It Started With A Kiss. Miranda Dickinson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ words to care any more. At a loss to make sense of the total catastrophe I’d just caused, I surrendered to the irresistible force of the crowd and, quite literally, went with the flow.

      What was I thinking telling my best friend in the whole world that I loved him? I hadn’t even planned to say it at all – and now I couldn’t quite believe I had blurted out my biggest secret seemingly on a whim. One minute we were laughing about last week’s gig, his smile so warm and his eyes lit up in the way they always do when he’s talking about music; the next I was confessing the feelings for him I’ve been carrying for three years. What on earth made me think that was a good idea?

      Maybe it was the impending arrival of the ‘Most Wonderful Time of the Year’ (thanks for nothing, Andy Williams) or the deliciously festive atmosphere filling the city today that had caused me to reveal my feelings to Charlie like that. Perhaps it was the influence of watching too many chick-flick Christmas scenes that had tipped my sanity over the edge and made the whole thing seem like such a great idea (Richard Curtis, Nora Ephron, guilty as charged).

      Dumped unceremoniously by the crowd at the base of the grand stone staircase in Victoria Square, I managed to squeeze through a gap in the tightly-packed, slow-moving shoppers and emerged breathless into a small pocket of pine-scented air by the barriers around the base of the huge Swedish Christmas tree. Tears stung my eyes and I swallowed angrily in a vain attempt to keep them at bay. What was the matter with me? How did I get it so devastatingly wrong?

      All the signs had been there, or so I had thought: hugs that lingered a moment too long; snatched glances and shy smiles during nights out with our friends; moments of unspoken understanding during conversations begun in the early evening and ending as birdsong heralded a new day. Then there were his unexplained silences – times when I felt he had something more to say, when unresolved question marks sparkled magnificently in the air between us and the room held its breath – ultimately in vain. There had been more of these lately, peppering almost every occasion we spent together with an irresistible spice of intrigue. If they didn’t mean what I thought they meant, then what on earth were they all about?

      My mobile phone rang in my bag, but I couldn’t face answering the call, so Stevie Wonder continued his tinny rendition of ‘Sir Duke’ unhindered by my usual intervention. Reaching into the crummy depths of my coat pocket, I retrieved a crumpled shopping list and read down the list of scribbled names: my ‘To-Do’ list for the afternoon. It was the last Saturday before Christmas and my final chance to buy everyone’s presents. Christmas shopping waited for no one, it seemed – not even thoroughly embarrassed owners of newly-shattered hearts.

      Mum & Dad

      Wren

      Jack & Soph

      Uncle Dudley and Auntie Mags

      Tom & Anya

      Charlie

      Charlie. My breath caught in the back of my throat as my eye fell on the last name. No need for that one to be there now, I hissed under my breath. I think he’s had quite enough surprise gifts from me this year. I stuffed the list back into my pocket and prepared to dive back into the undulating ocean of people.

      ‘Rom!’

      My head snapped upright in horror to see Charlie pushing his way through the crowd, further back down the street. No, this was absolutely not going to happen now. I couldn’t face it – the lead-heavy mortification gripping my insides was already too much to bear. Turning on my heels, I pushed back into the crowd and ran on again.

      ‘Oh come on, Rom! Just stop!’ Charlie called behind me, closer this time.

      Looking over my shoulder, I shouted back. ‘Go home, Charlie!’

      I saw him stop, throw his hands up in the air and turn back into the horde of shoppers behind him. Furious with myself for creating this awful situation, I wanted to put as much distance between me and the scene of my worst ever decision. Tears filled my eyes as I put on another sprint, rushing through the swarming mass of bodies. Part of me wanted Charlie to be following me, to catch me and say that he’d overreacted, that I hadn’t been mistaken, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen and I hated myself for wanting the impossible. Angrily, I wiped the tears from my eyes – just in time to see the gaudy wooden stall laden with soft toys appear directly in front of me a split second before my body slammed headlong into it.

      A collective gasp rose from the crowd of shoppers as I tumbled, helpless limbs flailing, in an ungracious slow-motion sprawl. Bears, rabbits and reindeer spun in the air around me like a shower of oversized plush snowflakes and, for a moment, it was as if all noise ceased as I descended. The clamour of the crowd and the Christmas music receded and my senses were now aware only of the sensation of moving through the air. This feeling was short-lived, however, followed as it was by the inevitable gut-wrenching crack as my body hit the unforgiving block-paved ground and I skidded to a halt amid a sea of stuffed animals on the frosted pavement.

      It took a moment for me to catch my breath, my ears buzzing from my head’s heavy meeting with the floor, but then it was as if someone flicked a switch and all the light, noise and music of the Christmas Market roared back into life – along with the shock of an intense flood of pain along my back and the appearance of one very angry stallholder.

      His beetroot-red round face appeared directly over me as I lay there, but instead of helping me up he launched into a tirade of thick German-accented abuse.

      ‘Crazy woman! Look at this mess! It is ruined, ruined!’

      Thoroughly embarrassed, I scrambled to my feet, wincing as my bruised limbs creaked and groaned back into an upright position.

      ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ I mumbled, grabbing armfuls of toys and wishing I could disappear.

      In true British fashion, the crowd around me didn’t offer to help – the spectacle of the woman who trashed the toy stall frantically trying to reconstruct it far too much fun for them to intervene. The disgruntled stallholder didn’t help either, standing by the remains of his stall with pudgy arms folded tight across his squat body as he watched me. As if I wasn’t morbidly mortified enough already, I was vaguely aware that some of the onlookers had produced mobile phones and were now happily filming the scene. Great. All I needed after the events of today was to become the unwitting star of the latest YouTube viral sensation. I was cold, aching, unspeakably embarrassed and all I wanted was to get home as quickly as possible. Christmas was ruined now anyway: Charlie wouldn’t want to see me and when the rest of the band found out what had happened, everything would be awkward there, too. Only Wren would understand – and no doubt even she would have a strong opinion on it.

      I bit back tears as I reached out to scoop more of the fallen bears from the pavement …

      … and that’s when I saw him.

      As my fingers closed around a toy penguin, I was suddenly aware of a gloved hand reaching out for a polar bear hand puppet next to it. Lifting my eyes I came face to face with quite the most gorgeous man I had ever seen. His hazel eyes caught the light from coloured Christmas lights above, while wavy strands of his russet-brown hair picked up the twinkling blue light from the fairy lights that framed the toy stall roof. A slight shadow of stubble edged his jawline and I noticed that his cheekbones were quite defined.

      ‘Hi,’ he said, his warm smile and kind eyes momentarily numbing the sting of my bruises. ‘Need some help?’

      I smiled back. ‘Please.’

      We СКАЧАТЬ