FALLINGFORYOU, robert keating.

FALLINGFORYOU.

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Penny sat in the back seat wordlessly as she took in the new sights of the gloomy grey that was Ireland. She stared at the light raindrops that pelted the window. What a miserable, grey place. Everything looked grey and brown compared to the brightly coloured houses of Knightsbridge they'd left behind. Penny never thought she'd miss England. She fogged up the glass with her breath and drew a sloppy heart with her finger.

She glanced at the back of her father's silver head. Somehow from the back, his expression was stern. She wasn't entirely sure what her father did. She knew it was some well-paid, financial government job that meant lots of moving, lots of Grammar School education paid in full in advance, lots of missed birthdays, and fresh packages of expensive things for her to wear.

Her mother was asleep behind her Armani shades. She was all too happy to accept the uprooting of her life for the nice things it awarded her.

Neither of them was actually interested in Penny. Too busy in their own lives to take notice of her. They asked the polite questions parents had to ask to seem interested in their kids but neither truly was. She talked and they heard her but no one listened. "That's nice darling." Nothing deeper.

It was lonely. No one wanted to be friends with the new girl and she moved so much she never stopped being the new girl. Here she was in her last year of school starting all over again. In Ireland. Poky, red brick houses squashed together. Shirtless, grubby children riding their bikes and kicking footballs through the puddles.

"I thought you said they tore down all this slum housing and regenerated it all?" Penny's mother asked worriedly as she yawned awake.

"They did in the estate we're in. People refused to relocate in this part."

Her mom frowned.

"Eyesore is what it is... I mean how do people live like this?"

Penny looked at all the kids and teenagers in the street. They looked happy. The street was bustling and alive with chaos. She was mesmerised drinking it all in. Now Penny's eyes had adjusted, she didn't think it was an "eyesore" as her mother had called it at all. It was oddly beautiful in a strange way that made her nervous slightly. Everything was loud and brash and messy and finite somehow.

Penny gasped as her father slammed on the brakes suddenly. A boy on his bike had just cut straight across the road. He pulled on his brakes with a screech. He stared brazenly unphased through the windscreen not intimidated at all. Their shiny Rolls Royce stood out not only for being clean and a high-end car but also for being one of the only cars on the whole street. Penny held his gaze. He was looking right at her. His mouth and chin were partially obscured by his rain jacket hood. She could only really see his eyes. His eyes were an unwavering light blue surrounded by thick lashes and straight brows. He didn't look away and neither did Penny.

Her father laid on his horn, breaking the moment.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed her father.

The boy clapped his hand on the crease of his elbow and stuck the vicky up in the classic "up yours" motion.

"Fuck off!" He shouted in a harsh
Irish twang before pedalling away at high speed.

Penny's eyes widened as she watched him until he was out of sight. He looked back and Penny watched him out of the rear window.

"Charming," tutted her father in deep frustration.

"Penny don't stare darling. You're giving him exactly what he wants. Attention."

Penny frowned and watched the squashed
Council houses with lines of washing getting soaked outside them fade away to the manicured Estate that they would now be living in. Driveways. Neat gardens. Fresh paint. Every one an exact carbon copy. Clinical and beautifully overthought.