“You won’t have to worry about that. He’s never here, remember?”
Alex snapped the lid closed on the cookie tin. “You said it yourself: friendships often fall apart when there’s a split.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yeah, New Year’s Day? I said there would be no weirdness with you dating Harry because we all knew him and you said—”
“Oh yeah…‘until we break up.’ Fuck.”
Alex sniffed. “I won’t make Freddie choose. His loyalty lies with Mark.”
“No, Freddie’s loyalty lies with me. I’ve known him a good two years longer than Mark.”
“If I go away, you guys won’t have to juggle your friends. I won’t bump into him, and maybe it’ll be easier to pull myself together again. I’ll paint on a smile, fake it till I make it…whole on the outside but in pieces on the inside.” Alex pointed at a small blue and orange box lying amongst a smorgasbord of snacks on the table. “Like that Terry’s Chocolate Orange…”
“Want it?” Lucy tossed it over. “Lex, don’t rush into anything.”
Alex tore open the box and slammed the foil-wrapped chocolate into the table’s edge. The table wobbled, swirling her untouched wine around its glass. “Mark never did fix that damn leg…”
“You gonna drink that?” asked Lucy.
“Go for it.” Alex got up, dragging her bathrobe behind her. “I haven’t touched a drop since New Year’s. I need a clear head. There’s so much to mull over.”
“I don’t like this booze-free clear-headedness, not if it’s telling you to leave.” She sipped Alex’s wine. “Where are you going?”
“Dad’s. I just said—”
“No, right now.”
Alex opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a beat-up shoebox. She walked back to Lucy. “Can you help me shift this stuff? On the sofa, floor, wherever.”
They moved the food, glasses, cookie tin, and snapdragons onto the hardwood floor.
Alex lifted the small table onto its side and dug through the box, each movement of her hands clinking and clanging the contents inside.
“Dad’s house will be quiet during the day. Joan will be teaching, Helen’s busy at the hospital…”
Her hand reappeared with a screwdriver.
“Shame that thing’s not sonic.” Lucy laughed.
Alex slowly tightened the loose bolt at the base of the table leg. “I might stay for a few months, concentrate on writing. I could work on our graphic novel up there.”
Lucy looked hurt. “Come on, Lex. Don’t go up north. I’ll miss you.”
“You’ll be fine. Think of it as more time with Harry.” Alex tugged on the leg. Now stable, it wasn’t going anywhere. She returned the screwdriver to the box and the table to its feet.
“Look at that,” said Lucy. “Indomitable AND handy. Forget Harry, I should be dating you.”
Alex starred at the smashed chocolate orange, ignoring Lucy’s silliness. “When we were in Manchester on Boxing Day…did you notice Mark’s behaviour? I keep thinking about it. He went to the bathroom like, four times during that football match. He nursed one pint the whole visit, so I doubt he was peeing in the toilets. Maybe the ecstasy on New Year’s Eve wasn’t a one-off. Maybe he’s doing other stuff, too?”
“You think he was doing drugs? In the loo?”
Alex shrugged and set their snacks back on the table.
“I didn’t have Mark down as a pill popper.” Lucy reunited their glasses and the flowers with the table. “At least based on what I’ve seen.”
“I couldn’t get him to take aspirin when he hurt his shoulder, so what’s up with the recreational drugs?”
“Hurt his wha’?”
“His shoulder. Austria in November? He said he slipped during a snowball fight. It looked nasty, like the Hulk had stomped on him…all purple and yellow, really bad.”
“So much for him channeling Action Man, getting his arse kicked by Buddy the bloody Elf. Unless…do you think he was high, hurt himself that way?”
“He’s lost weight, too. He was thinner before Christmas, before Fallon. I thought he looked skinnier in Birmingham, but it was really noticeable in Manchester.”
“Really? Wow, maybe it is a drug problem, then. I never thought Mark would be one to have a quarter-life crisis. God, Lex, no matter how you slice it, you had to kick him to the curb.”
“It’s just been one thing after another.”
Lucy sneered. “Stupid guy. I think he came here figuring a few snapdragons, apologies, a box of cookies, and you’d be ready to forgive and forget. He doesn’t deserve you.”
Both women sat in silence for a minute.
“Lex, what you told me on Boxing Day…it’s been stuck in my head. Don’t get cross at me for asking but, if the cheating hadn’t happened, Fallon hadn’t come back on the scene…if it was just you and Mark and his bonkers schedule…would you still be together?”
Alex exhaled. “I don’t know. I love him, but a big part of me hates what our life had become, you know? That’s the problem: Mark’s a package deal now. The lack of privacy, the constant absences—it’s a huge part of him, just like panic attacks are part of me. And never the twain shall meet.”
“But what if he had proposed in Dublin?”
“But he didn’t. I’m done mulling over what-ifs. Things don’t always work out in the end. Life isn’t a fairy tale, Lucy—we both know that.” She scooped up her shoebox of tools and walked back to the kitchen.
Twenty-Five
Two weeks later
Freddie hopped out of the rental car and slammed the driver’s side door.
Mark winced. “Christ! Freds!” He snatched at his messy hair as he slowly slid off the front seat. Gently closing his door, careful not to jar his thumping head any further, he nudged his Ray-Bans up his nose. His red, watery eyes would remain his secret. He looked up at the four-storey building in front of him, trying to focus on the top floor window—the flat he used to call home with Alex.
“When we’ve got your stuff, I’m calling Tom.” Freddie strode around the car to face his hungover friend. He curled his lip, taking in the chaos that was Mark’s appearance. “Giving him a right ol’ bollocking for all this.”
Clutching his bubbling stomach, Mark stared back. “I’ve already told you, this isn’t Tom’s fault. I’m having a hard time dealin—” His shoulders lunged forward. Cough, cough, cough! His fit sent puffs of warm, boozy breath into the chilly January air.
Freddie wrinkled his nose and waved a hand in front of his face. “Jeez, Keegs! You reek! Please tell me you didn’t drink Dublin dry?”
Cough, cough! “I drank beer”—cough—“nothing else,” he wheezed.
“Yeah, a whole brewery’s worth—”
Mark sniffed. “Tom was looking after me…”
“Tom’s the worst babysitter—ever. I mean, if ‘looking after you’ means putting you on a plane completely shit-faced, well I—”
Mark squinted behind his sunglasses. “For fuck’s sake! GIVE IT A REST!” He flinched at the loudness of his own voice. “I don’t need this, not today.”
“Keegs…” Wilting under Mark’s outburst, Freddie gave up. “Let’s get this done.”
Ushering a weaving Mark inside and towards the first flight of stairs, Freddie mumbled under his breath, “You’re in absolutely no state to move fuck all…” He planted his hands on Mark’s back, pressing him forward.
Above their heads, the stairs creaked. Rushing feet galloped downwards from an upper floor.
“Mark…?!”
He jolted, tripping up the next step. His sunglasses slipped down his nose.
Alex met him on the small landing, her eyes wide, mouth agape. With a stuttering sweep, she looked him over from head to toe and back again. His wool coat was buttoned wrong and one of his boots’ laces was untied.
His sweaty face softened as he swayed closer. “Lex…” He plucked his sunglasses off his face and tried to smooth down his disheveled hair.
Lucy pushed past her best friend, creating a barrier. “Keegs, back OFF!” Her eyes flew to Freddie. “What the fuck? We agreed!”
Freddie shrugged. “The car was ready early so…”
Lucy clenched her jaw, her eyes shooting to Mark.
The corners of his mouth rose, ignoring Lucy and Freddie. Only Alex mattered. His eyebrows creased as he looked over Lucy’s shoulder. “It’s good to see—”
“Freds,” Lucy interrupted, a vein pulsing in her temple. “We’ll talk about THIS later!”
Mark inched closer, sandwiching Lucy. Alex’s eyes fell to the floor, but her lips parted like she was about to say something…
Lucy turned and snatched Alex’s upper arm. “COME ON!”
“OW!” The playwright winced, digging in her heels. “That hurts!”
Lucy tugged, propelling Alex into Mark’s side. He stumbled backwards, blinking at the sweatshirt peeking through Alex’s open coat. She’s wearing my shirt! Maybe she’s regretting this… “Lucy, please…give Lex and me a minute—”
“Time’s up, Mark.” Lucy scowled over her shoulder, marching Alex down the stairs. “Just get your fucking shit out of here!”
Alex didn’t look back.
Mark didn’t look away until Alex was through the front door, out of sight.
Twenty-Six
Alex’s leg shimmied under the table, making their plates shake. The Cat and Mutton’s upstairs space was packed with loud groups of friends, young families, and wide-eyed tourists devouring the 300-year-old pub’s Sunday lunchtime specialty: heaping plates of roast sirloin, Yorkshire pudding, potatoes, and a medley of honeyed carrots and parsnips.
“It’s too soon.”
“No, it’s time. You’ve been glued to that sofa for two bloody weeks.” Lucy dunked a piece of beef into the thick gravy. “Your wheelie bin goes out more than you do.”
“No. I mean—I didn’t expect Mark to move out today. Everything’s real, now it’s happening…”
“The faster he moves out, the sooner you can move on, do your Manchester thing, and come back to London…and can you please stop shaking the table?”
“He looked awful…”
Lucy impaled a potato with her fork. “Karma’s a bitch.”
“I look awful.” Alex glanced down at her sweatshirt and jeans which hung from her curves. “Splotchy, pale—I’m such a catch.” She rubbed her eye without fear. Her mascara and eyeliner hadn’t left her makeup bag since the afternoon she called time on their relationship.
“What the hell are you doing in his sweatshirt?” Lucy’s glare dropped to her plate as she sliced her Yorkshire pudding into pieces. “You’ve been sleeping in it, haven’t you?”
Alex slid her Vespa necklace underneath the shirt’s collar while Lucy wasn’t looking. “It’s comforting.”
“Yeah—for all the wrong reasons. Besides, it smells and it’s got a huge hole in it.” Lucy stabbed a baby carrot. “I could kill Freddie. Why couldn’t he just fucking LISTEN for once and follow simple instructions?”
Her loudness attracted furrowed brows from the next table.
“I told him to wait until we’d left but ohh, no! He had to bring Mark over an hour early. He did it on fucking purpose. You weren’t supposed to see him, and he definitely wasn’t supposed to see you, especially in that sweatshirt.”
“Mark looked green. Do you think he’s sick?”
Lucy exhaled with a huff.
“I could ask Freddie…”
“You could, but you shouldn’t. He’s not your concern anymore.”
“I can’t flip a switch and stop caring. It’s only been two weeks—”
“Fine,” Lucy interrupted. “Yes, he’s been out getting wrecked again in Dublin. Happy now?”
“Was Fallon—”
“No, according to Tom. Does it make a difference? It shouldn’t.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Liar.” Lucy shoved aside her parsnips with her knife. “You are pining big time. You’re binge-watching Friends, haven’t started packing. There’s unopened mail, dust bunnies, unwashed clothes.”
Alex half-heartedly took a bite of her Yorkshire pudding. “I ran out of underwear. I’m wearing my bikini bottoms—”
“See? Neat Freak Lex would be horrified. And I love junk food, but your eating habits—”
“What?” Alex scooted untouched carrots around her plate. “Naomi brought casseroles—”
“That you don’t eat. She finds them morphing into science experiments in your fridge. And I know you read this morning’s Mail story. I saw it on your laptop.”
“Naomi said Tom was in some of the photos. I just wanted to see—”
“Don’t use Tom as your latest excuse. You’re the one who broke it off, not the other way ’round. It’s over. There’s no going back. Just stop, okay? Stop! Eat your lunch and quit shaking the table.”
Alex’s leg picked up speed. “Come on, Lucy, give me a break. All you’ve done lately is harp at me for being sad. I may have ended it, but it still hurts.” She avoided eye contact. “At least Freddie’s been understanding.”
“Yeah, ’cause Freds wants you two back together.”
“Maybe Freddie’s right. I keep having doubts…” Alex lowered her voice. “…asking myself, Did I do the right thing? Living with Mark’s clothes, his bathroom stuff, the Vespa…it’s a daily reminder of what I’ve lost.”
“Well, then you won’t mind when I chuck that United shirt in the bin when we get back.”
“You might as well toss me in with it.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Lucy gestured with her fork as she talked. “In an hour or so, all those reminders will be out of your flat for good, and I’m changing my Netflix password, so you’ll stop with the Friends marathon. It’s not helping.”
Alex poked at a small roast potato. “But the absence of his stuff is a reminder, too.”
“For fuck’s sake, Lex, you’re doing my head in. The cheater had to move today, okay? Once the film finishes mid-Feb, Freddie said he’s straight into rehearsals for some play.”
“What play? Where’s he doing it?”
“I don’t care. You shouldn’t either. You were doing so well two weeks ago. Now you’re…regressing, yeah, that’s the word.” Lucy picked up the menu, giving the desserts a once-over. “Oh, I forgot to tell you—I called to cancel your Spring Break Florida trip, but Mark had already done it. At least he’s taken responsibility for something.”
“Fuck, I miss him.”
Lucy’s phone buzzed on the table. “It’s Freds. If he’s telling the truth, they’ve just left the flat.”
Alex jolted to her feet sending her chair squealing across the floor. “I’m going back. Now.”
Tearing off her coat, Alex’s eyes landed on the black chair inside the flat. “His keys…”
Lucy closed the door. “What about them?”
“They’re not here. He always leaves them right here. Maybe he’s not done—maybe he’s coming back.” Without stopping for breath, she raced into the bedroom, her keychain—the one that matched Mark’s—clasped within her grip.
“Lex…” Lucy called out even though Alex was around the corner, out of sight. “Don’t. His Vespa’s gone…”
Heart pounding, Alex whipped open the closet at breakneck speed. Half of it—Mark’s half—was bare. She ran to his drawers, heaving them open two at a time, their hollow clunk a punch to Alex’s stomach. She spun around, eyes wild and roving, the room dissolving into a streaky blur. His record collection, his signed football, his dog-eared novels—all gone, off to live someplace else…someplace without her.
“Babe, don’t do this.”
Chucks thumping across the hardwood, Alex ignored Lucy and strode through the living room to the bathroom, her eyes scrambling over the vanity, through the medicine cabinet, over the edge of the tub: Mark’s hair products, razor, and toothbrush that had lived alongside her lotions, potions, and bottles…all taken. With a shaky hand, she shoved
her bangs off her forehead, creased in despair.
The fridge…the fridge would tell her. Smothered with photos and loving Post-Its—that’s where she needed to look. She careened from the bathroom, all hope pinned to that under-the-counter appliance.
The surface of the fridge was like a baseball bat to the knees. Alex reached for the kitchen counter, steading herself. Mark hadn’t taken anything. She stared at the memories left behind, deemed dispensable by the man she had hoped to spend the rest of her life with.
He hadn’t left anything, either. “No note, no…nothing? Doesn’t two years mean anything to him?” Alex squeezed the keychain in her hand, the engraving on the silver rectangle branding its significance into her palm and scarring her heart.
Lucy placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Actors are like nomads, moving from job to job, Lex. He’s used to leaving people behind.”
Tears slipped down Alex’s cheeks and landed on her sweatshirt—Mark’s sweatshirt—her new reality seeping into her heart as quickly as the tears soaked into the cotton top. Not only had Mark taken all his belongings, he had also snatched away her hope, her breath, her heart.
Looking across the counter, Lucy spied a propped-up bubble envelope with ‘Alex’ scrawled across it.
“Lex, what’s that?” She grabbed the medium-sized package for her friend.
The handwriting with its looping A and sweeping X was as familiar as Alex’s own. She fought back tears, taking a hopeful breath.
Ripping open the parcel, her shaky hand met the waxy dust jacket of a hardcover book. The ache in her chest squeezed tighter. It was the signed autobiography of Manchester United’s most celebrated manager, Sir Alex Ferguson…her birthday gift to Mark—the one she had hurled at his head in Dublin. A page fell open, revealing a piece of hotel notepaper.
Alex, you’ve always known what to get me, but this left me speechless. It’s Michael’s copy, isn’t it? I spent so many hours with my nose stuck in its pages, your dad always joked that I should have it. He gave it to you, to give to me, but I can’t keep it, not now. Please make sure Michael gets it back and tell him I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused your family.
London, Can You Wait? Page 21