Page 12 of Falling for You
He gives me a look like he’s speaking in a language that only he and I understand.
‘Right.’
‘But there are some other great things you can go to,’ he says. ‘We have some fantastic pantomimes if you’re still here at Christmas. Have you been to a panto before?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Oh no he hasn’t!’
I stare at him, bewildered. ‘Sorry?’
He throws his head back and laughs, dropping a teabag into each mug. ‘I’m joking with you. Are you a sports guy? Sorry, can I just …’ He goes to open the fridge and I move out of the way awkwardly.
‘Ah yes,’ I say, finally feeling myself relax a little. ‘I’m actually getting into football.’
Brian raises his eyebrows at me, clearly impressed. ‘Oh yeah? What team?’
Finally. Something I can talk about. I lift my chin proudly. ‘Chelsea.’
Brian’s face drops. ‘Seriously?’
I stare at him, waiting for him to burst out laughing as part of another weird joke I don’t understand. But he keeps staring at me as though I’ve admitted to stabbing my grandmother over breakfast.
‘Yeah?’ I say.
To my alarm, Brian rolls his eyes, sloshing milk into both mugs.
‘Ah. We’re all Tottenham,’ he says, shaking his head and giving a chuckle. ‘That really is bad luck. Don’t let the team hear you say that. They won’t let you live it down.’
I blink at him.
‘Right,’ I say eventually. ‘Well, I’m sure I could be a Tottenham fan too …’
‘Definitely don’t let the team hear you saythat.’ He laughs, jostling my shoulder, and I try to laugh along.
‘There’s your tea,’ he says, picking up his mug andhanding me mine. I take it and automatically take a giant sip, forgetting for a moment that it isn’t coffee, and feel my face contort.
Oh God, that is absolutely –
‘What?’ Brian says, his eyes narrowing. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Nothing!’ I say quickly, noticing Greg and Gary from socials popping their heads up. ‘Nothing. It’s delicious. Thank you.’
He peers at me, taking a step forward. ‘Why did you pull that face, then?’
‘What face?’
‘Like it tastes horrible? The milk isn’t off, is it?’
Oh God, I cannot let him realise on my first day here that I hate tea. I will be ostracised.
‘Nope,’ I say, forcing a huge smile, ‘it’s perfect. I always pull a weird face when I drink a … hot drink.’
He looks at me for a minute before accepting my answer.
‘Okay,’ he shrugs, ‘well, make yourself at home. Pick whichever desk you want and just … start writing!’
A cold wash of dread sweeps over me.
