Lines We Forget Read online

  As they continue to chat, he listens intently, careful not to cut her off or come across as aloof or cocky or uninterested.

  “Are you from here?” she asks him, pouring in another sachet of sugar to her almost empty teacup.

  “Oxshott—Surrey originally. My family has a house there. I sometimes go back for Christmas if I’m feeling up for it. Although we used to have a house near the Kings Road.” Charlie’s more than aware of the way it sounds. Like he’s some spoilt rich kid, with wealth. Fancy second home, lavish upbringing. Which isn’t completely wrong, it’s just he hates how people assume he’s a particular type of guy before they even get to know him. All too quick to dismiss before they find out what he’s really about.

  “Well isn’t that nice,” Anna offers back. “I bet it’s a relief to get out of here, if you can.”

  “You?”

  She stirs the narrow wooden stick in her tea and crumples up the sachet to stare right up at him. “Nah, I’m from the South West. Lyme Regis. Moved here almost a year ago for my first proper adult job.”

  He grins when she says oh la la after, all her features expressive and alive.

  “I can’t say I really love it, but it’ll do for now. Plus London has its charms if you look in the right places. I like being able to catch the Tube and go explore, get away from the rat race. Find fresh air—a total commodity these days—and not get trampled on, not have to pay a fortune for a small tea.” Again she giggles and again he imagines how it might feel to listen to it, all through the night, lost under the covers.

  When small talk about the city subsides and Charlie worries that the coffee shop workers are a little too eager to clean away their cups and close up, he asks about her plans for the weekend ahead.

  “Not much, nothing that exciting.”

  He debates if it’s worth a shot asking if she’d like to come see him and some musician friends play an open mic night at a local bar, but bottles it. Settling on asking first if she’s okay getting home, if maybe she needs someone to walk back with.

  “I’ll get the bus. Takes about thirty minutes door to door. You live far?”

  Charlie feels a tinge of disappointment but keeps a smile on his face. “I’m about twenty minutes on the Tube. Close enough.” He really hopes Anna will offer her desirable mobile digits first, because he can’t remember his off by heart and it’s embarrassing.

  As she wraps the scarf back round her slender frame, tucking in her hair, he gets up and begins his own routine of bundling up again for the cold.

  “So, if you want to get a coffee or tea sometime again, you can call me on this number,” Anna says quietly, fumbling for something in her pocket.

  When she finally gives it to him, it’s not written on a sticky Rizla paper or torn napkin, or scribbled down in dark eyeliner, red lipstick. Instead she hands over a small card. It’s fancy, with embossed writing. Her name’s written in shiny gold, and it gives him relief to see that her forename isn’t of the double-barrel variety. He chalks it up to bad past experiences with the Cressida Wentworth-Hughes and Darcy Blake-Barnesworths of the world who he’d come to learn were nothing but high standards disguised within limber, toned limbs and exotic Gap Year stories. Charlie knows now with Anna in front of him that he’s done with that heartache.

  “Sure, that would be great,” he says, sliding her card into the inside of his jean pocket.

  “Ignore the other numbers. It’s my business card for work. Thought it might be easier to hold on to than something scribbled down on a coffee napkin.”

  He wants to ask if she really is a Junior PR Assistant as the card states, but thinks it’s a question best left for next time. Senses she’s not particularly forthcoming or that thrilled about what she does for living, which suits him fine because he’s not either.

  Outside in the persistent, miserable rain, he attempts to shake her hand because a kiss on the cheek or a hug might seem way too forward, at least for now because it’s not like they’re on a date—something he has to repeat over in his mind. When she accepts it, the warmth of her small hand in his makes his heart somersault once more.

  “It was really great to meet you, Anna.”

  As she looks at her feet, he thinks it might be because she’s nervous, which is oddly in contrast to how brash she’d been so far. When she bites on her bottom lip it spurs on an unspeakable sensation beneath his jeans.

  “You too, Charlie, thanks for having tea with me.”

  The way she says his name almost drives him wild enough to ask if she wants to continue into the night, get something to eat and perhaps go back to his place or a pub for a drink—anything to keep from having to say goodbye and trudge back home to a duller reality.

  But she’s already facing away, ready to walk in the opposite direction. Just a small shadow moving through the mass of people he has no desire to look at because he’s fixated on her.

  The one he’s sure is the girl of his dreams.

  As Charlie watches her disappear, he holds his hand firmly over the card in his jean pocket. Not quite believing his sudden turn of good fortune, even though it has just been staring right up into his eyes.

  Anna.

  The beautiful and intriguing, polka-dot-adorned Brown Eyed Girl.

  Chapter Three

  Anna

  October 16th 2008

  Picking at a limp piece of lettuce with her fork, Anna contemplates telling everyone sitting next to her just how much she hates them all.

  Despises being forced to sit in a women’s salad-only lunch circle jerk to discuss the latest handbag or pair of shoes, conversations revolving almost exclusively around such dull and uninspiring topics. Anna knows she doesn’t fit in with the perfectly manicured women and she’s fine with that. If only they’d stop forcing her to join them every damn lunch break to talk absolute nonsense.

  Becca, a senior assistant, keeps waffling on about how she can’t believe her most recent blind date ordered tap water and not chilled San Pellegrino.

  Lucy, bottle blonde and HD brows, is trying hard to convince anyone that’ll listen how she’s got no problem with receiving only three white diamonds on her second engagement ring.

  And then there’s account manager Marissa, attempting to eat her organic, raw vegan salad without actually eating any of it, fiddling with the pot of dressing instead.

  Anna’s bored to tears with it all—this world of professionally thin and self-absorbed women whom she has to humour and keep on her side. Which is why she continues to sit and pretend to give a crap. Anything to make her day and working life just that bit easier. To get them off her back about still not sorting out her jagged cut fringe, or the pink-tipped locks that she’d once thought might make her look edgy or cool. In retrospect, they’d just been a terrible, ill-advised mistake.

  It doesn’t help that the air is hot and stifling inside the ten stories tall, glass PR and Marketing building where she’s got a small desk and a mountain of to do lists piling up. Even with the rain lashing against the windows, the October winds threatening to break the glass, all of her colleagues strut around in skimpy camisoles and miniskirts like it’s Rodeo Drive.

  “So Anna babe, are you seeing anyone at the moment?” Lucy asks snidely, waking her from a daydream of strangling them all with their stupid red Kabbalah string bracelets.

  “Anyone dashing?” Becca chimes in. She always has to play second fiddle to the others, Anna thinks as she works on finding a suitable answer that will sate their thirsty appetites for others’ private lives.

  Rosy cheeks and wild hair spring forth when she repeats the question in her mind but she lies, not wanting to reveal too much. “Not really. Few casual dates, nothing serious.”

  She hopes this makes her sound a bit mysterious and also blasé, as if she doesn’t give a damn about dining and dating or meeting the one. Like her life isn’t dependent on whom she’s shagging or how fat a guy’s wallet is with cash, black Amex cards, or frequent flyer miles.

  The
re’s whispering between them all until Lucy reaches over to pat her on the back. It’s patronising, and Anna jerks back her shoulder, fake smile now turning to a scowl.

  Lucy with her trademark fake sympathy says, “I’m sure you’ll meet someone soon, darling. You won’t be alone forever. You’re still young.”

  The joke’s actually on them, because she has met someone. Quite recently, and repeating his name fills her with dizzy expectation. The same feeling she gets when it appears on her phone screen. As it’s done a fair few times during the course of her miserable, tasteless lunch gathering.

  And it’s about time, as a week had gone by before she heard anything else from shaggy haired, stupidly handsome Charlie after they’d gone for tea together.

  She’d told herself it was fine. Maybe he’d lost her card or had just been too busy luring in other passing strangers with his love songs to remember her.

  Thankfully when he did finally get in touch, he still seemed just as lovely through the pixilated letters on a screen as he did in person. She liked the fact that he was apologetic about the gap in communication and that he’d been chatty and open, humorous and consistent but not overbearingly so in his replies to her. It was a refreshing feeling, after so many disastrous flirtations with other guys via the tricky medium of text messaging.

  And Charlie’s asked if she’d like to come and see a few of his friends play at a bar not far from her work so they can get a drink, catch up. Keep the ball rolling.

  Even though it scares her to know they’ll be no safety net, no text bubbles or screen to hide behind, she’s eager to see him just to make sure her memory isn’t distorting how she remembers him to be, which at present is charming and sweet, and stupidly gorgeous.

  “You know you can always join us girlies for drinks after work if you don’t have anything to do with your evenings,” Lucy says, packing up her cardboard salad box, her eyes offering an olive branch coated in thorns of joy, no doubt at Anna’s apparent lack of a social life.

  “Thanks, but I’m actually going out tonight with Daisy, so maybe another time, yeah?”

  It feels good to witness the look of disgust that rises up on Lucy’s usually smug collagen-filled face. Anna likes the way the mere mention of her one and only true office friend gets her and all of them so riled up.

  Because Daisy isn’t on their list of Junior Assistants to convert or mould, unlike Anna, who knows they see her as another young girl to manipulate and makeover.

  To them—the Lucys and the Beccas—the Amazonian Daisy with her long sweeping skirts and rouge-cropped hair is a hopeless lost cause. Their obvious dislike for her only makes Anna love the straight-talking Annie Lennox doppelganger even more than she already does.

  Which is a lot, because she’s already extended Charlie’s invitation in the hopes that safety in numbers and a familiar face will help with any jittery nerves.

  Daisy couldn’t turn down such an offer and so she’d got to work, using her last hours in the office to scope out the musicians that might play. Stalking the bar’s website and line up on her laptop, counting down the hours until show time.

  And once it arrives and the office lights dim, after all of Anna’s duties for the day are done, Daisy comes and slips an arm round her. Both of them eager and ready for the freedom and music ahead, the promise of stiff gin and tonics guiding the way.

  “You think there’ll be any fit lads there tonight?” Daisy asks as they slink away into the cold, on the main road to catch the Tube.

  “Who knows? Maybe.”

  “I hope so, although one of them on the lineup looks hot. I found his old MySpace. Bit moody, long hair, beard. Just the type of guy I imagine could carry me off into the night, keep me warm!”

  “Honestly! What are you like?”

  With her arm still linked in Anna’s, Daisy pretends to take offence until she breaks into loud laughter. “You know me, babe, always on the lookout.”

  ***

  When the venue Charlie’s given directions for comes into view, Anna starts to feel the nerves build. Daisy, however, isn’t having any of it, and she pulls them both straight through the wooden doors with wild abandon.

  “Is that him?” she whispers, pointing to the long, sweeping bar where a few men are huddled up close. She singles out one to the far end with messy light hair and a flannel shirt on.

  Anna nods, averts her eyes quickly when he spins round on his stool, like he’s caught their giggly whispers.

  Daisy pats her on the back and says rather too loudly, “Damn, girl, where did you find one like that? I need to start taking notes from you, clearly.”

  It makes her feel a bit better, not so much to have her friend’s gushing approval but that he really is just as she’d remembered him to be—rough round the edges, with broad shoulders and a face that has the ability to make everything and everyone around it fade to black.

  “Yeah, that’s him.”

  Daisy pretends to fan herself. “No wonder you’ve been jittery all sodding afternoon. I mean, I didn’t doubt you’d pull such a hunk but still, Anna—he’s a total babe.”

  Yes, he is, she sighs as they link arms and tread the floorboards in his direction.

  “Hi, again,” she says sheepishly, whilst her wing-woman flashes a dazzling smile, offering out her hand before ordering a drink.

  “Hey. Really glad you could make it.” Charlie pulls out a bar stool, a look of panic flashing up as his gaze meets Daisy. “Oh, hi.”

  “This is Daisy.” Anna smiles. “And Daisy, this is Charlie.”

  “Hey.”

  “You want a seat? We’ll need another, I’ll go find one.”

  Cool as ice, Daisy raises her hand, a large gin and tonic now in the other. “Don’t worry about it, babe, I’m going to grab a seat near the front. Better view of all the hot talent. Sorry, I mean musicians.”

  Anna laughs at how brazen she can be and because she knows the latter part is a total lie.

  “Swing by once you’ve both caught up and all that.” Parting with a wink and a grin, Daisy slips off into the direction of the small stage as the lights dip low and music starts to play.

  “She seems nice,” Charlie says as he passes across a foamy pint glass. “Beer okay?”

  “Yeah, beer’s fine, thank you.” It’s not quite gin and tonic, but somehow it doesn’t even matter.

  “Well, cheers to a good night ahead, with great company,” he replies, eyes wide in the low light. “It’s great to see you again.”

  Anna quietly chuckles, thinks he’s absolutely right, if not just absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous.

  “Ditto.”

  ***

  Charlie

  “Have they made beer stronger these days or is it just me?” Anna laughs, white foam hanging off the corners of her mouth. Charlie politely lets her know and she wipes at them with her cardigan sleeve. Carries on talking as if nothing’s wrong.

  “Maybe I’m just becoming a total lightweight in my old age.”

  “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” he says, going ahead to do so anyway.

  She pauses, which concerns him for a moment. It reminds him that the pub they’re in is known for being pretty lax on checking IDs. He really hopes, prays she’s not underage.

  “A lady shouldn’t reveal her age, but I’m not really a proper lady.” She lifts the heavy pint glass as if it’s proof and continues. “It was my birthday last month, so that takes me to the grand old age of twenty-two.”

  The way she hiccups is cute, Charlie notes, and he adds it to the large pile of observations he’s already mentally storing. Like how she pinches the bridge of her nose when she’s embarrassed or how she bites down on her lip whilst he speaks. All her little quirks and habits are fun for him to witness because so far all of them are ridiculously endearing.

  “You?”

  “Twenty-four years young.” He necks back the last of his pint before worrying he’s drunk too much and she’ll notice. Like she’ll some
how be able to sense the two beers previous to her arrival. And even though he wants to slow down the pace, he also has to keep all the nerves at bay.

  “Well, at least we’re both on the good side of twenty, although we’re both potentially at risk of a quarter life crisis.” She’s obviously joking, but he wonders if she can sense that he’s not exactly done much with his life, at least not so far.

  “You might be on the good side, but me? Not so much…”

  “Ah, come on! I’m sure that’s not true.”

  He fakes a smile, changes the subject. “So did you come here straight from work?”

  “Yeah, had to stay a little later to finish up some emails but the offices aren’t too far. Daisy practically dragged me most of the way in her eagerness not to miss out on any of the guys playing tonight.”

  “She seems to be enjoying herself.”

  Anna laughs, rolls her eyes. “I’d say she’s in her element.”

  “And you?” he asks before he realises that it might sound a little demanding.

  “Of course! Drinking on a work night, with good company. What’s not to like?”

  Lifting up his pint glass, he clinks it gently against hers and grins. “Same.”

  When Anna’s deep in conversation, talking about her family back home, about how she misses having a garden and pets and a pub to call her local, he can’t help but imagine what life might be like with her. One day.

  He knows it’s too soon to start thinking about growing old together, but logic doesn’t stop him and beer spurs him on.

  Charlie pictures a large country house with land and a roaring fireplace—one with lots of dogs and maybe some chickens. Perhaps a couple of kids if they found time in the busy, laughter-filled fantasy life he’s built for them. Which he has to give up on planning when Anna interrupts his drink-induced trail of thought to ask if he wants to go and watch the newest musician take to the stage. She points to a longhaired guy up on it with a bushy beard and an old resonator guitar in arms, a guy who just happens to be his closest friend.