons jangled in mugs as the one-woman whirlwind noisily prepared my unwanted beverage. ‘Tea is the best thing for shock, trust me. Or is that brandy? I can never remember …’
‘Tea will be fine, thanks,’ I called back quickly. The last thing I needed was Wren’s idea of a ‘shot’ of brandy (to everyone else, that’s about a quarter of a bottle). Despite her diminutive stature, Wren can drink more alcohol than me, Charlie and all our friends put together.
Ugh, Charlie. In the craziness of the past hour, I had almost forgotten the gut-churningly awful reality of his reaction, but now it made its horrific return to my innards.
‘How did you leave things with Charlie?’ Wren asked, once she had thrust a scalding hot, impossibly sweet cup of tea into my hands.
I shuddered as embarrassment launched another crushing onslaught on my guts. ‘I didn’t. I just legged it. I was so mortified, Wren. I mean, what on earth was I thinking, telling him how I felt?’
Wren grimaced. ‘I bet you felt a right prat.’ Seeing my expression, she raised her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh, Rom, I’m sorry! That came out wrong.’
‘Don’t worry. It’s accurate. I just don’t understand how I got it so wrong.’
‘I don’t think you did – at least, that’s what all of us thought would happen, sooner or later. But you know Charlie. He’s a typical bloke, head goes straight in the sand the moment he’s challenged on anything. You know that.’
Without thinking, I drank some tea, recoiling in horror as the high sugar content grated against my teeth. Wren completely misread my reaction and grinned with pride.
‘See, I told you tea was the answer.’
Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I swallowed, even though every fibre of my being was screaming at me not to. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome. So did you get the bloke’s name?’
I shook my head. ‘I just wish you could have been there. He was amazing – just calmly helped me while everyone else stared.’ I stood and walked over to the window to gaze out at the tiny slice of the cosmopolitan city heart outside. The afternoon light was fading as Christmas lights from the surrounding apartments, restaurants and bars were reflected in the canal four storeys below. Festive city revellers hurried by on the frozen towpath, muffled up against the arctic weather. ‘And he’s out there, somewhere, right now …’
Wren appeared by my side, watching me carefully. ‘He’s really got to you, hasn’t he?’
I nodded, the memory of his lips brushing mine suddenly bright in my mind. ‘I’m honestly not using this as a diversion. I want to find him again.’
‘Right. Come with me.’ Wren grabbed my hand and yanked me towards the front door.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To find him, of course!’
‘What? Wait …’
‘We can’t wait, Rom! We need to find him now!’
‘But we also need coats?’
Wren looked down at her thin jumper, jeans and large pink fluffy slippers. ‘Ah. Absolutely. And then we’re going!’
One of the things I love the most about Wren is her ability to get things done. Although the lightning-fast change in her attitude to my handsome stranger was a bit of a curveball, there was no doubting the fact that when Wren Malloy puts her mind to something, nothing can shake her from her chosen course of action.
‘Wren, it happened yesterday. He won’t be there,’ I protested as we flew along the canalside and across the bridge to the city centre.
‘I know. But there might still be some people around who remember him,’ Wren called back, dodging shoppers laden with last-minute Christmas shopping. ‘And you need to keep his image fresh in your mind.’
When the small wooden stalls came into view, I pulled up to a halt. ‘Wren, stop.’
She stared at me, wild auburn curls blowing about her face. ‘What now?’
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Eh?’
‘Five minutes ago you thought he was a twisted psycho stalker. And then you drag me out here like your life depends on it. I don’t understand …’
She took a breath and smiled at me. ‘You’re my best friend. So I’m here to support you.’
Genuinely touched by this, I smiled back. ‘Thank you.’
‘And anyway, maybe if we go down this route you’ll get it out of your system.’
‘Ah.’
Wren looked around. ‘So, where did you meet him?’
I looked around. With the arrival of a new day the whole Christmas Market had taken on a magical appearance, the brightly coloured lights that framed each stall reflecting in the damp pavements, while the blazing glow from the whirling carousel illuminated the windows of the surrounding buildings. The air temperature had dropped considerably and tiny white flakes of snow swirled in the air above the bustling market stalls. For a moment it was hard to get my bearings.
‘I think it was near the beginning of the craft market,’ I answered, ‘or at least, that’s where he kissed me. The stall I demolished was further down New Street because we walked a little afterwards. But it’s all a bit of a blur to be honest.’
‘Well, let’s start at the kiss and work backwards,’ Wren suggested, hugging my arm. ‘Where did that happen?’
‘By a stall with hand-painted glass tree baubles.’
We followed the line of craft stalls, passing displays of garish felt hats, jewellery, delicate silk scarves and hand-dipped candles until Wren let out a squeal and tugged at my arm. ‘There!’
My heart began racing as we approached the stall, memories of the stranger’s concerned questions, his breath on my face and that kiss suddenly bombarding my mind. The large, teardrop-shaped bauble was still hanging from its silver-painted twig in the mottled gold pot at the front of the stall, exactly as it had been when he caught up with me. Shivers chased each other up my spine as my fingers brushed its lustrous surface.
‘I was here – looking at this – when he reached me.’ I closed my eyes and remembered the warmth of his gentle voice behind my ear, the light touch of his hand on my shoulder.
Wren was already summoning the attention of the stallholder. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Yes, love?’
‘This might sound a bit weird, but we’re looking for a man.’
The lady behind the counter let out a cracked, throaty laugh that could only have been created by a serious nicotine intake over many years. ‘Aren’t we all, dearie! That’s what I want for Christmas, eh, Sylv?’
‘Ooh too right, Aud,’ laughed the short woman beside her who was swathed in so many woollen layers she resembled a forty-something rainbow-hued sheep.
‘No, I don’t think you understand,’ Wren pressed on, undaunted. ‘You see, it’s a particular man we’re looking for …’
‘That’s the beauty of youth,’ Sylvia grinned back. ‘When you get to our age, chick, the ones that aren’t that particular are the only ones we’re likely to get!’ The two ladies launched into cackles again and Wren shrugged helplessly at me.
‘It was yesterday,’ I explained. ‘I was looking at this bauble and then a guy joined me. He was about six feet tall, with russet-brown hair and a green, brown and cream striped scarf?’
The stallholders’ laughter ebbed and Audrey leaned towards me across the fragile glass ornaments. ‘What time was this?’
I made a mental calculation. ‘Just after two o’clock, I think.’
Audrey made a loud sucking noise of air through her teeth, not unlike the sound my father makes whenever I mention the band I sing with. ‘Trouble is, kid, there’s been a fair old bunch of good-looking young men past this stall the last few days. All panicking over presents for their mums, bless ’em.’
‘He kissed her,’ Wren offered. ‘And then he disappeared.’
‘Ooh, now hold on a tick,’ Sylvia replied, her frost-flushed cheeks reddening further with the mental effort. ‘Come to think of it, there was a young man we noticed kissing a girl.’ Gesturing enthusiastically at me, she added, ‘Turn around, chick!’
I obeyed and the two women engaged in some excited muttering until Sylvia instructed me to turn back.
‘Now, it’s only vague, love, but I do remember something like that happening.’
‘Really? Can you remember anything else? About his face, or whether he gave a name?’
Audrey laughed. ‘Well, you should know, love. You were a lot closer to him than we were.’
It was clear that this was as far as the conversation could go. ‘Well, thank you anyway,’ I replied. Wren was still chatting with Audrey and Sylvia as I began to walk slowly away. I was slightly disappointed by their lack of memory but encouraged by the fact that I obviously hadn’t dreamt the whole thing. Tracing my steps back past the Town Hall and down towards the start of New Street, I tried to piece together my flight from the toy stall.
Footsteps behind me heralded Wren’s arrival and she reached my side, panting slightly, stuffing her hands into her pockets. ‘So, that’s a start, right?’
I smiled. ‘Absolutely. Look, you don’t have to do this, you know.’
‘I know. But now I know you weren’t hallucinating, I’m actually quite excited about the whole thing.’ She nudged me with her shoulder. ‘It’s like something out of a chick-flick, isn’t it? The handsome stranger, the sudden meeting, the kiss that should be accompanied by a Randy Newman score …’
‘Apart from the fact that we have no idea where the leading man is,’ I reminded her, thrilled by the analogy nevertheless.
‘Pah, details. So where next?’
I gazed down the slope of stalls towards a beer bar with strange rotating wooden slats and large polar bear on top. ‘There was a toy stall down that way – that’s what I collided with.’
‘Excellent. And seeing as you more or less demolished the stall, you should be easy to remember.’
Wren has such a way with words sometimes …
I could feel a cold sweat beading around my neck under my scarf as we headed towards the site of yesterday’s second-most mortifying moment. My right arm and shoulder still burned from their sudden meeting with the wooden stall frontage and my cheeks were burning now, too. How had I managed to lose my carefully constructed sense of self-dignity twice in one day, in such spectacular fashion? Inevitably, my thoughts strayed to the first such instance and I felt my heart plummet as the memory of Charlie’s horrified expression returned. If Wren was correct in her assertion that my preoccupation with the handsome stranger was a diversionary tactic to stop me thinking about Charlie, then it wasn’t working very well. Angrily, I shook his face from my mind and turned my attention to the task at hand.
The toy stall was further down New Street than I remembered and I was surprised to see how far the stranger had walked to reach me in the craft market. He must have really wanted to find me. This thought thrilled me. Surely it proved that he was somebody special, that he saw something in me worth chasing after?
When the jumbled pile of plush toys and hand puppets came into view, I braced myself for the abuse bound to flow from the portly male stallholder, but was surprised to see a lanky, bespectacled youth manning the stall instead.
‘I can help you, yes?’ he asked in a broad German accent, his adolescent eyes drinking in every detail of my best friend as she flashed him her brightest smile.
‘I hope so,’ she purred, all wide eyes and batting lashes. Even wrapped up in her multicoloured patchwork coat and long black pashmina scarf with its glinting silver sequins, the effect this had on her quarry was considerable. I resisted the urge to laugh, marvelling at Wren’s impressive attention-commanding skills. ‘I wonder if you remember my friend?’
The lanky boy’s greasy brows lifted as he surveyed me, clearly congratulating himself at his obvious irresistibility to English women. ‘For sure I would like to remember you,’ he replied, giving me what he judged to be a devastating look.
‘No, you don’t understand. My friend knocked over your toys yesterday.’ Wren pointed animatedly at the drop-down display area.
‘Oh, I heard that, ja. But I was not here then: it was my brother. He said toys were everywhere.’
Wren clapped her hands as I tried my best to ignore the creeping warmth flushing my face. ‘Brilliant! So did your brother tell you about the man who helped my friend to pick up the toys?’
The teenager’s expression muddied and then he nodded. ‘For sure. There was a guy who was the only one to help.’
Instantly, I forgot my embarrassment. ‘That’s it! Did he say what the man looked like?’
‘I dunno.’ He shrugged. ‘He just said a young man. That’s all I know.’
Wren nodded at me. ‘Right, I see. And when will your brother be back on the stall?’
‘Oh, he doesn’t work this stall. He’s one of the organisers here. He was just looking after it for the day.’ He winked at Wren and went in for the kill. ‘So, you want a beer with me after we close tonight? Birmingham is a beautiful city but a little lonely …’
‘It’s tempting, but I can’t, I’m afraid. Have to get my Christmas shopping done, you know how it is …’ She linked her arm through mine and we walked away, leaving the gawping German youth behind us. ‘OK, after that thrilling encounter I need a coffee.’
We made our way slowly through the crowds, pushing through the flow of people to the very coffee shop where I had made my devastating confession to Charlie. I was thankful that the large leather sofa at the back of the coffee shop was available so I didn’t have to sit by the window where everything had changed.
Wren arrived with two enormous cups of frothy cappuccino and two slabs of sticky chocolate cake. ‘Caffeine and sugar – just what you need!’ she announced, unwinding her long black scarf and removing her coat before sitting beside me. ‘So, he’s real, then.’
‘I told you he was real. At least now you believe me.’
‘I do. Actually, I’m starting to think that maybe he might not be a psycho after all.’
‘Well, thank you. What changed your mind?’
Wren leaned back, her elfin frame almost disappearing into the sofa altogether. ‘I was thinking about it as we were retracing your steps: he was the only one to help you put the toy display back together and even when you said you were fine he still followed you to make sure. If he was some idiot after a cheap thrill, I doubt he’d have been so committed. And he was obviously memorable enough for the ladies at the bauble stall to remember him – albeit vaguely. I just can’t work out why he didn’t stick around.’