Snow Garden by Rachel Joyce Page A

his mouth pointed towards her ear and lifted a small lock of her hair so that he could speak to her and be heard. The boldness of the gesture sent prickles of electricity shooting down the length of her neck. Maureen held her breath as if to stop time.
    His voice touched her ear, surprisingly soft and close. It was as though he had actually slipped inside her head and was speaking to her from her bones. ‘You could always be my wife,’ he said.
    Did he? Did he say that? He moved aside and gazed down at her, waiting for her reply, his face serious to show that whatever it was he had just said, he meant it. Or was it, ‘You could always give me a light’? Was that what he had said?
    She studied his face, searching for clues, and all she could see was the deep blue of his eyes. He did not stop gazing down at her. Clearly he needed his answer. In her embarrassment she felt her skin stain with heat, and before she could do anything about it a cry of laughter shot from her mouth. It wasn’t funny, it wasn’t at all funny, but now that she had started, she really couldn’t stop. And all the time she laughed, he watched, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth, as though he were both intrigued and delighted that he had done this, that he had made her laugh so suddenly and uncontrollably. She had no idea if he had asked her to marry him or had asked for a light, and so she said the first thing that came into her head.
    ‘You’d better buy me a drink first.’
    She had never said that to a boy before. It was the sort of thing Patty Driscoll and the other girls would say.
    Now it was the boy’s turn to laugh, and as he did, little tucks and creases flew from his eyes towards his cheeks. Then he shrugged his shoulders and walked away.
    She watched him waiting his turn at the bar. He didn’t look back and it gave her a proper opportunity to take in his height, his hair combed into a quiff, his coat that stopped short of his wrists and knees and was too small. Perhaps it wasn’t even his. She had never seen anyone so complete and so alone, and it made her laugh just to keep watching. Then the woman behind the bar must have asked what he wanted because she nodded and went to fetch his order. The woman laughed when she came back to him with two drinks. It seemed to be an effect he had.
    He pushed his way towards Maureen, holding out two plastic cups. When he saw her waiting, she could tell he was moved, that he had believed she would go and was both relieved and touched that he was wrong. He smiled in a shy way, as if he couldn’t quite face her, and she smiled too to show him not to be afraid. They touched their plastic cups carefully. The drink was clear; she guessed it must be gin. She didn’t want gin but she wanted to accept his kindness so she took a gulp of breath and stopped her nose. She decided to empty the cup in one go and get it over and done with.
    It was tap water.
    Maureen smiled, more deeply this time, as if she knew the boy and he knew her. ‘Thank you,’ she said, projecting her voice clearly above the music so that he could be in no doubt.
    ‘That’s OK.’ He lifted his cup to his mouth and knocked it back. Afterwards he wiped his mouth with the side of his hand. ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘Maureen.’
    ‘Maureen.’ He said it again, ‘Maureen,’ as if he were trying to get the taste of the word. Maureen had a feeling that he wanted to stay and tell her something else and she wanted the same, and yet there was nothing else to say and so they looked at the dance floor.
    In the far corner Maybe-Howard was approaching a girl in coral. He gave a little bow as he offered his hand and then he turned the colour of her dress while he waited for her to answer. She shook her head but the girls around her pushed her forward so that she landed against him, then he in turn pushed her away as if overwhelmed.
    It was almost the end of the evening. Maureen had no idea how it had passed so quickly. The singer