Page 32 of When London Snow Falls

Briar turns to face me, adjusting her guitar strap. Today she’s in long flowing white and silver layers over her jeans. She gives me an appraising look. “It’s to do with a man, isn’t it?”

My face burns like a wildfire. “Absolutely not.”

Gillian and Briar exchange knowing looks, like they’ve got the Charlie Renfrew playbook down to an exact science. But they hardly know what’s what, let’s be real.

“Right on, Charlie.” Jackson laughs and hits a cymbal.

“Fuck off, all of you,” I say, opening my guitar case and retrieving my guitar. “We’re never ever talking about this again.”

“He’ll spill eventually,” announces Briar.

“Nope. You’ve got me confused with some other weekend gossip.” I shake my head, adjusting a tuning key, then another. “You know the old saying: loose lips sink ships, and all of that.”

“We’ll buy him a pint later and he’ll give us all of the hot gossip,” Matt tells them with confidence as he picks up his bass guitar.

I clear my throat and tap loudly on the body of my guitar. The resonating hollow sound gets their attention, right back to the point. “In case you’ve all forgotten, we’re here to rehearse. We’ve got a big gig in just over a week, and we don’t want to squander Briar’s gift to us by heckling me, an innocent here. Let’s go. From the top of the set list.” I thump my guitar again for emphasis.

Jackson and Briar share a grin, totally unfussed by my grumble, which is basically the usual noise coming from my direction.

Finally, everyone settles in, and we get to work. And later, when we go for pints and I buy them all the promised round, I don’t utter a word about Ben. Or let out any more wayward smiles or hints of daydreaming. I’ve got to shove that away. Pretend it never happened. It’ll be easier like that, for everyone. That’s another sort of rehearsal right there. Right now, it’s back to the default Renfrew poker face.

Chapter Thirteen

After returning home from rehearsal, I set down the bag of takeaway and flop into my desk chair with a sigh, bone-tired. The takeaway’s a rare treat, and I got the special because it was the cheapest and fastest option. It’s indulgent, especially after the pub. I’m wrecked, though. Not enough sleep, too much action, literal and evasive and otherwise.

Wearily, I rub my eyes. All that sex had been fun, and the resulting adrenaline and angst got me through the afternoon. But now that the sun has gone again, I’m ready for bed and it’s not even 6:00 p.m.

A scatter of notes and textbooks lie on the desk beside my old laptop. So doesPride and Prejudicefor an essay I still need to write over the break when I missed the deadline. However, if I start reading now, I’ll fall asleep three pages in. Plus, there’s an exam the first week back and two tutorials and I haven’t done enough to get ready for any of it.

With a sigh, I retrieve the takeaway box with noodles and veg. The spice helps wake me up a little. But as I sit there, I can’t miss the mountain of dirty laundry in the corner. There’s another clean pile in need of folding. I’ve been getting by the last few days by scavenging from that pile because I don’t have time to deal with it properly. I figure I’m only going to wear the clothes again anyway.

I’m too tired for all of it, and it’s getting on. Time to call Carys and Emily before it gets too late. I text Emily and set up the call on my laptop for the video. Poor Carys thinks her daddy is her mum’s laptop computer, Emily told me last week. Carys has taken to tapping the laptop to wake it up, asking, “Daddy?”

“Hey, Em.”

“Hey,” Emily says cheerfully. “Good timing. We’ve just finished dinner. Did you make things worse for yourself since this morning?”

“No—”

There’s a commotion in the background.

“Daaaaaaaddy!” Carys climbs up onto her mother’s lap. Emily scoops her up, giving her a snuggle while she makes a face, then plonks her onto her booster seat at the table, moving the laptop safely out of toddler range.

“Hi, darling.” I grin at the sight of Carys staring intently at me on the screen. No matter how exhausted I am, I’m always thrilled to see her.

“Daddy!” She crows with laughter, as if I’m the funniest thing she’s ever seen, and it’s the sound of pure joy.

“It’s me,” I confirm, waving at her. “See?”

“Come play!”

“I wish I could, but I can’t. Not yet. I’m all the way in London.”

She scowls, an expression she’s clearly inherited from me. She doesn’t know what London is, but she recognizes anowhen she hears one. God, I wish I could see her every day, and never tell her no.

“Why?”

“Because that’s where I live. And you live in Wales. Remember the long train ride?”

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