Suddenly I’m ravenous and the thought of a frozen pizza is not appealing. It starts to snow, thick flakes tumbling down and covering my coat in seconds. Resolutely I push open the shop door. A tinny bell chimes and the aroma of foreign spices is overpowering. The room is warm and not well lit. First I assume that I’m alone and I jump when I feel something against my leg. “Whoa, you scared me!” I breathe and bend down to the cat. It’s a Chartreux, again. The silvery cat stares up at me with unfathomable light blue eyes and darts away before I can stroke it. Slowly my eyes adapt to the semi-darkness and I look around. Obviously they already want to close and I turn around to leave the shop. In this instant a girl with shoulder-length brown locks enters through the back door. She’s wearing a lovely green and black dress, her high-heeled boots click on the wooden floor. I gawp at her because I recognize the dress. It’s the Alexander McQueen I drooled over in last month’s Cosmopolitan.
“Are you already closing?” I mumble awkwardly. The girl doesn’t really look like a salesperson in her beautiful dress and obviously doesn’t work here as she’s the one who entered the shop five minutes ago.
“No, if you want to do your shopping, there’s plenty of time,” she answers in a soft voice, smiling at me. Her face is round and her cheeks still rosy from the cold but it’s her eyes that draw my gaze. They’re dark chocolate-brown but the centre of each is electric blue. I blink, she has to be wearing contact lenses, those eyes can’t be real. I’m aware that I’m staring and avert my gaze uncomfortably. Flustered I start to select random goodies, ham, olives, various cheeses, ciabatta bread, really too much for me alone. Now only one item is missing. I turn to a large wine rack on my right and stare at it rather puzzled. I’m absolutely clueless when it comes to wine selection. I know what I like when I taste it but most of the names mean nothing to me. I examine the champagne bottles and bite my lip. The rounded bottles with their elegant labels look delicious but I really shouldn’t spend that much money. On the other hand I’ve never even tried champagne, my father thinks it's a waste of money and Ralph simply doesn’t like it – or maybe he’s just too mean. This thought tips the balance and I reach for a bottle of pink champagne with a golden label.
“Gosset, a good choice!” the girl approves. She’s suddenly very close behind me and I jump because I didn’t hear her approaching. No clicking sound now, did she tiptoe? I turn to her and look into her deep brown eyes. “This dark chocolate with the red pepper complements the champagne really well,” she says innocently, holding a small box out to me. Again I become aware that I’m staring. Where have the two-tone contacts gone? Maybe the lighting has played a trick on me. Self-consciously I clear my throat to hide my confusion. “Do you want one?” Her voice is melodious and kind of hypnotic and automatically I reach for the box. The cathedral clock strikes six times and I look through the window into the cold dark night. I shiver at the thought of going back out there. Reluctantly I pay for the goods, blowing one week’s allowance on the lot. It will have to be cornflakes afterwards. Suddenly I feel as if I’m about to leave a safe haven but it’s definitely closing time now. Outside the snow blows into my face and when I turn back the shop window lies in darkness. Even the small figure of the sleeping cat is gone.
The ice crystals attack my skin like needles and I narrow my eyes. The heavy flakes are falling steadily and I can’t even see two steps ahead. Unthinkable to even go to the bus stop. I should have taken my car after all. This way I’m certain to catch a cold but then I won’t have to worry anymore about my New Year’s Eve plans as I’ll be in bed anyway. Suddenly I hear the sound of laughter and voices and notice a couple of people entering a small bar on the other side of the road. Good idea, I’ll get warmed up a bit and then call a cab. Another two days of cornflakes.
The bar is crowded and none of the small tables is available. Loud voices fill the air, clearly everyone is hiding from the snowstorm. I glimpse a couple of empty stools at the bar and hurry over. “What would you like?” a waiter asks me before I even sit down. I glance at the menu over the bar. Yummy, Rioja! I quickly do the sums, the choice is between the wine and a cab. But I’m really not in the mood for coffee or water. The cab loses. “A large glass of Rioja please!” I order and the waiter beams at me. Shrugging off my coat I’m just getting settled on the stool when I hear a voice behind me.
“Excuse me, you left your scarf in the shop.” Astonished I turn around and there’s the girl from the shop, holding my beige scarf. Well, lucky me, this is my best cashmere scarf, and I would have been furious if I’d lost it. Why on earth did I take it off in the shop? I can’t even remember doing it.
“Thanks, that’s very kind of you,” I reply and wrap it around my neck. The girl climbs onto the stool beside me and waves to the waiter.
“A champagne cocktail, please,” she shouts over the din and smiles at me shyly. “I hope it’s all right if I sit here. You’re not expecting anyone, are you?” I smile self-consciously.
“No, I’m not. Do you come here often?” She shakes her head, her curls dancing around her face. “No, not very often. I have other favourite bars.” The waiter places a glass with dark red Rioja in front of me and a glass of champagne with a sugar cube sending bubbles to the surface in front of the girl. This is a cocktail to suit a woman in a fabulous McQueen dress, certainly not me. “I’m Natalie, by the way,” she chirps now, raising her glass.
“My name’s Livia,” I reply, eyeing her drink suspiciously. “Sugar in the champagne? Isn’t that kind of weird?” I can’t help asking and feel myself blush. Natalie takes a sip and grins.
“No, there’s a drop of Angostura on the sugar which complements it beautifully.” Embarrassed I look away. Why can’t I just keep my mouth shut? “I adore champagne cocktails,” she continues, totally unaware of my discomfort. “We always have them at a friend of mine’s.”
“Lucky friend,” I mutter and want to bite my tongue. Can you get any more bitter and boring? But the girl just sighs.
“Yes, Cassius really has everything one could wish for!” Cassius – what a strange name! Whoever calls his son Cassius in this day and age?
“Is he your boyfriend?” Where on earth did that come from? It‘s really nothing to do with me and here I go asking a complete stranger personal questions. It must be the rich wine on an empty stomach. “I’m sorry, that’s really none of my business,” I mumble and feel myself turning a shade redder. I must look like a tomato by now. But Natalie just laughs and licks the last of the champagne-soaked sugar from her finger. She winks at me.
“No, he’s not my boyfriend. I’m in love with somebody else, but we have no future together. Totally lost cause.” She shrugs. I look at her sympathetically, I know exactly how she feels. But I can’t fathom how any cause could be lost for Natalie, considering her prettiness and obvious dynamism. She’s so unlike me, I just wait and hope that something will happen. But at this moment this nice girl looks so sad and forlorn that I want to make it better, somehow.