Page 223 of Falling for You

My cheeks burn. ‘Six.’

He shrugs. ‘Just pretty soon to make your mind up about a place,’ he says. ‘That’s all.’

I pick up my pint, watching as the bartender drops a crate of tiny glass bottles on the floor with athump. He opens a fridge door and starts slotting them all in place. Orange juices, tomato, apple.

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It is quite soon, but it’s the right decision for me.’

Remy nods. ‘Well, just give me a call when you decide to come and visit.’

We knock our pints together. ‘Is this the last time I’ll see you, then?’ Remy continues. ‘Is this the farewell pint?’

I smile, enjoying the way his cockney accent carries his voice. ‘It depends when I get the flight. If I get a flight for Monday, then maybe.’

He lets out a whistle. ‘Blimey.’

‘Or,’ I say, as the idea drops into my mind, ‘what are you doing tonight?’

He finishes his pint. ‘Nothing much.’

‘Do you want to come to a drag show?’

Remy raises his eyebrows at me, smiling. ‘Are you performing?’

I laugh. ‘God, no. Much better than me – my brother. I promise it’ll be better than that play.’

Remy laughs and shakes his head. ‘Don’t let your aunt hear you say that.’

‘Is that a yes?’

‘Sure. Why not?’

‘Here you are.’

I hand Remy a bottle of beer and place the tray down on our small table. I got us both a beer and two cherry sambuca shots. I think Remy needs something to settle his nerves, as we seem to be surrounded by screaming hen parties. I asked the bartender to give us a shot of whatever he recommended. I wasn’t expecting cherry sambuca, but here we are.

We both knock the shot back and make the familiar ‘ah!’ sound as soon as it’s down. It burns the back of my throat, the acidity and sweetness biting my teeth and storming down my body like a blaze of fire.

Stevie was delighted when I asked for two tickets for his show tonight. Or Ithinkhe was delighted. Apparently, he’s had an ‘absolute nightmare’ this week, and said hello, yes, you can come, I’ll put your tickets with Marina, get me a double vodka Coke, goodbye, all in one breath before hanging up on me. He told me later that the nightmare had involved his costume, but apparently a ‘fallen angel’ called Annie had offered to help him. I tried to get him to describe her to me, but he was vague and just said she was ‘hot and brunette’, which hardly narrows it down. But it wouldn’t leave my mind. Could it be her, helping my brother? Could it really be that simple?

I have seen Stevie perform before, but I’m ashamed that this is the first time I’ve seen him since I’ve been in the UK. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to, but Stevie is a bit of a slippery fish and getting him to sit down and tell me all the dates that he’s performing and where he’ll be is impossible.Not because he doesn’t want me to come, but he’s so busy and unorganised the last thing he wants to do when he’s on the sofa is think about work. But I knew about this one, because he said he couldn’t fly out to New York before he’d performed. I got him to agree to a flight next week. We’re finally going home together.

Tonight’s show is in a small club in Islington. They’ve filled the dance floor with round tables and erected a stage at the front. I can see Stevie’s name scrawled up on the poster alongside the other performers.

STEVIE TRIXX!

Stevie started doing drag officially when he moved to London. But to be honest, he’s sort of been doing it his whole life. He’s an enormous show-off and loves getting up in front of people on any occasion to perform a dance routine or tell some jokes, and he always loved watching Mom get ready. He used to ask to borrow her jewellery, and if we were ever watchingDancing with the Stars, he’d always put on a dress and a pair of her heels and demand that I put on a jacket so we could copy the couples. It’s just who Stevie has always been in our family. But I know it isn’t as easy for others in his shoes. It breaks my heart to think of people like Stevie living in homes where you’re not accepted just because of who you are.

A drag queen walks past us and Remy gapes at her. She has long, slender legs and enormous bouffant red hair which tumbles down her back.

‘That’s not Stevie,’ I say to Remy, before he can ask.

‘So …’ he says slowly. ‘Answer something for me, Nate.’

‘Sure.’

‘And I’m not trying to be difficult, I just want to know.’

I take a swig of my lager. It isn’t nearly as nice as the ale we were having back at the Old Queen’s Head.