Page 47 of Falling for You

Nate

I smile at Remy as he places two pint glasses down in front of us.

I’ve gone back to Hopping Hare. Its light, biscuity taste bounces around on my tongue and warms the inside of my cheeks.

I’ve tried the lagers, I’ve tried the Guinness, I’ve tried all the ales (or, at least, I’ve tried all the ales they have to offer at the Old Queen’s Head), and this is the best one.

Remy holds his pint glass up to me and we clink them together.

Remy’s wearing his Fred Perry bomber jacket, zipped up to the base of his neck, and faded blue jeans. As always, his grey flat cap is firmly on his head and his salt and pepper stubbly beard is manicured so that it outlines his mouth in a perfect square.

It’s Saturday afternoon. The rest of the week dragged by in a horrible, weird blur.

I went to work, I sat at my desk, I came home.

I’ve spoken to Mom and Dad every day. Everything has ticked by, just like life always has done.

Just fine. Just like my life was before I met Annie.

Before we were walking round the streets of her hometown together, laughing with her parents, dancing in that shitty club in Clapham. Before she vanished into thin air.

I push the feelings down. There is no point reliving it. I can’t get it back. She’s gone, and I’ll never know why.

I haven’t heard from Aunt Tell, not that I was expecting to. She ignored me for weeks before I forced myself into her life – why wouldn’t she ignore me again?

‘So,’ Remy says, after a few minutes of silence as we both stare up at the flickering television screen. ‘Why did you need to see me, then?’

‘Can’t I just want a pint with you?’

‘Sure.’ Remy cocks his head. ‘But that’s not why you called me, is it?’

I take a sip of my pint. Today, the pub is peppered with people.

Some of the regulars are propped up at the bar, clusters of families and friends are tucking into cooked lunches and a few children are squabbling over a teetering tower of Jenga.

There isn’t any football on today (or ‘important football’, in the words of Remy), so the pub is quieter than usual.

‘Well, first of all, I need to talk to you about my aunt.’ I give him a questioning look and he grins into his pint.

‘She’s a nice lady, Nate.’

Hmmm. We’ll agree to disagree there.

‘We just stayed in touch after the theatre. Just some casual dates. That’s all.’

‘Okay, sure. I do need to talk to you about something else, though.’

‘Is it about that girl?’ He smirks at me from over his pint and I flinch.

Fuck, why did I ever tell anybody about Annie?

‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m going back to New York.’

Remy raises his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Really? Why’s that?’

‘I hate it here,’ I say at once, the hurt of Annie’s name still burning in my chest. I catch Remy’s eyes and soften. ‘No. Sorry. I don’t hate it,’ I correct myself. ‘I just … it isn’t what I thought it was going to be.’

‘What did you think it was going to be?’ Remy says, and the smirk is back. ‘Were you expecting to bump into the King?’

I roll my eyes at him. ‘I’m not that bad.’

He nods. ‘Well, when are you off, then?’

‘Soon,’ I say. ‘I think I’ll book my flight tomorrow.’

I’m expecting Remy to have the same reaction as everyone else. The ‘oh well, you’ll be missed’ or, ‘I suppose it’ll be nice to go back home.’ But he doesn’t say anything.

‘What?’ I say, when I can’t bear the silence any longer.

He jumps slightly. ‘Hmm? Oh, nothing.’

‘Yes, there is,’ I say, trying not to sound annoyed. ‘What is it?’

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. ‘It’s just a bit soon to go back, isn’t it? I thought you wanted to properly experience life here.’

‘I did.’

‘And you’ve been here what, five weeks?’

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 a thump . 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 I think he 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 watching Dancing 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.

‘Stevie is your brother,’ he says. ‘Right?’

‘Right.’

‘But … when he’s wearing all this,’ he points towards the drag queen who has made their way to the bar, ‘is he still your brother?’

I pull a face at him and he shakes his head. ‘No, no, hang on,’ he says quickly. ‘Sorry. I just mean, is he your brother or your sister?’

I put down my drink. ‘So,’ I say. ‘When Stevie isn’t in drag, when he’s just Stevie, then he identifies as a man. So we use he and him, and he’s my brother.’

Remy pauses for a moment, and then nods.

‘When Stevie is in drag,’ I gesture towards the drag queen, ‘then she’s Stevie Trixx. He’s playing a character, and that character is a woman.’

I watch the words circle around Remy’s mind.

‘So when Stevie is in drag … she is a she.’

I nod. ‘Exactly.’

Remy nods, taking a sip of his beer. ‘Sorry, Nate,’ he says. ‘I just didn’t want to get it wrong.’

I clap his shoulder. ‘I appreciate that, mate. Everyone is different, though,’ I add.

Remy holds his beer bottle towards mine and we clink them together.

Moments later, the lights go down, leaving just a pool of light on the stage.

Strobes of electric pink and blue strike across the stage and a fog machine starts sending clouds of smoke through the room.

Around us, the girls start to scream in delight, throwing themselves in the air and pulling out their phones.

‘Please welcome to the stage …’ a voice booms through the speaker ‘… Stevie Trixx!’

The whole place erupts and Remy looks at me in shock.

I cock my head, a smug grin splitting my face as Stevie glides onto the stage. ‘She’s a star.’

And I’m not being biased. Stevie is wearing an incredible, emerald-green gown.

It has streams of fabric billowing in different directions and a corset coated in stones, which glisten when the light catches them.

She’s wearing a white-blonde wig, which twists above her head, and heels so thin and pointy that it makes my insides squirm.

Mom definitely didn’t used to own heels like that .

As the music starts, Stevie starts to flip and twist her body. The audience goes wild, and as I get to my feet and pull Remy up to join me, I notice someone standing on the other side of the bar and my heart stops.

I don’t believe it. I was right.

It’s Annie.