Page 31 of Falling for You
‘Ah, it’s fine.’ I lean my head against her shoulder. ‘He was just a guy.’
But even as I say it I feel my heart thud, because I know that I’m not telling the truth.
‘Have you eaten breakfast?’
I put a hand on my hip and look at Pam, who – like always – is hunched over her laptop, her thin lips pressed together in concentration. She is in the exact same position that I left her in on Friday.
‘Huh?’ she grunts at me, not breaking her stare with the screen.
‘Breakfast,’ I repeat, waving my hand in front of her eyes. ‘Let me get you something. Shall I go down to Pret?’
I glance out of the window. Today the sun is high in the sky, but there’s a light chill floating through London. As I walked to the tube earlier this morning, it had snatched mybreath away and I’d nestled my chin into my oversized scarf. The amber leaves are curling at the end of their branches, moments away from snapping off and leaving the trees spiky and bare. It’s my absolute favourite weather today. Not quite cold enough to wear a coat, with the sun still glistening, but cold enough to feel a shock in your lungs every time you take a breath.
God, I love autumn. I mean, someone pass me my pumpkin spice latte and putStrictlyon for goodness’ sake!
‘I’m fine.’
‘It’s the most important meal of the day!’ I sing and finally Pam looks up from her laptop.
‘Well, someone is chipper this morning.’
I feel a pang in my chest. I always go into ‘chipper’ mode when I come into work, it’s my role here. It fits into my and Pam’s dynamic. We can’t both be moody and distracted all the time. God, the place would be a nightmare.
‘I’ll make you a coffee,’ I say. ‘And then I’ll go down to Pret.’
Pam gives me a thumbs-up and goes back to the laptop. I wander into the kitchen and fill up the water in the coffee machine, then lean against the counter as an Instagram post flits onto my screen. I immediately fill with pride as a young woman pops up, wearing one of my designs. She wanted a werewolf costume, which I absolutely loved making. It’s actually quite disgusting. It has a gory snout that attaches to a headpiece, dripping congealed blood down the chin, and a huge, hairy chest bursting out of a floor-length, haunted-ghost-woman-style dress. She looks incredible, but not justbecause of the costume. She’s growling in the photo, her hands in tight claws and a glint in her eye. She looks like she’s having fun, and that’s what Halloween is supposed to be about. It’s my aim with every costume I make.
Well, apart from mine. Apparently that aim was to stab a stranger in the chest and rip his shirt open.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and put Pam’s mug under the spout of the coffee machine, clicking the cappuccino option, even though I know what she really wants is a double espresso.
Let’s face facts: I’ve lived in London for ten years, I’m on and off Tinder like a cat on a hot tin roof. I’ve chatted to guys in bars before, and many of them have left the conversation halfway through (rude). I usually wake up the next morning barely able to remember what they looked like, let alone feeling any type of way about them.
So, why is this different? Why does it feel a bit like I’ve been dumped and left with the melodramatic feeling that life is unfair? Why do I suddenly have the urge to look out of a rainy window and sing every song Adele has ever written?
I take Pam’s mug out and put mine in its place, selecting the latte option.
It must be because it was Halloween and he said he liked my costume. I mean, at the heart of it I am, of course, self-obsessed. He complimented my most prized work – of course I want to see him again. Perhaps I am just so egotistical that I want to see him again simply so I can soak up his compliments like a deranged, narcissistic sponge.
But … it wasn’t that, was it? I felt something beforehe complimented me. I don’t really know what, I just felt something.
And then he ran off into the night like bloody Cinderella.
I sigh, trying to squash my confused feelings down my body as I walk back into the office, handing Pam her coffee. She has the grace to look up at me as I come over. I perch on the desk next to her, holding my mug in my hands, making it clear that I’m here for a chat, whether she likes it or not.
‘Go on, then,’ she says, taking her mug and closing her laptop screen. ‘Tell me all about your favourite night of the year. How was your party? How many costumes did you make?’
I smile, turning my phone towards her and showing her some of the photos my customers have sent over. ‘Around fifteen this month.’
Pam raises her eyebrows in a ‘get you’ way.
‘Look at these,’ she says, pulling a cigarette out of her shirt pocket and propping it in her mouth. ‘You really made all of them?’
‘I did. My mum usually makes a few too, but this time it was mainly me.’
‘And what about you? What did you wear?’
I take the phone back and find the photo of my costume. Tanya did a full-on photoshoot for me before we left. Mainly so I could send pictures to Mum and Dad and use it for our business Instagram to show off our latest costumes. But also because it’s quite a fun part about living with your best friends. I could feel like a severed toenail and all it would take is Tanya and Penny ramping me up and telling me howto pose and I’d be feeling more like a severed toenail with glittery nail varnish on.
