Lines We Forget ✔ *Now Published!*

Chapter One (Excerpt only)

Chapter One

Charlie

October 9th 2008

Hitting the high note at the end of another classic, just one of many from his stunning yet predictable repertoire,Charlie hears the familiar sound of coins fall at his feet.

On a piece of tatty fabric in his guitar case, two bronze coins nestle between their silver counterparts, with the promise that he can at least cash in and get a pint at the end of the evening rush. That the last two hours spent singing his heart out haven't been completely for nothing.

Charlie particularly likes to stand outside the city's busiest Tube station during what is known as 'the rush hour crush', when all the commuters file up the stairs out into the cold. Thursdays are best , of course, with the weekend finally in sight. The young professionals weary from their desks after the long hours seek out the many bars and pubs along the main high street. A few vodkas later, they'll stumble out and throw in their loose change. Some will even make requests and dance, so long as they haven't drunk away the ability to balance.

Often Charlie, glad in an old tweed blazer and woolly hat, will throw in a few crowd-pleasing favourites at no extra charge. He's lost track of how many times drunk girls have begged for him to play something by a Top Forty Pop Princess, tottering up close in their heels to ask for a picture or two, because apparently he looks cute or hot, like someone vaguely famous, the word boy band often slipping from their lips.

He's collected a surprising amount of girl's numbers amongst all the coins, scrawled in eyeliner onto napkins and Rizla papers. Unfortunately the vodka and expensive city cocktails have a way of erasing or missing out the important digits, making them essentially useless.

Those that aren't get stuffed into the zip pocket of his case, left to gather dust. Occasional reminders of what-ifs and what could have possibly been. And it's not that Charlie doesn't find them flattering, it's just that thos handing them over are way out of his league, and almost always tipsy or spurred on by giggling friends to do something daring.

Still, even when admirers aren't in supply he'll carry on. Leaving the cramped flat he shares with a crazy bearded Brazilian Barista and his equally fiery girlfriend, who can't stand his guitar playing, and who has tried to get him kicked out more times than he can count. It's part of the reason why he likes to get away, escape the drama that living with a couple brings, and practice his craft without being told to be quiet or keep the noise down.

However, on windy evenings or when the rain continuously pours, as it so often does, it is difficult to maintain enthusiasm while busking out in the streets. There are only so many soggy trodden-in newspapers and wheel arch soakings Charlie can take until it's time to move on to a new spot or grab a cheap sandwich and head home.

Just like the Thursday where he almost caves into the cold, bitter chill to call it a day. Between the suited, booted bankers and fashionable elite from the PR and Marketing worlds, Charlie gets caught in another downpour, enduring the coffee split over him and in his guitar case. He thinks it might be a sign, that it's time to move on from the rush hour crush and wet misery.

That's until he sees her—a girl, standing outside the swanky bar known for its VIP clientele: city boys and their friends, the entrepreneurs and trust fund kids with double-barrel surnames.

He notices her scarf first, adorned in colourful polka dots that cover most of her shoulders, and then the chain store branded coffee cup she clutches tight in her hands. Even from across the road he can see the glow of her rosy cheeks and the way she grits her teeth as the wind barrels down the high street, shaking all the hanging shop signs in quick succession.