“I’ll see.”
“We both know that means no.” The lift dinged, and the doors parted. Ed stepped out. “This is me. Think about it, Harvey.”
As much as I tried to put the thought out of my head on the way to my floor, I conceded I should at least make some sort of effort. What was the alternative?
Another night spent alone, eating microwave meals, was never a good thing.
I arrived at my pod, my headset dangling from the monitor. I hung my coat, filled my coffee cup, and sat at the desk ready to start. Within thirty seconds, my phone rang. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and answered.
“Good morning. This is Harvey. How may I help you?”
The morning dragged, and by lunchtime, I was ready to call it quits. I sat in silence in the break room, my head in my phone, nibbling on a packet of stale crackers I’d found in the cupboard at home. At least I had cake to look forward to.
Just my fucking luck, the cake was carrot, but I ate the proffered slice, anyway. It would have been rude not to. I liked cake as much as the next person, but chocolate was my favourite by far.
The afternoon passed no quicker than the morning, and I couldn’t wait to get home, so I was as surprised as they were to find myself sitting between Ed and Sally from accounts in the pub local to work, my backpack firmly ensconced on my lap, with a cold glass of orange juice on the table in front of me.
“Are we having fun yet?” Ed took my bag and dumped it on the seat next to him before I could stop him. “Take your coat off. Loosen up, have some fun.”
I pulled the sleeves down over my hands. I wasn’t losing the jacket.
“It’s karaoke soon,” Sally said. “Will you sing with me?”
Did I seem the type of person to sing on a stage? I spoke to hardly anyone at the office. “I think I’ll pass.”
How soon until I could make my excuses and go home?
“Well, Killian will be up soon. He’s got such a lovely voice. He sings every week.”
“Sally here has a crush on Killian. Watch her face when he gets up,” Ed whispered in my ear.
I didn’t have to wait long, as soon enough, Killian stepped onto the stage, a guitar slung across his back.
I could see the attraction. He must have been around six foot two, with brown curly hair tied in a man bun, tendrils of hair framing his face. He wore ripped, dirty jeans, a white T-shirt that had seen better days, and a pair of scuffed brown lace-up boots, fashionably unlaced. Rings adorned his fingers, and strands of leather and coloured string bound his wrists. A chunky wooden medallion hung around his neck.
Sally shifted next to me, her breathing noticeably quicker.
He sat on a stool, one foot on the floor, the other resting on the rung, his guitar now in front of him.
Sally wasn’t the only one enamoured with his appearance. I couldn’t tear my eyes away and hoped no one noticed how he’d drawn my attention. He strummed the guitar, twiddling the pegs until he was happy with the result.
The room darkened and fell silent, and lit only by a single spotlight, he played the unmistakable first bars ofBreakeven. I wasn’t a huge fan of music, but The Script was a band my parents had played.
I remembered them dancing in the lounge as I’d peer through the bannisters when they thought I was in bed.
I was thirteen, maybe fourteen. Where most boys that age would have rolled their eyes and scooted off to their room, watching them dance and seeing the love they had for each other shining like a beacon in the night, I hoped that one day, I’d find someone to look at me the way they looked at each other.
Dad would sing to her as they twirled together, and she’d laugh before falling into his arms, her face flushed. But the minute their lips met, I’d sneak back to bed, not wishing to intrude on such a private, intimate moment.
Ed’s elbow in my ribs brought me back to the present, and Killian’s voice, as gentle as a warm summer breeze, filled the room.
In the words of the song, I was alive but barely breathing. How could his words affect me this way?
But it wasn’t the words. It was his voice, gravelly yet smooth, that drew me in and made me forget everything but the sight and sound of him.
The song finished, and it was all I could do not to jump to my feet and clap like a lunatic, but I held my breath, trying to slow my pounding heart.
“I told you he was good.” Sally faced me, tears in her eyes, her hand on her chest.