Page 7 of Falling for You
‘I’m Remy,’ he holds out his hand. It’s wide and wrinkled. Stevie would have a field day reading his palm.
‘Nate,’ I say, shaking his hand. ‘Good to meet you, Remy.’
An hour later and I’m still in the pub, my notebook open in front of me, my neat lists filled with the little nuggets of information I managed to collect from Mom before I left New York. What Tell was like, what food she enjoyed, what they used to do together. Why she hasn’t answered the phone to me or replied to any of my messages for the past few weeks.
Well, not that one. Obviously.
‘Another one?’
I look up at Remy as he slaps my back, nodding towards the bartender. I smile. We’re three pints deep now and my eyes have gained a blissful, blurred layer which makes everything look a little bit fuzzy. I close my notebook and thank Remy as he taps his card on the machine.
‘How long have you been coming here, then?’ I ask. ‘Do you live around here?’
Remy looks over his shoulder as a gaggle of young men swarm into the pub, loosening their ties after a day in the office. He raises a hand to a few of them and then moves back round on his bar stool.
‘I’m just by Primrose Hill,’ he says. ‘Do you know it?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know much about London, to be honest.’
‘When did you get here?’
‘Four days ago. I’m still getting over the jet lag.’
The bartender places two frothy pints in front of us and we chink them together.
‘What are your big plans, then?’ Remy asks.
I take a sip of my pint. ‘I don’t really have any. Explore London, do some family shit, go back home.’
Remy pulls a face and I realise I’ve given the most boring answer known to man.
‘What do you do?’ I ask, bending forwards to make room for a girl squeezing past me.
Remy almost looks surprised at this question. ‘I’m a cabbie.’
Before I can stop myself, I lean over and thwack him on the arm. ‘Remy! You’re a cabbie! That’s awesome!’
Remy laughs awkwardly and I immediately feel the need to explain myself.
‘Sorry,’ I say quickly. ‘You’re just a bit famous in the US. Like, do you drive one of those black cabs with the lights?’
He presses his lips together and nods. ‘That I do.’
‘And do you know all of the back alleys and secret ways to get around the city?’
He drinks his pint, looking at me out of the corner of his eye like I might be winding him up. I hold my hands up in defence.
‘I’m just a crazy American. First time in London and all that.’
‘Are you about to ask if I know the King?’
I chuckle into my pint. ‘No. Why, do you?’
He laughs, shaking his head and giving me a shove. ‘I do know where he lives, though.’
‘That’s awesome!’ I cry, before catching his eye and feeling the penny drop.
Damn, I need to stop drinking.
