When Girls by Lauren March

Author:Lauren March [March, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-04-19T18:30:00+00:00

Charlotte met me by the door. She met everyone in fact, since one of her jobs at St. John’s is to hand out orders of service and smile welcomingly and make jokes such as, ‘Don’t worry, the heating’s on inside!’ It was indeed a cold night, not helped by the fact I felt somewhat in fancy dress. What have you come as, Laur? Myself in 2012.

Charlotte hugged me and told me I looked nice (not something she always said) and how pleased she was that I’d come. ‘Well, you came to watch me baseball often enough.’ I winked at her (BWiTLOM-like...now I was thinking of BWiTLOM) and instead of going through the next set of double doors I stood aside to wait for the trickle of incoming people to dry up.

‘Are you free for a drink after this?’ I asked.

Charlotte said, ‘How come?’

‘No reason. Just a catch up.’

‘Er, maybe? Just a snifter though, probably. Hey - how’d it go with that girl?’

I shook my head. Without any conscious thought I had also folded my arms, so I very deliberately unfolded them again in an effort to look unperturbed.

Charlotte read my face. ‘No go?’

‘Sadly no.’

‘Did she ever call, or...?’

I waited for a straggler to pass.

‘No, no call.’

‘Could have lost your number?’ Charlotte offered, grimacing at the pathetic unlikeliness of that situation.

‘She saved it in her phone, Chas,’ I said. ‘It’s fine. I maybe mistook her. She’s probably married with six kids. Anyway I’ll see you afterwards, OK?’

I sat on the left about eight rows from the front, which - being the über-heathen that I am - I knew provided the best view of the best looking woman in St. John’s choir. She had smooth brown hair and her mouth went lopsided when she sang, and for some vanishingly deep psychological reason I had the notion she was a social worker in real life. The choir all wore high-necked gowns and glided in in twos from a holding room off at the side so I never got to see this siren either side of the service. And asking Charlotte who she was would feel grubby at best, so I just sat and watched, and listened as best I could, and when I looked at the ceiling I pondered how it stayed up.

At anything church-y Charlotte has to hang around and do helpful things like chatting to the congregation and tidying up. But after all that she was mine. We walked round the corner and up the road a bit to Slab n’ Chunk, a diner-style bar we’d been to before.

‘Don’t you think this sounds like a wrestling move?’ I said, ‘‘Slab n’ Chunk’.’

Charlotte was leant low over her chocolate, cream and Amaretto-based cocktail, getting into it hard. She huffed a laugh.

‘How’s your week been, then?’ she asked.

‘Not too bad. Do you like what I’m wearing?’

She sat up a little and craned her neck to check me out. ‘Yeah. You look good.’ She took another sip of her drink. ‘I told you that earlier though, didn’t I?’

‘Yes and it was noted and appreciated.

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