Lines We Forget (6 page)

But only for a moment, because when he comes to the table, he spots all the metal-cased tealights and neat tableware round the little kitchen table and the panic starts up again. He notices how well Anna’s folded the napkins, placed a bottle of wine and two glasses next to them.

Charlie keeps on worrying—a lot, because she’s acting a bit nervous too, and giggly. As if she knows, can read his damn mind.

Like she’s wondering if she should have worn different underwear too.

***

Anna

As the time on the bedside clock trips over into another hour, Anna sighs and continues. Looking down at Charlie, she pretends to smile, because as the night ticks by she realises she’s been attempting to undo his jean zip for precisely six minutes with no success.

She can tell he’s embarrassed; his face has lit up like the strawberries they’d had earlier for dessert. And he keeps fumbling, and she’s pulling and yanking and it’s a damn nightmare.

Anna chides herself for having the idea to invite him back to hers for a romantic meal, because it’s really backfired on her plans to find satisfaction under the sheets. Not least because he’s been much too quiet since dinner, where he’d hardly touched his pasta, or any of the garlic bread, which is a decision she now wishes she’d made herself because the lingering taste hadn’t been taken away even with a generous sneaky swig of mouthwash.

“Have I broken them?” she asks quietly, sliding off the bed onto her knees to get a better grip and angle.

She watches Charlie’s eyes flit round her room, where the lights are soft and dim. He rests an elbow on the snowy white bedding and she thinks he might be giving up in defeat.

“No. I’m sorry, they always do this.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I think it’s about to budge,” she replies, humming along to the faint, nondescript music she’s set up in the background—anything to distract from disappointment.

“Not that I’m always in this situation, I mean they’re just rubbish jeans. I’m rubbish, for not getting a new pair. Shit, I’m really sorry.”

Anna smiles and rises up to kiss him on the lips, because he’s all flustered and she really doesn’t want the night to end like this. On her knees, him still fully clothed, with cheeks red in embarrassment and not from what she’d hoped they’d be rosy from engaging in.

“Hold on, wait,” she says, feeling the metal puller glide down. Relief washes over her and as it does, she notices Charlie’s state of panic washes away too.

“Thank God,” he mutters standing up, lifting Anna too as he does.

When he’s in nothing but his boxers, she traces her fingertips over the fabric.

“I really like your pants, by the way.” They appear loose round his waist, and inviting and even though she knows it’s a weird thing to say whilst trying to reach a state of undress, the dark grey pattern reminds her of a jumper she once owned, and so she tells him.

Charlie laughs and the blush on his cheeks starts to fade as he carefully folds his jeans. Anna remains still when he closes the gap between them, runs his hands over her collarbone and down towards the opening of her blouse.

He takes off her dark lace blouse one button at a time and tells her that he really likes the pattern of her bra too.

“It’s just black, though.”

He rolls his eyes, still smiling. “I know, I thought since you complimented me on my choice of underwear I’d repay the favour.”

“Cheers. It really is my favourite black bra,” she teases, as his warm hands snake towards her back. “You know what they say about a girl if she’s wearing black underwear…”

Instantly she regrets the words as they leave her mouth, because Charlie stops and tilts his head, waiting for her to continue, to reveal the answer.

“Actually, it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m intrigued now, though.” He grins.

Anna shakes her head and gently pushes his hand back in place to unhook her bra. Which he does, removing it like a seasoned pro, as if he’s done so a thousand times before. Gentle but quick. No messing around.

Which leads her to inevitably want to ask: Just how many bras have you actually unclasped?

She knows it’s a stupid idea—to question and interrogate someone so new like Charlie about all his ex-partners. To open a door that can’t be shut again. A dark spiral she’s fallen into many times with previous partners, always trying to prod and coax information from them, to satisfy some bizarre desire to know it all. Just so she could be sure of a number, a rough estimate, maybe a name or two.

The answers, when she ever got them, never made her feel any better, but she still did it every time.

Anna thinks of Lola, the girl who’d greeted Charlie the night they first met. She’s sure that the persistent, nagging sense of intuition of hers is right. The thought of him sleeping with a girl as pretty as Lola makes her chest hurt. The image of how cool and sexy and blonde she is does nothing but make Anna want to grab back her bra and put on a dressing gown.

But Charlie’s already making his way downstairs, thumbs brushing against the waistband of her knickers, and she knows it’s not quite the right moment to get into such things. The time has passed for niggling insecurities.

Once all of their clothes are acquainted with each other at the foot of her bed, he kisses her. Keeping his lips locked to hers for what feels like an eternity. His hands don’t move much apart from the need to cup behind her ear, and stroke back her hair. His skin is warm against hers, and the hard outline beneath his boxers that presses into her thigh every so often only amps up her desire.

It’s a moment she’s been wistfully imagining for quite some time, under the covers of daydreams and late restless nights.

When Charlie plants a trail of light kisses along her shoulders she’s certain that it’s been worth the wait. She can watch the muscles in his arms tense as she twists her fingers through his, the reality of being able to run her hands all over his toned chest the wildest turn on.

His movements are even more pleasurable than any fantasy she could conjure up.

Anna loves them all.

But what she loves even more is how he gently pauses to move on top of her, with a look in his eyes that promises something special.

She watches as he slowly slides down, his light hair falling to tickle her stomach as the covers engulf him. Charlie whispers to ask if she’s happy and comfortable with where he wants to go. And she almost loses the will to speak, hopes she can vocalise what every inch of her body is praying, crying out for.

“Uh huh, yeah,” she finally replies as his eyes burrow into hers. “I mean
yes
.”

It really is a blessing, she thinks, that the walls of her bedroom are so thick, because as his face disappears below the covers, her moans of encouragement grow loud.

Lost in waves of new and exciting sensations, Anna thinks it’s crazy that she’s not had anyone go down on her in ages. She chalks this up to the fact that the handful of guys she’d been bra-less with before never seemed that interested in how it all really worked, down there. Not least in the way Charlie seems to be.

She remembers how they always preferred to hop on and get to the finish line before the footy kicked off. Just doing what they needed to, without much concern for what she might enjoy. It had been a blur of sweaty thrusts and wham-bam-thank-you-ma'ams. And from her side it had been a lot of fake, copied-from-the-movies groans and disappointed frustration.

The comparison to past lovers comes up again when Charlie looks towards her, hair all a mess, to grin as she lets out a dirty but encouraging word.

And she can’t help but run through the ranking system in her mind, which is experienced enough that she knows what he presents to her when he reappears is pretty impressive.

Anna still finds it amusing just how different they all look, in shape and size, how a few were aesthetically pleasing and others not so much. Some she felt relief to never see or touch again, but she’s relieved to find that Charlie needn’t have to worry about falling into that category because as she throws caution to the wind and climbs onto him, she feels just how great, how wonderful it is.

Staring down, with her hands firmly on his chest, she loses herself completely and finds she doesn’t care who knows it. Not the neighbours or the car she can hear idling out in the street below her window. She doesn’t even give a damn if Jaz comes back and stumbles across them.

Because the feeling of Charlie, hard and in sync with her body, and the way he’s gazing up like she’s the only thing in his whole world, gives Anna a liberating feeling unlike anything she’s ever felt before.

There’s no worry, no wrong or right. It’s not awkward or tense. She’s not trying to cover up the god-awful ring scar on her belly button from being a rebellious teen or her swollen stomach full of dinner.

Charlie and his touch tell her that he wants to be there, with her, in her, and she can feel it and taste it with every movement. And if he’s been nervous or inexperienced she thinks he’s certainly not showing it. In fact it’s the opposite.

Anna’s happy, deliriously so, and as he rhythmically pushes her hips down hard she knows what’s coming.

It’s the feeling she’s read about a hundred times over in books and magazines, seen in films, on TV—that elusive, all-encompassing, intoxicating moment.

So when it does happens, without restraint, she’s sure that her neighbours can now not only hear her but feel it too—like how the bed appears to shake, how she feels almost weightless. As if she’s being pulled from all sides.

A sensational rush of such magnitude, it’s like the bedroom’s spinning and she might not be able to uncurl her toes ever again. Her fingers still cling to the bed frame, her mouth slack and open wide.

Anna can see between the black spots and blur that Charlie’s chest rises and heaves and he’s staring into her eyes. Slowly she lets her fingertips relax as his hand comes up to hold her neck, guiding her to rest on his chest.

After she’s caught back her breath and the feeling in her toes and when her thighs stop trembling, the inevitable question starts to play on her mind.

She knows that guys don’t like to stick around much after doing the deed. Even though Charlie has acted different to all the rest he still probably doesn’t want to stay over.

She wonders what lame excuse he’ll use, and if it’s one she’s heard before or something new. Because she’s pretty sure he won’t want to wake up next to her in the morning, or walk to work together as that would make it all too official.

To soften the blow of what’s next to come, she fakes a light yawn and rolls onto her side.

“You okay?” Charlie asks, then yawns back before his lips press down on her forehead.

“Yeah, just tired. Shattered,” Anna replies. “Didn’t realise how late it is.”

“Is your housemate coming back or is she out for the night?”

“She’ll be back in the morning.”

“Cool.”

It gives her faint hope to see he’s not given any indication that he wants to leave just yet, but she feels like it’s more a case of
when
, not if.

As he tilts his head and peers down, she finds the courage to let him know it’s fine if he wants to get dressed, leave.

He puts his hand on the side of her waist. “Nope, I’m good. Have all I need here. That’s if you’re okay with it?”

“You want to stay over?”

“Yes, I just don’t want to out stay my welcome, though. You can say no.”

Anna laughs. Not in a mean or horrible way, but with hearty warmth that means she can’t believe her crazy luck. How she’s gotten so fortunate.

“Of course, it’s fine. If you’re sure you want to.”

When Charlie buries his head close to hers, breathing softly, she laughs again.

Because she really could get used to having him beside her, into the late hour of night, close and warm, skin-to-skin, deep under the covers.

Chapter Six

Charlie

December 13
th
2008

“What’s that myth about swans again?” Anna asks, hands full of breadcrumbs. Charlie quietly laughs at how eager and excitable she is about some birds in a pond.

“Well it’s not a myth as such,” he replies. “It used to be classed as treason to kill them, especially in the city or on the river. I doubt, though, you’d get hung for such a thing these days. They won’t drag you up to the Tower of London or anything.”

He watches as she tilts her head to throw in another handful of crumbs, which fall into the murky water before them.

“Who’d even want to kill a swan, right? They’re so beautiful and elegant. Plus I read that they can break your arm, they are literally that strong, Charlie.”

He kisses the top of her head, places a hand on the small of her back, and thinks about how lucky he is, to be with a girl like her. One who is so in awe of life’s little mysteries and all of its strange, beautiful wonder. He loves how he’s been able to spend every weekend with her since their first night together. With long afternoons spent walking along the heath, meandering into the vast frost-covered parks that cut through the city.

And he really loves being able hold her hand and call her his girlfriend.

Passing strangers give him joy too, to watch them study his and Anna’s faces and obvious affection. How they look and smile at them both—a young couple so deeply lost in their own world, on the cusp of love.

They’ve spent many hours circling paths down to ponds and secret gardens in the past weeks and Charlie has discovered so much more about Anna—his wonderful girl, who doesn’t shy away from rubbing her nose against his like an Eskimo. A girl who likes to snuggle tight at every opportunity, on the Tube and bus journeys home as the daylight faded and air turned cold.

He’s learnt so much from their walks that he thinks he should maybe be writing it all down so he’ll never forget any of her quirky, endearing traits. Like how Anna’s now telling him that her favourite dinner is fish and chips. “But the proper kind, eaten by the seaside.”

And later she tells him which Spice Girl she always wanted to be ever since she was a young. “Geri, everyone wanted to be her. She was the coolest, but my mum wouldn’t let me dye my hair ginger.”

Charlie continues to observe and listen, through archways and secluded grey gardens. Finding out that she prefers sweets to chocolate, wine over beer
,
walking in lieu of driving. Enjoys taking the Tube instead of buses. How she likes to sometimes just hop on and go explore a different part of their vast city.

Anna keeps telling him random snippets of information about her life and her loves like her favourite colour—black; time of year—Spring; film—a toss-up between
Ghost
and
Back To The Future 2
; cocktail—strawberry daiquiri—and he won’t ever tell her to stop because he enjoys listening to her talk too much.

“My older brother is such a laugh. I think you’d really get on, actually,” Anna informs him when they settle on a rickety wooden bench. “He’s into music too, but he can’t play anything, not like you.”

“I’m sure I’ll meet him one day,” Charlie says, hoping she won’t start to ask about his family because he doesn’t have the patience to divulge details.

She teases him, with a glint in her eye that lets him know she’s maybe only half-serious. “Joe, my brother, is dead protective of me so you’d better not mess me around.”

“Why would I ever do that?” He grins, nudging her shoulder.

“So what are your plans for Christmas?” she asks, which is a question he really doesn’t want to give any thought to because he’s never liked it or found it to be an important, joyful time of year.

From the way Anna talks about her own family’s celebrations—the big turkey lunch, the presents, and the old festive films—Charlie realises that she, in contrast, really,
really
likes it.

He says, “I’m heading to my parents’ house for the day. The usual and then I’m coming back here as soon as I can.”

“You don’t get on with your folks, do you?” She gives him a pitying look as her fingers weaved into his.

“Not amazingly well, but it’s fine.” The energy to explain his complex family issues escapes. He doesn’t want to get bogged down again in the complex drama. Because Anna doesn’t need to know how he’d packed up his belongings at age eighteen and hightailed it away to pursue a music career. Eager to escape the feeling of being the black sheep of the family, which he knows he still is some six years later.

“That’s a shame,” Anna sighs. “What about your siblings, what are they like? Do you talk to them much?”

Again he feels like her rapid-fire questions are better suited to another time and place, but he understands she’s one of those people who like to know all the nitty, gritty details. She doesn’t mean to pry but can’t help herself.

“I don’t speak to my older brother really, and my little sister’s busy doing her own thing at University, so no, we don’t talk that much.”

“Do you all look alike?”

“What?”

She strokes his jaw. “I mean, are they both just as blessed with good genes as you are?”

“My jeans aren’t that good, you know this.”

“No, like
genes
, your parents must have great ones because you’ve turned out beautifully.”

Charlie shakes his head but smiles. “That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“You’re too modest.”

“I’m too much of a realist.”

“No, you’re a hopeless romantic, I’m the realist, remember? I took that quiz in the back of that magazine we found on the Tube last week.”

“I remember. Wait, why are you laughing?”

Anna chuckles. “I’m just imagining this trio of good-looking kids, all fair-haired, blue eyes. Though I’m sure you’re the real stunner of the family.”

“I think you’ll find you’re quite wrong there.” He doesn’t want to go into detail, or picture his older brother—notorious Casanova—or how if she ever were to meet him she’d likely buckle at the knees just as so many women did in his company. Still, if there were a contest as to which was the most honest, kind, and loyal, his brother would fail spectacularly.

With a defiant shrug, she leans forward and brushes off the stray breadcrumbs that cling to her woolly tights. “I’m never wrong, Charlie.”

“That’s true.”

“Don’t you ever miss home, though?”

Taking a deep breath and Anna’s hand again as they trace the path away from the pond, he sighs. “It never really felt like home. Can’t miss what you never had.”

She pulls his hand and they both come to a stop. “That really breaks my heart. To hear you say that, you know.”

“Don’t feel bad. I don’t.”

“I just forget that not everyone has a home or a family that they love or can miss. I miss my parents every day even if they are annoying and right royal pains in the backside. It’s so selfish of me to say but it’s true. Still love them, though,” she says, voice catching. “I wish you had that too.”

Charlie shrugs. “It’s fine. Honestly, I’m better off. I actually like living here, in the city. I get to make my own decisions and not feel bad about them. I’m much happier this way. Trust me.”

“Well,
I care about you.”

“You do?” he teases, squeezing her arm a little.

Anna smiles, pokes her tongue between her teeth. “Course. You’re really lovely. It’s kind of hard not to.”

“Lovely?”

“You are—lovely and ridiculously gorgeous. Not to mention talented. You’ve got the winning trifecta, Charlie, congratulations!” She giggles.

He pushes his face down into her scarf and kisses her neck. “I don’t really care so long as it keeps you happy.”

“Those things don’t ‘keep me happy’. I’m just happy to be with you. However it’s a plus that you make my knickers fall round my ankles just by looking at me with those eyes of yours.”

“They really have that effect, huh?” Charlie cocks an eyebrow while Anna and her mischievous look pull him along.

“Come on, it’s getting too dark and cold to stay out,” she says, though he suspects she’s actually more eager to get back to his and into bed.

As they reach the end of the path, she snuggles against his arm and pushes out her bottom lip, sighing. “It’s such shame you can’t come back with me for the holidays. You’d love it, trust me. My nan drinks too much sherry and tells dirty jokes, then falls asleep at lunch. My dad spends all day in the kitchen sorting out the turkey, and me and Joe watch all those Christmas specials on TV with my mum.”

“Sounds great.”

“Mum does a Secret Santa every year and it’s a right giggle.”

“Bet it is.”

Anna grins. “And she’d love you. I just know she would. You’ll meet them all one day, I’m sure.”

Charlie’s happy for her. Because it’s rare to find a girl with so many people that love and care for her too. It just doesn’t help the fact that he knows how different his own family and Christmas Day will be in comparison. He’s lived through enough festive trips back home to know that it only brings disappointment.

The thought of spending most of the holidays without her eats away at him. So he tries to envision the feeling of how great it will be to get her back—the day before New Year’s Eve. When his Christmas will be but a distant memory, and thankfully over for another year.

And when Anna lifts the thick covers over them both back home in his bed after their day out, the reflections of bright, twinkling festive lights down on the high street light up the room and he wishes they could stay here, forever.

Without anywhere else to be on a cold December’s night, warm and content under the covers.