by A. E. Radley
“I’ve no idea,” she replied honestly. Even now, after a few more hours with the quandary, she still couldn’t figure it out.
“Well, you know what this means,” Bronwyn said.
Amber had already decided that she wouldn’t be pleading for her job. It was pointless to appeal to Bronwyn’s heart, as it was questionable whether or not she had one.
“Clear your desk out. I’m going to assume I won’t have to call security?” Bronwyn asked with a sigh, as if she were the one hard done by.
“You won’t. I want to thank you for the opportunity of working here,” Amber said politely. She knew that she needed to butter Bronwyn up as she was probably still unaware of the cost of the last-minute flight home that she’d charged to the company.
“HR will call you in a couple of days to finalise anything that needs to be discussed.” Bronwyn picked up an envelope from her in tray and ripped it open.
Amber assumed that was the end of the discussion and left the office, thankful for the calm dismissal. Having sat close to Bronwyn’s office, she’d heard some eruptions in the past.
She went straight to the stationery cupboard and picked up an archive box. Luckily, she’d been slowly taking her personal belongings home for the last few months. She had a few items left, but nothing she’d be sad to lose. They were mainly there so it didn’t look like she was jumping the sinking ship, which she now wished she had done months ago. To think that she could have a career at Walker Clay was foolish. She was never going to win Bronwyn over.
She dropped the empty box on her desk and started to pack up the few things she had.
“Oh, bad luck,” Tom said without feeling.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“I won’t see you, so I suppose I should say Merry Christmas now,” he continued.
She was about to reply when her phone rang. She nearly ignored it until she noticed it was reception.
“Amber Tate,” she answered.
“Hi Amber, I have someone in reception for you.”
Amber frowned. “I don’t have a meeting scheduled.”
“She’s very insistent,” the receptionist whispered. “She says her name is Emilia Lund.”
Amber blinked. “She’s… in reception? Not on the phone?”
“She’s standing in front of me.”
“I’ll be down in a few seconds.” She slammed the phone down, quickly tipped the rest of her belongings into the box and slid the lid on.
“Problem?” Tom asked.
“Have a great Christmas, Tom,” she said as she threw her coat on and picked up the box and her handbag.
She rushed through the office, all thoughts of how she would spend her last moments at Walker Clay temporarily pushed to one side. She’d pictured her departure involving a slow walk, waving forlornly at colleagues. A last run of her hand along the new release shelf, knowing that her stream of free books would soon be coming to an end.
Instead, she was racing towards the elevators to take her to reception where there had surely been some kind of mistake. Emilia couldn’t be there. Could she? Why would she be there?
Has she changed her mind?
It seemed impossible. Emilia hated leaving her house. The city often sent her into a spiral of panic. She couldn’t possibly be standing in the reception of a publishing company in London. It was all of Emilia’s terrors in one.
Which meant it must be an imposter, or a huge mistake.
Amber’s foot tapped with irritation. The elevator had never taken longer to get to the ground floor.
The doors had hardly opened when she forced her way through them.
She spotted her immediately, huddled on the edge of one of the leather sofas. Her face was drawn, and she looked like she had been in the midst of a serious panic for many hours.
What happened? Amber wondered. Has something happened to Hugo?
She dropped her box onto one of the tables in reception. “Emilia?”
The Swede jumped to her feet. “Amber,” she breathed, pulling her into a hug. “You’re alive! You’re… you’re okay. You are okay, aren’t you?”
Amber was suddenly pushed back as Emilia’s eyes ran over her body in search of any apparent injury.
Amber had questions of her own. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“I saw the attack. I was so scared.” Emilia, seemingly satisfied that Amber wasn’t injured, resumed her hug.
Amber loosely placed her arms around Emilia, still confused. She made eye contact with the receptionist who clearly thought Emilia was barking mad.
“What attack?” she asked.
“The terrorist attack, it’s all over the news.”
“Since when do you watch the news?” Amber couldn’t understand how on earth Emilia would know about the London Bridge incident or why she would think that she had been caught up in it.
“It happened in London, and you’re in London,” Emilia continued.
“London has the same population as Sweden,” Amber pointed out.
“And I was so scared,” Emilia said, completely ignoring Amber’s words. “I saw the attack on the news.”
She realised then that Emilia was in shock. It wasn’t surprising, considering that Emilia had gone from full-on recluse to taking an unexpected trip to another country, all while apparently thinking that Amber was dead.
She tightened her grip around Emilia. “I’m fine, everything is fine.” She found that her rage was fading now that she held the shivering woman in her arms.
“Unfortunately, these things happen in big cities now,” she told Emilia.
“Then why would you live here?”
She wasn’t about to get into a conversation about quality of life and not letting terror win, not to mention the economy of jobs. She had too many other questions, and she wasn’t entirely sure that Emilia would take in her response anyway.
“How did you even find me?” Amber asked.
“The taxi driver wouldn’t take me to London Bridge,” Emilia said, “so I asked him to take me to Walker Clay Publishing. His phone knew where it was.”
As Amber started to piece things together, she realised that Emilia wasn’t dressed for a London winter. She was bundled up like a toddler. She was dressed for Sweden.
Amber looked around them.
No bags. Did she? No, surely not.
“Did… did you come straight here? Do you have any luggage?”
“I thought you were dead; I didn’t have time to find my suitcase,” Emilia said.
“When is your flight home?” Amber asked.
Emilia remained silent, still clinging to her like a lifeline.
“Right, okay,” Amber said. “Let’s… well, let’s start with getting out of here.”
She extricated herself from Emilia’s grip and picked up her archive box. Emilia fell into step beside her as she walked out of Walker Clay for the very last time.
The fear of her unemployment had taken a backseat to the realisation that Emilia had dropped everything and flown to London at a moment’s notice. She hadn’t brought a stitch of clothing with her and was still wearing her thick, woolly gloves and scarf.
She couldn’t abandon her. Emilia might have been a hundred and fifty years old when it came to darning socks, keeping a house, and cooking dinner, but she was a wide-eyed child when it came to a foreign city.
“I was so scared,” Emilia repeated.
“I know. But everything is okay now,” Amber said.
There was no point in being angry at Emilia, nor in having an in-depth conversation with her. She was in state of shock, and no matter what had come before, she needed Amber to look after her.
Amber handed the archive box to Emilia and got her house keys out of her handbag. She was trying to remember what state she had left her apartment in, considering she hadn’t been there since the day she left for Sweden. She hoped there was nothing rotting in the bin. Or the fridge.
She wasn’t the tidiest of people. Certainly nothi
ng like Emilia. Not that there was anything to be done about it now.
She opened the door and gestured for Emilia to step inside.
She followed her in and closed the door behind her, applying the deadbolt. She lived in a nice area, but it always paid to be careful. When she turned around, Emilia stood in the same spot, looking around the tiny apartment and holding the archive box.
“Let me take that.” Amber took the box and placed it on her small dining table. It couldn’t hold more than three dinner plates, but it was perfect for partially balancing a cardboard box on.
“This is where you live?” Emilia asked, the first thing she had said since they left the Walker Clay office.
“Yes.”
“It’s very small.”
Amber shook her head in disbelief. “Yes, it is. But it’s all you’ve got, so you’ll have to struggle on.” She took a few steps into the kitchen and started to make herself some coffee.
“I’m sorry, that was rude,” Emilia said.
“Yes, it was. Can I get you coffee? It’s not like Swedish coffee, but it will have to do.”
“Yes, please. I am sorry. Your house is lovely.”
“Apartment,” Amber corrected. She didn’t need to, but she felt like being petty. She couldn’t believe that Emilia had just turned up. The reason for her unemployment had turned up unexpectedly on the very day of her unemployment and needed her help. It was a little too much to take in, especially with exhaustion curling around her.
“Are you angry with me?” Emilia whispered.
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re throwing things around.”
Amber paused making drinks. She had been a bit heavy-handed.
“It’s just been a bad day at work, I’m not angry at you.”
Half true, she thought.
“You can stay here tonight, until you get yourself sorted out and can go home,” Amber explained. She turned and looked at Emilia. She looked wretched. Pale, shaking, her eyes wild and lost.
“You can have the bed, I’ll sleep on the sofa,” Amber said. She pinched the bridge of her nose. She wanted to be angry, but she just couldn’t. “And tonight, we’ll be ordering takeaway food and watching movies. And there will be no complaining about either.”
Emilia quickly nodded. She seemed to reading loud and clear how frustrated Amber was.
She turned and made the coffee. Instant coffee. Emilia would hate it. Everyone in Sweden seemed to be a massive coffee snob. Amber’s lips curled up in amusement. It would be amusing watching Emilia pretend that it didn’t taste like dishwater to her.
As she stirred the drinks, she realised she had a million questions that she wanted to ask. How had Emilia managed to navigate Copenhagen Airport without having a complete meltdown? Where had she flown into in London? What was her plan to get home? Had she eaten?
That last one was more urgent than the others. As annoyed as she was, she couldn’t leave Emilia to starve.
“Are you hungry?”
There was a long pause.
“No,” Emilia whispered uncertainly.
Clearly a yes, Amber thought.
She opened the cupboard door and pulled out a box of biscuits. They weren’t homemade and tied up with ribbon as she imagined Emilia would have presented them, but they’d do.
“Go and sit on the sofa,” she instructed, knowing that otherwise Emilia would simply stand in the middle of the room.
She debated whether or not to take the biscuits out of the cardboard box and place them on a plate. Shaking her head, she tucked the box under her arm and grabbed the two mugs.
She placed everything on the coffee table and sat as far away from Emilia on the sofa as possible. Not easy, considering her small apartment demanded an equally small sofa.
Out of the corner of her eye she noted that Emilia was still wearing her thick winter coat and scarf. The gloves had been shoved into her pockets.
“Help yourself to biscuits,” Amber said.
She reached forward to grab the remote control and turned on the television. Images of the London Bridge attack immediately filled the screen, and she could feel Emilia tense.
She changed the channel, then again, and then again. She was never usually home at this time and all she could find were programs about people wanting to move to the country, or panels of women speaking to some celebrity she couldn’t identify.
Ordinarily she would have opened Netflix and dived into one of her many box-set series, but she knew it was just a matter of time before one of them cracked and started to speak. She was fairly sure that it wasn’t going to be her.
Emilia hesitantly reached forward and picked up the coffee mug.
Amber kept channel-hopping.
Emilia opened the biscuit box and started to nibble on a digestive.
Amber watched her in the reflection of the television. She looked so lost and helpless.
It’s like trying to be angry with a puppy, she thought.
“Are you okay? Can I get you anything?” Amber finally asked. She was still angry, but if she could stop Emilia from looking so broken, then maybe she could stop focusing on her.
“You’ve been very kind. Considering everything,” Emilia said.
“Well, I can’t leave you out on the streets,” Amber sighed.
“I am sorry.”
Amber turned to face her. “What are you sorry about, Emilia?” she challenged.
Emilia swallowed nervously. She placed the coffee mug back in the table.
“For lying to you about my intention to sign the contract. For making you come to Sweden and hang out with me. For coming here and being a nuisance.” Emilia paused, her eyes lit up as if she’d had an epiphany. “I should stay at a hotel. I came to see if you were okay, and now I’m in the way.”
The idea of Emilia going to a hotel didn’t sit well with Amber. She could just imagine Emilia wandering into some illegal drug den. Or a human-trafficking circle. Those things surely existed in London somewhere, and if they did, Emilia would probably manage to find them.
“No.” Amber shook her head. “It’s fine, you can stay with me. I’m still angry at you, but at least this way I can keep an eye on you. Besides, you don’t have any clothes… or a toothbrush… or, well, anything.” She let out a deep breath. “What were you thinking, Emilia? I don’t get it.”
Emilia look down at the sofa between them. “I wasn’t thinking. I saw the news, and I immediately assumed that you were in trouble. I didn’t stop panicking about it until I saw you at your office.”
Amber couldn’t imagine the fear of seeing a terrorist attack on the news, something that Emilia had probably never seen before, and thinking someone she knew was in the middle of it all. It was sweet that Emilia had dropped everything and come running. Even if she had done so in the most disorganised way possible.
“So, you just… booked a flight?” Amber asked.
“Yes. To Heathrow. The lady at the travel agency said there were two others, but I’d heard of that one.” Emilia finally looked up. Colour was returning to her cheeks, to Amber’s relief.
“And then you… got a taxi?”
“Yes.”
“You tried to get him to take you to the middle of an ongoing terrorist incident?”
“Yes, but he said he wouldn’t. I said you might be there, but he still said no. He said it might be dangerous and I should stay indoors. He didn’t understand at all.”
“I bet he didn’t,” Amber muttered. She tossed her eternal gratitude to the taxi driver who had done his best to keep Emilia safe.
She still wasn’t sure she understood. Emilia, who had toyed with her feelings and her time, had flown to the UK and tried to walk into the centre of hell to try to… what? Save her?
It was too much to think about right now. Amber was too stressed following her own day from hell to try to process what on earth was going on in Emilia’s head. She needed time, she needed to process everything that had happened.
She fired up Netflix. She was sure she could find a sweet romcom that would be innocuous enough.
“Okay,” Emilia said. “As long as you’re sure I should stay? I can get a hotel…”
“No, there aren’t any around here,” Amber joked. “All booked up. You’re staying here. Where I can keep an eye on you, or you’ll be jetting off to Tokyo next.”
Emilia breathed out a small chuckle.
Amber selected a movie and snuggled down into the sofa. She could feel her eyelids getting heavy and doubted that she’d see more than the first ten minutes before she fell asleep. Which was exactly what she needed.
After some rest, she’d be able to deal with the mystery that was Emilia Lund.
30
Restless in London
Emilia knelt on Amber’s bed, resting on the headboard as she looked out of the window. It was nearing midnight and she couldn’t sleep. She’d been surprised to see that so many other people were up and about at this late hour.
Train tracks ran near Amber’s home, and the illuminated carriages showed many people on board. Emilia watched in fascination as trains passed in both directions. Multiple carriages, so many people.
At first she couldn’t understand why so many people were still awake. It was midnight. Most people in her tiny town were tucked up in bed at midnight.
Even on the street below, there were people out. Some were walking alone, some in pairs, or even groups. Some were eating from takeaway boxes, some on the phone.
Emilia watched all of them with fascination.
She’d always known that people outside Malmö lived different lives. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that everyone was just like her. She knew that Hugo was nothing like her, and her books told her a thousand tales of other worlds. But to see it with her own eyes, in borrowed pyjamas and overlooking the streets of Greater London, it was a revelation.
She’d counted over two hundred people in the past five minutes. Her guess was not quite accurate as the trains passing made it difficult to count, but she knew that there were at least two hundred people living other lives, lives that she couldn’t even begin to comprehend, just outside of Amber’s window.