This Could Change Everything(3)
‘Take the apples as well.’ Zillah smiled as she handed them over. ‘They’re yours.’
That evening, back home in Bath, she addressed an envelope to Ben, slipped a ten-pound note inside and added a brief note saying: I enjoyed meeting you!
An hour later, having looked at Bristol Zoo’s website and purchased online a year’s membership in his name, she printed off the confirmation and added it to the contents of the envelope.
Then she sealed the envelope and poured herself an ice-cold gin and tonic, raising it by way of silent celebration.
Would he use the membership?
Would he sell it for a bit of ready cash?
Who knew? She certainly didn’t.
Ah well, here’s to Ben, the inept apple thief. Cheers!
Chapter 2
It was five o’clock and the Christmas lights were on, illuminating the busy shopping street below, whilst flakes of snow tumbled from an ink-black sky. Through the third-floor window of Georgian building, Conor McCauley gazed down at Bath’s bustling shoppers, took in the festive atmosphere and listened to the distant sound of Mariah Carey singing about all she wanted for Christmas. Closer to hand, he could also hear the strains of a violin being played. The music was familiar and hauntingly melodic, and he pushed open the heavy sash window in order to be able to hear it more clearly.
There was the violinist, tall and long-haired, standing in the centre of the street that had been closed to traffic for the evening. As he played, the folds of his full-length Sirius Black style coat swayed around his thin denim-clad legs. There was a hat on the ground in front of him, containing a handful of coins. Few people were stopping to listen – they were too busy and too cold – but he carried on anyway, his bow darting and dipping as he played, lost in the beauty of the music . . .
The next moment Conor did a double-take, because the violinist was no longer alone. A girl had appeared from nowhere and launched into a series of ballet steps that caused his breath to catch in his throat. She was wearing a white bobble hat, a Puffa jacket and jeans, and a long knitted scarf that swung out as she spun and danced and leapt like a gazelle into the air. Her feet were enclosed in plain white trainers but that didn’t hold her back. He glimpsed the girl’s broad smile as she raised her arms, freestyled elegantly once more around the violinist like a will-o’-the-wisp, then executed a graceful leap into the air followed by a stunningly beautiful series of pirouettes.
Within two minutes, it was over. Despite the falling snow, a group of around thirty people had stopped to watch. They broke into enthusiastic applause and threw money into the violinist’s hat. Aware of the pound coins in his own jeans pocket, Conor was tempted to throw them down too, but maybe not; if he hit someone on the head he might kill them stone dead.
Which wouldn’t be a good look.
As he continued to watch, entranced by the unexpectedness and the charm of the impromptu scenario, the girl in the white bobble hat briefly waved her gloved fingers at the violinist before retrieving the bag of shopping she’d left at the kerbside and melting away into the crowd of Christmas shoppers, who’d been oblivious to the display.
For a moment all Conor wanted to do was race downstairs and chase after the disappearing girl. He longed to tell her how delightful her brief performance had been, and to find out who she was and what had made her do it. If this were one of those romantic films girls were often so crazy about, it would be a matter of love at first sight; their snowy chance encounter in the street would change their lives forever and lead to—
The door behind him opened and a middle-aged woman carrying a camera and a mince pie appeared in the room.
‘Sorry to keep you, dear – Arthur couldn’t remember where he’d put it! His memory’s not what it used to be, bless him. Still, at least he still knows how to repair broken cameras. There you go, all fixed now. And he says you must have a mince pie to make up for having to wait so long.’
By the time Conor had paid and left the tiny workshop on the third floor of the building, the girl in the white bobble hat was long gone, and the long-haired violinist had departed too. Even the snow had stopped falling.
It was like Brigadoon, as if the entire magical scenario he’d witnessed had never existed.
Unaccountably disappointed, Conor did the only thing he could do and took a consolatory bite of his mince pie.
Oh well.
Chapter 3
‘Oh Essie, will you look at this place? It’s like you’re an actual proper grown-up now!’
‘I know. Isn’t it weird?’ Essie still marvelled at the ways in which her life had changed in the last twelve months. At twenty-five, she and Scarlett had been sharing a shabby, cluttered flat with lavish amounts of mould on the ceilings, posters covering the cracks in the walls, noisy neighbours above and below, and the kind of furniture that looked as if it had been stolen from a skip. Which, knowing their landlord, was most likely where it had come from.
Then she’d met Paul, almost exactly a year ago, and by some miracle he’d liked her as much as she’d liked him. Better still, after eleven months together, the grasping landlord had announced that he was raising the rent and Paul had said, ‘For that dump? What a nerve he has. Tell him to get lost.’
‘Great idea,’ Essie had jokingly replied. ‘I’ll do that, and move into a five-star hotel instead.’