Page 159 of Falling for You

‘Hey, Mum,’ I say, moving towards the window. ‘I’m just with a client. And I picked up the most amazing fabric earlier.I’ll start making the costume tonight. I have an idea in my head, so I’ll send you over a sketch to get your thoughts. Did they send over their measurements yet?’

‘Oh!’ Mum says, and I realise I’ve caught her off guard by my barrage of information. ‘Not yet. I’ll check.’

‘Great. I’d like to get started tonight.’

‘Sure. Listen, I was calling to see if you were still coming to Richie’s christening on Sunday?’

I pause. Richie is thirty-eight.

I frown, fighting off an unpleasant image of a hairy, burly Richie in a princess christening gown. ‘Richie’s christening?’

‘His daughter’s,’ Mum explains, reading my mind. ‘Arabella. Her christening. I did tell you about this.’

I have no memory of this.

‘Well, I’ve already RSVP’d on your behalf and said you’d come,’ Mum says, reading my silence and taking an uppity tone I don’t hear very often.

I roll my eyes, feeling like a teenager. ‘Right. So, really, you’re not ringing to ask me if I’m coming? You’re telling me I’m coming.’

‘Reminding you,’ she says sweetly. ‘Why don’t you come home tonight after work and have dinner with us? Then we can go together in the morning. I have a dress you can wear. I finished making it this week. You’ll love it.’

‘What colour is it?’

‘Purple.’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Dark purple! Like an aubergine colour.’

Hmmm. That does sound quite nice.

‘Okay, fine. Thanks, Mum.’

‘Message Dad with the time you’ll get into the station and he’ll pick you up.’ I can hear her smile and my heart warms. ‘We’re making stew.’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Nate

I elbow my way through our flat door.

I only travelled with the suit I was in for the ball, which meant that during my stay in New York, I had to wear the clothes I had intentionally not taken with me to London. Think high school jerseys and jeans that skim the top of your ankles and are stained with various mystery patches from years ago. Why Mom never threw any of these clothes out, I have no idea.

In a way, it was a stroke of good luck, otherwise I would have been stuck in my suit, or wearing the plaid shirts and faded jeans that Dad has worn for the past twenty years. Although I’m pretty sure he only has one pair, so that would have left me in one of Mom’s dresses. Stevie would be thrilled. Or, if I looked better than him, furious.

‘Hello?’ I call through the flat as I kick the door shut behind me. As soon as I stepped off the plane I was greeted with a steady torrent of rainwater, hitting me at all angles. It’s what I heard one passenger describe as ‘wet rain’, which sounded insane to me, but her friend nodded seriously and they both carried on chatting like it was completely normal.

My flight didn’t land until nine, and it’s almost midnight now. From the silence that greets me as I walk through the flat, I gather that Stevie is out at another gig. Even if he hadn’t said hello back, I would have heard his music. He’s like a walking Spotify megamix. One day it’s ABBA and Cher, the next it’s Green Day and Sum 41. He’s been that way ever since we were kids.

The London streets were bustling as I sailed through the city on the top floor of the 24 bus. I could see clusters of people huddled under canopies outside bars, sucking on cigarettes and hunching their shoulders, and restaurants humming with groups of friends and lovers, leaning over tables and laughing. Out of nowhere, I felt an odd pang of longing as I watched them, like I wanted to jump off the bus and join in. They all looked so happy. It’s the first time I’ve experienced London the way I had imagined it would be in my mind.

Well, that and the night I met Bat Girl.

Stevie hadn’t managed to find her after I’d left the ball. He didn’t see my messages, which I’m kind of glad about. If she wasn’t already royally freaked out about me running off without even saying goodbye, let alone apologising, my drunk brother ambushing her with a second-hand, desperate apology would probably have tipped her over the edge. And Stevie isn’t exactly subtle in his plots to find me a girlfriend, so God knows what he would have said to her when he was fuelled by gallons upon gallons of espresso martini.

Yeah, it’s a good thing, really. If I was meant to see her again, then Dad would have called thirty minutes later. Bythat time I could have asked for her number and hername, for God’s sake. But he didn’t, so this is just how it’s meant to be. Although I really miss that ring.

I grab a beer from the fridge before stretching out onto the cold, lumpy sofa. Stevie has done his best, filling the place with plants and artwork, but it’s missing the comforts of my New York pad. Well, a decent sofa is the least you would hope for.