by Holly Bourne
I shook off the compliments though, blushing and bashful. “Well, if that’s true, it’s a bit of a waste on someone as shy as me,” I said.
He reached out, like he was about to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, but then he stopped himself and just smiled. “I like that you’re shy. I’m shy too, you know…”
I burst out laughing.
“I am! Really!”
“The lead singer of a band? Who stands around waiting outside a girl’s classroom? Shy?”
“Yes! I could say the same about you,” he argued. “You did a solo set all by yourself. That’s not so shy, is it?”
“Yeah, but I almost died doing it.”
“Well, I almost died too. And I almost died trying to chat you up the other night. And I almost died waiting outside your classroom earlier. And I almost died waiting for you to bump into me on your walk home. And…” He reached out again, and this time he did tuck my hair back. I closed my eyes for a second, savouring how it felt. “…and I’m almost dying right now. Just talking to you. I can’t explain it. You make me really nervous, Amelie. But knowing you better is worth the nerves.”
This is mental.
That was the one rational thought that popped into my head, before it flitted right back out again.
It was mental. He was acting like he was falling in love with me, yet he didn’t know me. We’d only had two conversations.
Did I listen to that little thought though? That burp of rationality? The little voice that kept quietly putting its hand up at the back of the classroom, whispering truths like This is a bit full-on, isn’t it? and He doesn’t even know you and Do you even like him, Amelie? Or do you just like how much he likes you?
Clearly, I did not listen.
Because otherwise I wouldn’t be sat here at this manky bus stop when I should be in college. Otherwise I wouldn’t be checking my phone like a twitchy rescue dog.
Instead I stayed sitting on that wall and we talked about the universe and everything in it. And, the next day, after college, he was there leaning on the fence by the alleyway again and I smiled and we fell into step, just like that. And, every lunchtime for the next week, when Reese reigned supreme over the cafeteria, joking with his band and taking it in turns to mess up Rob’s hair, he’d always catch my eye and grin. Or he’d faux bump into me in the corridors and hold his hands up and say “Sorry” while Hannah growled. The first time this happened he slipped me another note. I pretended I needed a wee, locked myself in a cubicle, and opened up the folded paper, feeling so nervous I did end up doing a wee.
When can I take you out?
I laughed and felt my stomach flip-flop and held the paper to my chest, shaking my head and grinning. I kept the note in my purse, folded up with the other one he’d handed me outside my music lesson, which simply read: I can’t stop thinking about you.
I found, not so very gradually, my thoughts weren’t always with Alfie and how much I missed him, and instead Reese merged into my head. I’d reread his notes and feel the smile unfurl in my stomach. The words never lost their potency. Each time it was like reading them anew.
He wants to go out with me.
He can’t stop thinking about me.
This guy. This gorgeous, sensitive, popular, talented guy who could have any girl he wants…he wants you, Amelie. Isn’t that funny? Isn’t that the most compelling of thoughts? Isn’t that what every girl wants but never gets? It’s happening to you, Amelie. You must be special after all. Because he’s pretty special and he thinks you’re special. If you agree to see him, this could very well be the start of something incredible, because he can really, really, look into your soul.
I held out for only five days.
We walked home together on Friday, exactly a week after the talent show, really taking our time. We stopped to admire the pretty leaves tinged with the first autumn colours, and we pointed at the fat squirrels and shared our favourite things about winter.
“Coming home soaking wet and standing next to the fire,” Reese said.
“Tree branches lined with Christmas lights.”
“Christmas! Oh my god, The Pogues. ‘Fairytale of New York’ is my favourite song ever! I listen to it all year round.”
“Me too!”
Reese took my hand. He finally touched me properly – holding my hand, our fingers entwined all the way. When we arrived at mine, he turned and took my other hand, so we were a fused circle.
“So?”
“So…?”
“A little bird told me you’ve been booked to play the Cube,” he said.
My nerves jangled like a door with a bell that rang when you opened it. “Yes.” Mrs Clarke had ran up to me breathlessly with the news that morning. “We’ve never got a student in before,” she’d panted.
“What’s the Cube?” was all I’d been able to ask, not realizing what a huge big deal it was in this town. It was apparently the biggest local music hall.
“It’s incredible,” Reese said with admiration.
“I’m only opening for the Contenders. I’m the first support act so I’ll be playing to, like, five whole people who have no idea who I am and are only tolerating me so they can bagsy the front row.”
He smiled. “I love how you’re so modest.”
I looked down, embarrassed. “Not modest, just honest.” When I looked back up, he was staring at me so intensely, I swear to god I felt naked. “Please go on a date with me,” he begged softly. “We both know this is something. Give this a chance.”
And I found myself leaning in, my mouth whispering a reply with no cognitive functioning beforehand. “Okay,” I sighed. “I’ll go on a date with you.”
His eyes crinkled so much with his smile that they almost disappeared into his face. “I’m away seeing my dad this weekend, but next Monday? That’s the quickest I can do.”
“Monday it is.”
“You seem very twitchy,” Mum commented, half an hour before Reese was due to pick me up. She folded herself into a kitchen chair and sighed as she took off one of her high heels.
“She’s been like that since she got home from college,” Dad replied for me. “She won’t tell me why though. Why would she? It’s not like we created her and fed her and nursed her and gave her everything in life.” He was cooking dinner and left the pan momentarily to affectionately grip my shoulders. I turned my head up and smiled at him.
“I’m just meeting some friends for food,” I lied. “You know I get nervous going out and chatting to people.”
“And yet we can never shut you and your guitar up in this flat. Lucky us.”
I rolled my eyes and held back a remark. My music practice had suddenly become an issue, after a lifetime of it never being an issue. Back in Sheffield, I’d had this cute little shed at the back of the garden. Dad had even stuck loads of egg boxes inside it for soundproofing and made a sign that said Where the Magic Happens! I’d lived in that shed. I used to sneak my friends into the shed late at night. Alfie and I even lost our virginity in that shed. He’d made a naff joke afterwards about it being “Where the magic happens” before I thumped him, and he caught my hand, and then we rolled up in a tatty blanket and took it in turns to say “I love you” into the early hours of the morning. Now, my parents were exposed to just how much time I spent playing guitar. I’d tried to be careful, strumming as lightly as I could and whispering more than singing, but I’d still get Dad knocking on the flimsy flat wall, asking me to “Keep it down, love”.
Mum took off her other shoe and groaned, rubbing the arch of her foot. “Well, I hope you have fun tonight,” she said. “You look very nice. New dress?”
I nodded and went red. The charity shops around here were amazing. It was like nobody bought ANYTHING second-hand. I’d found the dress in Cats Protection and it was more daring than usual. It was red with small white polka dots. None of my granny cardigans matched it, so I’d teamed it with a leather jacket and I’d even blodged on a bit of tinted lip balm too, one I�
��d got for Christmas last year and never used.
“You’re wearing make-up,” Dad marvelled, like I’d drawn all over my face with a Sharpie.
“Just tinted lip balm.” My face was now the same colour as my dress and lips.
“Ooooh, is there a boy going tonight?” He said in a girly voice as he dipped the wooden spoon into his sauce to taste it.
“Of course there’s not,” Mum replied for me. “She’s still head-over-heels for Alfie.”
I stood up, almost knocking over my chair as her comment unleashed a fresh tsunami of Alfie-related guilt I’d been trying to run from. Was this cheating on him? How could I miss him terribly and also want to go on a date with Reese at the same time? What did it mean? How would I feel if I knew Alfie was about to go on a date with someone else? Fucking sick – that’s how I’d feel. So why the hell was I doing this to him? But he’d not messaged me in over a week…so maybe he was totally over me? And if he could do it, then so could I…and oh god, I missed him. I missed him so much. I should cancel. Why was I going on this stupid date with someone I hardly knew? But I also really wanted to go on it…
I made myself smile and caught the chair before it clattered over. “Yep. Still head-over-heels for Alfie.”
I went to my room to check my appearance again. Yep. I looked exactly the same as I did five minutes ago.
Alfie Alfie Alfie.
Reese Reese Reese.
“What should I do?” I asked the mirror. “What the hell should I do?”
Just then my phone buzzed in my bag, and I made an instant decision. If it was Alfie, then I’d cancel the date. It would be a sign from the universe, and you have to trust signs from the universe, even if you’re the only person who’s decided they’re a sign or not. If it was Reese, then I’d go on the date and see where it took me, guilt-free.
I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone.
Jessa: Granny Cardigan, Granny Cardigan, oh Granny Granny. Granny Cardigan, Granny Cardigan, oh Granny Granny – I MISS YOU
I smiled, but I had no idea what the universe was trying to tell me with that one.
I waited for Reese on the wall outside, so my parents wouldn’t see him. I went out five minutes early and kept checking the time on my phone, staring at the top of my road, preparing myself for the sight of him appearing. I went through all the different ways we might greet each other. Would we hug? Or kiss on the cheek? Or just half-wave? What if he was late? Would I pretend I didn’t mind?
I didn’t need to worry though, because the moment he turned up, it was like I’d fallen down a rabbit hole called Perfect First Date.
He was on time. He smelled fantastic. He grinned at me the moment he turned the corner, and, when he reached me, he very gently brushed his lips against mine.
“You look amazing,” he said.
“I look freezing,” I replied dumbly, my body melting despite the cold.
“It’s okay, where I’m taking you is warm.”
He took my hand as we walked into town and my entire arm felt like a shaken-up Coke bottle. I stopped noticing the cold, I stopped noticing where we were even heading. My whole body was focused solely on the contact between our meshed fingers.
“How’s the band?” I asked, as he stroked the inside of my thumb.
“Annoyed I’m missing band rehearsal tonight.”
“Oh no! I didn’t know. I don’t want you to—”
“Relax, Amelie. I’d much rather be here with you. They’ll get over it.”
A sliver of anxiety knotted my intestine. I didn’t want his band mates to resent me. Nobody wants to be Yoko.
“Where are we going anyway?” I asked, after we’d passed through the main strip of town, past all the obvious first-date places like Pizza Express and ASK.
“Patience, little one. You didn’t think I was going to take you to Pizza Express, did you? Not when I’ve got a chance with the most talented and beautiful girl in college.”
I giggled and simpered like I’m sure he knew I would, as we turned down a quiet side road and stopped outside a tiny yellow door, with a sign that read JETSON RECORDING STUDIO.
“Voila.” Reese bowed, with a flourish of his hand.
“There’s a recording studio here?” I stared at it in disbelief.
“Miracles happen.” He fiddled in his skinny jeans and produced a key, waving it in the air. “It’s not huge, but all the local bands record their demos here. And it’s ours for the whole evening.” He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and gestured for me to go in first. “After you, gorgeous.”
My hand went to my mouth as I stepped into a grotto of fairy lights rather than a grotty recording studio. They hung from the ceiling like it was raining stars, snaking around the reception area.
Reese stood right behind me, his breath on my neck. “Do you like what I’ve done with the place?”
My body seeped back into him and I turned my head to look up at his very handsome face. “You mean, it’s not always like this?” I joked to try and hide how overwhelmed I was.
“Umm, no, Amelie,” he deadpanned. “It’s not always decorated with fairy lights. I did this for you.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said. It really was.
“Come on, let’s eat. Then we can lay down some tracks.”
He led me through to the studio, which was further adorned in a sea of light. It was like a very tasteful version of those houses that make the papers at Christmas because they’ve overdecorated. I’d never been in a real recording studio before, but it looked a lot like the ones I’d seen in documentaries – two rooms separated by soundproof glass – though recording studios aren’t normally covered in fairy lights with a picnic blanket laid out on the floor.
I stopped in the doorway. “How did you…?” I took in the feast he’d laid out on the gingham blanket: a box of strawberries, mini pizzas and a bottle of wine.
He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and removed my hair from one shoulder. “That’s for me to know, and for you to enjoy.” His mouth was so close he was almost kissing my neck. My eyes closed as my body exploded. “Now,” Reese said, stepping forward and picking up a strawberry to hold out. “Please say you’re hungry?”
My stomach was in such knots, I didn’t feel I could eat – not even macaroni cheese, which is my favourite food in the universe. But I didn’t want to be rude, so I folded myself down onto the picnic blanket and picked at strawberries and got caught up in our riptide. Reese was so perfect. He poured wine, and asked me more questions.
“What does it feel like, to you, when you play music?” He held eye contact over his wine glass.
I smiled to myself. “I’m always terrified beforehand,” I started. “Like, almost physically ill. I hate myself for booking a gig, I hate myself for thinking I’m good enough to play. I’m convinced I’m going to humiliate myself and get laughed out of town…and then… Well, the moment I strum the chord, everything just sort of melts away, you know?”
He nodded. He knew. Once again, there was no need for explanation.
“…And when it’s over, it’s like waking up from a dream. Except one that everyone else has been allowed to see.”
Reese nodded. “It makes you so vulnerable, doesn’t it? Making music?” he agreed. “People think it’s an ego thing, but it isn’t. Because you have to let go of your ego to really create. You have to let go of what other people might think, or how it’s going to be received, and just stay true to the song you want to write.”
I put down my uneaten strawberry. “That’s exactly it! That’s why I think I can do it, even though I’m so shy. Because confidence has nothing to do with it.”
We beamed at one another and a word floated into my head.
Connecting.
We were connecting.
Fusing like sparking wires, attracting one another like magnets, slotting in together like two puzzle pieces. I felt like I knew him already. That we were on exactly the same wavelength, the same page of the sa
me book. I remembered trying to explain songwriting to Alfie. He’d always been so supportive, but he’d never really got it. “I just don’t get those kinds of thoughts,” Alfie had once said, when I explained how songwriting felt like releasing poison.
“So, you never, just, torture yourself with things you’ve said, or stuff that’s happened, or everything that’s wrong with the world?” I’d asked him, shocked and feeling like something was wrong with me.
Alfie had shaken his head. “Not really, no. Not unless something really terrible has happened.”
I’d laughed it off and told him he was “such a scientist” while he’d nodded proudly. At the time I’d found it endearing, but it had also made me feel slightly disconnected from him. One moment, I’d feel jealous of him for having such a quiet brain, one that never bothered him with what-ifs and if-onlys and why-the-hell-did-I-do-thats. At other times I felt sorry for him – like he was missing out on a huge part of the human experience.
Not Reese. He got it, he totally got it.
Here’s another word for how I felt all that evening, though.
Overwhelmed.
The giant waves of his charm kept crashing over my head, dragging me under before I’d had a chance to draw breath. “You’re so gorgeous,” he’d say, out of the blue, while we finished the wine. “I don’t think you realize how stunning you are.” I would just about recover from one compliment, and then another one would land. “I can’t stop looking at you,” he admitted.
Once we’d finished not-eating, he gathered up the wasted food and shoved it all into a bin liner. “Let’s lay down some tracks.”
“What? Here?”
“Yes. That’s why I brought you here. I’ve been dying to hear you sing again since the talent show.”
He held out his hand to pull me up off the blanket, then pushed me to the little room with the microphone.
“But I don’t have my guitar…” My mouth fell open as he pulled it out from under the desk. “How did you…?” I could hardly breathe I was in so much shock.
He grinned like a magician who’d just pulled off the biggest magic trick of their entire life. “You leave it in college overnight on Mondays,” he said, “because you have music last thing, and first thing on a Tuesday. I told Mrs Clarke we were songwriting partners now and that you’d asked me to get it.”
