Ivy Lane: Winter: by Cathy Bramley Page A

clutched my throat. I shut my eyes tight to banish the image.
    So that was that.
    I needed a drink.
    I pulled on my jeans, applied a layer of mascara, a slick of lipgloss and waved the hairdryer around until my hair was just dry enough not to give me pneumonia, and thirty minutes later I was marching to The Feathers.
    As pubs go, The Feathers was nothing special; it didn’t do food, or have a play area or tables on the pavement, it was simply a place to drink. Which meant that at this precise moment it was exactly where I wanted to be.
    Unfortunately, as soon as I pushed open the door I knew I’d made a mistake. The pub was packed, noisy and for a stay-at-home girl like me, totally intimidating.
    There was a live band playing on a raised stage at the far end. I didn’t recognize the song but whatever it was I didn’t like it and it was too loud. I spotted Freya with her friends near the stage. There were six girls, all in full-on party mode: the table was cluttered with empty glasses, they were animated and happy, flicking their hair back and giggling, and trying to catch the eyes of the group of men on the next table.
    I couldn’t do it. I didn’t belong here with them. Freya hadn’t noticed me, thankfully. A huge lump appeared in my throat and I turned around and walked out before tears gave me away.
    What on earth had I been thinking? It was one thing to make new friends and have a couple of drinks when you were on top form, but quite another to go out with the sole intention of drinking yourself to forget in the company of strangers. At least I had come to my senses before ending up in some dodgy club in Kingsfield, I thought as I stomped back along Shenton Road.
    I pulled my scarf up over my mouth and wrapped my collar tight around my throat against the icy winds and walked as fast as I could in the direction of home. The sooner I could get tonight over with the better. Tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow was December, in fact, almost Christmas. Perhaps I could go Christmas tree shopping?
    I was so busy debating the merits of a real tree versus an artificial one that I paid little attention to a fire engine that rumbled silently past.
    Its lights hadn’t been flashing I realized belatedly, which meant that it must be on its way back to the station. Whatever catastrophe had arisen in Kingsfield tonight, it had obviously been dealt with. Shame there wasn’t an emergency service for broken hearts . . .
    As I turned into Wellington Street the fire engine reappeared and pulled to a halt beside me with a hiss of brakes. A door opened and Charlie jumped out and slammed the door behind him. The faces of four firefighters pressed up against the windows and stared at me.
    I’d never seen him in his uniform before. He was every bit as handsome as usual, but more so. I felt a flutter of pride.
    ‘I thought it was you.’ He stood with his hands on his hips and looked around as if he was expecting someone else to jump out from the behind a lamp-post. ‘What are you doing out on your own?’
    ‘For the record, I’m not actually twelve, but thank you for your concern,’ I laughed and wrapped my arms around myself.
    He raised his eyebrows. ‘Sooo?’
    I rolled my eyes and flapped a hand. ‘Oh, I was going to the pub with Freya from the café, but I changed my mind. I’m on my way home.’
    ‘I’ll walk you back.’ He turned to the driver of the fire engine and shouted through the window, ‘See you later.’
    There were a couple of shouts of approval, which was a bit embarrassing, and then the fire engine tooted its horn and drove away. For some reason, I waved too and then felt silly.
    ‘Is that allowed, bunking off?’ I said before he asked me any more details about my disastrous night out.
    He shrugged. ‘My shift finishes in a few minutes anyway. Come on.’
    ‘I’m absolutely fine on my own, but if you insist.’ I smiled and shrugged, feigning indifference, although secretly I was pleased to have