Page 58 of Falling for You
We sink into silence and I sigh, looking around at the thin white walls of the flat. Worlds away from the fat little cottage that we love talking about.
‘I better go, Mom,’ I say, trying to shift the heaviness in my chest. ‘I’m going out tonight.’
‘If you meet Keira Knightley, tell her I say hi.’
I laugh, rolling my eyes. ‘I will.’
‘And send Stevie my love.’
I pause, the laugh evaporating. ‘I will.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Annie
‘You look so great.’
I smile gratefully at Tanya. After the debacle of ‘finding American Boy’, Tanya and Penny put in a lot of time hyping me up to make up for trying to matchmake me with a gay man (which, let’s be honest, would probably be quite fun, but not what I’m looking for). Penny went to Mike’s house, even though we both tried to persuade her to come and just sit at the bar, but she did help us get ready first and vowed to be back later that night so she wouldn’t miss out on any gossip. I’m wearing my low-cut burgundy jumper with strings of glitter sewn in that I made earlier this year, along with my jeans and boots. Tanya is wearing a violet dress, tights and pumps.
The bus bumps over a pothole and we both bob up and down.
‘So,’ I say, grinning at Tanya as the bus gets closer to the pub. ‘What are we doing tonight?’
Tanya looks thoughtful. ‘Well, do you actually want to meet someone there?’
‘There won’t be anyone there,’ I say at once. This is not my first rodeo.
Tanya laughs. ‘Okay. Let’s do accents, then.’
I groan. Accents are by far my worst skill.
‘Oh God. I definitely won’t meet anyone if I do that. What do you want to do?’
Tanya pauses, thinking, and then claps her hands together.
‘Oh, Scottish! I’ve just finished watchingOutlander. I can pretend to be Claire.’
‘Can you actually do a Scottish accent?’
‘Yeah. Listen to this: hello, my name is Tanya.’
‘That’s a no, then.’
She hits my arm and we both laugh as the bus turns towards the street that the Clapham Arms sits on. I reach forward and press the bell.
‘Oh, I’m so excited,’ Tanya says as we clamber to our feet and stagger down the stairs. ‘We haven’t done this in ages.’
‘Shall we get a Chinese after?’
‘Definitely, but don’t tell Penny,’ she says as we thank the driver and hop off the bus. ‘She’s jealous enough as it is.’
It’s a cold, crisp night and our breath puffs out in front of us like little clouds.
The Clapham Arms is a small pub sandwiched between a Costa and a charity shop on Clapham High Street. It’s a Tardis inside, with a squashed bar stacked with every bottle you can imagine, which stretches back a surprisingly long way. It’s like climbing into a rabbit hole: on the outside itlooks so cute and dinky, but once you’re inside suddenlyyou’rethe cute and dinky one. We’ve been here a few times over the years. The garden catches the early afternoon sun and, if you go at the right time, is the perfect place to cradle a cider and lightly sizzle your skin.
Tonight, the right-hand side of the pub has been transformed into an arena for dating. All the tables have a limp rose in the middle, and a small tea light flickering hopefully. Singletons are milling around the bar, chatting with friends and stealing glances at the other spectators. Tanya links her arm in mine as we walk straight to the bar. We’re greeted by an older man in a flat cap holding a clipboard.
‘Good evening, ladies,’ he says. ‘Are you here for speed dating?’
