Page 38 of Still Falling for You

I take a shortcut through the high street and cut across the car park behind the main row of shops. The temperature has unexpectedly dropped, and gravel mixed with mulchy leaves crunch and squish under my boots as I gain distance from Alex. The car park is brimming with cars, but there’s not a soul in sight. Steps sound behind me, and when I realise who it is, my heart jolts in my ribcage and then starts racing.

He must have run here because Alex’s cheeks are flushed, his chest heaving, and his eyebrows drawn together in an angry line. He’s standing so close yellow specks are glinting in his green eyes. ‘You forgot your purse.’ He shoves the familiar polka-dotted item in my hand. I deserved it.

‘See you later.’ He’s about to turn but changes his mind at the last minute and halts. ‘Actually, athank youwould do before I go.’ He carries on, ‘I thought we agreed on a truce. You asked me to help, and I did. I don’t understand you.’ He takes a gulp of air, all pretended composure wiped off his face and replaced by exasperation. ‘Are you angry with me?’

‘I’m not angry with you. I’m angry…’ I half-shout, echoing his words at the farm, but then my voice falters.

He becomes still, waiting for me to finish the sentence, but I can’t do that without compromising myself.

I take a step back to gain some composure, but he immediately takes a step forward. It’s like we’re dancing the waltz. ‘Why are you angry?’ His words come out as a gruff whisper. Familiar restless energy takes over my limbs and empties my head of any thoughts other than Alex and his closeness.

I’m done fighting. ‘I’m angry with myself because I don’t know whether this is real. And I’m angry because I still get affected by you like this.’ Stunned by my confession, he shrinks back, but I don’t stop now. ‘I don’t know which one is the realyou. Is it the Alex who puts me down in front of a class or the one who asks me for a truce and admits he was wrong? Is it the one who tells me I’m a mess or the one who stands up for me against my cheating ex-boyfriend?’ I land the final blow. ‘Is it the considerate and caring teenager who seemed to like me or the boy who got bored of me and found another toy to play with five minutes after we were finished? You can’t have it both ways, Alex. You can either be an arsehole or not. I find you and your motives conflicting and confusing. The most confusing thing is that I don’t know what you want from me.’

His shoulders lift when a breath whooshes out of him at my confession. I don’t know what possesses me next, but I breach the space between us, stand on my tiptoes and draw him to me. Then I bring my lips to his. I don’t give him a chance to push me away or pull me close, because either reaction would shatter something inside me. I press my lips to his, masochistically waiting for the electric current to singe them and when it does, I pull away.

Alex’s face acquires a strange expression, dark storms stirring behind his eyes. He makes a move, but I turn around before he decides what to do and leave him standing there, dishevelled and confused.

17

The following week is spent with Lydia, hitting all the bottomless brunch places across the town using her work benefits card, and with Catherine, day-tripping toPeppa Pig WorldandAdventure Wonderland. On Wednesday, I go for an afternoon tea with my mother in M&S and spend the whole afternoon watching herbuy a single pair of gloves.

It’s not until Friday afternoon I start thinking about Alex and what I’m going to do when I see him tonight at Becky’s birthday party.

I keep rethinking my decision to go because I can’t stand the idea of Alex pretending that I didn’t kiss him, or worse, acknowledging I did. It’s wrong on so many levels, not to mention he’s my ECT mentor.

I get changed five times until I finally settle on a strappy blood-red dress flaring into an A-line skirt. It barely reaches my mid-thighs, and I ponder on the appropriateness of it. To dress it down, I complement it with a white shirt underneath and black-and-grey tights. I put on red lipstick but only brush my lashes with mascara that turns my muddy-brown eyes hazel. If I squint, I look like a slightly more mousy-haired version of Emma Roberts.

I drink half a glass of white wine I find at the back of the kitchen cupboard. I definitely don’t remember buying it, but I need to quieten my nerves. The label is so washed out I can barely read what it says, and the cap is slightly crusty when I unscrew it. The contents aren’t much better and smell like malted vinegar. When I take a swig, it reminds me of something you would use to scrub windows with if you ran out of Mr Muscle. It’s acidic, and I can feel a literal hole being burnt into my stomach wall, so I drain the rest down the sink. I watch the liquid glug lazily for a few moments.

I should have someone to unblock the drain, but I’m concerned about what blockage they might discover down the pipe. A rat? A dead man’s finger? A human scalp? Anything is possible in this flat.

By the time the taxi arrives, I’m ready to go despite my stomach feeling bruised from the acidic aperitive and apprehension.

Liberté Lounge, a French bistro slash cocktail bar, is packedto the brim. As soon as I enter, a waft of stale air and overcooked chicken smelling of fancy herbs hits my nose.

I find our table easily because it’s the loudest table by far. It’s also covered in confetti and scattered with half-unwrapped presents. Immediately, I notice the informal sections it’s divided into. It’s like sixth form all over again. To my left, it’s the boisterous centre of the party. John, Danielle, Rob and a few younger members of staff I rarely socialise with occupy the left wing. I catch Danny lobbing a French fry at John who attempts to catch it with his mouth.

To my right, it’s the more conservative table that’s occupied by Ellie, Tom, and Jane who is politely sipping on a glass of red wine, her purple glasses reflecting the buttery light escaping from under the shaded lamps scattered around. Next to Jane and positioned at the end of the table is Alex. I ignore the way my stomach keels over in my belly at the sight of him. If it wasn’t for Alex, I would park myself there for the night.

Nobody registers my entrance, and I hang my parka on a coat stand in the corner, stalling for time to decide where to sit. I feel a bit exposed, but it’s too late to go home and get changed. Maybe I should have put on something longer and less… I try to think of the right word but only come up with…red.

Becky, who’s sitting in the middle of the long table, the neutral territory, spots me and shouts excitedly, ‘Holly.’

I stop myself from adjusting my collar when everyone looks up from their respective drinks and plates of food. John mouthshotwhile pretending his fingers have turned into claws. Judging by the gesture, he’s had a few drinks already. Danielle gives me a forced smile, but I’m OK with that after our interaction at the farm. We were never destined to be friends.

I wave noncommittally at everyone because I’ve always hated being the centre of attention. But then I register Alex and my heart turns into a timpani, each beat sending vibrations through my entire body. He scans every centimetre of my body,settling on my shoes. My new vintage red ballroom shoes that were delivered just a couple of days ago. When his attention rounds off to my face, we lock eyes. A strange tingle washes over my body. I muster all the restraint within and drag my gaze away.

There’s an empty seat next to Jane, but I’d rather sit on a bed of nails. I’m grateful when John makes room between him and Becky that I just about fit in. Settling in my seat, I catch Jane whispering in Alex’s ear. Immediately, they both stand and head to the bar. I try not to feel disappointed that Alex disappears at the first sight of me. Was the kiss that disgusting to him? I cringe at the possibility of Jane knowing about it.

When nobody pays us attention, John leans in. ‘You look amazing.’ He smells of booze, but it’s nice of him to compliment me. He’s messaged me a few times over the week, and all the messages were friendly, asking me what I’ve been up to. I feel a little bad because I’ve only replied to half of them.

I turn to Becky. ‘Happy birthday.’ I induce some cheer into my voice and immediately jerk when John’s thigh presses against mine; I forgot about John’s manspreading. I cross my legs to make myself smaller, but it’s uncomfortable, so I just give up and try to filter it out.

I refocus on Becky. I pass her a small bag that contains a vintage brooch in the shape of a scarab because I know she’s fascinated by them and a voucher for an afternoon tea with alpacas. I remember she mentioned she loved animals and always wanted to have a farm. She flushes at my gift and hugs me.

‘That’s so generous and thoughtful, Holly,’ she mumblesinto my hair with self-consciousness.

‘I thought you might not want another scented candle or a box of chocolates.’ I scan all the presents around me.

---