Page 4 of Don't Fall in Love (and how to break the rules)

Nisha’s eyes widened, and Chrissie couldn’t help being reminded of the lingering looks they’d shared more than twenty years earlier. “Awesome,” said Nisha, scraping her hair behind her ears and tying it back with a hairband she’d retrieved from her wrist. It was a trademark move, and one that Chrissie remembered well. It was as though nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

“I only accepted the job here last week, and I didn’t think I’d know anyone.” She smiled, her dimple threading in and out of her cheek.

“Awesome,” echoed Chrissie, although the word felt cumbersome in her mouth, like a dry cracker. “I, er, ought to go and get the photocopying I set up earlier. Back in a tick.” She swiftly exited the room, forgetting her tea, and headed straight to the loos in the corridor. She found a cubicle, popped the toilet lid down and took a seat, and immediately regretted the decision to have a personal crisis on a child’s toilet. Her knees were by her shoulders. She sighed and started the routine.

Rule one – don’t fall in love. She thought of that night, the day’s heat still rising from the earth, the smell of musty canvas, the tinny sound of Avil Lavigne from discarded earphones, and the sense that life would never be the same again. Then of the following morning. No, she was good. She wasn’t in love. That was long ago.

Rule two – question everything. Nisha was back. Why? Why now? Could Chrissie work alongside her every day for the whole school year? What would that be like? Could they be friends after all this time? Should they be?

Rule three – give back. She had a duty to give Nisha a chance. Yes. A responsibility. She nodded to herself. This was the right thing to do. She imagined herself holding the hand of her eighteen-year-old self, reassuring her it wouldn’t always hurt, and that one day she’d be able to meet Nisha and smile.

She grimaced.

Chapter Three

Rae and Chrissie were at a small vegetarian café on Kings Heath High Street, sharing some pitta bread and a vat of hummus.

“All set for the first day of term tomorrow, then?” asked Rae. They were still in their yoga clothes, their mats resting against the table.

Chrissie puffed out a breath. “Well, the glue sticks are all present and correct, the scissors and pencils and display boards are all up and ready. But I don’t think I’d call myself ready, to be honest. I only met my new teacher today, and I’m not sure how it’s going to work,” she said, opting not to get into the detail of her situation.

“Oh, really,” probed Rae. “How come?” They took a glug of water and trained their eyes on Chrissie, quizzically. “You’ve only just met them, and already you’re not sure? That’s not like you.”

“Yeah, you’re right, of course you’re right. I ought not make any assumptions. I need to keep an open mind,” said Chrissie. “She’s just, um, different to what I’m used to.”

“Ah,” said Rae. “Well, different can be good. Sometimes it’s something to learn from, right?”

“You are, as always, correct,” said Chrissie, again impressed by the wisdom of her younger friend.

“Do you think it might be first day of term nerves?”

“It might,” agreed Chrissie, knowing that it really wasn’t, choosing not to expand any further. “It’s going to be an interesting class. I helped out with them a bit last term when they were in Year Three and they were, well, let’s just say they were a lively bunch.”

“Ha,” said Rae, “now there’s a word doing some heavy lifting. ‘Lively’. I’m sure you’ll be equal to the task. You’ve taken on far bigger challenges.” They gave Chrissie a firm stare and suddenly looked a lot more serious.

“Yes, I have,” said Chrissie. Starting again had been hard, after all that had happened. She thought back to this time last year, finding somewhere to live, the counselling sessions, Kiera. Starting over is hard when your life has been burned down. Especially when you’re the one who lit the match.

“You have,” confirmed Rae, bringing Chrissie back from her wandering thoughts. Chrissie gave a weak smile.

On the way home to her flat, on the ground floor of a large Edwardian terrace, she reviewed her day. Following their initial meeting, Nisha had seemed busy until they left after five pm. She was in and out of meetings, staring at her laptop screen through large reading glasses, wearing a serious expression throughout. As they’d both left for the day, Nisha had turned to her and said, “We should catch up properly, over a drink sometime.” She smiled that smile again, broad and open, that dimple returning again from all those years ago. But was there something a little more guarded in her old friend than Chrissie remembered?

“We should,” responded Chrissie, her neck prickling. She wasn’t sure where on earth they would start when it came to‘catching up’. Two decades was a long time to catch up on, especially after the way things had been left. Escaping to Rae’s yoga class had been a blessing.

When she got home, Chrissie found herself streaming Escapology by Robbie Williams, one of the albums that had been on permanent replay that summer. The songFeeltook on a new meaning now, with its plea to find real love.

But Chrissie knew love wasn’t for her. Rule one: Don’t fall in love. Not after everything that had happened. Not after everything she had done.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to skip the track.

She returned to her journal and worked through the events of the day, writing everything down methodically with a turquoise gel pen. Turquoise was calming, right? The colour of the cosmos, or so she’d read online.

Chrissie allowed her mind to wander back to that summer, to the conversations late into the night, the smell of the dying embers of neighbours’ barbecues, the feel of the synthetic sleeping bags. She wondered if it was just her who remembered everything in such minute detail. She’d felt like life had changed forever that summer. A levels seemed irrelevant, and she dedicated more of her time to Nisha than she did to the French texts she should have been studying. She smiled to herself. She’d scraped the grades she needed for university, and that night she and Nisha had decided to celebrate.

And then, things changed.

Chrissie looked down. She found she’d absentmindedly been doodling Nisha’s name over and over again –Nisha Rajan,Nisha Rajan,Nisha Rajan. She had swirled lines around the letters, turning it into a mandala. She froze and gripped her pen tightly.

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