London, Can You Wait?

by Jacquelyn Middleton

  Alex groaned. “I’ve been better. Sorry about last night, I was out of control…”

  “Nah.” Fallon shrugged, and her scarf swallowed up her chin. “What’s New Year’s Eve without a laugh, lots of booze…”

  “Too right.” Alex rolled her eyes.

  Fallon smiled. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

  “Nope. Dublin’s stuck with me for a few days. It’s Mark’s birthday next week and I got him something special, had it sent over yesterday. I’m picking it up…” She turned back to the empty front desk. “…if the staff ever return.”

  “Did Mark… How is he?”

  “He’s a bit rough around the edges, but he’ll survive. Did you guys stay late, too?”

  “The pub did a lock-in. Wink kept getting drinks in. There are going to be some casualties this morning. I’m surprised you’re not having a lie-in…”

  “It’s our anniversary.”

  “Oh, right. Got plans?”

  “Dinner, maybe, if Mark’s up to it, or maybe we’ll chill, watch a movie or something. His mum wants to see us next weekend when she’s back from Europe. We’ll celebrate our anniversary and his birthday at the same time.”

  Fallon’s face lit up. “Aw, isn’t she lovely? I adore her.”

  “His mum?” Alex nodded. “Oh, she visited the set?”

  “Oh, no. She’d never impose.”

  Alex squinted, her brain…so foggy. Damn hangover. “Sorry?”

  “Oh…I thought Mark would’ve told you…” Fallon’s eyes strayed to the hotel’s sliding doors. “I’ve known Niamh since I was a kid. She was Mum’s best friend.” Her glance returned with a smile. “They worked together.”

  “Really?” Alex’s voice rose slightly. “I had no clue…”

  “Typical Mark, so forgetful.” Fallon chuckled. “I met him at Mum’s work, and then again at a family picnic, freezing by the seaside. We were twelve, I think. I bet Niamh still has the photos up on her wall?”

  Alex vaguely remembered some beach photos. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Our families used to hang out a lot, and Mark ended up in my theatre class—”

  “Miss Sinclair?”

  Alex pulled her eyes away from Fallon. The breathless concierge darted behind the counter, a parcel in his grip. “Our apologies for this morning’s wait.”

  Alex’s stomach rolled again, reminding her of the night’s excess. “It’s okay. Thanks.” She hugged the box covered with stamps and a customs declaration.

  “And there’s another parcel addressed to Mr. Keegan.”

  “Okay. I’ll take it, too.”

  The concierge handed over a rectangular courier box. Alex put her own parcel on top and turned to Fallon. “Sorry, you were saying?”

  Fallon looked at the glass doors again, clearing her throat. “Look, I feel bad, Alex. Mark really should have said something. I was his first snog, first girlfriend, first…” She bit her lip.

  Alex shook her head. Her new friend was delusional. “No, I don’t think so. Sinéad was Mark’s first girlfriend. He told me. They went out for three months.”

  “Three months?” Fallon’s eyebrows peaked. “Alex, this is awkward. I thought you knew…I’m Sinéad. Fallon’s my middle name. I use it professionally.”

  “You’re…Sinéad?” Alex choked on Fallon’s words. “Oh…”

  Why would Mark lie?

  Fallon pulled her parka tighter as she stared at the hotel’s exit. A car pulled up. Someone waved. Seconds dragged past. A breath stuck in Alex’s throat. She opened her mouth, but no words or air came out.

  “My friend’s here. Sorry, I wish we could chat longer.” Fallon tossed her bag over a shoulder and smiled kindly. “Have a happy anniversary, okay?”

  Without looking back, she dashed through the doors to the car, her bun barely touched by Dublin’s drizzle.

  A strong waft of fragrance, a spicy scent, prickled Alex’s nose…

  The scent she had detected in bed…

  On Mark.

  No.

  No, NO! A savage coldness ripped through Alex’s chest, plunging without mercy into her stomach. She began to tremble. The lobby melted into a wobbly blur of streaky lights and staring guests.

  “Excuse me, miss? Are you all right?” A tourist with a Canadian flag pinned to her coat’s lapel smiled kindly.

  “I-I…don’t know.” Alex shuffled past the woman, up the hallway leading to the elevators, and leaned precariously against the wall. Juggling the two parcels, her fingers jabbed at the phone screen quaking in her palm. The last photo she’d seen before receiving Lucy’s text—the fuzzy image of her and Mark pressed against the wall in the pub—lit up her screen. Her eyes poured over the image.

  The back of Mark’s pink shirt was at a diagonal angle to the camera. His arms looped around her waist, and his face was hidden, lost in a kiss. A glimpse of her red dress peeked out from behind his body, but beyond that, only her arms, squeezing him tightly, were in view. Her fingers dug into his back, their embrace verging on desperate. The silver bracelet on her wrist caught the light.

  Alex blinked. Something wasn’t right. Some parts of the night were still a fog, but Alex did remember that she hadn’t made out with Mark at the Stag’s Head, not once, not at all…and she didn’t own a silver bracelet…

  The photo of Mark pressed up against the wall in lip lock—was with Fallon.

  Sixteen

  “The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

  – Oscar Wilde

  Oh, God! Oh, God! Please…be wrong. Please be WRONG…Hot tears pooled in Alex’s eyes. She gulped for breath as her mind spiraled.

  She flicked her phone’s screen, searching for Fallon’s Instagram account—if she had one. Fallon…no, wait… Sinéad Delaney. Yep, there it was…public for all to see, plastered with party photos date stamped from the night before. Pictures with Duff and Wink, plus, the cast and crew they chatted with at the bar—and then that photo. The embrace she had already seen. A Keeganite must have reposted it under Mark’s hashtag.

  But it had company…a kissing photo, close up with revellers smiling and kissing in the background…and another shot of two people holding hands in the back seat of an SUV. Only the hands and wrists were visible, but Alex could make out Fallon’s unmistakable field hockey tattoo…and the pink cuff of Mark’s dress shirt, as well as his watch—the one Alex had given him just seven days earlier for Christmas.

  Fuck! NO!

  Fallon didn’t use Mark’s hashtag but made up her own: #reunited.

  Oh, God! I wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t fucking WRONG! Alex gagged, but her tortured stomach refused to comply.

  The elevator door opened, empty—thank God. She stepped inside.

  Now it all made sense. Why Mark hadn’t been back when she’d crawled off the bathroom floor at five to four. Why he hadn’t kissed her on the lips that morning. Why he had jumped into the shower so quickly.

  That spicy scent on his skin, mingling with stale cigarette smoke…it was Fallon’s.

  She couldn’t feel her fingers. The two parcels slipped from her hands, thudding onto her Chucks. Alex barely reacted. She couldn’t. All the air had been sucked out of the elevator. Her ears filled with the tuneless theme of an old adversary: the frantic pounding of her broken heart.

  This can’t be happening…

  The elevator door slid open. A young couple smiled and bounced their cooing baby in their arms. Alex scrambled for the fallen parcels. “Happy New Year,” they chirped, but Alex fled before they expected a reply.

  Stumbling down the hall, her quivering legs somehow did their job, carrying her to their door. She stopped. Am I in the middle of a sick dream? Mark and Fallon…

  A thought struck: first love. After her parents’ tumultuous divorce, her dad had reunited with Helen, his first love from back home in Manchester. Fuck!

  She held her breath, leaning against the door, unable to ignore her heart’s urgent rhythm beneath Mark’s sweatshirt. The
shower was quiet. Mark was inside, waiting. He was a liar like her ex, Devin.

  Just like Devin.

  She stabbed her keycard in the slot and shouldered the door open. There was Mark, hips wrapped in a towel, his freshly washed hair slicked back with a few tufts misbehaving over his forehead.

  “Hey Mouse.” He smiled broadly, pointing at the desk and two room service trays crowded with English muffins, Nutella, Frosties cereal, a small vase blooming with snapdragons… “Surprise!”

  Alex unleashed her arm like an Olympic shot put thrower, hurling his birthday parcel towards him.

  Mark ducked, the box skimming the top of his head. “What the FUCK—”

  The parcel swept the cluster of picture frames off the desk and they landed with a sickly crash. Their happy life, protected underneath glass and wood, lay exposed and splintered on the grey carpet.

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Her chest felt like it was collapsing, crushing her heart.

  “Christ! Tell you what?” Mark’s voice went up two octaves.

  “About Fallon.”

  He sank onto the bed. “What?”

  “You told me she was just some actress…” Tears poured from her swollen eyelids as she slammed his courier box to the floor. “But she’s not, is she?”

  “Mouse—”

  “IS SHE?” Alex jabbed her finger at his face. “You lied to me. She’s your ex, the first girl you fucked.” Her ribs closed in, squeezing her lungs.

  Mark looked like he had been kicked in the groin. “Lex, I can explain—”

  “Actually, Sinéad…Fallon—whatever the fuck she’s calling herself these days—has already done that.”

  “What?”

  “I bumped into her downstairs. We talked. I mentioned your mum. She said she’s known your family for years. Said you two…” Her hand flew to her mouth. “…you and her…you two have shared things I could never…” She gasped for breath through her sobs. “She thought I knew. She thought I knew!”

  Mark rose to his feet, weaving unsteadily. “Mouse, calm down.”

  “Calm down? I find out my boyfriend lied about being naked on screen with his ex and you’re asking me to calm down? Fuck you!”

  “We were together a long time ago. It was over a long time ago.”

  “And here I thought your sex scenes with some random Irish girl were a huge deal, but she’s not random, is she? I can’t believe you hid the truth from me. I liked her, thought we might even be friends. She was right there, in my face, and you didn’t tell me.”

  “I didn’t tell you because she’s not important. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  “If she doesn’t mean anything, you should have told me.”

  “I didn’t tell you because I knew this would happen. You’d freak out on me. Mouse, we’re both actors.” He tightened the knot of his towel. “Reading lines from a script.”

  No, NO! He wouldn’t get away with this. Glass shards crunched under her Chucks. “Was this in the script?” She foisted her phone with the close-up Instagram kiss in his face.

  “What is this?” He blinked, trying to focus.

  “It’s you, kissing Fallon.” Nausea swirled in her stomach. Just saying those words out loud…

  “Kissing?” Mark slowly shook his head. “Yeah, that’s when midnight struck. You know what it’s like, everyone kisses everyone else. I kissed Fallon—I kissed Wink, for God’s sake—”

  Her finger swiped across the phone. “And this one?” The grainy embrace against the pub’s wall glowed from the screen, impossible to ignore. Alex flicked her finger. “And this one?” The cosy handholding image in the SUV stared back at him.

  Mark clutched his throbbing head as if he feared it would explode. “What are you showing me?”

  “It’s Fallon—Sinéad’s Instagram. You’re Devin all over again. You’re a cheat, just like him! I trusted you!”

  He grabbed the phone and squinted at the screen. His eyes widened as he stared at the images and swallowed hard, his silence retracting his denial.

  Her heart shattered, as broken as the picture frame glass scattered on the carpet. “Mark, you fucking ASSHOLE!”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “Alex, please listen.” Sweat beaded on his upper back and chest. He shook the phone in his hand. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

  “Oh, God! Oh, God!” Her hand covered her mouth. “Why is this happening…? ‘Happy anniversary, Lex.’ How fucking dare you!”

  “Lex, I was completely off my tits drunk—I can’t remember anything after one in the morning!” He stepped around the broken glass, his arms reaching for her. “Mouse, c’mere—”

  “Don’t touch me.” She backed up. “I can’t even bear to look at you. I’m such an idiot. I should’ve known. You were never going to ask me—”

  “What?”

  “The ring, Mark!”

  “What ring?”

  “I found an engagement ring in your bag. This summer? In Dublin? I found it and put it back.”

  He shook his head. “An engagement ring…? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, so I imagined it, did I?!”

  “Lex, you’re not making any sense. You have to believe me. I want to be with you, not Fallon—she means nothing to me. I love you. I’m telling the truth.”

  “You wouldn’t know the fucking truth if it—”

  “Would you just stop, please? For a second? I’ll tell you everything. Let’s sit down.”

  Alex paced, refusing to comply with Mark’s command.

  “Look, not long after you left, someone, probably Wink—”

  “Yeah, well, he’s a fucking asshole, too.”

  “Lex, let me finish. Please? Someone bought all these trays of shots: tequilas, absinthe, sambuca…I got carried away. I might have taken a hit or two of weed.” He glanced down. “I was trying to unwind but went too far—”

  “That’s your big excuse?”

  “Look, I’m not proud of myself, okay? Fuck!” He covered his forehead with both hands and stared at the floor. “I’ve been really stressed out and tired lately…maybe it’s being back here in Dublin…” Mark’s chin dropped as his arms crossed his bare chest. “I just wanted to…oh, I don’t even know—get out of my own head for a little bit? But after one in the morning, it’s a complete blank.”

  “Really? What time did you crawl back to me, then? I was up just before four and you weren’t here.”

  “Lex, you told me to stay—”

  “Tell me! When did you get in?”

  He scrunched his eyes tight and dragged his hand over his mouth. “Around nine.”

  Alex swallowed, silent tears racing down her red cheeks. “And you weren’t out boozing till nine, were you Mark?”

  He opened his eyes as his hand dropped from his face.

  “So, when you woke up…” She choked, barely getting the words out. “…in her bed…were you dressed? Was she?”

  His chin trembled. “No,” he whispered.

  Alex wiped her eyes and shoved past him into the bathroom.

  “Lex, I swear last night was…was just a drunken mistake. I was so out of it. There’s nothing going on between us—what are you doing?”

  She stormed back out with her toiletries bag, glass splintering with each heavy step. She snatched her jeans and yesterday’s sweater then crouched down in front of her wheelie case. “I’m leaving.”

  “No, you can’t. Alex, wait.” Mark lurched towards her, kneeling down. “Let’s talk this through, properly.”

  Flipping open the lid to her case, another wave of tears streamed down her cheeks. She chucked her belongings inside and slammed the case closed, her designer dress discarded on the chair in the corner. She couldn’t bear to look at it or the man who gave it to her. How wrong she had been about both. “I’m done talking. I’m going home.”

  “No, stop.” Tears glistened in his eyes. “Mouse, please.” His hand hovered over her back, desperate to make contact
.

  Alex’s fingers trembled, scrambling for the zipper pull.

  “Don’t go. Please listen to me.”

  She ignored him, yanking the zipper around her case. It snagged on the leg of her jeans.

  “Let me fix—” Mark’s hands lunged at the stuck denim.

  “Don’t!” Alex leaned away and stared straight ahead.

  Mark’s hands retreated from the zipper’s path. With a final shove, she dislodged the troublesome jeans underneath the lip of the case and tugged the zipper closed.

  “Mouse, I made a HUGE mistake.” He grasped her shoulders, fighting for her attention and their future together. “I love you, more than anything. Please. How can I fix this? Name it and I’ll do it, I promise.”

  She rolled her shoulders, desperate to shake him away. “Get off me.”

  Tears swelled in his eyes as he let go.

  “I don’t want any more of your fake fucking promises. I’ve had enough.” Alex stood up, grabbing her handbag from the desk. She rummaged through it for her passport, her fingers scrambling over her wallet and medication.

  Mark rose to his feet. “Lex, there’s nothing going on between us, last night was just…a terrible, drunken mistake. It meant nothing. I don’t even remember what happened!” He reached for Alex’s arm, but she flinched. “You’ve got to believe me! I’m so sorry. Please, Lex, believe me!” His apology fought through his tears.

  “That’s the problem, Mark: I don’t—not anymore.” She grabbed the suitcase’s handle and her parka then stepped over the rectangular courier box addressed to him on the floor.

  Cramped in economy waiting for all the passengers to board, Alex mindlessly shook her leg and sagged against the plane’s window. Her eyes dropped to her phone’s screen, its volume muted. The voicemail tally jumped from four to ten to a dozen. The higher the number climbed, the more her determination grew to ignore Mark’s beautiful accent; her heart couldn’t bear it.

  Then, he started texting.

  Mouse, where are you? Please call me, I’ll come get you. I’m so sorry. Love you. xo

  Alex pounded her phone into her thigh and stared out the window. Icy rain stabbed the glass while two soaked ground crew flung suitcases onto the conveyor belt. Was anyone in Dublin having a good start to the year?