Page 14 of Snow Falls Over Starry Cove

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Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë

Opposite me, nursing his own half-empty pint, is the most handsome man I’ll probably ever see in my entire life. He simply couldn’t be any more beautiful if he tried, because not even a scrub-up or a shave could remove the patina of gorgeous ruggedness that clings to him. Worn black leather jacket, combat boots and an ‘I don’t give a shit what anybody thinks’ air about him. He’s the exact opposite of what Stephen represents with his designer suits, tailored shoes and expensive haircut.

Square jaw covered in stubble and ebony locks falling into his eyes, he’s so sensual I can’t help but sneak him another glance from under my fringe. But I needn’t worry about being caught, because he seems to be completely absorbed in the contents of his pint. So I allow myself another illicit peak, noticing that he’s smirking to himself as if he’s enjoying some private joke. I have a feeling this must be his default expression. As if he’s scorned everyone and everything.

And that’s when he looks up straight into my eyes, unwavering. I try to look away, but my eyes are repeatedly drawn to his. Embarrassment kicks my heart into a pounding rhythm, like a sudden adrenaline rush when you sense you’re in danger.

I look down at my hands to keep my eyes off him. They’re sweating and shaking. My face is burning and my mouth has become parched as if I’ve spent the day in the desert.

What is wrong with me all of a sudden? For no reason whatsoever, I’m blushing until I’m practically purple in the face and looking for a place to run and hide like one of those damsels in distress. Who am I kidding? Iama damsel in distress, only no one knows besides Maisie, and I don’t think even she knows the extent of my insecurities.

His eyes are still lingering on me, I can feel it, and when I can’t stand it any longer and look up, he snickers to himself. I quickly avert my gaze again, realising he’s laughing at me. Indeed, he must be sick and tired, if not overly amused, of women ogling him.

‘OK, Emmie,’ Maisie whispers. ‘Don’t look now, but at precisely twelve o’clock lies the hunkiest bloke I’ve ever seen.’

‘Yes, I saw him,’ I manage to croak as I put my glass to my lips to quench the sudden inexplicable thirst.

‘He looks half-cut, though,’ Maisie observes. ‘Must be difficult to cope with, being so hot!’

And just like that, the man shakes his head at us and gets to his feet to amble unsteadily over to the bar. The barmaid leans over to caress his face, saying something to him lovingly before selling him another pint.

‘Looks like he’s the local pisshead,’ Maisie wagers as he turns his back to the bar and totters back to his seat with a fresh pint.

A quick scan of the premises confirms that most of the females (and some of the males) are more than aware of his presence, some smiling, some lifting glasses, others giving him sultry looks. I swear, it’s choose me, not her central in here. We observe the carousel of glances in amused silence for a moment or two. It’s like watching a David Attenborough documentary on mating rituals.

‘I wonder if…’ Maisie murmurs to herself and slides out of her seat, aiming for him.

‘Maisie?’ I hiss. ‘What are you doing? Come back here!’

You think I’d be used to her ease with men by now, but I’m always edgy when she talks to complete strangers. Like only she can, Maisie saunters up to his table and speaks to him briefly. He looks up at her, studying her, bursts out into a sonorous laugh, drains his glass and then heads towards the gents.

‘Have you just gone mad?’ I demand when she returns. ‘You must need your brain tested. You don’t just walk up to a stranger and—’

‘But this is Cornwall,’ she sing-songs. ‘Anything is possible here.’

‘Yes,’ I snort as I take a sip of my beer. ‘STDs from strangers, especially.’

‘I’m not going to have sex with him.’

‘Good.’

‘You are.’

I splutter my mouthful all over the table. ‘Me? You must be insane.’

Maisie reaches for the napkins and helps to mop up the mess I’ve made.

‘Oh come on, Emmie. Why not? Do you really want to get married without sleeping with another man ever again? This is your one chance. Besides, what happens in Cornwall and all that, yes?’

‘I would never,evercheat on Stephen.’

‘Not even if he cheated on you?’ she insists.

I sit up. ‘Why? What have you heard?’

‘Shush, he’s coming back.’

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