Page 198 of Falling for You
‘Stevie,’ I say. ‘You don’t mean that. You—’
‘I’m not doing it, Nate,’ he says, going into his room. ‘I’m just not.’
I open my mouth to reply but it’s too late. He’s slammed the door.
I spend the rest of the evening sitting on the sofa, watching garbage on TV. Two people scream at each other inEastEnders, a stand-up comedian promotes their new show on a red couch and finally the sombre ten o’clock news rolls around before I pull myself up off the sofa and into bed.
Stevie stays locked in his room, not even coming out to goto the bathroom. I debate knocking on the door and forcing him to talk to me, but I’m worried what I might say. The red mist of anger still hasn’t fully faded from behind my eyes; one wrong thing said or a look thrown in my direction and who knows what we might end up yelling at each other.
As I lie in bed, the weekend stretches before me like an ominous blank page. Stevie will be in, and I’ll end up spending half the time locked inside my room waiting for him to go out so I can relax in peace, and the other half sat on the sofa wondering if he’s secretly hoping the same.
In the end, I message Remy, hoping that he might be at a loose end or wanting some company to watch another football game, but he’s up in Leicester for the weekend visiting his parents. I even debate messaging Aunt Tell, but decide against it. I don’t want to spend the weekend around her weird, buzzing energy. It’s hardly the way I usually spend Thanksgiving.
After a few hours of wallowing in my own pit of worry and self-doubt, I pull out my phone and do the one thing that Mom and I spoke about doing when I came to London. I google whereThe Holidayis set and book a return train ticket for the next day.
My hand stings and I look down at the bandage still tightly woven around my hand, although a little frayed and peeling away at the edges. I take a sip of my pint. I thought I’d try a Guinness this time. It’s not bad, but hardly as delicious as it looks when it’s poured and you’re made to believe you’re about to drink something like thick, creamy hot chocolate.
So, here I am, sitting in a cosy country pub. It’s all a bitwonky and looks as if a child has given it a big squeeze when all the bricks were still wet. There are flickering yellow lamps and lots of thin bar towels. A gaggle of people are huddled around a dartboard in the corner of the room, cheering every couple of minutes and slapping each other on the back, and there’s a glossy black Lab stretched out in front of the roaring fire which is feeding a warm, smoky smell throughout the pub.
It only took two hours on the train, and as I stared out of the window and watched the world around me slowly get less grey, I felt the chains around my chest loosen too. At one point, I felt so far away from my problems that I nearly let myself message Annie. This time last week, we were about to have our first date together. Well, first if you don’t count the ten minutes of chat at the Halloween ball.
I can’t message her now. I mean, what would I say? Sorry I sent such a weird message; I thought my mom was in danger so I didn’t really have any working brain cells to send you a proper message, and then I spent the rest of the week either yelling at my brother or preparing to sell my organs if it meant I could go back home and make sure she’s okay?
Annie was so fun and carefree last week, and so was I. That Nate was fun. Nobody wants to hang out with this Nate. Even I don’t want to hang out with him.
I sigh, taking another sip of the Guinness.
My train arrived at midday, and I’ve spent the afternoon wandering around the cobbled streets and going into quaint, tiny tea rooms and along paths by flowing rivers.The Cotswolds is not too dissimilar to London, but it’s like a version of London with a layer pulled back. Everyone walks a bit slower and smiles at each other. The bartender at this pub asked how I was and seemed quite happy to chat to me when he picked up my New York accent, and even gave me tips on what to see in the area. By this point, it was only a few hours until my train back to London, but I still lapped it all up. Maybe I’ll come here again, for a proper weekend.
I took a crossword from the bar and set myself up by the fire, being careful not to disturb the black Lab, whose name I learnt was Bessie, and I’ve been sat here ever since. It feels quite easy to hide from all your problems when you’re sitting in a place like this, where the only thing you have to think about is what six down is, nine letters: ARCHETYPE.
I take out my phone and send a picture to Mom, being sure to capture the roaring fire in the background and the framed black and white photo of the local cricket team, all proudly resting on one knee and smiling up at the camera. She’d love it here. I’ll bring her one day.
As I click ‘send’, I notice the weather app on the home screen and I start, quickly getting to my feet.
Shit. I’d forgotten about the snow.
‘Sorry,’ I say to the bartender. ‘It says it’s meant to snow tonight, is that right?’
He blinks at me as we both silently question why I’m asking him, as if he’s the weatherman.
‘Think so,’ he says after a pause. ‘Are you staying here tonight?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m going back to London.’
‘How?’
‘By train.’
He picks up a glass and starts cleaning it with a rag, looking doubtful. ‘Good luck, fella.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Annie
I madly start throwing clothes into my open suitcase, the flurry of white specks taunting me in my peripheral vision from my bedroom window, only visible under the streetlights thanks to the 5 p.m. darkness. I’d got totally caught up in an outfit I was creating. We had another commission come through this week, this time for a toad. I found an incredible green, glittery fabric which looks wet to touch when the light bounces off it, and I spent all afternoon sketching out different silhouettes. Well, up until about five minutes ago, when I looked up and realised that it wasactually snowingand I’d have to leave Londonimmediatelyin order to get a train before they are all inevitably cancelled as our entire civilisation collapses like it does every time we get any more than four specks of snow.
Like, it’s not even December yet! Why is it snowing?
