Soulmates

by Holly Bourne

“Hi there. Yes, I’m calling from the top box. A bottle of champagne on ice, please? Thank you.”

  He hung up as my mouth hung open.

  “A bottle of champagne? Seriously?”

  He gave another non-committal shrug. “It’s complimentary.”

  “Well, in that case…”

  I continued my people-watching until the champagne arrived with a glistening pile of complimentary strawberries. It was presented to us in a huge ice bucket by a different man wearing a suit. He nodded quickly, put the bottle down, and left us in private once again.

  “Shall we?” Noah asked, grabbing the champagne out of the bucket.

  “Why not?”

  I got two champagne flutes ready as he wrestled with the cork. With a small pop, the pale golden liquid streamed out of the bottle and I caught it expertly with the glasses. I handed a full glass to Noah and he took it before holding it out to toast me.

  “To falling in love, being in love, and staying in love for ever.” He chinked my glass and took a hefty sip. Touched by what he’d said, I chinked back and took a deep sip myself.

  “When’s the ballet going to start then?” I asked just as the lights dimmed.

  I took another sip of champagne. I had just decided that I was, without a doubt, the luckiest girl in the entire universe, when the curtain came up and fifteen tutu-ed dancers leaped onto the stage.

  An hour later, when the lights came up, I could think of only two things:

  1) The ballet was bloody AWESOME, and

  2) Champagne, apparently, goes right to your head.

  The swell of people below us began to move from their crowded seats. Men stood against their chairs allowing women to pass so they could spend the entire interval queuing to go the toilet; fidgety children in their smartest outfits clutched overpriced ice cream and whinged to their mothers that they were bored; and an orderly queue began at the souvenir stand so ten pounds could be wasted on a glossy A4 programme.

  I, however, had my feet up on the box railing and was draining my champagne glass.

  Noah was smiling at me in an adoring way. “You having fun?”

  I nodded energetically. “This is amazing. Did you see them dance, Noah? They dance so well, don’t they? Why did I quit ballet? I could have been a prima ballerina, you know. I just LOVE the ballet, don’t you? Do you reckon you could jump that high?”

  I hiccupped and Noah burst out laughing.

  “Poppy Lawson, are you drunk? How? You’ve only had two glasses!”

  I recoiled in my chair with indignation and puffed out my chest. “Drunk? Of course I’m not drunk.” I waved my glass energetically, to emphasize just how not drunk I was and the small amount of champagne left flew through the air, and over the balcony.

  “Whoops.”

  I lowered myself to my knees so I couldn’t be seen and peeked over the edge of the box. Below us were a group of confused-looking old people. One woman with a damp stain on her vibrant blue dress was holding her hands upwards, as if testing to see if it was raining indoors. A man, who I assumed was her husband, was looking around to try and work out where the sudden liquid attack had come from. Then, as if they knew I was watching, both of their heads turned in my direction.

  “Crap,” I whispered, and ducked my head back down.

  Noah was instantly beside me, crouching down and struggling not to laugh.

  “You didn’t see that, did you?”

  “I can’t believe you,” he said, between gasps of laughter. “I honestly can’t take you anywhere.”

  “It was an accident!”

  “Yeah well, can you try not to drown the audience in the second half, please?”

  “Of course I won’t.”

  I decided all of a sudden that I needed the toilet. Quite desperately. I stood up, to find the room spinning ever-so-slightly.

  “Oh no,” I wailed, with dawning realization. “I think I’m drunk.”

  Noah did another belly laugh and got up to steady me. “You think?”

  “I’m drunk, at the ballet! I’ve never had champagne before.”

  “It’s just the bubbles have gone to your head, you’ll be fine in a few minutes. Although you do realize this is the second time you’ve got wasted this week? I’m starting to think you’ve got a problem.”

  “It’s your fault,” I muttered, walking to the door. “You make me nervous.”

  “Where are you off to, waster?”

  “I need the loo.”

  I stumbled slightly into the posh hallway and followed the toilet signs, hoping there wouldn’t be a queue. I was lucky. No one else seemed to be using them. Maybe they were only for box occupants.

  I did what I needed to do and then examined myself in the mirror while I washed my hands. I found looking at my reflection was a good way of sobering up, so spent five minutes getting myself together. I still wasn’t convinced the person in the mirror was me. She looked too happy. She had the expression you saw on the faces of a couple holding hands as they walked through the park on a Sunday morning or on a girl sitting opposite you on the train after her phone beeped and she read a text message from a mysterious person. It’s the look of love. And I had it. And I prayed to Whoever that I would always have it.

  I got back to the box just as the five-minute bell rang to signal it was nearly the end of the interval.

  Noah was sitting with a big two-litre bottle of water in front of him. He handed me a glass. “Drink up, you.”

  I downed the water and handed it back. He refilled and passed it back. I sipped coyly on the second glass.

  “Why is my head spinning? I honestly didn’t drink that much.”

  “I told you. It’s because you’ve not had champagne before. The bubbles are deadly if you’re not used to it.”

  “And I suppose you’re used to it?”

  “Of course.”

  I stuck my lip out. “I’ve ruined the ballet.”

  “You haven’t ruined the ballet.” He gestured for me to sit on his lap. “Come here.”

  I perched myself on top of him as daintily as I could and he pulled me closer. I leaned my head on his collarbone and inhaled the clean smell of his starched shirt.

  “I love you very much, Noah,” I said, playing with his cufflinks. “Thank you for bringing me to the ballet.” My hand moved up his arm and I started stroking his chest. “You know,” I whispered, “I don’t think anyone can see us up here…”

  Noah didn’t say anything but his grip stiffened around my back.

  I moved my face closer and kissed him. “We could do…anything…and nobody could see us.”

  Noah kissed me back tentatively. “Poppy. You are drunk.”

  “I’m not any more!” I protested, curling my arms around his neck. “I was, but only for about five minutes. Then I looked at my reflection, that always helps, but it didn’t look like me.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  I couldn’t wait any longer. I just wanted to be kissing him, right now, at the ballet.

  So I silenced him with my lips and whenever he tried to stop or complain I kissed him harder. Soon his hands were twirled up in my hair and he was eagerly returning my kisses, both of us oblivious to the show we were putting on for the audience below. The lights dimmed and the orchestra began to play. I pushed Noah away mid-kiss and turned my attention to the stage.

  “Oi,” he said.

  “Shh – it’s starting.”

  I pulled my chair closer to his so our legs were touching. Then I gripped the railing and leaned over so I could get the best view of the dancers. They swirled their athletic bodies around the stage in a series of fluid, gravity-defying movements. I was transfixed by the beauty of it, by the costumes, by the way the men seemed able to pick up the women and throw them through the air effortlessly. However, the spell was broken and replaced by a much stronger one when I felt Noah’s hand on my knee.

  “Hello, you,” I whispered, looking down at my leg. His hand had already crept
an inch higher.

  “Shh,” he said, his face still intently studying the stage. “I’m watching the ballet.”

  My leg had started to burn with his touch as heat radiated out of his hand. Determined not to lose face, I returned my attention to the show, but was scarcely able to concentrate.

  Noah’s hand moved up another inch, so it was just underneath the hem of my red dress. I readjusted myself in my chair. This was a mistake – it made Noah’s hand travel even further up my leg. His wrist was only resting on the middle of my thigh but it was enough to put me into sensory overdrive. Just the slightest flutter of his fingers left me feeling like my body was plugged into a high-power socket. All I could do was try and get some sort of revenge, so I reached out and put my hand as high up his leg as I dared. Noah gasped. I smiled and drummed my fingers as I kept my head facing forward.

  I honestly couldn’t tell you what happened in the second half of the ballet. All I could say was that it was the most insanely erotic forty-five minutes of my life. I felt as though we were one surging current. Noah, to be fair, was a complete gentleman and his hand never went any higher, but it was still intimate enough to incite a massive reaction in me. Every hair was on end, my breathing ragged. And he, in turn, seemed to be just as railroaded by my touch. His leg was quivering. And at one point it was shaking so badly the rest of his body was practically convulsing.

  Is this normal? I began thinking to myself, but with a patter of Noah’s fingers the thought was forgotten before it had fully formed.

  It was the staccato sound of applause that broke whatever trance we were in.

  Noah’s hand left my leg as he stood up to clap. I shook my head dazedly and stood up to join him. The tutu-clad ballet dancers were curtsying and beaming at the audience. Surely it couldn’t be the end of the ballet already? But the curtains were drawn and the mass exodus began. The crowd jostled to slip out of the narrow exits, bags clutched to their sides, programmes tucked neatly under their arms.

  “Shall we stay here a few minutes?” Noah said. “Wait for the crowd to thin out?”

  I nodded, still dazed, as he took my hand.

  “I don’t know about you,” he said, raising a cheeky eyebrow, “but I don’t think I could tell you one thing that happened in that final act.” He bent down and gave me a brief kiss on the lips. “You have a very odd effect on me, Poppy. I think I’m addicted to you.”

  All I could do was squeeze his hand as my body struggled to return to normality.

  I gingerly gathered up my coat and bag, and finished the last of the water off. Noah was right. I couldn’t feel the effect of the champagne any more. Maybe it was just the bubbles after all. He held my coat so I could climb into it.

  “You alright?”

  I nodded. “I’m fine…just…”

  “A little overwhelmed?”

  I nodded again.

  Most of the audience had left. I checked around to make sure I had everything and, with Noah’s hand in mine, I left the box and stumbled back into real life.

  “Ergh. It’s going to be cold outside, isn’t it?” Noah said, as we wound down the stairwell.

  “I think so.”

  As we got to the bottom, we saw a crowd had built up near the theatre entrance.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Why aren’t people leaving the building?”

  We inched our way through the massed bulk of people. The cold air from outside hit my face.

  I looked through the windows.

  “Uh-oh.”

  Somehow, in the space of one ballet performance, an aggressive blizzard had hit London and there was a good couple of inches of snow everywhere. Elegantly dressed women were stepping outside and slipping over immediately in their heels.

  “How the hell has it snowed so much?” I asked Noah.

  He stood on his tiptoes and looked over the heads of people in front.

  “I don’t know,” he replied, looking concerned. “But getting home might be an issue.”

  Oh God. The trains. England had this annoying habit of grinding to a stroppy halt the moment any unforeseen weather occurred.

  “Are we going to be able to get home?”

  Noah pulled a face. “I don’t know.”

  We started to barge through the crowd. The hold-up was being caused by people simply refusing to exit the theatre, as if the snow would magically melt just by them being angry at it. After a few strategic elbow jabs, we were out in the cold, with fat heavy snowflakes falling softly onto our heads.

  “Let’s head to the Tube,” Noah said, his hand gripping me tightly to stop me sliding around in my heels. “Hopefully there will still be trains going to Middletown.”

  I was slightly panicked. I didn’t really know anyone in London so there was nowhere to crash if we got stuck. I was also still quite confused. I’d only just woken up from my Noah-induced coma and the heavy unexpected snow was just too random an occurrence to process easily.

  We thumped down the steps of the Tube station, hurried onto a carriage and waited impatiently for it to slither towards Victoria Station. Noah held my hand all the way, but not in an affectionate way – more as if he was treating it like a stress ball. After fifteen minutes or so we jogged up the escalators and re-emerged onto the snow-filled streets, slipping every step or so. We ran to the information board at the station and stood in front of it, both shivering.

  “Look,” I said, pointing. “There’s a train to Middletown…oh…it’s cancelled.”

  In fact, as I looked up at the giant screen, I realized every departure had a blinking red light next to it announcing its cancellation.

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh indeed.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  My phone went off in my bag multiple times, its vibrating urgency matching our situation. I retrieved it and saw Mum had tried to call twice while I didn’t have any signal on the Underground.

  “Oh God. Mum’s worried. I’ll ring my parents and see if it’s snowing at home,” I said.

  “Okay. I’ll check the National Rail app and find out what’s going on.” Noah flipped open his phone with a scowl on his face.

  I stomped my feet to try and keep them warm and dialled home.

  Mum answered after only two rings.

  “Poppy?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “Oh dear. Where are you? It’s snowing like crazy here. Please say you got home from London before it hit?” Her voice was slightly panicked but I could tell she was trying to cover it up.

  “We’re stuck at the train station. The ballet only finished twenty minutes ago. We didn’t even know it’d been snowing.”

  “Well they’re saying on the news that this snow was completely unpredicted, just like the storm. I don’t like it. It was only a few days ago I was out in the garden wearing short sleeves. Poppy, what are you going to do? How are you going to get home?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “There must be some trains running?”

  “Yes. Of course there will be.”

  Just as I finished saying that I heard Noah a few feet away from me, badgering a rail worker.

  “So you’re telling me there are absolutely no trains running for at least another four hours?” he said, a growl in his voice.

  “Oh no.”

  “What is it?” Mum asked.

  “I think the trains are a no-go.”

  More people had filtered into the train station, lots of them dressed for a night out too. They stood next to us, and I could see the panic form on their faces as they clocked the departures board. Noah was on the phone. I turned my attention back to Mum, who I could hear flapping.

  “Oh my, Poppy. How are you going to get home?”

  “I’m not sure.” My stomach started knotting. More people streamed into the station as other shows finished and they began to pick on the railway workers in bright reflective jackets, demanding more information.


  “Maybe I could ring Auntie Suzie? She might be able to take you in for the night.”

  I shuddered at the thought. My mum’s sister was one of the most awkward people I’d ever come across. She was a very devout Catholic and lived alone in this large spooky town house in the furthest tip of north London.

  “Hmm. I’m not sure how she would feel about me bringing Noah along as well.”

  Despite her worry, Mum laughed down the line.

  “Yes. You’re right. It might give her an early heart attack.”

  Noah was now off the phone and making hand gestures to me.

  “Hang on, Mum, Noah’s trying to say something. I’ll call you back.”

  I flipped my phone closed. “What?”

  “All sorted,” he said, with an uncomfortable look on his face.

  I didn’t understand.

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “I’ve booked us a hotel room.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “You’ve done what?”

  “A hotel room.”

  “What about getting home?”

  “Well, it’s not going to happen, is it?”

  “But…”

  “But what?”

  “Well, I don’t have any money.”

  “It’s okay. I just rang my parents. They’ve charged the suite to their company account.”

  I had to really shake my head this time to ensure my brain was working properly.

  “Hang on. When did this hotel room become a suite?”

  Noah did his casual shrug, but I could see through it. It was like he was trying to pretend everything was okay for my benefit, but he was obviously just as nervous.

  “That’s always what I mean whenever I get a hotel room.”

  “Of course. I forgot.”

  Noah cupped my face and forced me to stare into his eyes. “Poppy? Are you okay? It’s only for the night. I just don’t see how we’re going to get back so I thought crashing in London was the only answer.”

  I looked back at him, calmed a little by his gaze. “I’m…fine. It’s just, well, a bit of a shock, that’s all.”

  “It’s freak weather. Again. You just have to run with it when stuff like this happens.”

  I knew he was right but still felt a little dazed. And Noah seemed a little…off, too. I think he was trying to be the man – all together – but the situation was bothering him. I could tell. What about it though? I hoped he would tell me. An involuntary full-body shiver reminded me of how cold it was.