Page 48 of When London Snow Falls

Snaking through the crowd, I slip closer and closer, till I’m off to the side of the dance floor in the club. He has such an ease on stage. Everyone in the room buzzes with energy.

I can’t stop grinning. I’m still stunned that somehow our orbits have collided in the last few days. It’s too much to hope for anything more, for the spell to continue. For now, I’ll bask in the ecstasy of Ben.

The show eventually ends with cries for an encore. The band obliges with great finesse. I swear at one point Ben sees me, but that must have been a trick of the lights and my desperate imagination. I know from my own small gigs how dazzling the stage lights are. The crowd becomes a dark mass, and the only thing visible are the faces of the people who stand at the very front.

When the lights come up again, it takes me a long moment to come back from the magic of the show, letting the din and jostle of the crowd ground me to the present again.

Reaching into my pocket, I retrieve my phone and text.

I’m sorry—I’ve been an arse. I’ll be outside if you want to talk. C xx

But will Ben come?

Chapter Twenty-One

After the rock club’s cleared out, I stand out front on Camden High Street. It’s very late. The rock crowd’s left, the sensible gone home. But I’m out in the snow again, and the chill air stings my face as the wind blusters. I’m left with my somewhat less than sparkling thoughts for company. And some rapidly fading desperate hope.

Ben hasn’t responded to my text. Again.

There’s prolonged panic courtesy of my brain—what if he doesn’t show up?

Be real, Charlie. If he was coming out, he would’ve been out half an hour ago. Go home.

Yet I can’t leave.

It’s a long wait. A cold wait. A wait long enough to take stock a million times over about the foolish thing I said via text. Basically telling Ben that I didn’t have space for him in my life.

Shit, I’ve fucked this up. Bad.

But against all odds, Ben eventually appears. He’s still wearing his lavender scarf that he wore onstage, looped loosely around his neck, the ends tucked into his leather jacket.

Oh God. He’s here. He’s actually here. I can’t believe it, after what I did.

“Ben.” My mouth’s gone totally dry at the sight of him. It takes real effort to speak. “That was…incredible. I bought a ticket to see you tonight, hoping we could talk. And I’m…so lame. Incredibly lame. That was so fucking inexcusable of me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me sometimes. I’m so sorry.”

Ben studies me, frowning. He’s quiet long enough that I might have a panic attack standing here as his frown deepens.

“Charlie,” he says in his lilt. A crisp acknowledgment with bite like the winter air against my face.

Breathe.One-two-threein,four-five-sixout. Again. Till oxygen hits my brain.

“Ben—”

He holds up his hands. “You just sent a text, like I didn’t matter at all to you, even after the last few days together. I thought I was starting to mean something to you. When I got your message tonight, I wasn’t sure if I would come out to see you after the show. I’m still not sure I’m doing the right thing by seeing you, to be honest. You were very clear about your priorities. You have other, more important things happening in your life.”

“Let me try to explain.” My voice is low and strained. The desperation creeps back. It’s a gut blow. My chest is tight, and despite the chill air, my face burns. “I wasn’t lying to you when I said it’s complicated.”

At this hour and with the snow, the pavement’s deserted out here. Snow continues to fall. The world is white. We’re the only two people left in it.

Ben folds his arms across his chest.

And I totally deserve the standoffish pose he’s giving me. “I’m so sorry. You’re right. Thatwasshit of me to send a text like that. And not talk properly. Sometimes I do things that don’t make sense. I often do things that don’t make sense, let’s be real. What the hell is communication? I just…panicked. It’s an anxiety thing. We should’ve talked.”

He eyes me, relenting slightly. “Panicked?”

I nod and shuffle in the snow that reaches to our ankles.

“Panicked,” I confirm. “It’s not an excuse. But…the truth is, I have a dating ban because I don’t trust myself because of my past. And you—you could have just about anyone. You’re so talented. You’ll just get disappointed in me, along with the other stuff I’ve got going on. You’ll find someone better, I know it.”

---