Page 76 of When London Snow Falls

“A shift at the café. Back to work.” Hard to imagine. “And, um, a rehearsal. You?”

“I’m working, too. We have a band meeting day after next. Tour logistics and rehearsals nearly daily till we go.”

I fidget with my keys in my pocket. “How long will you be away?”

“We’re gone from the tenth for a few weeks. If tickets sell well, the tour will probably get extended to add more dates,” Ben says. “There’s an itinerary. Doesn’t mean much to me since I can’t read it properly, but it’s a long list. I’ll send it on to you.” Ben tilts his head, gazing at me with a soft smile. “Am I allowed to buy another ticket to your gig?”

“Well, anybody can buy a ticket,” I say gamely. My face is on fire. The arsehole didn’t forget after all. Shame. I suppose posters are everywhere, including back in the café. “It’s not about being allowed. But, I mean, my band’s no comparison to Halfpenny Rise. We’re so much smaller. Though I appreciate that you want to come to the gig.”

Ben laughs. “Confidence, Charlie. You’re great. I’ve seen you and I wouldn’t tell you lies. Halfpenny Rise are full-time professionals, more or less. You and your bandmates have talent on the same level. You just don’t have the fame.”

“We’re not professionals.”

“Professional enough that you have gigs lined up. Not even at your nan’s house, I bet.”

I have to laugh at that. What a thought. The closest I have to a nan is Great Aunt May, who will probably outlive us all. She’d probably be down for a gig at her house. I’d hate to underestimate her. And she’s hardly Katherine, Emily’s gran, who was a punk back in her day. Another black sheep. “Well, I suppose you’re right about that,” I say, feeling more at ease. “It’s a small bar.”

He beams, pleased. “See? I knew that. Plus the band poster says too. I took a picture.”

“Haven’t lost your phone in Brighton or anything?”

“Not even once,” Ben says proudly.

I scrape the toe of my boot against the ground, shifting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. He’s so hopeful too. “All right. You can come.”

“Brilliant.” Ben beams at me. “Number one fan. I’m so excited.”

“I’ll get you a ticket,” I promise at last, laughing at his obvious glee. Here goes everything. “It’s the least I can do after Brighton, all right?”

“All right.”

We share a kiss. Even with my January-related anxiety, I melt against his mouth.

Just stay in the moment, Charlie. Just him, just you.

Chapter Thirty-Five

On gig night a few evenings later, I slam back a shot of whiskey before the show. It burns pleasantly on the way down, warming my throat and chest, the sensation grounding me. I’ve briefly emerged from the greenroom to make a beeline for the bar. Just one drink, to steady my pre-performance nerves.

What are a bunch of book nerds from uni doing on stage in front of a live audience tonight? A terrible idea.

There’re friends out there, like Aubrey and his new boyfriend, Blake, and other familiar faces from Soho and my uni classes. Talk about performance anxiety and not wanting to disappoint.

When I texted Ben and asked earlier if he got nervous before a gig, he said no. I’ve yet to see Ben tonight—I don’t even know if he’s made it. He texted earlier that he was on his way, but I needed to get to the venue early with the gang to help unload our kit and do soundcheck and all of that.

I lean against the bar for the moment, wishing it was about ten degrees cooler and the venue somehow not sold out. Small bar yes, but there’s still a hundred plus people in here, and apparently they’re still mostly sober enough to pay attention to what’s happening on center stage.

“I hear the guitarist’s hot,” drawls Ben beside me, appearing out of nowhere.

I nearly jump out of my skin, turning abruptly to face him. “How—when did you get here?”

“I’ve been here all night,” Ben says cheerfully, gesturing at the crowded bar. There’s a melee for drinks, while others are out on the dance floor, having a great time. “Luckily only a couple of people recognized me so far. I’m very niche and I’m a bit out of context, not being on stage myself. Performers always seem a little less grand backstage or in the front of house.”

I snort. “You wanna go up there and pretend to be me? You’ll do a hell of a better job. I’m sure of it.”

Ben laughs, basking under the prospect of attention. “Absolutely not. First thing, I’ve an excellent view of the stage from here.”

Which was true, with the elevated level that the bar was on, overlooking the dance floor and the tables arranged around it in a horseshoe.

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