When I Fall in Love

by Miranda Dickinson

  Tom & Anya

  Charlie

  Charlie. My breath caught in the back of my throat as my eye fell on the last name. No need for that one to be there now, I hissed under my breath. I think he’s had quite enough surprise gifts from me this year. I stuffed the list back into my pocket and prepared to dive back into the undulating ocean of people.

  ‘Rom!’

  My head snapped upright in horror to see Charlie pushing his way through the crowd, further back down the street. No, this was absolutely not going to happen now. I couldn’t face it – the lead-heavy mortification gripping my insides was already too much to bear. Turning on my heels, I pushed back into the crowd and ran on again.

  ‘Oh come on, Rom! Just stop!’ Charlie called behind me, closer this time.

  Looking over my shoulder, I shouted back. ‘Go home, Charlie!’

  I saw him stop, throw his hands up in the air and turn back into the horde of shoppers behind him. Furious with myself for creating this awful situation, I wanted to put as much distance between me and the scene of my worst ever decision. Tears filled my eyes as I put on another sprint, rushing through the swarming mass of bodies. Part of me wanted Charlie to be following me, to catch me and say that he’d overreacted, that I hadn’t been mistaken, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen and I hated myself for wanting the impossible. Angrily, I wiped the tears from my eyes – just in time to see the gaudy wooden stall laden with soft toys appear directly in front of me a split second before my body slammed headlong into it.

  A collective gasp rose from the crowd of shoppers as I tumbled, helpless limbs flailing, in an ungracious slow-motion sprawl. Bears, rabbits and reindeer spun in the air around me like a shower of oversized plush snowflakes and, for a moment, it was as if all noise ceased as I descended. The clamour of the crowd and the Christmas music receded and my senses were now aware only of the sensation of moving through the air. This feeling was short-lived, however, followed as it was by the inevitable gut-wrenching crack as my body hit the unforgiving block-paved ground and I skidded to a halt amid a sea of stuffed animals on the frosted pavement.

  It took a moment for me to catch my breath, my ears buzzing from my head’s heavy meeting with the floor, but then it was as if someone flicked a switch and all the light, noise and music of the Christmas Market roared back into life – along with the shock of an intense flood of pain along my back and the appearance of one very angry stallholder.

  His beetroot-red round face appeared directly over me as I lay there, but instead of helping me up he launched into a tirade of thick German-accented abuse.

  ‘Crazy woman! Look at this mess! It is ruined, ruined!’

  Thoroughly embarrassed, I scrambled to my feet, wincing as my bruised limbs creaked and groaned back into an upright position.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ I mumbled, grabbing armfuls of toys and wishing I could disappear.

  In true British fashion, the crowd around me didn’t offer to help – the spectacle of the woman who trashed the toy stall frantically trying to reconstruct it far too much fun for them to intervene. The disgruntled stallholder didn’t help either, standing by the remains of his stall with pudgy arms folded tight across his squat body as he watched me. As if I wasn’t morbidly mortified enough already, I was vaguely aware that some of the onlookers had produced mobile phones and were now happily filming the scene. Great. All I needed after the events of today was to become the unwitting star of the latest YouTube viral sensation. I was cold, aching, unspeakably embarrassed and all I wanted was to get home as quickly as possible. Christmas was ruined now anyway: Charlie wouldn’t want to see me and when the rest of the band found out what had happened, everything would be awkward there, too. Only Wren would understand – and no doubt even she would have a strong opinion on it.

  I bit back tears as I reached out to scoop more of the fallen bears from the pavement …

  … and that’s when I saw him.

  As my fingers closed around a toy penguin, I was suddenly aware of a gloved hand reaching out for a polar bear hand puppet next to it. Lifting my eyes I came face to face with quite the most gorgeous man I had ever seen. His hazel eyes caught the light from coloured Christmas lights above, while wavy strands of his russet-brown hair picked up the twinkling blue light from the fairy lights that framed the toy stall roof. A slight shadow of stubble edged his jawline and I noticed that his cheekbones were quite defined.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, his warm smile and kind eyes momentarily numbing the sting of my bruises. ‘Need some help?’

  I smiled back. ‘Please.’

  We slowly moved around each other, gathering up the scattered stock. As we did so I was aware that he was watching me, his shy smile appearing whenever our eyes met. And I can’t explain why, but the sudden arrival of this kind stranger after the utter awfulness of the afternoon felt like a blissful reprieve – as if everything I had experienced was merely instrumental in bringing me to this moment, this meeting.

  Once we had retrieved all of the toys from the wide circle they had been flung to, I turned to the stallholder and apologised again.

  ‘Whatever,’ he shrugged, disappearing inside his wooden stall and slamming the door.

  Spectacle over, the onlookers dispersed back into the crowd and the stranger and I were left alone by the stall.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he replied, pushing his hands into his coat pockets. I noticed tiny crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes when he smiled.

  For a moment, we stood in silence, our breath rising in puffs of Christmas-light-washed steam. It was clear that neither of us knew what to say and the awkwardness of the silence brought my earlier humiliation flooding back.

  He’s obviously just being polite, I reasoned, my heart sinking, and now he’s looking for an excuse to leave.

  ‘Well, I’d better …’ I nodded in the direction of the Town Hall behind us, as though this would be some universal indicator of the Christmas shopping I still had to do before I could go home. Thankfully, he seemed to understand, nodding and looking down at his feet.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thanks again.’

  He raised his lovely eyes once again to mine. ‘No problem. Merry Christmas.’

  As I hurried away, I felt like screaming. Not content with merely ruining my friendship with Charlie and making a complete idiot of myself in full view of a large section of city shoppers, I had now embarrassed myself in front of a really good-looking bloke. Nice work, Romily.

  My shoulder was complaining vociferously as I reached into my coat pocket again for the list. At times like this, practicality was the only way forward. I headed towards the white lights of the craft market section. My aunt loves hand-painted glass and I vaguely remembered seeing a glass ornament stall earlier that day. Forcing my conflicting thoughts to the back of my mind, I wove my way through the dawdling shoppers until I found it.

  Two middle-aged ladies wrapped up against the bitter December air were chatting animatedly behind the stall, oblivious to everything else. The voice of Nat King Cole was crooning from the speakers of a small CD player on the counter.

  ‘Gotta love a bit of old Nat, eh?’ the taller of the two was saying.

  ‘Tell me about it. Our Eth won’t listen to anything else at Christmas.’

  ‘Not even Bing or Frank?’

  ‘Nope. It’s Nat or nothing. Him and his chestnuts roasting on an open fire.’

  ‘Always thought that sounded a bit painful myself,’ the taller lady sniggered as the shorter one giggled.

  I relaxed a little as their jovial banter continued, casting my gaze across the glass baubles of all shapes and sizes, suspended on delicate silver thread from white-painted twigs set in plant pots. A gentle breeze had sprung up, making the hanging glass shapes shiver and spin slowly, so that they caught the light from the white fairy lights woven around the stall edge and the coloured strings of Christmas lights swinging high ov
er the market. One particular bauble near the front of the display immediately caught my eye: a large, teardrop-shaped ornament adorned with tiny painted silver stars – delicate brushstrokes that sparkled from the glass surface. It was beautiful, a real work of craftsmanship, and I knew my aunt would adore it. I reached out and felt the icy coolness of the glass against my fingers.

  ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ a deep voice said behind my right ear, making me jump and only just manage to save the bauble from falling from its twig. Leaving it safely spinning, I turned, my eyes first meeting a green, brown and cream striped scarf and then heading north to reach the shy smile of the stranger who had helped me. My breath caught in the back of my throat and I nodded dumbly at him.

  ‘I’m sorry to … er … I just wanted to check you were OK?’

  ‘I’m fine. Thanks again for helping me.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I couldn’t believe all those people were just watching.’

  I smiled, despite the blush I knew was glowing from my cheeks. ‘I think they thought I was part of the entertainment.’

  ‘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.

  Please read on for all 51 items on The List

  The List

  Three rules for The List:

  1. Nothing overly sentimental

  2. Nothing expensive

  3. Nothing predictable

  Sneak into Brighton Library and stick smiley-face Post-its into dreary books.

  Spend the night in a treehouse.

  Buy embarrassing fridge magnets from seaside towns and display on home fridge.

  Paddle in Victoria Fountain wearing wellies.

  Dress up as our favourite Pixar characters.

  Tap-dance along Brighton Pier.

  Lie in the back garden and count shooting stars.

  Decorate the rubbish bins on the promenade with tinsel in July.

  Dance in the rain, wearing sunhats.

  Have a picnic on Brighton beach wearing a ballgown (you) and black tie (me).

  Do ‘The Birdy Song’ in the veg aisle at Sainsbury’s.

  Kidnap a garden gnome for a night.

  Buy spacehoppers and race along Islingword Street (I will whop your ‘hopper ass, by the way, but don’t let me win just because I’m dying).

  Count jet-skiers for an afternoon and do a robot dance for every ten you see.

  Sneak into Brighton Home Stores at night and rearrange the cushions on all the sofas (to freak out Jim).

  Spend the day calling each other Bert (you) and Ernie (me).


  Watch Seven Brides for Seven Brothers five times in a row (dressed as cowboys, singing every song).

  Wear rockstar mullet wigs for a day but don’t refer to them at all.

  Dress up as old people and feed seagulls on the prom (shouting at them obligatory).

  Eat ice cream listening to Bob Dylan songs.

  Buy a waffle iron (just because I’ve always wanted one) and throw a ‘Make Your Own Waffle’ party.

  Walk backwards across zebra crossings for a day.

  Find the biggest puddle and jump in it.

  Buy an ice cream every time we see an ice cream van (chase it down the streets if necessary).

  Find a field of sheep and baa at them.

  Spend a whole day in bed together.

  Speak in Shakespearean English for an entire day.

  Walk round Brighton with bunches of gladioli in our back pockets (to make Morrissey proud).

  Have a pillow fight around the house (and continue in the street if I’m not winning!)

  Go into the Pound Shop and ask the assistants how much everything costs.

  Buy a bunch of helium balloons from the balloon seller near the Pier who never smiles and release them one by one as we walk along the beach.

  Do ‘The Monkees’ cross-leg dance all the way from Brighton Station down Queen’s Road to the seafront.

  Hire a tandem and whistle the theme tune to ‘The Great Escape’ whenever we ride it.

  Sit and kiss on every bench we can find.

  Play ‘Strip Jenga’.

  Wear matching outfits for a night at the pub.

  Go to the cinema when it opens and watch back-to-back films all day.

  Have afternoon tea dressed as clowns.

  Watch ‘The Matrix’ and high-five every time someone says ‘Neo’ or ‘Mister’.

  Sneak onto a kids’ playground after dark and play on the swings.

  Waltz around the Royal Pavilion Gardens.

  Do a forfeit every time you say YES or I say NO for a whole day.

  Borrow in-line skates and travel up and down Gardner Street (since neither you or I can skate, this will be hilarious).