Page 26 of Falling for You

Nate

‘Here you are, then.’

I look up as Remy hands me a plastic pint of yellowy, foamy liquid. I take it in my gloved hands and immediately take a sip.

We arrived at Stamford Bridge about an hour ago.

I met Remy outside Fulham Broadway station at nine in the morning, just like we’d planned the week before.

I was surrounded by a sea of football fans, all swarming out of the station, chanting and jostling each other in their blue football shirts, and I suddenly felt a bit like an alien in my green sweatshirt.

As soon as we got into the stadium, I ran to the merchandise stand and bought the first Chelsea shirt I could see, blaming the eye-watering cost on the conversion rate.

I pulled it on over my sweatshirt and immediately felt like I’d put some armour on.

I may not fully understand the rules, but at least I was now blending in with the crowd.

Remy was wearing his flat cap, jeans and a blue Chelsea football shirt. He held his hand out for me to shake as soon as he saw me. Now we’re sitting in our cold plastic seats waiting for the game to start.

‘Big game, this,’ Remy says.

‘Yeah?’

He nods, taking a sip of his pint. ‘If we win this, we’re back to the top of the league.’

I pull a face, hoping I’m hiding the fact that I have pretty much no idea what any of that means, even though I was trying my best to research it on the subway over.

I take a sip of the crisp lager and feel a chill race under my skin. The stands are beginning to swell with people, either dressed in blue or red. Everyone is buoyant and bubbling with excitement.

‘Thanks for this,’ I say to Remy, gesturing to the stadium.

He nods into his pint. ‘No problem, mate. Had the spare ticket, it’s nice for you to experience it properly.’

I tuck my free hand into my pocket.

‘Have you recovered from squash, then?’

‘Only just,’ I laugh, sticking out my left leg. ‘My calves were absolutely killing me after.’

Remy smiles. ‘You’ll get used to it.’

‘Have you been back since we played?’ I ask.

He takes another sip of his pint, watching as the crowds continue to jostle into the stands, all carrying their pints and chatting animatedly to one another. ‘No, I only go on Saturdays. It’s too much with my job otherwise and, you know, we’re here today.’

I pull my jacket closer around my body and glance at Remy. The weathered skin on his face is prickled with the shadow of beard, his small eyes are creased and surrounded by deep lines and his shoulders are hunched up to his ears.

‘You’re a journalist, aren’t you?’ he says.

I pause.

‘More of a writer,’ I say. ‘I write for Take the Time . It’s a magazine that covers different events. So I basically get sent to events and then have to review them.’

‘Get you.’ Remy raises his eyebrows, impressed. ‘You get to go to some swanky events, then? Where has my invite been?’

I grin. Remy would be the perfect person to take with me to any of the events.

‘I haven’t been invited to any whilst I’ve been in London,’ I say. ‘At the moment they want me to write about my love life.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘It doesn’t exist,’ I say, before Remy can get any ideas. ‘So, yeah, I’m not writing anything at the moment. But I’m meant to be. I don’t know how long they’ll keep me here when I’m not writing anything.’

Remy slaps his hand on my shoulder and gives it a shake. ‘Well, you’re in luck, my boy.’

I glance at him, trying to stop my pint from tipping all over the floor.

‘Remy, I’m flattered, but you aren’t my type.’

He chuckles. ‘It’s speed dating tonight. I signed you up after squash last week.’

I’m about to argue when I see the mischievous glint in Remy’s eyes. This will be the third time he’s taken me somewhere since we’ve met, and each time it’s been fun.

Also, I desperately need to meet someone else so I can stop thinking about Bat Girl. It’s pathetic.

‘Well, there go my Saturday night plans!’ I laugh, giving his shoulder a shake back. ‘What about you, then?’

He looks up from his pint. ‘What about me?’

‘Have you got a girlfriend? Wife?’

That small smile comes back again, but it vanishes almost as soon as it appears.

‘Nah, not for me,’ he says. ‘Not for a long time.’

I stare down at my phone, battling the feelings of self-loathing as I scroll through the list of women (and men) that Brian has sent through in response to the embarrassing ‘Have you seen this man?’ advert.

I wasn’t lying when I said that I wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

But when I got back to the flat after the game, Stevie was out and so, after an hour of mindlessly plodding around, I couldn’t resist any longer.

Just in case she was there, somewhere on that list. Which, of course, I knew she wouldn’t be.

And even if she was, would I recognise her?

All I remember about her now is her deep, dark eyes and how she made me feel.

How she made me feel? Urgh, get a grip, man. You met her once.

I turn my phone over decisively. Remy advised me to book a taxi to tonight’s speed-dating event in Clapham.

Initially, he tried to explain how to get the train there, which I thought I’d manage, but when I asked him to repeat the directions I’d obviously pushed him over the edge and my incompetent, lost-male New Yorker charm had well and truly worn off.

On my journey back to the flat, I did think about messaging Aunt Tell, just to follow up on our conversation about her reaching out to Mom. But as I regained signal upon leaving the subway station, I saw she had messaged me first.

Darling Nathaniel, I am so sorry I ended our meeting so quickly, it was lovely to see you. I’ve put two tickets aside for my show, any night of the week! Would love to see you there. Big kisses.

I’d thought she was desperate to get me out of the house and never have to face me again, but now she wanted me to go and see her show. Why?

I’ve ignored the message for now. God only knows what Stevie will say if I ask him to schlep across London to see Aunt Tell in a show.

I’m about to get in the shower when my phone starts to vibrate. At first I think it’ll be Brian with a fresh batch of single women for me to scroll through, but then I see Mom’s name appear on the screen.

‘Hi, Mom,’ I say, as her sunny face pops up. Her dark hair is twisted above her head and she’s wearing a thick jumper.

‘Hello, Nate,’ she beams. ‘It’s snowing in New York!’

She turns the camera round so that I can see out of the kitchen window, and I feel a sudden pang of longing as I spot white florets of snow spiral down from the sky.

It’s Thanksgiving next weekend and I had planned on going home, but then Mom had her fall and I spent all the money I’d saved on the emergency flights, so now I can’t afford to go back until Christmas.

It’s the first Thanksgiving I’ve spent without my parents, and Stevie is working all weekend as usual.

I’m trying not to think too much about it.

‘So it is,’ I say. ‘Is it settling?’

‘Oh yeah!’ She turns the camera back to her face. ‘How are you doing? How’s Stevie?’

I feel an instant frisson of annoyance. I guess Stevie hasn’t called her this week, then. Again.

‘All good here,’ I say. ‘How are you?’

‘All fine,’ she nods. ‘Your dad and I are just prepping for Thanksgiving. What are you going to do with yourself?’

‘Oh, you know,’ I say, trying to keep my voice upbeat. ‘I’ve got a few offers.’

I can’t tell her that I have no plans and nothing on the horizon.

‘Have you been down to the country yet?’ She smiles. ‘Have you seen the house?’

I lean back in my chair. She’s talking about the house in The Holiday . A little cottage nestled in between curving trees and strings of ivy, with a winding path and a wooden fence. She always used to tell me that was her dream house.

‘Not yet.’ I smile back at her.

‘I’ve looked it up,’ she says, the camera angle suddenly changing as she puts the phone down on a desk and all I can see is the bottom of her chin. ‘And it’s based on an area in the Cotswolds.’

‘Right.’

‘You have to go find it, Nate.’ She picks the phone back up and glimmers at me. ‘You can’t go to England and not see the house .’

‘Maybe I’ll see it and buy it for us,’ I say.

Mom laughs. ‘Wouldn’t that be nice?’

We sink into silence and I sigh, looking around at the thin white walls of the flat. Worlds away from the fat little cottage that we love talking about.

‘I better go, Mom,’ I say, trying to shift the heaviness in my chest. ‘I’m going out tonight.’

‘If you meet Keira Knightley, tell her I say hi.’

I laugh, rolling my eyes. ‘I will.’

‘And send Stevie my love.’

I pause, the laugh evaporating. ‘I will.’