Page 1 of The Likelihood Of You

Chapter one

Florence

Ialready know what she’s going to say. I know what she’s going to say better than she does. I can feel it. Do you want to know why?

“Oh Florence, it’s one o’clock in the afternoon. Why aren’t you out of bed yet? Are you okay? Do you want me to come keep you company?”

Because she’s said the same twenty-seven words every time she’s called since I’ve been here. I know that string of questions so well that I mouth them as she asks them. I change up the facial expressions each time I do, though.

I tilt my head back towards the ceiling, squeezing my eyes shut as I try to muster up the patience to repeat what I’ve repeated to her…oh, I don’t know, fourteen times? Maybe more?

“Nanna, I’m fine. It’s just the time difference. Remember? It’s one in the afternoon in England, but it’s eight in the morning in New York.”

I’m impressed with how calm I made my voice for that. I’ve wanted to yell that at her the past few days, but there’s no way on earth I’d ever yell at my Nanna Dorothy and live to tell the tale. It would also be like yelling at a kitten: a step beyond morally wrong.

“Flo dear, it’s no trouble. I can get the next flight out! My suitcase should be around here somewhere. Oh goodness, please let my passport still be valid!” She rushes, completely ignoring me like usual, but that veil of determination her voice is covered in makes me smile.

It’s funny, and completely bonkers, how determined she sounds, like she isn’t eighty-six and can easily mission impossible her way out of the retirement village she’s settled in, because the nurses definitely won’t find her and bring her straight back to her suite.

She’s so confident that I wouldn’t be surprised if she showed up out of the blue.

If I’m being honest, I do secretly wish she was here with me. Not only do I consider Nanna to be my favourite person in the world, and could do with seeing a familiar face in a city full of strangers, but New York is one of those places she’s always wanted to travel to, but for one reason or another has never seen that dream through.

I’d give anything to see her conquer these streets.

“Thank goodness! It doesn’t expire for another four years. Now, where’s that flipping case?” She yells happily, because she’s allowed to yell.

I let out a little sigh, subtle enough that it goes unnoticed by her. “Nanna, I promise you I’m fine. I don’t want you to go through all the trouble of travelling. I’m okay, I promise.” I pull my phone away from my ear, ignoring how half my makeup was now smudged on the screen, and checked the time. “Actually, Nanna, I’m just about to head out, so I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning, okay?” I say, dragging my feet from under the covers and easing them onto the cold hardwood floor of my bedroom.

She goes quiet for a few beats, then after a while, she sighs, and it’s the kind of telltale sigh that makes my heart skip a beat for a second.

The only time Nanna Dorothy will do this sigh, a low and steady and disappointed sounding one, is on one of three occasions; the latest episode of her go-to soap opera wasn’t as dramatic as she’d have liked, before she’s about to tell me something that she shouldn’t (usually about her nosy retirement home neighbours) and when she doesn’t believe a single word that just came from your mouth.

There’s no point in arguing that it’s the other two.

And I don’t blame her for not believing me when I say ‘I’m okay.” Because I’m not okay. Of course I’m not.

“Florence, youcantalk to me, you know. I may be old, but I remember a thing or two about heartbreak.” My head falls back again, hating the way I can feel myself welling up. “What they did to you, Hugo and…” she pauses, and I’m grateful she doesn’t let her name poison this conversation. “I don’t know how you’re up and walking about after seeing something like that.”

I’m barely doing that, I want to say, but I stay quiet.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, my darling; I hope your heart finds the strength to remember that.”

This. This is why, no matter how much of our conversations are made up of the same questions from her and the same answers from me, I’d always pick up the phone when she called. She was the only family I seemed to have left now, after all.

“I know, Nanna. Thank you for that.” I say, the bulge of tears that has bordered my lower lash line threatening to spill over. Luckily, I grabbed a tissue from my bedside table in time to dab them away. Starting the morning by crying will only set me on a destruction course for the rest of the day.

“Anytime, my darling. You know that.”

“I know.”

A faint dinging comes from her end of the call. “Well, anyway, the lunch bell has just been called, and it’s chicken pie today. Which means if I don’t get there now, it’ll all have been scoffed by Mary. The greedy thing.” There’s some rustling on her end, which sounds like static, but I can faintly hear another voice shout something at her. “Mary, you practically inhaled the entire tray last time. Don’t start with me today, woman.”

I snort a laugh. “Okay, Nanna, I’ll let you go. You have fun with that one.” I say, standing up from my bed and wandering towards the window opposite it.

She lets outthesigh. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, darling, ta ta for now!”

I pull my phone away from my ear again, tossing it back onto my bed and turning my attention out of the window.

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