They’d started going out about three months ago – he and a few mates were s’posed go to a gig downtown and as usual had met up at the Italian Café. It was a wild night. Whipping in off the sea, the wind was channelled along the streets of Boomtown, driving the rain and picking up the litter from the pavements, lifting it high into the air before slamming it down on the wet tarmac.
They were sat round their favourite table, their wet coats hung on the backs of the chairs - steaming in the warm coffee-tinged air. A small untidy heap of 50p coins was being used to feed the jukebox, stoking their arguments with almost tribal intensity. It was the same every time - each of them trying to outdo the other by playing what they thought were the coolest songs. But they never agreed and as the night wore on, voices would be raised and once or twice, it had come to blows. He had wondered why the music meant so much to them that fists could fly? But at least the music gave them a focus for lives that otherwise seemed pretty pointless.
That night, the music had another purpose - nearly drowning out the raging howl of the storm outside. It was only when the café door opened, that everyone was brought back to reality as the storm filled the small cosy space with its sound, its rage, its fury. He’d seen the three girls hanging around town before. Maybe it was something about their wet, windblown look that night that made him look again and as he did so, his eyes caught hers. Full of bravado from their arguments over music, the lads dragged up three extra chairs, inviting the girls to join them round the jukebox. Acting coy in the face of the predictable pantomime of loudly muttered and inuendo-filled comments, the girls accepted – at least they wouldn’t have to pay for their coffee tonight.
She’d sat in the chair he’d deliberately placed next to his own – an unspoken invitation that she seemed happy to accept, and while the group's banter ranged around them like the storm outside, they talked. At first the conversation fumbled but quickly they picked up the subject of music – after all, what else was there to talk about? It turned out, she liked some of his favourite songs and with that small thing in common, it felt like they had all they needed.
Their months together had dragged, probably because after the first week, he’d known this wouldn’t last. It seemed that their desire for a warm, safe haven that stormy night and their love of a few songs, was all they had in common. He was bored to tears and as they sat there in her smallish flat, he couldn't help his thoughts turning to his last girlfriend. He’d been with her for a couple of years and they had been so close……it nearly killed him when she moved away with her family. The girl beside him could sense his mood and tried to raise his spirits by talking about the future – their future. Didn’t she know that if you wanted a future, you had to get out of Boomtown - sail away from the east pier and never come back? He had no faith in anything right now, especially their love – if that’s what they’d been sharing for the past few months. In an instant he knew. Knew they couldn’t hold on. Knew that if they kept seeing each other, he’d just be stringing her along. Knew he’d be going home alone that night.