Snow Blind by Richard Blanchard

well, putting the prospect of us finishing to me like I had won the pools. We were sat in a semi circular seat by the window of the Hand and Flower pub in Hammersmith, where we had got off the bus after an unsatisfactory trip to Habitat. I originally took her rejection of my suggestion to buy a double futon as evidence of her dislike for anything Oriental. I soon realised it was more fundamental than that. Maybe I accepted her rationale too quickly to save her embarrassment; it wasn’t me, it was what she needed. I was speechless, nervously scraping green foil from the top of a bottle of Pils lager. The communally split bag of dry roast peanuts sat accumulating smoke from a Dutch couple that were sharing our booth. Their happiness mocked us. Those feelings were so tangible; I struggle to understand where something so solid could have gone. Does it get lost with time or just put on ice for the day that you can ridiculously re-declare your undying love on a plane? I dare not look at her.
    â€œYou seem distant. Not letting these guys get you down are you?”
    â€œNo, I am just dealing with a lot babe.” The babe is too informal.
    The clatter of unclasped metal locks and the hot smell of the first opened meal trolley wafts down the cabin, prompting me to take my leave to go to the toilet at the front of the plane. I shudder at the prospect of more resolution but have decided I must make some. I rise slowly to avoid hurt and turn round to locate my stags; Robert is the only one I can’t see but I should keep him in full view from now on.
    â€œHi mate.” I find Johnny sat opposite the toilet door. He greets me with an over full smile to distance himself from the hard time I am being given by the others.
    â€œListen mate, I have decided to do something important for Bepe. I want to make a playlist, a Top 10, Top 20 sort of thing.” We share a religious fervour for our music, but with such diverse tastes have always found this sort of thing alarmingly difficult.
    â€œSounds awesome mate, but too hard surely.” Normally I would agree with him but decide after my day so far I can handle a more selective challenge.
    â€œNo, I know, Dan’s Magnificent Seven. That’s it, I am going to scroll through the tracks on my iPhone and do it this weekend.” This is important to me now.
    I shuffle into the toilet where I don’t breathe nor touch the surfaces. My urine is sucked and freeze-dried out into the airspace. I slowly return to Juliet resolved to move on.
    â€œThose hens are hammered.” Juliet informs me when I slump back to my seat.
    â€œIt’s their only reason for being here now.”
    â€œDid Sophia have a hen party?”
    â€œSort of, she went out with her mum, sister and cousins to the Lowry hotel in Manchester. Just a night out really.”
    â€œAre you excited by next Saturday now?” She seems to have a checklist to get through.
    â€œYes, sure babe.”
    â€œHow did you propose to her?”
    â€œOh it was a private thing between us.” Not so private if you include her dad. He had asked when the next Saturday night was free at his golf club, where he thought I could marry his daughter at long last. He said I should wake up to my responsibility now that we had a son and it would make a man of me. I smiled at him and Sophia and the deal was done without a single word passing my lips. I have only told Johnny that. I unpeel the cellophane off my rubber looking meal. A shaft of bright warmth pierces the window on my left, illuminating strands of dust which dance and lay germs into my food chain.
    â€œI thought you were going to propose to me at one point. Remember that weekend we went to Kew gardens.”
    â€œNo I don’t think so.” I was desperate to tell her I loved her at that point, but clammed up with fear. The prospect of our future relationship together seemed too important to risk for a bungled expression of