to do the same, and text her as soon as I was out of this madness and enough time had passed for there to be no chance she’d suggest giving the party another shot.
I struggled to my feet, cursing my stupid shoes and my stupid lack of balance and stupid Fabian Flatley and his stupid guest list, and waited for the tail-end of the march to pass me. A couple of people looked at me curiously but didn’t stop, for which I was quite grateful. And then someone did: a guy wearing a Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament T-shirt and camo trousers, with long brown hair and an array of piercings in his ears.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked, propping his placard against the wall next to mine. He smiled, and I realised he was seriously hot, with the kind of chiselled features that would be more at home on a movie star than a climate-change protester. ‘These events get emotional, don’t they? I was nearly crying, too, during the speeches in Parliament Square. I didn’t see you there. I’d have noticed, even in that crowd.’
I wasn’t sure whether that was a dig at my inappropriate attire or a compliment.
I sniffed and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. ‘That’s because I wasn’t there. I wasn’t meant to be here at all.’
‘How so?’
‘I was on my way to a party with my friend and we just kind of accidentally got caught up in it, and then I fell over because I’m wearing ridiculous shoes.’
He looked me up and down appraisingly. ‘Yes, you’re not exactly dressed for it, are you? I mean, you look lovely and everything, but…’
His lips twitched as he tried to suppress a smile, and I found myself giggling too. There was something about the way his teeth flashed in his tanned face and his eyes crinkled up at the corners that made me feel suddenly much, much better, like something good might come out of this disaster of a day after all. And I remembered the message from the app, saying that I might find love where I least expected.
‘I haven’t exactly got my protest-march A game on,’ I admitted.
‘I guess the party’s loss was the protest march’s gain.’
‘Not really. I mean, I wasn’t going to make much difference to global warming sitting on the pavement having a cry.’
‘Crying for climate change. That’s a new one on me.’
‘I guess it’s never going to catch on.’
We both laughed again. He had a great laugh, totally infectious.
‘Show’s over, now, anyway. Fancy a drink?’ he asked.
I felt a little leap of excitement. Could this be about to turn into an actual date? A date with a man I realised I properly fancied? Then I looked down at my scraped knees and torn dress, and realised that my make-up must be all smudged from crying.
‘I can’t, really. Not like this.’
I gestured to my grazed knees and he winced sympathetically. ‘I’d suggest going back to my place to get you cleaned up, but that’s in Bedford at the moment, and I’m not sure a two-hour train journey is worth it for a bit of Savlon.’
‘Probably not. Mine’s closer, so I should get home and sort myself out.’
‘Sure. Well, I guess I’ll see you around, if social justice is your thing.’ He half turned away, then turned back again, like he didn’t really want to leave.
I felt like I ought to wave goodbye and say I’d see him around too, even though I knew I wouldn’t. But there was a voice in my head practically jumping up and down waving its arms and saying, ‘No! Don’t! What if he’s The One that Got Away and you’re about to let him do just that?’
He was still standing there, looking down at me, and I was looking back. It was like there was a thread running between us that we were both about to break, despite not wanting to, because we didn’t know how not to. He held out his arms and I moved into them for a hug, and he held me close for a moment. I could feel his breath ruffling my hair and the heat of his body through his T-shirt, and I didn’t want him to let go.
‘Hey, what star sign are you?’ I asked, my voice muffled by his chest.
‘You normally ask random guys that question when you don’t even know their name?’
‘Hardly ever. I guess it must be something about you. I’m Zoë, by the way, and Aquarius.’