Chloë and Harry

Chapter 9

MY BROWN EYED GIRL – VAN MORRISON

YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO VAN MORRISON'S LPS; THEY ARE A LITTLE BIT LIKE DRUGS, SO YOU HAVE TO BE CAREFUL NOT TO GET INTO THEM TOO MUCH. BUT LISTEN TO VAN MORRISON, PLEASE. BROWN EYED GIRL IS ONLY ONE OF HIS MOST WONDERFUL SONGS. EACH IS A LITTLE BIT LIKE A LONG STORY, OR A POEM AND YOU LITERALLY WANT TO DANCE ON THE STREETS AND OPEN A CAR WINDOW AND SCREAM THEM OUT. THEY ARE FUCKING POETIC, AND THEY MAKE YOU LAUGH AND CRY AND BEG FOR MORE. MADAME GEORGE IS ONE OF THOSE SONGS, OR MOONDANCE OR TUPELO HONEY OR HAVE I TOLD YOU LATELY. HAVE I TOLD YOU LATELY THAT YOU SHOULD COME AROUND? IF YOU READ THIS, PLEASE LISTEN TO THIS SONG.

I got home late from uni. I went out on the balcony and sat down on a wicker chair. The lights from the other houses slowly started flashing off, like little tired fireflies. Rachel wouldn't come home tonight – she decided to go to Sophie's place, where they were having a birthday party.

I could feel the small piece of paper in my hand. It felt like the numbers were screaming at me, moving on the sheet demanding to be heard.

I grabbed my phone and slowly started copying them into the screen.

The phone rang three times. He picked up.

"Hey," he said. His voice was soft and sleepy.

"Hey," I replied. "You sound tired?"

"Yes," I could hear him smile. "It was a rough night yesterday, we recorded till three in the morning. But it was good."

"What did you record?"

"The second song of the album, or at least I think it is going to be the second one, but I'll probably make my mind up when we are finished."

"And when will that be?"

"In a couple of months, I guess. Could be half a year", he sighed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sitting on a wicker chair and enjoy the fact that I'm not freezing."

He laughed.

"I do the same," he said. "I sat in the garden for about an hour now, and I'm watching the moon which is a very pathetic thing to do now that I think about it. And in front of me is a bucket of ice cream which is far too large for me to eat alone, so I was actually wondering if you want to come over and share it with me. We could watch a film or something."

"Or the moon?", I asked.

"Or the moon," he said. "But after watching it for thirty minutes, I have to say its performance is not as good as I imagined it to be."

I smiled. His voice made me feel warmer, a little drunk maybe. I loved its sound, I loved his little jokes, though they were pretty bad sometimes. I pressed the phone against my ear and tried to listen to his breath.

"So?", he asked.

"I just made some spaghetti," I said. "I guess, I won't be able to eat it all alone."

"You want me to come over?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Okay."

I hung up.

My chest felt warm, and my fingers started to shake again. It annoyed me. I was hardly able to control myself. The mere thought of him showing up at my door made me lose my mind. I pushed myself up and closed the balcony door.

Meanwhile, the saucepan in the kitchen had decided to go crazy. Water dripped from its side into the gas flame, where it vaporised with a loud sizzle. I swore and turned it off. In that instance, I realised that the spaghetti were a little overdone.