Lover’s Town

 The square was packed with tourists and panhandlers. The tourists were all trying to get the best angle for their photo albums while the traders were busy trying to make a buck or two. There were all sorts there, people with parrots who would pose for photos, people busking, people selling sweets, people picking pockets and stealing bags.

I hated this bit of being a tourist. I felt on edge, a feeling that I was at war with the locals. It was them against me, they wanted to make sure I left with as little money as possible, me wanting to protect my hard earned cash and get value for money. But, you have to see the sights when you are in Paris or Rome or in my case Brussels you can’t just sit in a bar.  So I was taking photos to show my family and friends to prove to them I did more on this damn holiday than just drink the local ale and some of the harder stuff too.

It was a daft idea to come away alone. It was my sister’s idea but it was daft. She told me it was the perfect way to get over Lauren, but being on my own for a Eurostar weekend was just rubbing in just how single I was. Everywhere I looked couples were coupling it up to the max. It was obviously national show your emotions week in Belgium and the locals and tourists were joining in with gusto. This was lover’s town and I was an outcast. I took one last photo of some grandiose building I didn’t know the name of and then decided to cut my loses.I  looked around for a bar where I could drown my sorrows for twice as much money as I could back home.

The next thing I felt was something freezing cold on my chest. I looked down to see a stupid woman had bumped into me and smashed her ice cream into my chest.

‘You bloody idiot, why don’t you look where you’re going’ I said grumpily. Not expecting the woman to understand me.

‘I think you’ll find it was your fault.’ she replied but wasn’t listening. I’d recognised the woman now.

‘So the last time you spoke to me you tipped a pint of beer over me and now this?’ I said rubbing the ice cream off my shirt as best I could.

She looked at me askance and then smiled with recognition. We were housemates in Uni, but our friendship had ended over a silly argument 8 years ago.

‘What are you doing here?’ She asked.

‘Well I was about to go have a beer but now I guess I am t-shirt shopping.’ I said grumpily. 

‘I meant in Brussels.’ A smile sat on her lips.

‘Weekend break.’

‘With?’ The question hung awkwardly as she looked around for a partner.

‘Alone.’ I mumbled, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

‘Really. I thought you and Lauren…’ she didn’t quite know how to finished the sentence.

I shook my head signalling it was over.

‘I’m with my sister, let’s go for a beer.’

‘But, you’re not talking to me…’ 

‘Water under the bridge,’ she said c’mon. She took my arm and led me away promising me to pay for the beers to make up for the ruined t-shirt.

5 hours later we drunkenly staggered from the bar. Leah’s sister had long since headed back to the hotel bored by all our university talk.

‘You know why I threw that beer over you, don’t you.’ She said, slapping my chest.

‘Cos I called you a slut?’ I replied learning on a wall for balance.
‘Well yes, you bastard but also cos I was so jealous of you and Lauren.’

‘What?’

She didn’t answer, just planted a long lingering kiss on my drunken but willing lips.