The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters(81)

‘I’m a stupid little girl,’ she muttered. ‘Dad’s going to kill me.’

A clattering dustbin lid somewhere behind her brought more immediate danger to mind. She glanced around, looking for somewhere to hide. Several pairs of running feet were approaching, but she was too far out in the open to make it to an alleyway before whoever was coming reached her.

‘Shit,’ she muttered, spinning around, assessing her options. A friend of hers had been raped and murdered just a few streets from her house. London was so dangerous that even in her up-market part of town the schools had armed guards. At nineteen she was unemployed, but hopeful of getting a lower office position in her father’s government office so she could ride the same armoured transport to work and avoid the dangerous streets.

She heard the crash of breaking glass, and the whump of a fire igniting. It was another rampant mob, protesting their frustration at the government in the only way they knew how: by causing wholesale destruction.

The only options were to run or to hide. She started to walk through the closed up market stalls, only to hear shuffling footsteps coming from up ahead. Perhaps this was an organized gang fight, two groups meeting in the closed up market to settle old scores, or simply to take their anger out on other people. Father always condemned them, but the cause of all the unrest depended on who you listened to. Father blamed the people of course, while the people blamed the government.

As the footsteps were joined by others, she darted to the nearest market stall, dropped to the ground and crawled under the tight awning into the dark space beneath. If they searched for her they would find her, or if they torched the waxed canvas awnings that covered the closed stalls she would burn with it, but she had no other

choice.

In the near pitch darkness she lay there, heart pounding, tears running down her cheeks, as the sounds of a riot filled the air around her.

As she heard the whump of a stall igniting not far away, she put a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. She was such a stupid, stupid girl. She should never have left the house. Running off to find a boy was the most ridiculously hair-brained reason to go out on to London’s dangerous streets at night, but of course she knew that now.

‘It was a dream,’ she whispered, wishing now she could through all the stupid romance books in her bedroom into one of these riot fires. As a whistling sound came from beside her, she wondered if it wouldn’t be quicker to just step out from under the awning, put herself at the mercy of the mob, close her eyes and give up.

‘Shhh…’

Jessica jerked her head around as the sound came again. Someone was lying in the dark a few feet away. She tried to shuffle backwards but found only the wooden side of the market stall at her back.

‘They’ll hear you. Then we’ll both be dead. Just stay quiet and they’ll pass.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Simon.’

She stared at him, but it was too dark to make out anything other than a silhouette.

‘What are you doing under here?’ she whispered.

He made a sound that could have been a wry laugh. I think I live here now.’ He pushed something towards her. ‘Here.’

It was a sweatshirt, folded up into a ball like a pillow. She put it under her head and lay facing him, the cold tarmac of Camden High Street beneath her. ‘You’re him, aren’t you?’

‘Who?’

‘The boy who asked me for the time.’

‘Yesterday?’

‘Yes.’

She thought she saw the silhouette nod. ‘Yes.’

Jessica’s heart seemed to swell out of her chest. ‘You’re him.’

‘You just said that.’

‘I know.’ Her lips worked, searching for words. This was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? To find him. Yet here she was, in the most unlikely of situations, unable to think of anything to say.

‘You didn’t know,’ he whispered.

‘What?’

‘You didn’t know the time. You didn’t have a watch.’ He chuckled. ‘I had to guess.’

‘Why didn’t you ask someone else?’

‘I didn’t want to.’

Her cheeks flushed. ‘Why did you need to know? Like anyone ever cares what time it is anymore.’

‘I just wondered. I wondered what you’d say. Whether you’d look me in the eyes, whether you’d smile. I just … wondered.’

‘Why did you wonder?’ she whispered back, feeling weird and awkward, but at the same time almost euphoric.

‘Because … in your eyes … there was something that I haven’t seen for a long

time.’

‘What?’

‘Hope.’

‘Hope?’

‘I wanted to talk to a girl who had hope, and I wanted to know why she had hope in her eyes.’

‘Because things can always get better, right?’

‘Right.’ Simon moved a little closer. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Oh. Um, Jessica. Jessica Woods. But you can call me Jess.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Jess.’

‘And you too. Why are you really under here, Simon?’

He sighed. ‘My father got arrested, and then a gang took over my flat. The usual kind of thing. Not like it doesn’t happen every day, does it?’