"C'mon Emma."

 My new best friend stared at me, like I was clinicly insane.

            "Meg! You can't! You can't just go up to him."

 I think she was just a little overwhelmed. I've know Emma a total of six weeks, but I know that she's admired him, his band for as many years as I have.

            "Why not? It's our local, we can go talk to him."

            "But, Meg," Emma said, holding onto the sleeve of my denim jacket, pulling me back down onto the bar stool, "it's HIM. We can't just go up to him and start chatting."

            "Why not?" I repeat.

 Personally I couldn't understand why Emma was so reluctant. I mean, he's just a normal guy. So he may be in a band that we loved and we may have owned, between us, every one of their albums and singles. But he was here, in our local, on a normal Friday night like any other, being a normal guy. Being a normal, single guy. And I wanted to meet him.

            "Well, if you don't want to then fine, stay here. I'm goin over," I said, prising her fingers from my arm, slipping off the stool.

            I had no idea if Emma was following me as I made my way round the bar, keeping my eyes on him, checking out the situation. He was obviously with friends. They were talking and laughing amongst themselves, having a pint and a smoke. He was chatting away to the guy next to him, inbetween sipping and smiling. God, he had a gorgeous smile. He'd always had a gorgeous smile. And I was actually seeing it in person.

            "Meg!" Emma's urgent whisper was right in my ear.

            "Relax, Em, will ya."

 I was there, right next to his friend, within chatting distance. Slipping in behind his friend, I accidently on purpose knocked him a little, causing him to turn round and face us.

            "Oops, sorry," I said, giving him a friendly smile, "It's a bit crowded in here tonight."

            His friend returned the smile, a rather nice one as well, as he stepped back a little from the bar, letting us move up to order. And allowing me eye contact with him. A curious look on his face. Was he interested?

            "Just a bit," his friend said, looking from me to Emma, obviously deciding whether to persue the offered conversation, "You ladies come here often?"

            Leaning forward on the bar, waving my tenner at Eric, trying to get his attention, I smiled at his friend. And then over at him. Receiving a very nice smile in reply.

            "Usually," I replied, "Hey, Eric!"

            "I'll get em," his friend said, placing a hand on my arm.

 The sign that he was interested.

            "Oh, thanks. Just two pints of bitter."

            "Eric!"

I looked back over at him. He was still looking at me. This was good. I smiled again, then looked away. Just as his friend was pushing the two pints across in front of us.
            "Thanks!" I said, "Very nice of you. I'm Meg, this is Emma."
            "Nice to meet you, Meg, Emma," his friend said, smiling as he accepted his change from the barman. "I'm Sam, this is Tom."
            "Hi," Tom said.
 Just like his voice on the radio and telly. Lovely.
            "Hi there," I replied.
            "Would you ladies like to sit down? You can have our stools. Tom," Sam said, gesturing at him to get up.
            "It's ok, we're already standing," I started to say.
 But Tom was already getting up from his, proferring it forward.
            "No, that's cool," he said, ushering me round to sit down. Smiling at Tom, I pulled myself up onto the stool, leaning my elbow on the bar.
            "Thanks," I said.
  He smiled back, reaching across me to take his pint from the bar. Feeling his arm brush against mine, my heart gave a start. I was actually this close to him. To a guy I'd only ever seen, in the flesh, from the middle of a concert crush. And he appeared to be interested. God, I hope he was.
            "Do you ladies live round here?" asked Sam, directing his question to Emma.
            He was obviously very interested in her. I'd figured soon after meeting her that guys always were. Long blond hair, big blue eyes, a figure some women would kill for. Though really, she was just like me, a gobby, music mad, intelligent young woman, devoted to Jilted Paralytic. So that when we spot Tom Ryan, Jilted's charming, beautiful singer and guitarist, across the bar of our local we just have to go over. You wouldn't pass up such an opportunity. Not unless you were completely stupid.
            "Yeah, just down the road," Emma said, nodding, "You?"
            "Sort of," said Sam.
            "Sort of? You mean you're an imposter. You're not a local," I said.
Sam smiled a little sheepishly, at Emma. "Not technically, no. But Tom is."
            "That's ok then," I said smiling over at him.
            "I haven't seen you here before," Tom said running a hand over his dark brown cropped hair. I wish he'd grow it back. I could always imagine myself running my fingers through his longer hair.
            "Well, I've only actually been in London about a couple of months," I replied, before taking a sip of the bitter.
 Tom smiled, suprised. "Really? Where y'from?"
            "Stratford. Though I was born in Glasgow."
 Such handy facts to have at the ready. Especially considering Tom was a native Glaswegian. I know these things.
            “Yeah?” That interested him. “Me too.”

I smiled. “You don’t sound it.”

“Yeah, well, London can do that to you.”

*

"So, you're into music?" Tom asked.
            "Love it. Totally."
 That interested him. "Yeah?"
            "Absolutely. I mean, it's just.."
 I stopped, my hand halting in mid air. How could I describe how much music meant to me? How important it was for me and how utterly it was a part of me?
            "Everything," said Tom.
            "Yes. It is everything. Exactly." I hit his upper arm with the back of my hand. Of course he'd know what I was trying to say. "See, you've got brains and looks."
 Tom gave a shy smile. "Well, thanks, Meg. I'm flattered."
            "That's the point," I said, taking the front of his jacket between my fingers.
            "The point?" He looked at me over the top of his pint.
  Still holding his jacket, I leaned towards him, lowering my voice. "The point of being chatted up."          

"Of course." He smiled, looking straight back into my eyes. I could get used to this.

*

            "Why'd you come to London?" Tom asked.

I pulled myself back futher on the stool, reaching for my pint on the bar. "Stratford's a hole. Dull, boring. Ugh." I shuddered. "Don't make me think about it."

That was gone. All of it. Mum, college, home life. I had no intention of thinking about it.

            "It canne be that bad," he said.

Coming up from the sip of bitter, I nodded my head. "Yes, it can"

            "So, how long d'you live in Glasgow?"

            "Oh, til I was about 2."

Tom smiled. "So you don’t remember it."

            "Not a thing. Except my dad takin me to the park one Sunday."

            "D'you go back there?"

            "What, home? Or Glasgow? Neither," I said, shaking my head.

Tom grinned. “Shame. Glasgow’s great. I could show you.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “Is that an offer?”

*

            "Can I see you again?"

The green man came on, but I didn't walk. I was staring at Tom. Hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, looking quite sincerely at me.

            "Tomorrow? I mean, if you can," he continued.

And then suddenly it hit me – really hit me. This was actually real. I was standing at a crossing, in West London, being asked out by Tom Ryan.

            Tom Ryan!

The guy was stuck on my noticeboard for god sake. He was on the tv. He was FAMOUS! And gorgeous and sweet and a cool singer. Did I want to see him again?

            “I’d love to.”

By the light of the shops I could see his face beam. Oh god, he was pleased. He wanted to really see me again. I could almost have skipped for joy. Oh, stuff it! I did!

            “Hey, that looks like fun!”

And Tom joined in. He grabbed my arm and we skipped across the crossing, down the street, coming to a stop in front of the library. Collasping onto the front step, I started laughing. I couldn’t help it.

            “Hey – I wasne tha’ bad!”

            “Oh, you were terrible. You skip like a girl!” I said.

Tom jumped up and dragged me to my feet. “Right,” he said and suddenly I was lifted off the ground and thrown over his shoulder.

            “Tom!” I yelled, half terrified, half delirious, “Put me down!”

He did. Right in front of him. I looked up and found his eyes staring at me. His face turned serious. And his lips came down to meet mine.

            Yep, definitely get used to this.

*