CHAPTER ONE

I had never seen anything so beautiful. The word beautiful doesn’t seem quite enough to describe you. Your radiant energy I would come to need like oxygen in my lungs.

I could feel the breath sigh from my body that first moment you locked eyes with me. The air around me seemed to freeze, just for a moment. My heartbeat quickened as you turned your body towards mine. You held my gaze, my chest thrumming in quick succession. The blue of your eyes was so intense it seemed to pierce right through me. Eyes that were lined heavily with kohl; angular stripes that exaggerated the fierceness in your stare. The almond shapes creased slightly as your expression turned quizzical, a small crinkle forming between two perfectly shaped eyebrows. The corners of your mouth twitched in amusement; I was sure you could see into my inner-most thoughts. Words were stuck in my throat, you seemed to be moving in slow motion. It was then that I realised you were asking me a question. I blinked furiously, feeling my cheeks grow hot.

‘Can I borrow your lighter?’ you asked again. Your voice was like velvet brushing against my ears. Your hand extended towards mine, plucking the zippo from my grasp.

‘Course!’ I said far too loudly as you were already flicking the lid open and igniting the flame in one smooth movement. I cleared my throat and took a drag of my own cigarette as something to do. I could feel damp patches form under my armpits, despite the flecks of snow floating around us.

‘Thanks,’ you tossed the lighter back. I caught it with my free hand. Thank God. I was sure the relief was obvious in my face; the outside lights were sure to be illuminating every gormless expression of mine, every betraying twitch. You were holding my gaze again. The snow was twirling around you and I remember thinking it was like you were in a snow globe that was settling, right when the storm of white clears to give prominence to the figure in the middle. I took another puff of my cigarette, looking down. The smoke ballooned in front of me, swirling and mixing in the air with yours. ‘First day?’ you asked. That voice. 

I nodded limply and took another drag of my cigarette. ‘Yes, I, I arrived yesterday.’ Why was it so hard to talk to you? I glanced inside the pub; I could see the band setting up on the stage. They seemed to be rewarding themselves for their work with gulps of beer, despite the tangles of cords laying coiled like lazy snakes at their feet. I could see the drummer – whose name I had learned was Pete – clashing his cymbals together like a wind-up monkey to the amused roar of his bandmates.

‘You been here before?’ you asked. I looked back to you, the cyan blue of your eyes so extreme I had to look away for a second to muster a response. ‘Yes, a couple of times, on holiday with my parents.’ Dammit, why did I have to say that?

‘Ah,’ that smile was growing wider now. The bright white of your teeth contrasting with those dark purple lips. Were you mocking me? ‘You a skier?’

This question relaxed me immediately. I had skied my whole life. I could talk about skiing. ‘Yes,’ I nodded, overly enthusiastic but relieved at the change in subject. ‘Can’t wait until the lifts open, there’s been so much snow already there’s going to be so much untouched off-piste.’ God, did I sound like a dick? I saw your eyes light up and felt a warmth zip through me. I must have said something right. Finally. ‘You a skier too?’

When you pressed your lips together, they formed the perfect shape of a heart. You waved your hand so nonchalantly, a flash of black nails from under the oversized jacket. ‘I can ski, but I prefer to board.’ Dammit, that was cool. You took another drag of your roll-up before stubbing it out in the ashtray. ‘I’m Heather, by the way,’ you flashed this mischievous grin and nodded at the three guys setting up onstage. ‘I’m in the band.’

‘Cool!’ My cheeks burned at the overt excitement in my voice, ‘I mean, what, what do you play?’

‘I’m the singer,’ you said, cocking your head slightly and squinting your eyes. A challenge? A dare? I couldn’t find the words to comment and instead heard the chattering of my teeth. The silence swelled as I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. You watched me, amused. You seemed to be enjoying every minute of my awkward interaction.

Finally, your velvety voice relieved the static in my ears. ‘I’ve dabbled in a few instruments but never mastered any, you know? The guys are all so talented, there’d be no point in me picking up a guitar next to them.’ It was a glimpse of insecurity, so brief, that it made me wonder if you had even said it. Your voice hadn’t dipped in decibels, your body language hadn’t shrunk. You had spoken as if it was, in fact, hilarious. Your voice as smooth as butter and your chin proudly tipped upwards. ‘So, the fact that I can sing to earn my keep whilst I’m over here, well – can’t complain, can I?’ You then tucked a strand of platinum-coloured hair behind your ear, revealing a sequence of studded earrings. I felt something rise in my chest, an instinctive swell at glimpsing the smallest chink in your armour. 

I stubbed out my own cigarette. Our two cigarette ends were curled up together in the silver ash tray, a purple lipstick stamp on yours. I realised our conversation was coming to an end, a mixture of relief and anxiety hit me in the chest. I had never wanted to talk to someone so much. ‘I’m looking forward to watching you guys play tonight,’ I said. Was that too keen? I looked up at you again and tried to add casually, ‘I’ll be working until close.’ I’m sure it came out as a squeak.

‘Well, I’m going to help the guys with the rest of the set up,’ you said as you moved towards the door. You gripped the handle, but before you pulled it open, you turned towards me once more, holding my gaze. The power of that stare wasn’t something I was going to get used to any time soon. Your features were so sharp, so gloriously constructed and held together in such a way that you looked both fragile and lethal simultaneously, like glass. If I were to touch you, I was sure that either I would slice my own skin open, or you would shatter into a thousand pieces.

‘What was your name?’ you asked.

‘Ricky,’ I said, realising I had been holding my breath. ‘My name’s Ricky.’