Soulmates (22 page)

Noah looked at his watch again. “Balls. We’re going to miss the train if we don’t leave now.”

And we left the house in a flurry of me tossing things randomly into bags, screaming that I couldn’t find my shoes, and having to ring my mobile phone using Noah’s because it had disappeared.

A very, very cold train and Tube journey to London later, we emerged onto the streets of the West End. It was freezing. People were bustling past, trying to get out of the cold as quickly as possible.

“The theatre is just around this corner,” Noah said, helping me through the throngs of people.

I wasn’t accustomed to London walking, so kept being elbowed and apologizing to everybody. When we reached the theatre, there were lots of people queuing to get in. Everyone around us was also dressed for the occasion. All the men were wearing suits and I caught glimpses of beautiful fabric peeking out from the women’s heavy winter coats.

Noah walked straight past the queue to the front.

“Hang on,” I whispered. “Don’t we need to line up with everyone else?”

He grinned. “Nope.”

I followed Noah with my arms crossed in embarrassment. I’d never been one for queue-jumping and didn’t understand why Noah was so confident that he could blag his way out of waiting. But when we reached the ticket office, Noah quietly gave the attendant his name, and the employee’s face perked up in recognition.

“Of course, Mr. Roberts, your box is ready.”

The attendant gave a subtle signal and another eager employee dashed over. We were ushered through the crowd and bubbling glasses of champagne appeared in our hands.

“Are you the son of the prime minister or something?” I whispered to Noah as we followed the man up a deep red staircase. I took a small sip of champagne, delighted that they thought I was eighteen. The bubbles tickled my nose.

“We’re just box holders,” Noah said, not too bothered or affected by our VIP treatment. “They have to treat box holders like this. It’s part of what you pay for.”

We continued up the stairs, another flight, then another flight. Other ballet-goers disappeared through giant wooden doors and the crowd began to thin out.

“Not much further, sir,” our helpful attendant said. He was slightly podgy and there was sweat on his forehead from the exertion of climbing so many stairs. We continued upwards until we were close to the beautifully decorated gilt ceiling, adorned with golden cherubs and cloudy skies. Our attendant showed us to a small door covered with red velvet curtains.

“Sir, madam, your box.” He gestured with his hand and gave a small bow, which I found a bit over the top.

Then Noah surprised me by taking out a twenty-pound note and discreetly passing it to him. It was an odd thing to watch my teenage boyfriend do – it seemed far too adult. I realized how far removed from my usual Middletown life this evening was.

Noah touched the small of my back and guided me past the red curtains. I was just about to wind him up by asking him if his dad was in the Mafia, when I noticed my surroundings. We’d emerged into a small but luxurious private box on the right-hand side of the theatre. It hovered high above the gathering audience like a reigning monarch. The view was just breathtaking. A sea of elegance stretched out beneath us. Men in perfectly-fitting designer suits led women sparkling with diamonds to their red velvet seats. The twinkling of jewels and sequins on women’s dresses played in the light, casting rainbows across the ornate walls. The stage was empty, expectant, awaiting the arrival of finely toned dancers in bobbing tutus.

I took a deep breath and sighed, leaning over the railing to take it all in. Noah pressed his body gently into my back, his arms sneaking around my waist.

“What do you think?” He pulled a strand of my hair back so I could feel the tickle of his hot breath in my ear.

I was still looking out at the spectacle below me.

“It’s amazing,” I admitted. “We’re so high up. I can’t believe this is real, that I’m in a real ballet box. I feel like Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman
.”

Noah frowned. “Isn’t that film about prostitutes?”

“Yeah. But good prostitutes. There’s this bit where Richard Gere buys her a dress – it’s red too actually, like this one – and he takes her to the opera. It’s so so soooo romantic.”

“Hmm. I’m not too keen that you’ve just compared me to Richard Gere and compared yourself to a prostitute.”

I leaned over as far as I dared.

“Wow. There’s a box directly below us. Shall we write them a message and dangle it on a bit of string for them to read?” The moment it came out of my mouth I realized I was genuinely excited by the idea.

Noah just laughed and kissed my neck. “You do realize you’re the most beautiful person in here, don’t you?” he said.

His kiss made me shiver and my body lost any rational ability to behave itself. I pushed myself back onto his lips.

“That’s very sweet, but it’s not true.”

He kissed my neck again, sending wonderful chills up my spine.

“Not only are you beautiful, you’re not all vain about it. I love that.”

Another kiss.

I was about to answer with something funny and/or clever when Noah pulled me round to kiss me full on the lips, but we were interrupted by the strings of the orchestra starting up. I quickly jumped away from him.

“I forgot we were in public,” I said, my heart still thudding.

“Yeah. Suddenly the ballet isn’t sounding so great. Can’t we just go back to mine?”

I pulled a face. “No chance. Look, I think it’s starting soon.”

I settled into my large plush seat. There were little binoculars on a stand in front of me and I picked them up and started spying on the orchestra.

“Wow,” I said. “That violinist has got an impressive beard.” I handed the binoculars over to Noah. “See.”

He gave me an odd look but took them and looked in the direction of the pit.

“You’re right. That is an impressive beard.”

Then he turned that weird look back on me.

“What?”

“I just don’t think it’s possible for anyone in the world to love anyone as much as I love you right now.”

His eyes were intense, burning almost. I obviously needed to point out intriguing facial hair more often.

“I love you too.” I took his hand. “Thank you for bringing me here. I think it’s possibly the most romantic thing that will ever happen to me.”

He smiled. “And the ballet hasn’t even started yet.” He stretched his arms up and his shirt rose up a little, giving me the tiniest glimpse of his stomach.

I promptly forgot all about the ballet again.

“Do you want a drink?”

“Huh?” I said, still transfixed by the small amount of skin on show.

“A drink?” He gestured to my empty champagne glass. “Do you want another one?”

I shook my head to clear my lust-induced haze. “Er, yeah, sure. That would be great.”

Noah leaned over a small table I hadn’t noticed and picked up a telephone that I also hadn’t noticed.

“We have a phone?”

He held up a finger to shush me and started talking to whoever was on the other line. He hadn’t dialled so I assumed the phone went straight through.

“Hi there. Yes, I’m calling from the top box. A bottle of champagne on ice, please? Thank you.”

He hung up as my mouth hung open.

“A bottle of champagne? Seriously?”

He gave another non-committal shrug. “It’s complimentary.”

“Well, in that case…”

I continued my people-watching until the champagne arrived with a glistening pile of complimentary strawberries. It was presented to us in a huge ice bucket by a different man wearing a suit. He nodded quickly, put the bottle down, and left us in private once again.

“Shall we?” Noah asked, grabbing the champagne out of the bucket.

“Why not?”

I got two champagne flutes ready as he wrestled with the cork. With a small pop, the pale golden liquid streamed out of the bottle and I caught it expertly with the glasses. I handed a full glass to Noah and he took it before holding it out to toast me.

“To falling in love, being in love, and staying in love for ever.” He chinked my glass and took a hefty sip. Touched by what he’d said, I chinked back and took a deep sip myself.

“When’s the ballet going to start then?” I asked just as the lights dimmed.

I took another sip of champagne. I had just decided that I was, without a doubt, the luckiest girl in the entire universe, when the curtain came up and fifteen tutu-ed dancers leaped onto the stage.

An hour later, when the lights came up, I could think of only two things:

1) The ballet was bloody AWESOME, and

2) Champagne, apparently, goes right to your head.

The swell of people below us began to move from their crowded seats. Men stood against their chairs allowing women to pass so they could spend the entire interval queuing to go the toilet; fidgety children in their smartest outfits clutched overpriced ice cream and whinged to their mothers that they were bored; and an orderly queue began at the souvenir stand so ten pounds could be wasted on a glossy A4 programme.

I, however, had my feet up on the box railing and was draining my champagne glass.

Noah was smiling at me in an adoring way. “You having fun?”

I nodded energetically. “This is amazing. Did you see them dance, Noah? They dance so well, don’t they? Why did I quit ballet? I could have been a prima ballerina, you know. I just LOVE the ballet, don’t you? Do you reckon you could jump that high?”

I hiccupped and Noah burst out laughing.

“Poppy Lawson, are you drunk? How? You’ve only had two glasses!”

I recoiled in my chair with indignation and puffed out my chest. “Drunk? Of course I’m not drunk.” I waved my glass energetically, to emphasize just how not drunk I was and the small amount of champagne left flew through the air, and over the balcony.

“Whoops.”

I lowered myself to my knees so I couldn’t be seen and peeked over the edge of the box. Below us were a group of confused-looking old people. One woman with a damp stain on her vibrant blue dress was holding her hands upwards, as if testing to see if it was raining indoors. A man, who I assumed was her husband, was looking around to try and work out where the sudden liquid attack had come from. Then, as if they knew I was watching, both of their heads turned in my direction.

“Crap,” I whispered, and ducked my head back down.

Noah was instantly beside me, crouching down and struggling not to laugh.

“You didn’t see that, did you?”

“I can’t believe you,” he said, between gasps of laughter. “I honestly can’t take you anywhere.”

“It was an accident!”

“Yeah well, can you try not to drown the audience in the second half, please?”

“Of course I won’t.”

I decided all of a sudden that I needed the toilet. Quite desperately. I stood up, to find the room spinning ever-so-slightly.

“Oh no,” I wailed, with dawning realization. “I think I’m drunk.”

Noah did another belly laugh and got up to steady me. “You think?”

“I’m drunk, at the ballet! I’ve never had champagne before.”

“It’s just the bubbles have gone to your head, you’ll be fine in a few minutes. Although you do realize this is the second time you’ve got wasted this week? I’m starting to think you’ve got a problem.”

“It’s your fault,” I muttered, walking to the door. “You make me nervous.”

“Where are you off to, waster?”

“I need the loo.”

I stumbled slightly into the posh hallway and followed the toilet signs, hoping there wouldn’t be a queue. I was lucky. No one else seemed to be using them. Maybe they were only for box occupants.

I did what I needed to do and then examined myself in the mirror while I washed my hands. I found looking at my reflection was a good way of sobering up, so spent five minutes getting myself together. I still wasn’t convinced the person in the mirror was me. She looked too happy. She had the expression you saw on the faces of a couple holding hands as they walked through the park on a Sunday morning or on a girl sitting opposite you on the train after her phone beeped and she read a text message from a mysterious person. It’s the look of love. And I had it. And I prayed to Whoever that I would always have it.

I got back to the box just as the five-minute bell rang to signal it was nearly the end of the interval.

Noah was sitting with a big two-litre bottle of water in front of him. He handed me a glass. “Drink up, you.”

I downed the water and handed it back. He refilled and passed it back. I sipped coyly on the second glass.

“Why is my head spinning? I honestly didn’t drink that much.”

“I told you. It’s because you’ve not had champagne before. The bubbles are deadly if you’re not used to it.”

“And I suppose you’re used to it?”

“Of course.”

I stuck my lip out. “I’ve ruined the ballet.”

“You haven’t ruined the ballet.” He gestured for me to sit on his lap. “Come here.”

I perched myself on top of him as daintily as I could and he pulled me closer. I leaned my head on his collarbone and inhaled the clean smell of his starched shirt.

“I love you very much, Noah,” I said, playing with his cufflinks. “Thank you for bringing me to the ballet.” My hand moved up his arm and I started stroking his chest. “You know,” I whispered, “I don’t think anyone can see us up here…”

Noah didn’t say anything but his grip stiffened around my back.