by Anna Bloom
Once I’m upright, my mouth hangs open and Freddy Bale has the grace to wait patiently, with a look of amusement on his face, as I rake my eyes over him. I've performed three top to toe sweeps when I finally get my brain to engage and my mouth to snap shut. It’s Freddy Bale, middle son of the ‘Bale Brothers’ as they are locally known. When I’d entered the premises looking for assistance, I’d vaguely hoped it would be Grant, the not so attractive younger brother, or Henry, the bad tempered elder. Anyone other than Freddy. The mega attractive middle one. Although I have never met any of them or spoken to Freddy before, I know who he is. Of course I know who he is. Everyone knows who Freddy Bale is, all the girls want to meet him, talk to him, snog him, do unnamable things to him, and I can totally see why. He’s so close to perfection it could almost bring tears to your eyes, tall and slim, fair hair that glistens in the sun (so I’ve heard), arms to make you swoon, and eyes so blue you could dive into them like the ocean and happily never surface again.
I give my head a little shake to stop with the embarrassing staring, swooning thing I have going on when I notice he is looking at me strange. “What?”
“I asked a question?”
Did he? I didn’t hear a thing, and I definitely didn’t see his mouth move as I stared at it, wondering what the cherry red lips would feel like pressed against my own. Common sense tells me he must have asked about the car. “I don’t know, it was weird, one minute she was going fine, but as I turned the bend just up the lane I noticed a grind and then she just slowed and stopped.”
Freddy Want-to-Snog-Your-Face-Off Bale shoots me a puzzled glance. “And the snow? I asked how hard it was snowing.”
So much for common sense. I do that insanely childish thing I’ve done since Juniors and shove my tongue into my lower lip making a “duh” sound.
“Come on, lets go and look at your car.” In one swift move he is up off the wheelie board thing, his long legs straightening, making him tower over me as he holds his hand out for mine. My hand meets his and instantly sweats in his firm grip. I allow him heave me up off the floor, which is embarrassing in itself. I’m not of a supermodel waif build. I’m more on the short and stocky side, but as he doesn’t groan with the suppressed effort of lifting me off the floor I am going to accept the rumours about his arms of steel as solid fact. Very solid indeed.
“I’m Freddy,” he tells me, totally unnecessarily, as he wipes his greasy hands down his soft grey T-shirt. My mouth falls open again as my eyes trace the motion of his hands skimming along his toned stomach. There may be drool pooling out of the corner of my mouth.
“Amber.” I eventually respond when my brain kicks back into gear. “My car is a dead old Clio, if that’s any help?”
“I know who you are, Amber, and what car you drive.” He grins at me and again I just stop and stare. “Shall we?”
“Shall we what?” Snog?
His tone is questioning now, and just a little on the alarmed side. He probably thinks I’m drunk. “Shall we go and look at your car?” He walks to the door with me trailing in his wake, eyeing him up and down.
“Yes, lets do that.”
At the door, Freddy peers up into the heavy snow falling from the gloomy sky and gives a little, "Yes," under his breath. “Come on, let’s get you home before we get snowed in together.”
Ah man. I should have waited in the car another fifteen minutes before coming for help.
SNOW
“Remind me again how you got home?” Mum peers into the wintery scene out the window. Snowdrifts line the windowsill, a spruce of holly and a perched robin would make the view Christmas card perfect. Despite the fact it’s eight a.m. the sky is still dark, and the snow glimmers with an ethereal quality in a stark contrast.
We are sat in the comfortable kitchen of our monstrously ugly house. The small Suffolk village we live in is picturesque - the perfection just doesn’t extend to our house nor the road in which it resides. When I’d woken and seen the excess of white stuff outside, I’d had one of those joyous moments where I figured it may be a snow day, but no. Psycho Mr. Banks, our head teacher at Woodford Green High, keeps the school open in all conditions, no matter how treacherous. Now I’m trying to work out how to get to school.
“I told you, Mum. Freddy Bale took a quick look under the bonnet before offering to run me home in his super-sized power truck. Apparently, whatever is wrong with my car can’t be fixed in five minutes and for under a fiver.” I slurp my tea, enjoying the warmth as it slides down my throat.
“Your steering column has gone?” Freddy had observed in an all-knowing manner.
“Gone where? Holiday?” Was my tart reply to cover up the sheer embarrassment of not knowing how to unhook my own bonnet. Apparently that’s funny.
“It’s the steering column, it’s gone somewhere,” I tell mum again.
“I told your dad not to buy that crap car.” The car had been a present for my seventeenth, nearly a year ago now, and it caused a row of epic proportions last night when mum realised I'd been stranded. It wasn't dads fault I went out without my mobile, but I chose to stay out of the argument and hide in my room.
“Oh well, not to worry. I guess I can just walk to school.” I scrunch my face at this prospect, because honestly, the only place I want to be is back in bed. “I’m gonna go and get dressed.”
Grabbing another piece of toast and my mug of tea, I take the draughty stairs up to my room where I stand in the middle and consider what waterproof clothing I can fashion out of my wardrobe.
I’m still wearing yesterday’s pajamas that possibly stink, but I had a certain reluctance to take them off after Freddy Want-To-Snog-Your-Face-Off Bale ran his eyes along my fleece lined legs with clear approval on his face and said, “Nice jimjams, I have similar ones myself.”
The heat from the truck along with his evaluating glance made my face burn an extraordinary colour, and I’m not guessing - I could see it in the side mirror. At that point, I mumbled some thanks, which made my face get even hotter (and him chuckle) and slid out of his car. And when I say slid, I do mean slid. Underfoot was as slippery as hell and I had to skate my way along the path into the house. I’m sure he was laughing, I could feel it, but he didn’t pull away until I offered an embarrassed wave at the door and then fell through into the hallway.
I haven’t told mum about the whole trip home. Most especially, I haven’t told her about the twenty minutes I spent in his parked truck while the snow fell like sprinkled cotton floss and we chatted a whole lot of random. I don’t think mum would approve of the chatting, no matter how random it was. She wasn’t overly keen on the ride home but submitted with reluctant grace that it was a nice thing for the “posh, loaded boy to do” eventually. She really doesn’t like people with money; it doesn’t pair well with her second hand, charity shop thrift she likes to run our household with.
Dad said he would go and sort the car out today and get it moved to the right garage. I have this dissatisfied sensation in my stomach every time I think about it because I know dad’s interference - uh, help - will mean I won’t get to see Freddy again.
After my steaming hot shower, I neglect the jimmys in favour of leggings, a chunky jumper and some thick socks. Grabbing my school stuff I head back down the stairs, my feet thumping on every step, making my lack of enthusiasm clear. It’s only a couple of weeks until the Christmas break and the workload is crazy high in the run up to the A-level exams in June. Six months left and then I will be free of Woodford Green High for good, and hopefully on my way to a Uni somewhere. Somewhere other than here, which is effectively in the middle of nowhere.
“I’ll be off then,” I shout, yanking my wellington boot off the stand and wiggling my foot into it, showering dried mud everywhere.
I’m precariously balanced, getting my second foot in when the doorbell rings and makes me jump out of my skin.
“Jesus,” I curse, swinging open the door to death-glare at the person who nearly induced an early morning heart
attack.
“It’s Freddy, but Jesus could work too.” I stare up into the dark pools of blue that dance as they watch me wobble on the spot with one foot in a wellington boot.
“Who is it?” Mum calls from the depths of the kitchen.
“Jesus, uh, I mean Freddy,” I call back, breaking out into an embarrassed sweat. My chunky cardigan seems like a bad idea now. “What you doing here?” I forget to lower my tone and shout the words in his face despite the fact he's half a foot away.
A crazy cute grin flashes across his face as he leans over the threshold and grabs my heavy school bag off the floor. “Figured you might need a lift to school, and I’ve kind of got the car for the conditions.” He nods his head towards the monster truck at the end of the driveway.
I struggle into my other boot. “Guess you do, but I could have walked.” My tone is stroppier than I intend.
“Do you want the lift or not?” Fog lifts from his mouth with his words, dissolving into the cold air like a will o’ the wisp. He starts to bang the snow from his boots in anticipation of coming inside.
Down the hallway I can hear mum shuffling out of the kitchen in her slippers. Lets not go there.
“Yes, thank you.”
Stepping out onto the doorstep, my feet instantly swoosh out from underneath me. Thankfully, the door bangs shut as I fall so mum doesn’t get the view of Freddy Bale squeezing me tight against his granite hard chest as he catches hold of me. Wow.
“I was just going to say, be careful, it’s slippery.” He speaks directly in my ear and a flutter of warm breath mingles with the freezing air, tracing its way along my exposed skin. I can feel myself heading back into drool mode. Behave, Amber.
“I see that.” Straightening up, I try and extricate myself from his hold but one arm refuses to let go and keeps a steady grip around my back, fingers firm against my right hip.
He holds me up the whole way to the car, even though I am so ridiculously short he has to stoop to achieve his objective. Once by the shiny silver truck, he wrenches on the door and a downscaled avalanche of snow slides off the roof and crashes to the floor by our feet.
“This is crazy,” I observe, as he takes me by surprise and hoists me into the seat, proceeding to buckle me in like a small child.
“Amber French.” His eyes meet mine and the blue pulls me under as I study them for flecks and contrasts. His head is bent so close to mine I could just lean in and kiss his generously curved lips. “You don’t have a problem with crazy, do you?” His voice is low, but his eyes are dancing.
I glance at my mum’s patchwork dressing gown ensconced figure peering out from the front door. Nope. Crazy isn’t something I have a problem with.
“Crazy is okay.” The close proximity Freddy Bale currently has with me, transforms my words into a strangled squeal.
“Good.” The door slams shut and I sit for one moment waiting for him to climb in the other side. What am I doing? Why is this happening? Is there even the slightest chance he’s going to kiss me? In which case I wish I’d brushed my teeth longer.
Once he’s in place beside me, his eyes flick along my chunky knitwear clad body. I’m sure his lips twitch a little and I’m about to demand what’s so funny when he speaks first. “So my first question, Amber French, is. . .”
I don’t give him time to finish “Questions? It’s eight thirty, it’s way too early for questions.”
Freddy laughs, blasting a huge loud snort of laughter in the limited confines of the truck cab. It makes me jump. His fingers drum on the steering wheel. “Well I need answers before this day progresses any further.” His forehead creases into what I guess is supposed to look like a serious expression, but really just looks damn sexy.
“Wait a minute, what day?” It worries me that it took me a while to register his words. I was too distracted by the laugh and the lips and, well, all of him.
He offers me a slow smile, shooting me into the stratosphere of distraction. “Well, firstly, are you opposed to bunking? Secondly, would you like to do something with me today? And thirdly, do you have a boyfriend? Because I’m really hoping not, but if you do you’ll need to tell him you’re mine for the day.”
My lower jaw falls open and I undoubtedly have a horrific double chin as I try and process his barrage of questions. No, I can’t. “You what?”
Freddy’s smile expands, a slow sexy lip hitch that tugs the left side of his beautiful mouth up and his eyes shine. He shifts a little in his seat so he can maintain eye contact as he holds a finger up. “One, would you like to bunk off school today?” He holds a second finger. “Two, would you like to do something with me? And three.” He holds the third finger like a salute. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
And so I say, well I don’t say anything, I just make a “Bleugh” noise which makes him chuckle again.
“I’m assuming that means a yes, yes and a no.” He winks and presses a button on the dash that fires the engine into a steady hum.
“Haven’t you got work?” Oh, so I can talk.
“I worked Sunday, I’m taking today off.” Freddy studies the rear view mirror as he guides the truck off the driveway.
“Why?”
“It’s not every day a beautiful girl walks into your workshop dressed in her finest and looking for help. I’m taking it as a sign I need a day off, and that day should be spent with you.”
Grinning, I give my head a little shake. Honestly, I can’t believe this is happening, but as Freddy confidently maneuvers the car onto the slushy road, it starts to sink in; this really is happening, something totally out of the ordinary is happening to little old ordinary me. A grin smears its way across my face and I sneak a peek up at him to find his lips are curved into a smile as he glances down at me.
“Watch the road!”
“I am watching the road.” He laughs and pats his hand on my knee. “I am watching to the road, and I’m watching you. It’s one of my many talents.”
“Yeah, what other talents do you have?”
“Loads, do you wanna see them?”
Turning my face to look out the window, I try and hide my super sized grin. “Maybe.”
He laughs again. “I can work with maybe.”
SOMETHING
By the time the truck has crawled along the snow covered roads, the sound of the thick white casing cracking under the pressure of the mammoth tyres, the temperature in the cab has reached a dizzying, sweat inducing heat of the inferno of hell. My face is on fire, I’m sweating profusely and the air feels like it’s going to incinerate my lungs with every intake of breath.
So I could ask him to turn it down, but that would mean speaking, and apparently I left my tongue on the driveway at home.
Freddy pulls the car into an empty parking lot at the edge of a local nature trail. “Ready for some—” His arm trails along the back of my seat as he turns to face me. “Fun? Jesus Christ, why are you purple?” Alarm widens his eyes as he takes in my seriously overheated fluster. His words just make me burn further.
“It’s warm,” I stutter. “In here.”
He grasps my fingers in his toasty, long, slim ones and stretches my hand to the console dash that looks more like a Boeing 747 control panel than a car’s. “This is the heat dial, feel free to turn whenever you like.” His eyes do that dancing thing again and Freddy Want-To-Snog-Your-Face-Off Bale looks like he might be about to lean in and kiss me.
He doesn’t though, which is crushingly disappointing. Instead, he reaches down and grabs an old-fashioned tartan flask. The flask looks thirty years old with a cream lid and a rusty finish along the edges. “Hot chocolate.” He winks one blue eye with his words and turns to open his door. “Come on, Amber French, lets go and have some fun.”
I step down from the truck with some care, and look around. The car park is empty of all life except for a robin flitting on a snow laden holly bush the other side of a wooden beam. Spinning slowly, I take in the winter wonderland around me. Untouched snow glistens li
ke crusted diamonds in all directions a low sun glimmering off the iridescent surface. The air is crisp, cool and refreshing as I drag it into my over-heated body.
While Freddy roots around in the back of the four-wheel drive, it gives me plenty of time to wonder what I’m doing. I should be at school. My parents don’t even know where I am. Danni, my oldest friend will be seriously pissed off when she gets to Home Room, wet through and shivering, and finds out I have bunked without giving her a heads up first. If bunking is the order of the day, it’s normally together, and definitely pre-arranged. With an internal groan, I realise I haven’t even told Danni about the Freddy Bale development in my life. A development of this nature, no matter how brief and innocent, is worthy of a phone call or a text at the very least.
Yep, she’s going to be seriously arsed off.
Freddy rounds the truck and comes into view carrying two plastic sledges, one red and one blue. “Any preference on colour?” He grins, his smile wolfish as he watches me register what I’ve given up a day of study to do.
I back away. “Uh, no way, that's a seriously dangerous pass time.” I give my head a firm shake to make it perfectly clear I won’t be boarding a sledge and sliding down the hillside like a six year old.
“Now, Amber French.” He takes a step towards me. “Where is your sense of fun?” He moves himself so he is touching close and I can see into his beautiful irises. They really are quite remarkable. Yesterday I thought they were a dark blue but in this wintery light I can see they are made up of at least three shades of blue. Dark around the edge, pale by the pupil and then speckled by shots of topaz.
My eyes refocus on his lips as I ask my question. “Why do you keep calling me Amber French, and not just Amber?”