Page 31 of When London Snow Falls

“Let’s just continue getting ready before the first customers come. Please,” I beg, desperate to leave this conversation as a memory too, to get Jasmine off the subject. “And—I’ll think about it, all right?”

Jasmine’s face lights up. “Excellent news. I’ll make you a latte if you do the float. You’re faster than me.”

“Deal. And to be honest, I can’t stay all day because I have to head to my parents’ for lunch and then to band rehearsal.”

Not even the temptation to bail on my family’s Sunday lunch with a fabricated bona fide barista emergency isn’t enough to chase any thoughts of Ben right out of my head.

Chapter Twelve

After helping Jasmine with the opening of the café for the Sunday morning crowd, I head back home to Finsbury Park for a shower, change of clothes—and, most importantly, my meds—in an effort to reset to a more calm state of being.

Whether that’s possible after a night with Ben and impending family time remains to be seen.

When I finally arrive home to my Victorian terrace house, I kick off my trainers into the heap of shoes by the entry near the radiator and grunt a hello to my two housemates who’re watching TV in the lounge. It’s actually quite a handsome house, with red brick and white trim and an arch providing an alcove at the top of the front steps.

When I get to my room, the weight of the world is temporarily lifted and I can breathe again.

There are three bedrooms, two of which are proper double rooms. I’ve got the third bedroom, the smallest one, which is more like a single-and-a-half, because only an estate agent could call this a double with a straight face. I can move around the bed to the desk and around to the other side to get to the wardrobe and drawers, but it’s a tight fit. The benefit is that it’s the cheapest room. I’m also the one who cleans the house, to save on a cleaner, and Paul and Mikey cover the supplies.

To make my crowded room worse, I’ve jammed a small second-hand bureau beneath the sash window and a bookcase beside it in the corner. On the wall, I’ve got a whiteboard full of the million things I need to do, and a marked-up calendar beside it with my schedule. Fucking my brains out with Ben Campbell is nowhere on that long list. Neither is thinking about Ben’s reaction when he woke to an empty bed, even with the excuse about going to work, and the inevitable twist that brings to my guts.

I wanted to wake up with him. And start another day together.

You can’t think like that.

Once freshly showered and dressed for lunch and suitably medicated with the appropriate options, I’m more grounded. More in control again. After a run-through of a quick breathing exercise, I take a moment to sit on the edge of my bed.

Compared to murder, jail, or drugs, Ben is, to be fair, a much safer bet. And as much as I might want him, my stomach knots, because logically there’s no way this could work. No matter what I feel. And…apparently, I’m strangely feeling a lot for someone I’ve banged in a stockroom and got too personal with over drinks.

Not this lifetime, Charlie.

But…

Nothing bad’s happened. Emily’s right. Aside from me attempting to run off like an arsehole in the middle of the night and being terribly embarrassed about bolting. My actual departure was slightly more dignified, but still curt due to my inner turmoil. Maybe I can apologize.

And maybe I can enjoy the blissful thought of Ben a little longer. I could use something to keep my spirits up, especially with what I’ve still got to do today. But this weakness I have for him has to stop soon. Like, pre-Christmas sort of soon. Because no matter how euphoric he makes me feel, there’s everything else that’s waiting for me.

Without further delay, I make a beeline for the tube, clinging to the bits of happiness I felt falling asleep in Ben’s arms.

In the late afternoon, after surviving lunch by keeping my head down and letting Michael do most of the talking, I roll into the Shoreditch studio that Briar’s arranged for us this week, arriving only a few minutes late. I would have been on time for rehearsal if there hadn’t been a delay on the tube. I forgot about the rail replacements happening today, which happen more weekends than not.

I’ve entertained myself on the journey with some rather vivid daydreams about Ben. And also with more than some intrigue about the conversation that we had, his dyslexia and life in Scotland before coming to London. I shouldn’t think about that, because it’s only going to make things worse for me down the road, but listen:Ben Campbell went for drinks with me. If I told my bandmates, no one would believe me. It’s about as unlikely as going for pints with Alex Turner from the Arctic Monkeys or Tom Chaplin of Keane or even Brandon Flowers.

I float my way into the rehearsal room, smothering a smile at the memory of jumping Ben in the stockroom. How can it have been just a day ago? Not even twenty-four hours.

In the rehearsal room, everyone else has arrived. Briar’s tuning her guitar, her long blonde hair in a loose plait over her shoulder. She’s talking with Jackson, her boyfriend, and our unofficial manager. Unofficial because we don’t really have any money to pay him in anything other than pints and gratitude.

Gillian’s already at her keyboards. Her dark hair is up, an orange scarf tucked around her neck. She grins. “You’re late, Charles.”

I roll my eyes at the formality. Echoes of my parents, right now. But a smile tugs my lips before I can stop it.

Jackson settles behind the drums. “Five minutes, mate. You owe us a round. You know the usual terms and conditions.”

Buying drinks for the band is the penalty if anyone’s late. Even as skint as I am, I don’t care. A rule is a rule. But it was totally worth it. If I close my eyes, I can imagine Ben is still beneath me, our bodies locked in unison—

“Ooh, Charlie. You didn’t even ream me out for that,” Gillian says, peering at me. “And—you’re smiling. Is everything okay?”

I gulp. Nobody here can know what happened. Especially not that it was Ben Campbell. Jesus, that would be gossip I’d never live down and would lead to loads of questions I definitely don’t want to answer.

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