Page 43 of Falling for You

Nate

The thing is, I should know better. I know that life isn’t this bullshit you see in films. I mean, fuck.

I’ve lived it for the past five years! From the moment Mom let the bath water run over the third Sunday in a row, the moment she burnt chicken to a charcoaled shell one too many times, the moment I caught her looking at me with genuine fear in her eyes.

Like she doesn’t quite know who I am, or what’s going on.

I know how cruel and fucking horrible life can be.

And yet, I still let myself fall for the idea that maybe my life could be brilliant.

And it was all because of her and one weekend we had together.

I angrily fire off another email, my fingers fizzing. I’ve been in the office since eight this morning, glued to my laptop and avoiding conversation wherever I can.

I got out of the shower and she’d gone, completely disappeared.

She’d gone from holding my hand, kissing me in the streets and laughing uncontrollably to just …

vanishing. Without a trace. I was in the shower for less than five minutes for fuck’s sake, what the hell could have happened? All I got was this message:

We’re not right for each other.

It was like the final bit of light I had in my life had been snatched away from me.

I tried to chase after her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

I thought I might hear from her later on in the day, I even tried to call her myself, but all I got was the monotone drone of an unrecognised number.

She’d blocked my number. I tried to find her on social media, but she’d blocked me there too.

It was like she was a ghost. She’d stripped herself from my life completely; it’s like she was never there before.

Except, she was.

I turn my phone over as it starts vibrating and I see Dad’s name flash up. I pick it up and walk to the other side of the office, where the desks are empty.

‘Hi, Dad,’ I say. ‘How are you? How’s Mom?’

Since her terrifying message landed in my phone a week ago, Mom has behaved pretty much as normal.

We’ve spoken almost every day, we’ve FaceTimed and she gushed over the photos of Annie’s house that I sent her and all the scenic pictures of the Cotswolds.

It’s like nothing has ever happened. In her mind, anyway.

For me, all it did was reawaken the hot fear that simmers under my skin like bubbling lava.

‘Oh, she’s fine. We’re all fine,’ Dad says, in the way he always does where I can’t quite work out whether he’s lying or not. Is she really fine? Or is she fine now, but earlier this morning poured boiling coffee over her hand because she hadn’t realised that she’d forgotten to put a mug there?

‘Good,’ I say, running my fingers through my hair. ‘Listen. I think I’m going to come home.’

‘Home?’ Dad repeats. ‘When?’

‘As soon as I can,’ I reply, turning back to face the rest of the office. Brian and Helen are milling around, holding their cups of tea and chatting to the rest of the team. They won’t miss me. They’ll barely notice I’ve gone.

‘Really?’ Dad says. ‘Are you sure, Nate? Is everything okay?’

I press my lips together. ‘Yup. Fine. I just want to come back home.’

‘Okay,’ Dad says after a pause. ‘So long as you’re all right.’

‘Yup,’ I say again. ‘I’m fine.’

Just like Dad, just like Mom, I’m fine. We’re all fine.

I’m going home. There is just one more thing I need to do first.

I rap on the ruby-red door then quickly stuff my frozen hand back into my pocket.

I got on the first train to Epping as soon as I’d finished work.

I didn’t bother calling Aunt Tell to tell her I was coming; she’d sent me her show schedule so I knew she’d be in, and I didn’t want to risk her putting on some form of show for me.

I don’t have time for pleasantries any more. I just need answers.

‘Nathaniel!’ she gushes as she pulls open the door. ‘How are—’

‘Why won’t you come home and see Mom?’

I’d spent the entire journey thinking of different ways to say this, whether I should be polite or try and coax the answer out of her. But I don’t have the energy. I’m sick of people not telling me the truth. I just need answers.

She blinks at me, and I can see the different responses whizzing through her mind. She opens her mouth to speak, but I’ve got more to say.

‘We need you. Mom needs you. I messaged you for weeks, I called and emailed and you ignored me. Then I show up here and you act as if nothing has happened. Why won’t you see her?

She’s your sister! She talks about you all the time and how much she loves you, and you barely even acknowledge her existence.

You’re here in your big house and your fabulous life and it’s like we don’t exist. I’m not going to ask you to come see Mom any more, even though she’s sick and getting worse by the week, but I just need to know why. ’

I break off, my heart racing. Aunt Tell just stares back at me, her eyes wide.

‘I see,’ she says, her voice hollow. ‘I think you’d better come in.’

I step past her, immediately hit by the warmth of her home and the scent of cinnamon and vanilla. She gestures for me to sit in the living room, and I opt for the same plush armchair I sat in before.

‘Coffee?’ she offers. ‘Tea?’

I’m about to refuse when I feel a pang of guilt. I don’t want to be rude to her. ‘Coffee would be great, thank you.’

She nods and walks into the kitchen, and I look round the living room.

A large framed mirror sits on the mantelpiece above a golden electric fire.

The curtains are dark green and a thick, heavy velvet and the ceiling is swirled like the top of a cupcake.

I hear footsteps and look up, expecting to see Aunt Tell holding a tray, when instead I see …

‘Remy?’ I gape, getting to my feet. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Hello, bud.’ Remy gives a sheepish smile. ‘How are you doing?’ We slap hands and give each other a quick hug. ‘I’ll get out of your hair,’ he says, looking at the kitchen as Aunt Tell reappears. ‘But let’s go for a pint soon.’

He nods at me and gives Aunt Tell a smile. Before I can ask any more questions, he’s slipped out of the room and I sink back into my armchair. Aunt Tell puts a floral tray down on the coffee table and sits opposite me.

‘He’s a fine man,’ she muses and I try not to frown.

Remy, you old dog.

We sit in silence for a moment and I will myself not to speak. Eventually, Aunt Tell sighs. ‘Well, Nathaniel, I think I owe you an apology.’

I’m about to blurt that she owes Mom an apology, not me, but I stop myself.

‘I did receive your messages, but even before then, I knew your mom wasn’t well. Your dad had reached out to me a few years ago.’

My head dips. She’s known for years?

‘And I am sorry I didn’t reply. That was wrong of me.’ I wait for her to continue, but she stops, taking a sip of her coffee. It seems her apology has finished.

‘Right …’ I say. ‘So, are you going to come back and see Mom?’

She shakes her head. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’ I demand. ‘It isn’t like you can’t afford it. I know you’re in a show right now, but when it finishes? It doesn’t have to be Christmas. It—’

‘Nate,’ she says softly, ‘I won’t be going to see her.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t want to.’

My coffee cup starts to shake in my hands.

‘I love your mom,’ she says slowly. ‘She’s my best friend, and I’d like to keep her in my mind how she’s always been. Not how she is now.’ My mouth falls open. ‘You may think that’s selfish,’ she continues, reading my mind. ‘But it is my choice.’

‘Even though you know it will make her really happy to see you? Even though she’s asked for you?’ I say, my voice shaking.

She looks out through the window and I feel a wall go up between us. I get to my feet. ‘Right,’ I say. ‘Fine. Sorry I bothered you.’

I walk straight out of the door and back onto the chilly street, the words that have been swirling round my brain now hammering at my heart.

Why did I even bother coming to London?

I push my way into the flat. The icy rain has seeped through my jacket, clinging to my curly hair and running over my face. I’ve been in London for over a month now, and I still don’t remember to take an umbrella anywhere.

‘Hey Nate?’

I hear Stevie’s voice from the living room.

We’ve barely spoken since our fight, but as soon as I see him I am overtaken by a feeling of needing to protect my younger brother.

He’s sitting on the sofa, and I wrap my arms around his neck from behind and give him a squeeze. He pats my arm non-committally.

‘You all right?’ he asks. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing,’ I say, letting him go. ‘You were right about Aunt Tell, though. She is a dick.’ He raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to continue, but I walk to the kitchen and open the fridge. ‘Do you want a beer?’

‘Go on, then.’

I grab two cans and hand one to Stevie, before flopping down on the armchair opposite him. The TV is flickering, blaring some antiques show that Stevie seems to love.

‘You know, you could have saved some time if you’d listened to me in the first place,’ he says, clicking open his beer. ‘I did tell you she was a dick.’

I sigh. ‘Yeah well, call me an idiot.’

‘I’d rather call you an optimist,’ Stevie says kindly and I soften. He holds his beer can towards me and we knock them together.

‘Why do you hate her, then?’ I ask. ‘You’ve never told me.’

He shrugs. ‘I don’t know, man. She’s just not like the rest of our family. She’s so selfish and self-absorbed. Like, every time I had a friend round from college she’d put on a show for us, but she never cared if I needed real help. She only cared about herself.’

I nod. ‘I can see that.’

‘I’m worried I’m like her.’

His eyes are still fixed on the TV.

‘Like her?’ I repeat. ‘Stevie, you—’

‘I know I’m selfish,’ he says, still not making eye contact with me. ‘I’m not like you and Mom – you’re both so kind and generous. I’m trying to be better, though. I know you’re angry with me.’

I press my lips together.