Page 21 of Falling for You

Annie

As I crash through the door of our flat, I make the mistake of glancing at myself in the hallway mirror and feel the instant surge of dismay I get every time I look at it.

Penny put it up and she’s about two inches shorter than me, so when she looks in it she can see her lovely sunny reflection beaming back and then leave the house with the comfort of knowing that she’s about to have a great day.

When I look, I only catch sight of my chins and neck and leave the house knowing that if I walk into Waitrose at Christmas then some tweedy toff might mistake me for one of the turkeys.

I fling open the suitcase in my room and start chucking things inside it. Clothes, make-up, pyjamas. I have about forty minutes until I need to leave the house to get the train back to Mum’s and Dad’s house.

‘Hello!’

I look round to see Penny and Tanya standing at my door, both looking a little pink-cheeked and suspicious.

They climb onto my bed, Penny immediately burrowing her way under the covers like she always does (she says I have the best bedding in the flat, which is true) and Tanya perches alongside her, in a far more respectful manner.

‘Hey,’ I say back.

‘What are you doing?’ Tanya asks. ‘Are you leaving us?’

‘Just for the weekend.’ I reach out and grab an electric-blue jumper I knitted last winter, swiftly throwing it into the suitcase. ‘Apparently I’ve been invited to my cousin’s christening.’ I look up at them both. ‘You don’t want to come, do you? Mum’s doing a stew tonight.’

Penny groans. ‘I’d love to, but I’m seeing Mike.’

‘I’ve got plans tomorrow,’ Tanya says apologetically. ‘You’ll have fun, though. Tell your parents I say hi.’

‘Me too.’

I smile, taking a handful of socks and lobbing them onto the pile of clothes. ‘I will.’

‘And before you go,’ Tanya adds, the suspicious look back on her face, ‘we’ve got something to tell you.’

‘We’ve been doing some detective work,’ Penny grins.

I raise my eyebrows at them. ‘What does that mean?’

I’m not sure I like where this is going.

‘Well,’ Tanya starts, clearly desperate to share. ‘We were both sad about your missed opportunity with American Boy.’

I feel a pang in my heart.

For God’s sake, get a grip, heart. You’ve met him once, for ten minutes!

‘And about him leaving without a trace and you never seeing him again,’ Penny adds.

‘So, we thought we’d help you find him,’ Tanya bursts, practically bouncing up and down at the idea.

I laugh. ‘How are you going to do that?’

‘Well, that’s what I said,’ Penny replies. ‘But then Tanya had the most brilliant idea.’

‘The guest list!’ Tanya cries. ‘His name must be on it. So, I spoke to my friend Yaz who was on the events team, and she gave me the list. All we have to do is find your guy on Instagram and bam! We’ve got him!’

I stare at her. Crikey, Tanya is wasted in PR. She should be a detective.

‘Is that allowed?’ I say. ‘What about GDPR?’

Penny huffs dismissively. ‘Nobody cares about that, Annie.’

‘I think they do.’

‘Nobody cares if it’s in the name of love,’ Tanya cries, beaming at me.

‘And if he does care, then you can just block him,’ Penny adds and Tanya nods supportively.

I’m about to protest again that this is a ridiculous idea, but curiosity begins to tickle behind my chest. Is American Boy’s name on that list? Could it really be that easy to find him? What if it is? What if he’s the love of my life and this is my happily ever after?

‘Oh, look at her face!’ Penny gushes. ‘She’s totally planning her wedding right now.’

‘I am not.’

I will wear white and have a huge veil and my bridesmaids will be dressed in blue.

No, green.

No, all different colours! To match the autumn leaves!

‘I don’t know,’ I mumble, feeling a frisson of embarrassment as I catch their excited expressions. ‘Is this not a bit cringe?’

‘It’s romantic!’

‘Everything about dating is cringe, Annie,’ Penny says, pulling another pillow from the back of my bed and placing it behind her head. ‘Do you find Hinge less cringe?’

Hmmm. She has a point.

‘Just let us try and find him,’ Tanya says. ‘Then you can decide whether or not you’re going to message him.’

‘You’re not going to message him first?’ I ask sternly.

Tanya looks as if I’ve asked her if she’s about to shoplift. ‘Absolutely not!’

‘Penny?’

‘Guide’s honour,’ Penny says, holding three fingers up towards me.

‘Okay,’ I shrug. ‘Fine. Go and internet-stalk to your heart’s content.’

Tanya claps her hands together excitedly. ‘I’m so glad you said that, because I’ve already started.’

‘What?’ I gape at her. ‘Tanya!’

‘Only with the first guy!’ she says, going pink again. ‘Is this your American Boy?’

She turns her phone to me and I see a man sitting on a sun lounger, with six women in bikinis draped around him, looking like they’re in the advert for the next Wolf of Wall Street film.

This is going to be a long weekend.

Two hours later and I’m squashed into my corner seat on the train, using my bag as a pillow, watching as we chug deeper into the countryside and further away from the bright lights of the city.

Outside, the rain is lashing down, leaving little trails which wriggle down the window before flying back off again.

The cloak of darkness, which appeared at 7 p.m. in September and has been gradually spreading itself earlier across the sky each day, is firmly in place, giving you that magical feeling of it being the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning.

I know everyone moans about the nights being so dark in winter, but I love curling up on my sofa under a blanket and feeling like I’m hiding from the world.

Of course, I love summer too. I love the pub gardens and the smell of sun cream and the feeling of frolicking across Hyde Park flinging a frisbee at your friends which you’re all not in the right state to catch after a bottle of rosé.

But you can’t beat autumn. It makes me feel safe.

I know this isn’t the coolest thing to say, but I love hanging out with my parents.

It doesn’t take much for me to throw my weekend plans out of the window and spend two days in my childhood home, with its big windows and squashy, plump sofas.

The house always smells of delicious food – there’s simply no comparison with the food smells in our flat.

Neither Mum nor Dad is Gordon Ramsay, but the smell of lasagne or roast chicken sails around my body and gives me a hug as soon as I walk through the door.

Like the ribbons of steam floating from the oven are wrapping their arms around me and giving me a little squeeze.

After the train arrives at Moreton-in-Marsh, I lug my suitcase onto the platform and watch the machine swallow my ticket as I push my way through the barrier.

Just like clockwork, I spot my dad immediately.

He’s sat in the Volvo, tapping the steering wheel as Mumford & Sons blares out of the speakers.

Every birthday party, trip to the pub, swimming class or school disco …

It was always Dad in the Volvo ready at the end of the night, parked outside ready to pick me up.

He spots me and gets out of the car, even though I try and wave for him to stay in his seat. I’m thirty-two and he still feels the need to show me how to open the boot.

‘Hi Dad,’ I beam. He’s wearing his favourite green fleece and jeans. As he hugs me, I smell the trace of a freshly baked cake on his skin.

‘Hello, champ!’ he says, giving me a little shake.

He takes my bag before I can protest and drops it into the boot.

Cereal bar wrappers, a coffee cup and the Sunday Times greet me as I climb into the front seat.

You can usually guess where my dad has spent his day by following the Tunnock’s Caramel Wafer wrappers.

‘Right,’ he says, clicking the car into first gear. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Fine,’ I say, making myself comfy as we start to make our way home. ‘You?’

‘I saw your latest costume!’ Dad says, ignoring my question, like he always does when I ask how he is. ‘It was fantastic! Was the lady pleased?’

I smile. We had another commission come through earlier in the week for a polar bear outfit.

The brief was ‘cool meets gross’ and I went all out.

I made an amazing catsuit, using white, pale blue and glittering silver fabric and an incredible bear headpiece, with a furry mouth that was stained brown and red from fake blood.

‘Loved it,’ I smile.

‘They always do!’ Dad reaches forward and shakes my leg. ‘Mum couldn’t believe it. She showed all the neighbours.’

I try not to roll my eyes. Mum and Dad wanted more children, but for one reason or another I was the only one who appeared, which means their ‘my child is the best’ radar is slightly broken.

And by that, I mean it’s completely out of whack.

Don’t get me wrong, they were never the type to shove me on stage and force me to audition for The X Factor , and then scream at the producers if I didn’t get in.

They let me do my own thing, but everything I did, in their eyes, was fantastic.

Every mud pie I made was the yummiest, every drawing the prettiest, every song I sang the most tuneful.

Now, as someone with the musical talent of a toilet brush holder, can you imagine their level of pride and intense ‘look how brilliant my daughter is’ when I do something I’m actually good at?

It’s lovely to have such supportive parents, but it makes me feel a bit uncomfortable when they boast about me to their friends and neighbours, and I can see the thought bubbles popping up above their heads.

It really isn’t that impressive. She’s a thirty-something adult who makes costumes in her spare time. It isn’t even her job.