Page 25 of Falling for You

Annie

I hold up the swamp-green fabric to the light, squinting as I peer at the hem. The material has an elasticity which is perfect for the cinched-waist look of the design that I am hoping for, but it makes it pretty tricky to keep the hemline neat.

I curse under my breath and pick up my metal stitch un-picker. There is no way that the client would notice that the hem ever-so-slightly veers off to the right, but I’ll know. And I like everything I work on to be perfect.

Once I had asked Mum if we could make our own clothes, it was like we opened a door into a new world.

Mum’s career as a print designer meant she was naturally creative, but she’d never even thought of making her own clothes, let alone tried it.

But all it took was several Saturday afternoons poring over books in the library, rewinding clips of television shows and picking the brain of Esme, the woman who ran our local fabric shop, and we were hooked.

Where most teenagers were out drinking or hiding from their parents at the weekends, I couldn’t wait to spend Sundays with Mum.

We’d design the item together, whether it be trousers or a dress, whatever I fancied really, and then go out and pick the fabric and spend the rest of the day cutting out the pieces and stitching them all together.

Dad would normally be in the kitchen, cooking us up some form of roast, and the evening would end in a fashion show, where Mum and Dad would ‘rate’ the outfit.

I mean, they always gave it a ten, but insisted on doing it anyway.

By the time I was eighteen and getting ready to go to university, I had an entire wardrobe filled with my own clothes, and a lot of them I had made from scratch by myself.

I place the fabric back under the sewing machine and slowly press my foot down on the pedal.

All in all, the christening was fine. A standard event with our extended family and friends, lots of chat about mortgages and promotions, engagements and babies.

All of which I couldn’t really join in with, but it was fine because everybody loved my dress (I ended up wearing a dress I’d made last year) and kept asking where it was from.

Which made Mum prouder than she’d be if I announced that I was closing on a six-figure townhouse in Camden, was about to start my new position as Managing Director at the Bank of London and was pregnant with triplets with my gorgeous, highly successful husband.

I got back home to Clapham about three hours ago, and have been glued to my sewing machine ever since.

I hear a half-hearted knock at my bedroom door as it creaks open, but I keep my eyes firmly fixed on my hem. I will not mess this up again.

‘I brought you a tea.’

In my peripheral vision, I see Penny sit down on my bed and place two cups of tea on my bedside table.

‘Thank you.’

‘Well, Tanya made it. I just brought it in.’

Right on cue, Tanya bustles through the door and climbs onto the bed next to Penny.

‘How was your weekend?’ she asks. ‘How are your mum and dad? Ooooh … what are you working on?’

I narrow my eyes as the needle skims the final piece of fabric, and then finally turn to face them, letting out a sigh of relief.

Done. Perfect.

‘Another commission,’ I say. ‘This one is a gremlin for an eighteenth. This is the body piece.’

I hold it up so they can see and Tanya reaches forward, fingering the fabric.

‘It’s beautiful. I love it.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You seem to be pretty busy with commissions!’ Penny says, and I can hear the hope in her voice.

‘Not busy enough,’ I say, reading her mind. ‘But yeah, it’s nice that we’ve got a few more coming in. How are you guys?’

‘Good now,’ Penny says, tucking her feet under my duvet. ‘Yesterday was awful.’

Tanya pulls a horrified face at me and I grin. ‘Yeah, I figured from your messages that you’d opened that champagne.’

‘And the rest!’ Tanya cries. ‘We had so much prosecco. God, it was so bad, we could barely move yesterday.’

I smile, taking a sip of my tea.

‘But,’ Tanya says, blowing the steam away from her cup, ‘we actually have good news.’

I raise my eyebrows at her.

‘We found American Boy.’

Immediately, I feel my heart lift.

I’ve really tried to shake this. I only met him once for a very brief conversation. There is no reason why I should still be thinking about him – it’s ridiculous! Also, London is a huge city and the chances of us ever meeting again are near impossible.

Unless Tanya and Penny really have found him …

‘Look at your face,’ Penny grins. ‘I knew this was a good idea.’

‘How have you found him?’ I say, ignoring Penny’s stupid grin. ‘How do you know it’s him?’

‘It was quite easy, actually,’ Tanya says. ‘It was just a process of elimination.’

‘He had to be on that list somewhere,’ Penny says. ‘So it was just a case of narrowing the names down.’

‘It took a lot of research,’ Tanya adds. ‘We thoroughly looked through all of their Instagram profiles.’

‘You didn’t message any of them, did you?’

‘No,’ they both say in unison, their expressions serious.

‘Okay,’ I say, turning round on my chair to face them. ‘Show me.’

Tanya and Penny share a grin as Penny pulls out her phone.

‘Okay, caller …’ she says. ‘Is this your American Boy?’

My heart jumps into my throat as she hands the phone to me. She’s showing me an Instagram page, and my eyes wildly scan through it, trying to find his face. Have they found him? There are a lot of pictures of London and skylines, but eventually I find a picture of him and …

‘Guys!’ I cry, outraged. ‘I don’t think this guy is single! And I also don’t think he’s into women …’

It’s a picture of a tall blonde guy. He’s wearing a sequinned unitard and is kissing the man next to him, fully on the lips.

‘Well, we thought that at first,’ Penny says, as though it’s no big deal at all. ‘But he was the only American guy we could find! He wasn’t even on the guest list – he was tagged in a picture from the night.’

‘And we thought he could be bisexual!’ Tanya says quickly, desperate to keep the fantasy alive. ‘He’s American, it says so in his profile.’

I scroll through the pictures. ‘He’s definitely not bisexual.’

‘How do you know that?’ Penny arches an eyebrow at me. ‘You’re just making an assumption based on his photos.’

‘No,’ I say, turning the phone to face them, ‘I’m making an assumption based on the “I’m gay, I’m great, I’m gorgeous” T-shirt he’s wearing.’

‘Oh.’ Tanya bites her lip. ‘We didn’t see that.’

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but laugh. ‘You got me then,’ I say. ‘For a second I really thought you’d found him.’

‘We looked through every guy on the list,’ Tanya says earnestly. ‘It took us hours.’

I feel a pang of guilt. ‘Well, thank you. I guess he has just disappeared into the ether.’

‘Or maybe you imagined him,’ Penny says helpfully, and I give her a look.

‘I’m not that desperate.’

‘Yet.’

‘Shut up.’

‘I know what will cheer you up,’ Tanya says. ‘They’re hosting another speed-dating session down at the Clapham Arms next Saturday.’

Penny groans. ‘That’s not fair, I want to go.’

I smile. Speed dating has become a bit of a weird tradition between the three of us.

We first went at university when we were all still single.

Tanya had been unceremoniously dumped by some loser called Euan, and Penny found a local speed-dating session that same night.

We got pissed and decided to go, and it turned out to be one of the funniest nights of the year.

We all put on different accents and set ourselves stupid challenges (I had to see how many times I could say the word ‘peacock’ and Penny had to convince everyone that she thought she was a real wizard).

By the end of it, Tanya could barely remember Euan’s name.

‘Can’t you come and just make up a persona?’ I ask.

Penny scrunches her nose. ‘That feels a bit unethical.’

‘Or,’ Tanya says, her eyes wide, ‘why don’t you and Mike go and you can pretend you don’t know each other and then, like, sexily meet at the end …’

Penny kicks Tanya from under the covers. ‘Stop getting turned on about me and Mike, you weirdo.’

Tanya laughs. ‘Well, I’m definitely going. Annie?’

‘Yeah,’ I grin. ‘Count me in.’