may 2003
Charlie cupped his hands around his cigarette to light it, the sea breeze threatening to put the flame out before it could catch. Not a single pub in Portree had a bench out front to sit with a pint, let alone a proper beer garden (well, there had been one but it was a fucking dive even by Charlie’s standards), so the Englishman had found a spot down at the harbour and sat, waiting.
He was here under a few assumptions: the first, that his message had made it to Alannah (their kit man had been a Banshee fan, so he had that in his favour); the second, that she was actually going to meet him (there had been no way of getting a response to his offer); and the third, that she’d be able to find him (“bench by the harbour†was hardly a firm address). This was
definitely starting to veer too close to dating, but he was beginning not to care. Kate’s meltdown had perhaps had the opposite of her intended effect; he’d found himself thinking about Alannah
more -- had even bothered to
ask if he could watch her next game rather than just turn up. He was wary of attracting too much attention -- which was nothing to do with Kate (“gallivantingâ€) and only him being considerate of Alannah’s reputation, and her career.
Charlie shoved one hand in his jacket pocket, and used the other to take his cigarette from his lips for a breath. He had already drawn a few pointed glares in his brief time in the town (and not that he was a geography expert, but this was more of a slightly overpopulated village than a
town) and had quickly learnt to keep his mouth shut and try to blend in, as much as one could in a remote fishing village wearing a leather jacket. He was behind enemy lines, so to speak. Charlie wondered if every Scottish ‘town’ was this depressing; the painted houses along the harbour were pretty in that stereotypical seaside-y way, and he was used to not having sprawling gardens now that he lived in London, but this place had somehow managed to make itself more grey and bleak than New York and it was a thousandth of the size.
A loud noise behind his left ear was accompanied by a forceful hand on each of his shoulders. “Fuck--†he swore suddenly, dropping his cigarette from his lips and then fumbling to brush it off of his lap before it did any damage. Charlie turned his head to look at the source of his surprise and found Alannah laughing at him. He breathed out deeply and got to his feet, stamping on the cigarette butt. “‘Hello’ to you too,†he said snarkily, realising quickly that he should have anticipated a sneak attack from the same woman who’d had him vaulting over turnstyles, tackling her to the ground, and licking ice cream off his chin.
For the second time, Charlie didn’t know how to greet her properly. They weren’t at the kiss-on-arrival stage yet, and a hug seemed too
friendly (in the bad way), so he settled on smirking at her instead as he fished some mints out of his pocket. He had seen her less than an hour ago, flying past at breakneck speed, but he found himself staring all the same. “Good game?†he asked casually, popping a mint into his mouth.
@Alannah Dupont
