Page 171 of Falling for You
She frowns, taking her glass of wine from the bartender. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh.’
‘My friend said you put an ad online saying you wanted to go on a date. She applied for me.’
Ah. ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Right.’
‘I thought it would be fun.’ She smiles at me. ‘A different way to meet someone, you know?’
‘Sure,’ I nod, taking a sip of my beer.
Come on, Nate. You’re on a date with a cute girl. You knew it wouldn’t be Bat Girl, it’s impossible you’ll ever see her again. Just let it go.
The next day I wake up with a new sense of purpose. Jane and I had a nice enough time, but we left after an hour or so of polite small talk and a brief hug and I was back at the flat by eleven. Stevie disappeared with Jason, and I didn’t hear him come in until the early hours of this morning. But when I wake up in my boxroom, with a fresh, clear Sunday stretching out in front of me, I know that I can finally do what I came to London to do.
Today is the day I’m going to go and find my Aunt Tell. Speak to her about Mom and convince her to come back to New York to visit.
I get up, take a shower and start to plan my journey down to Epping. The sky is a bright, powder blue and the sun is blazing out from behind the clouds, but there’s a crisp chill in the air. I wrap a scarf round my neck and step out of the front door.
My mom is a New Yorker through and through. She grew up outside of Manhattan with just her mom and sister in a small apartment above a store. She met my dad waiting tables at a restaurant downtown, and they never looked back.
Aunt Tell’s early adult years were spent moving to London to follow her dream of becoming an actress. She came here when she was twenty-five and has been performing in theatres ever since. I used to joke with Stevie that he must take after Aunt Tell and I must take after Mom, but he didn’t like that.
I take a train to Epping and emerge from the station onto a suburban street. Taking in a lungful of icy air, I begin my walk to Aunt Tell’s house, my phone shouting directions at me every thirty seconds or so.
If all goes to plan, I should be able to go back to New York by the end of the month. I’m trying not to think too much about why Aunt Tell has been ignoring my messages and calls for the past six weeks or so. I’ve sort of put it down to some whimsical idea of all of my emails getting lost in cyberspace or I somehow have her wrong number (even though I totally don’t). We’ll both just pretend it never happened.
‘Turn right,’ pipes up my phone. ‘Then in four hundred yards, the destination is on your left.’
I look up from my phone, feeling my eyebrows raise as I take in the row of grand houses all sat next to each other likeperfect dollhouses. In short, they are all enormous. I can’t believe Aunt Tell lives in a house like this.
I count the numbers on the houses and stop walking as I reach number 30. It’s not quite as big as the house next door, but with its smooth white plaster and crisp black window frames, it’s pretty much the smartest. And still way too big for just one person.
I walk up the drive, noticing her shiny car, and then raise my hand to the ruby-red door. A Christmas wreath is looped round the door knocker, far too early in my opinion, with little fairy lights twinkling around it.
I hold my breath as the knock reverberates through the door. I haven’t seen Aunt Tell in years. She might not even recognise me. I know Mom has said that she sends pictures, but I’ve got no idea what pictures or from how long ago.
The door swings open and my eyes widen as they land on Aunt Tell.
She is a small woman, with honey-blonde hair curled above her head in a large quiff. Her eyes are shadowed with dark make-up and her thin lips are coated in a shimmering pale pink. She’s wearing a floral dress and an eccentric scarf. As soon as she sees me, her mouth falls open like she’s seen a ghost, and before I have time to recite the lines I had rehearsed on my way over, I’m pulled into a hug.
‘Oh Nathaniel!’ she cries, clasping my head and rocking me from side to side. ‘It is so good to see you.’
I shuffle slightly in my seat, wating for Aunt Tell to reappear with the coffee. I’m perched in a large armchair which has agolden trim and is upholstered with a rich purple velvet. It looks like a chair that’s there for decoration rather than sitting on. But she insisted.
After what felt like hours, Aunt Tell finally let me go and bustled straight into her house, commanding me to follow. Her hallway had black and white squared tiles, a glittering chandelier and a sweeping wooden staircase. On the walls were photos of her, looking furious or gobsmacked, mid-scene in various acting roles. The odd picture had her clutching a bouquet of flowers, one hand to her heart, beaming at an adoring audience. I noticed there weren’t any pictures of us anywhere. Aunt Tell has never been married or had any children. We are the only family she has, and it’s like we don’t exist.
Which makes sense, considering she’s been ignoring me for the past six weeks.
But she seems so happy to see me! She hardly greeted me like someone she was trying to avoid.
‘Here we are!’ she coos, placing two china mugs down on golden coasters and beaming at me. She is practically glowing.
‘Great,’ I say. ‘Thank you. Sorry for just dropping in like this, I tried to call, but …’
But you never answered.
‘It’s a lovely surprise!’ she says at once, placing her hands on her lap and staring at me. Her eyes are wide and, unlike Stevie, her American accent is as strong as mine, even though she’s lived in the UK for half of her life.
