The man who would later become the love of my life stood at the centre of the stage.
He looked about my age, maybe a little older, and he cradled a guitar in his arms. A sudden hush fell over the crowd. Then he plucked a chord and began to sing.
I'd like to be clear about something: I grew up in a household with no music, if you exclude the eerie background music Mum plays on her phone during Sect Evenings. And I can barely mumble my way through a song; I'm so tone-deaf it's almost a talent of sorts.
But despite this, or maybe just because of it, I knew that he was good. Not just good. Exceptionally so.
I listened to him, and something inside my chest ached. His voice was deep, and dark, and rippled through the air like silk underwater. It felt like honey in my bones.
I wouldn't have been able to tell you what the song was about, nor what the singer looked like. I didn't notice, not really.
Not then.
Not yet.
At the moment he was only a voice, bodiless, weightless ...
I looked back at the glaring woman waiting for her drink.
"Right," I croaked out, trying to dislodge the huge lump that had formed in my throat. "Here's your rum and coke, madam."
*
"You like those guys, Rae?" Ben Davies asked.
"Who?" I said, even though I knew perfectly well who he meant.
The music had shifted into a pounding rhythm, a heady drum-and-bass thud that reverberated off the walls and echoed in my chest. And over the music, he was singing. The throng of people below the stage had gone wild, cheering and clapping above their heads and stamping their feet to the beat.
Turns out tone-deaf me wasn't immune to the music either. Grinning, I grabbed Vanessas wrist and twirled her around.
She let out a startled squeal, then yelled into my ear: "They're called Mandrake. The band. They came last Friday, when you were ill. Shit, you should've seen it. People went mental."
Ben turned halfway around and darted a disparaging look over his shoulder.
"Can't see what's so special about them," he muttered. "Weird sort of vegetable name they've given themselves."
There was something of the vegetable about Ben Davies himself. He looked like an anaemic stick of celery. He had a beige smile and a beige face and wore exquisitely tasteful beige clothes.
There was nothing particularly awful about him. There was nothing particularly interesting about him either. He was merely a background sort of person, utterly unmemorable.
"And that singer bloke seems rather full of himself, don't you think?" said Ben.
Vanessa giggled, vicious as a hyena. "I'd kill for a taste of him. Eh, Rae?"
"Er."
"Oops, I forgot you two were an item now."
I heard Ben say: "Maybe", at the same time I declared, "We're not."
A small silence followed. Talk about awkward.
Ben inclined his head. "Rae's right. We're just getting to know each other. We've no rush. No rush. I'm going to get some air, ladies. Call me if you need anything."
With a sigh, Vanessa watched him leave. "He's the perfect match for you, Rae. And I'm not just saying so because he's my friend, mind. Give him a chance, go on."
I rolled my eyes. "We've only been out on a few dates, queen matchmaker. It's early days. Besides, I haven't quite made up my mind yet."
"Why not? Look, he's rich, he's polite. Such a gentleman, too."
And he bores me to death. He bores me to death with his lectures and his careful politeness.
"I don't know, V. Hey, which song are they playing now?"
The diversion tactic worked, much to my relief. My friend and I craned our heads to the side and stared out at the stage.
I looked at the singer, properly this time. He wore a black leather jacket and a glowing, effortless confidence. Then the tempo of the song changed again, and so did his voice. It became raw, ruthless. Rougher. A chorus of deafening female squeals rang out, a shrill counterpart to his bass.
"He's something else, isn't he?" Vanessa said.
She was bright red in the face, something I suspected was mirrored in my own. I nodded, unable to keep the grin off my lips.
He was strutting around the stage, mike in hand, feet nimble, this man with the dark-gold voice, the lights reflected on the black leather. He was smiling. Slyly, slowly. The sweat on his face glistened. His whole body responded to the music. Arched, twisted, rolled. I watched the curving red flesh of his mouth as he sang about trouble, and something roared awake inside of me.
I could have eaten him alive.
*
"What time are you done?" Ben asked, elbows on the bar.
I sat down on the stool and wiped another glass dry. My feet were hurting. Trust me when I say that waitressing isnt for sissies.
"In an hour, more or less. At one, at any rate."
"Great," Ben said, and he put his hand on my arm. "Hey, do you want me to help you with that?"
"It's okay, thanks."
"Here, let me."
"No, really, I –"
He slipped behind the bar and cut me off. "I don't mind in the slightest."
I felt a sudden, guilt-ridden flicker of annoyance. I told myself, sternly, not to be ungrateful: Ben was a kind person, and he had my best interests at heart. Well, at least I thought he did. It wasn't his fault if he got carried away sometimes.
"The sooner we get this done and over with, the sooner we can go get a drink," he said. "And we could go out for lunch tomorrow. Anywhere you fancy. My treat."
We worked in semi-comfortable silence for some time, before Ben spotted someone in the flurry of people jostling past the bar. His face lit up.
"I've seen an old mate over there, Rae. I'll be right back."
"No problem."
It was as Ben was wandering off that I saw him.
He was sauntering forward, hands in pockets, shoulders back. He winked at the yelling people in the crowd, at the gaggles of girls that tugged at his sleeve. But he kept on walking. Towards the bar, I realised with a sudden jolt, and my heart started to bang in my ribcage.
Towards me.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
Why the nerves? Think a guy like that will so much as glance at you? a little voice said in my head, and I knew I was being stupid and tried to hush it silent, but it whispered on, taunting. I called the voice in my head Lisa, and she drove me mad. He'll sneer at you and laugh at you and think you're –
"Good evening," the stranger said.
I noted with pleasure that his voice was just as deep and melodic as when he sang. His hair was very black. He towered over me, and I felt shorter and dumpier than ever. I wished I was one of those tall girls who oozed glamour and confidence and who didn't ever resemble a small, scared mouse.
I looked up at him, struggling to compose a nonchalant expression on my face.
"Um. H-hi," I mumbled.
Bang bang bang.
Why oh why hadn't I bothered to wash my hair this morning? And was my stupid scar properly covered? Had I put enough concealer on it? Wasn't it ever going to fade away? Or was I condemned to a life where I'd always look like a freak?
Get a grip, Rae, I told myself. I took a deep breath and plastered a smile on my face. Made myself look into his eyes.
Blue, so blue.
"What can I get you?" I asked him.
"Whiskey and soda, please," the man in the black leather jacket said.
"Just a mo." I was breathless, as though I'd been running a mile. "Here you go."
"Great," he said, delving into the pockets of his jacket. He pulled out a note.
Spurred on by a sudden outpour of courage, I blurted out: "Y-you were brilliant. Up there, I mean. I loved it. Um."
He smiled at me then. He could have stolen hearts, priceless time off people or luxury jewellery with that smile.
He'd tell me one day he used it for all three, actually.
"Thanks," the young man said. "I appreciate it."
Then he paused and looked at me. I felt myself flushing to the roots of my hair. And I'll have you know that flushing and being redheaded isn't exactly a good combination.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Er, Rae."
"Rae," the singer repeated. My name was dark velvet in his voice. "Beautiful name. Have a good night, Rae."
And, with a nod at me, he disappeared into the crowd. I was left simpering after him like an idiot.
Only then did I realise something: he hadn't told me his name.
Oh well. As if that mattered, really. I didn't suppose I'd be seeing him again; Anker's was particular about having different bands over so it didn't get stuck in a rut. Hardly any of them stayed for longer than a fortnight.
Even if I did see him again, chances were he wouldn't so much as glance at me a second time. Why would he, after all, when he could have his pick of all the girls? Besides, I had the sneaky suspicion he was nothing but trouble, just like he sang in his voice of leather and night.
I was wrong about almost everything.