Page 43 of Falling for You
‘Oh, look at her face!’ Penny gushes. ‘She’s totally planning her wedding right now.’
‘I am not.’
I will wear white and have a huge veil and my bridesmaids will be dressed in blue.
No, green.
No, all different colours! To match the autumn leaves!
‘I don’t know,’ I mumble, feeling a frisson of embarrassment as I catch their excited expressions. ‘Is this not a bit cringe?’
‘It’s romantic!’
‘Everything about dating is cringe, Annie,’ Penny says, pulling another pillow from the back of my bed and placing it behind her head. ‘Do you find Hinge less cringe?’
Hmmm. She has a point.
‘Just let us try and find him,’ Tanya says. ‘Then you can decide whether or not you’re going to message him.’
‘You’re not going to message him first?’ I ask sternly.
Tanya looks as if I’ve asked her if she’s about to shoplift. ‘Absolutely not!’
‘Penny?’
‘Guide’s honour,’ Penny says, holding three fingers up towards me.
‘Okay,’ I shrug. ‘Fine. Go and internet-stalk to your heart’s content.’
Tanya claps her hands together excitedly. ‘I’m so glad you said that, because I’ve already started.’
‘What?’ I gape at her. ‘Tanya!’
‘Only with the first guy!’ she says, going pink again. ‘Is this your American Boy?’
She turns her phone to me and I see a man sitting on a sun lounger, with six women in bikinis draped around him, looking like they’re in the advert for the nextWolf of Wall Streetfilm.
This is going to be a long weekend.
Two hours later and I’m squashed into my corner seat on the train, using my bag as a pillow, watching as we chug deeper into the countryside and further away from the bright lights of the city.
Outside, the rain is lashing down, leaving little trails which wriggle down the window before flying back off again. The cloak of darkness, which appeared at 7 p.m. in September and has been gradually spreading itself earlier across the sky each day, is firmly in place, giving you that magical feeling of it being the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning. I know everyone moans about the nights being so dark in winter, but I love curling up on my sofa under a blanket and feeling like I’m hiding from the world. Of course, I love summer too. I love the pub gardens and the smell of sun cream and the feeling of frolicking across Hyde Park flinging a frisbee at your friends which you’re all not in the right state to catch after a bottle of rosé. But you can’t beat autumn. It makes me feel safe.
I know this isn’t the coolest thing to say, but I love hanging out with my parents. It doesn’t take much for me to throw my weekend plans out of the window and spend two days in my childhood home, with its big windows and squashy, plump sofas. The house always smells of delicious food – there’s simply no comparison with the food smells in our flat. Neither Mum nor Dad is Gordon Ramsay, but the smell of lasagne or roast chicken sails around my body and gives me a hug as soon as I walk through the door. Like the ribbons of steam floating from the oven are wrapping their arms around me and giving me a little squeeze.
After the train arrives at Moreton-in-Marsh, I lug my suitcase onto the platform and watch the machine swallow my ticket as I push my way through the barrier. Just like clockwork, I spot my dad immediately. He’s sat in the Volvo, tapping the steering wheel as Mumford & Sons blares out of the speakers. Every birthday party, trip to the pub, swimming class or school disco … It was always Dad in the Volvo ready at the end of the night, parked outside ready to pick me up.
He spots me and gets out of the car, even though I try and wave for him to stay in his seat. I’m thirty-two and he still feels the need to show me how to open the boot.
‘Hi Dad,’ I beam. He’s wearing his favourite green fleece and jeans. As he hugs me, I smell the trace of a freshly baked cake on his skin.
‘Hello, champ!’ he says, giving me a little shake. He takes my bag before I can protest and drops it into the boot. Cereal bar wrappers, a coffee cup and theSunday Timesgreet me as I climb into the front seat. You can usually guess where my dad has spent his day by following the Tunnock’s Caramel Wafer wrappers.
‘Right,’ he says, clicking the car into first gear. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Fine,’ I say, making myself comfy as we start to make our way home. ‘You?’
‘I saw your latest costume!’ Dad says, ignoring my question, like he always does when I ask how he is. ‘It was fantastic! Was the lady pleased?’
