Page 10 of Falling for You
‘Thank you, smells great.’
He nods and starts working at the noodles with a pair of chopsticks. I’m the big brother, three years older than Stevie. (Although he’s been twenty-four for the past six years, so who knows how large our age gap will really stretch.)
We’ve always been quite different. He’s got more talent in his big toe than the majority of the human population have in their entire body, and he’s one of those rare people who have made their dreams a reality. He got a scholarship to train with the Royal Ballet when he was nineteen, and that’s where his obsession with London began. Everyone is in awe of him back home.
He’s also a giant pain in the ass.
‘Very nice,’ I say, noticing that Stevie is eyeballing me as he waits for me to compliment his cooking. ‘The next Betty Crocker.’
He rolls his eyes at me. ‘She made cakes, you moron.’
I pull a face at him and he smiles, shaking his head. When he’s with his mates, his accent slips into this weird, cockney drawl, like a chameleon effortlessly changing its colours. But it’s no use when he’s with me; I draw our home accent straight back out of him.
I glance out of the window as blue lights flash through the flat. A light sprinkle of rain has been washing through the sky for the past hour. Little beads of water sit on the fiery leaves of the maple trees lining the street, entirely out of place in this grey, built-up part of Camden. But they’re still there, proudly waving at each passer-by, ready to show off the twists and turns of their bark, carrying the stories of thethousands of people who have walked past barely noticing their existence.
At some point soon, the leaves will let go and helicopter through the sky. But right now, it’s the stage of autumn where they are just about clinging on. It’s not their time yet. It’ll come.
‘So,’ Stevie says, swallowing his last mouthful and putting his bowl on the rickety coffee table. ‘What did you do with your last day of freedom?’
I chew my mouthful. I moved to London just under a week before my new placement started in order to give myself time to explore the city. Find my favourite coffee shops, pop by some museums, soak in the culture and stumble across historic sites.
‘I went up to Oxford Street and watched soccer in a bar.’
Stevie almost chokes on his drink. ‘Soccer? You mean football.’
I shoot him a look – the cockney accent is back. ‘Yeah, that.’
‘Get you,’ he says, plucking up the television remote. ‘Shall we watchMade in Chelsea?’
‘Sure.’
‘Are you totally in love with London yet?’ Stevie asks. ‘Will you be staying here forever?’
I sigh. ‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On whether it rains this much all the time.’
‘Ah yes.’ Stevie cocks his head whimsically. ‘All part of the charm.’
He puts the remote down as three picture-perfect women pop onto the screen, all holding coffee cups and raising their eyebrows in disgust at each other.
‘And did you hear from Mom?’
‘Yup,’ I say, turning my phone in my hands. It’s only 3 p.m. in New York at the moment. ‘I said you’d call her.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re her son?’
‘I’m too busy,’ he says. ‘This is my only evening off. I’m in shows the rest of this week. I won’t have the time.’
‘Well then, text her,’ I shrug. ‘Send her a selfie, whatever.’
Stevie scoffs and I smirk. Even with his shaved, bleached head, silver earring and tattooed arms, when he strops, he may as well be six years old again.
‘Oh, come on,’ I grin. ‘You have time to chat to every man in London,’ I point to his phone on the coffee table as, right on cue, it lights up. ‘I’m sure you can spare five minutes for our dear old mom.’
