Emerging

The harsh wind stung Charlie's face as she emerged from the tube
station onto the grey north London street. Coal-black dust stained her
snow white tissue as she sneezed loudly and blew her nose. A nice
reminder of her journey from hell, she thought to herself. Narrowly
avoiding a drunk sprawled out across the pavement, she trudged towards
her poky bedsit.

Jealousy hit Charlie slap, bang in the face as she watched a couple
emerge arm in arm from the cosy Italian restaurant on the High Street.
She grimaced as they shared a private joke and cuddled closer. Couples,
they were everywhere. On the tube, in bars, in the supermarket.
Everywhere. Where there any single people left in the world. Even her
best friend Jemma was ensconced in a blissfully happy relationship with
her childhood sweetheart. Yuck yuck yuck.

As she opened the door to her room she thought about him for the
millionth time that day.

She'd seen him again today. Him, no name, just him. This time he smiled
as she leaped on to the carriage just as the doors were closing. "Hi,"
he smiled, blue eyes glistening with what? Lust? Sympathy?
Amusement?

"Hello," she mumbled as she jostled for space between a grey-suited man
and a sour-faced woman reading the Financial Times. Damn, she wished
she'd worn a little more make-up and that designer top she had paid an
arm and a leg for. That top was made for occasions like this. She could
feel him staring at the back of her head as she tried desperately to
hide the hot red blush creeping across her cheeks. Sneaking a glance
she noticed that he was wearing that white shirt he always looked so
good in.

Charing Cross, Leicester Square, Tottenham Court Road; the stations
rattled through the crowded stations as more and more tube-weary
commuters squeezed on to the already heaving tube train. "What a great
way to end the day," Charlie thought as she was squashed in a corner by
the door. Vision blocked by the woman reading the FT she pulled out her
novel and tried to read. I say tried because her mind was definitely
elsewhere.

By the time the train pulled into her station, he'd gone. It was like
that everyday. Somewhere on the Northern Line he just
disappeared.

Charlie had him all worked out. His designer jeans and 'just got out of
bed hair' ruled out a job in the City. No, she thought, he was a
creative type, the kind who worked for a really smart advertising
agency in a trendy part of London. You know, the kind which employed
beautiful, Prada-clad receptionists, had blonde-wood floor, chrome
fittings and Imac's in neon colours. He listened to Indie and Hip-Hop,
read the Guardian (she'd seen him scouring Monday's media pages) and
NME and smiled like an angel. Like an angel.

And Charlie. Well, Charlie worked in an office full of gossipy women
who spent their lunch hours in manicure parlours and liked nothing more
than to boast about their latest purchases from Joseph, and Harvey
Nics.

Super Public Relations. Hair and Beauty specialists. Established by a
bored socialite Amanda Snooty-Smythe and run by a bunch of her equally
bored and dim buddies. They despised Charlie and did everything they
could to make her life miserable. "Charlie, be a darling and fetch me a
lettuce sandwich, no butter," "Charlie honey send this 30 page fax to
Simon Plunkett-Burke for me," Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

Her only escape was him. She fantasised about the day he asked her out
for a drink. About the day she showed him off to all the socialites at
Super Public Relations and about the day they strolled hand in hand
down the high street, turning heads and bringing out the green-eyed
monster in every girl.

This was how she got through her day, dreaming and imagining about how
her life could change. In a second. If only he would talk to her. Of
course things like that only happened in films or novels and to girls
that looked like Gywneth Paltrow. They didn't happen in real life and
certainly not to girls like Charlie.

As she made her way through the crowds of tourists milling around the
banks of the Thames Charlie decided. This would be the day. The day she
said more than just hello. This was the day her life would change. No
more nights in with only EastEnders for company and no more drinking
wine on her own out of a chipped mug. It was time to make the dream a
reality. Or at least have a bloody good stab at it.

As she made her way into the tube station, Charlie wondered if he ever
thought about her. Had he made up an elaborate life for her too? Did he
sit at work dreaming about the girl on the tube?

She almost walked into the throng of frustrated commuters crowding
around a flustered London Underground employee, his blue hat resting
precariously on his sweating head. "What do you mean trains are
suspended? I need to get home!" shouted a woman in a power suit.
"Bloody London Underground, you pay a fortune for your ticket and what
do you get? Shoddy service," exclaimed another irate passenger.

"I'm sorry Sir but as I explained there is a security alert at
Leicester Square and Northern line trains and suspended until further
notice. There are buses departing from Trafalgar Square every five
minutes. London Underground is sorry for any inconvenience
caused."

"Oh no," thought Charlie, "what do I do now?" Shoved aside by the
power-suited woman she thought about the long and crowded bus journey
ahead of her. And her missed opportunity. Was this fate? Perhaps she
was never destined to talk to him.

As she climbed up the stairs to the surface, Charlie decided to wait
for a while just in case the station re-opened. Spying a cafe with red
and white checked tablecloths and an inviting glow she decided to go in
for a coffee.

The door creaked open and the smell of fresh coffee wafted out.
Charlie's stomach rumbled as the smell of freshly-baked croissants hit
her. Finding an unoccupied table by the window, she rummaged in her bag
for the novel she had almost finished. "What can I get for you dear?"
smiled an elderly Italian woman, black hair pulled into a tight bun at
the nape of her neck. "Oh, just a cappuccino please. No make that a
cappuccino and a croissant," she smiled back.

Charlie watched as the old woman walked back to the counter and gave
her order to an old man wearing an Italian football shirt. She smiled
to herself as the man leaned over and gave the woman an affectionate
kiss on the cheek.

An elderly man read a newspaper at the next table. Looking up he winked
at Charlie. "Waiting for your boyfriend love. I hope he's not going to
keep a pretty girl like you waiting." Fat chance thought Charlie as she
removed the dog-eared bookmark from the page.

As she sipped her cappuccino and read her book she failed to spot the
man wearing a white shirt slip into the cafe and scan the room for a
spare table. She didn't see him smile at the sight of the pretty
brunette sitting by the window.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" asked a deep voice. "No, go ahead,"
Charlie replied slightly irritated at the thought of someone disturbing
her quiet time. "Good book?"

"Mmmm, yeah not bad," she replied. Couldn't this guy take a hint?

"I see you've almost finished it." Jeez this guy was a pain.

"Yes," she snapped looking up sharply.

Smiling blue eyes met her gaze. "Hello again," he grinned. "I think
it's about time we introduced ourselves. I see you everyday on the tube
and I've never had the guts to say anything. This must be fate."

"Charlie my name's Charlie."

"Matt. Pleased to meet you Charlie."

Fate, it's a funny thing isn't it?

The End