It Started With A Kiss

We followed the line of craft stalls, passing displays of garish felt hats, jewellery, delicate silk scarves and hand-dipped candles until Wren let out a squeal and tugged at my arm. ‘There!’

My heart began racing as we approached the stall, memories of the stranger’s concerned questions, his breath on my face and that kiss suddenly bombarding my mind. The large, teardrop-shaped bauble was still hanging from its silver-painted twig in the mottled gold pot at the front of the stall, exactly as it had been when he caught up with me. Shivers chased each other up my spine as my fingers brushed its lustrous surface.

‘I was here – looking at this – when he reached me.’ I closed my eyes and remembered the warmth of his gentle voice behind my ear, the light touch of his hand on my shoulder.

Wren was already summoning the attention of the stallholder. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Yes, love?’

‘This might sound a bit weird, but we’re looking for a man.’

The lady behind the counter let out a cracked, throaty laugh that could only have been created by a serious nicotine intake over many years. ‘Aren’t we all, dearie! That’s what I want for Christmas, eh, Sylv?’

‘Ooh too right, Aud,’ laughed the short woman beside her who was swathed in so many woollen layers she resembled a forty-something rainbow-hued sheep.

‘No, I don’t think you understand,’ Wren pressed on, undaunted. ‘You see, it’s a particular man we’re looking for …’

‘That’s the beauty of youth,’ Sylvia grinned back. ‘When you get to our age, chick, the ones that aren’t that particular are the only ones we’re likely to get!’ The two ladies launched into cackles again and Wren shrugged helplessly at me.

‘It was yesterday,’ I explained. ‘I was looking at this bauble and then a guy joined me. He was about six feet tall, with russet-brown hair and a green, brown and cream striped scarf?’

The stallholders’ laughter ebbed and Audrey leaned towards me across the fragile glass ornaments. ‘What time was this?’

I made a mental calculation. ‘Just after two o’clock, I think.’

Audrey made a loud sucking noise of air through her teeth, not unlike the sound my father makes whenever I mention the band I sing with. ‘Trouble is, kid, there’s been a fair old bunch of good-looking young men past this stall the last few days. All panicking over presents for their mums, bless ’em.’

‘He kissed her,’ Wren offered. ‘And then he disappeared.’

‘Ooh, now hold on a tick,’ Sylvia replied, her frost-flushed cheeks reddening further with the mental effort. ‘Come to think of it, there was a young man we noticed kissing a girl.’ Gesturing enthusiastically at me, she added, ‘Turn around, chick!’

I obeyed and the two women engaged in some excited muttering until Sylvia instructed me to turn back.

‘Now, it’s only vague, love, but I do remember something like that happening.’

‘Really? Can you remember anything else? About his face, or whether he gave a name?’

Audrey laughed. ‘Well, you should know, love. You were a lot closer to him than we were.’

It was clear that this was as far as the conversation could go. ‘Well, thank you anyway,’ I replied. Wren was still chatting with Audrey and Sylvia as I began to walk slowly away. I was slightly disappointed by their lack of memory but encouraged by the fact that I obviously hadn’t dreamt the whole thing. Tracing my steps back past the Town Hall and down towards the start of New Street, I tried to piece together my flight from the toy stall.

Footsteps behind me heralded Wren’s arrival and she reached my side, panting slightly, stuffing her hands into her pockets. ‘So, that’s a start, right?’

I smiled. ‘Absolutely. Look, you don’t have to do this, you know.’

‘I know. But now I know you weren’t hallucinating, I’m actually quite excited about the whole thing.’ She nudged me with her shoulder. ‘It’s like something out of a chick-flick, isn’t it? The handsome stranger, the sudden meeting, the kiss that should be accompanied by a Randy Newman score …’

‘Apart from the fact that we have no idea where the leading man is,’ I reminded her, thrilled by the analogy nevertheless.

‘Pah, details. So where next?’

I gazed down the slope of stalls towards a beer bar with strange rotating wooden slats and large polar bear on top. ‘There was a toy stall down that way – that’s what I collided with.’

‘Excellent. And seeing as you more or less demolished the stall, you should be easy to remember.’

Wren has such a way with words sometimes …

I could feel a cold sweat beading around my neck under my scarf as we headed towards the site of yesterday’s second-most mortifying moment. My right arm and shoulder still burned from their sudden meeting with the wooden stall frontage and my cheeks were burning now, too. How had I managed to lose my carefully constructed sense of self-dignity twice in one day, in such spectacular fashion? Inevitably, my thoughts strayed to the first such instance and I felt my heart plummet as the memory of Charlie’s horrified expression returned. If Wren was correct in her assertion that my preoccupation with the handsome stranger was a diversionary tactic to stop me thinking about Charlie, then it wasn’t working very well. Angrily, I shook his face from my mind and turned my attention to the task at hand.

The toy stall was further down New Street than I remembered and I was surprised to see how far the stranger had walked to reach me in the craft market. He must have really wanted to find me. This thought thrilled me. Surely it proved that he was somebody special, that he saw something in me worth chasing after?

When the jumbled pile of plush toys and hand puppets came into view, I braced myself for the abuse bound to flow from the portly male stallholder, but was surprised to see a lanky, bespectacled youth manning the stall instead.

‘I can help you, yes?’ he asked in a broad German accent, his adolescent eyes drinking in every detail of my best friend as she flashed him her brightest smile.

‘I hope so,’ she purred, all wide eyes and batting lashes. Even wrapped up in her multicoloured patchwork coat and long black pashmina scarf with its glinting silver sequins, the effect this had on her quarry was considerable. I resisted the urge to laugh, marvelling at Wren’s impressive attention-commanding skills. ‘I wonder if you remember my friend?’

The lanky boy’s greasy brows lifted as he surveyed me, clearly congratulating himself at his obvious irresistibility to English women. ‘For sure I would like to remember you,’ he replied, giving me what he judged to be a devastating look.

‘No, you don’t understand. My friend knocked over your toys yesterday.’ Wren pointed animatedly at the drop-down display area.

‘Oh, I heard that, ja. But I was not here then: it was my brother. He said toys were everywhere.’

Wren clapped her hands as I tried my best to ignore the creeping warmth flushing my face. ‘Brilliant! So did your brother tell you about the man who helped my friend to pick up the toys?’

The teenager’s expression muddied and then he nodded. ‘For sure. There was a guy who was the only one to help.’

Instantly, I forgot my embarrassment. ‘That’s it! Did he say what the man looked like?’

‘I dunno.’ He shrugged. ‘He just said a young man. That’s all I know.’

Wren nodded at me. ‘Right, I see. And when will your brother be back on the stall?’

‘Oh, he doesn’t work this stall. He’s one of the organisers here. He was just looking after it for the day.’ He winked at Wren and went in for the kill. ‘So, you want a beer with me after we close tonight? Birmingham is a beautiful city but a little lonely …’

‘It’s tempting, but I can’t, I’m afraid. Have to get my Christmas shopping done, you know how it is …’ She linked her arm through mine and we walked away, leaving the gawping German youth behind us. ‘OK, after that thrilling encounter I need a coffee.’

We made our way slowly through the crowds, pushing through the flow of people to the very coffee shop where I had made my devastating confession to Charlie. I was thankful that the large leather sofa at the back of the coffee shop was available so I didn’t have to sit by the window where everything had changed.

Wren arrived with two enormous cups of frothy cappuccino and two slabs of sticky chocolate cake. ‘Caffeine and sugar – just what you need!’ she announced, unwinding her long black scarf and removing her coat before sitting beside me. ‘So, he’s real, then.’

‘I told you he was real. At least now you believe me.’

‘I do. Actually, I’m starting to think that maybe he might not be a psycho after all.’

‘Well, thank you. What changed your mind?’

Wren leaned back, her elfin frame almost disappearing into the sofa altogether. ‘I was thinking about it as we were retracing your steps: he was the only one to help you put the toy display back together and even when you said you were fine he still followed you to make sure. If he was some idiot after a cheap thrill, I doubt he’d have been so committed. And he was obviously memorable enough for the ladies at the bauble stall to remember him – albeit vaguely. I just can’t work out why he didn’t stick around.’