London, Can You Wait?

by Jacquelyn Middleton

  “I guess, yeah, if he’s going to compete with The Rock,” said Alex.

  “Mark’s trainer gave him a new nickname—The Pebble.” Freddie raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh, jeez.” Alex winced. “I bet he hates it.”

  “Yeah! He does.” Freddie snickered. “So, lady…shifting subjects slightly—when’s the last time you had two gorgeous men spend the night?”

  “What?! Never!”

  “Get the groceries in, darling! Si and I are Big Apple-bound. We’re coming over next week for your birthday.”

  “Really?” Alex’s first grin of the morning lit up her face. “What about work? Can you afford it?”

  “My boss won’t even know I’m missing, so fuck him. Si has a trillion air miles from flying to Montréal, and Harry said we can bunk in that loft you’re hogging.”

  “Hey, the more, the merrier!” Alex grinned.

  “Ah, NYC! For reals.” Freddie kissed Simon’s cheek. “We’re also swinging by Montréal on the way home. Get this, Lex: I’m dragging Si to his first comic con.”

  “And I’m dragging Freds to meet my parents—properly—as my fiancé.” Simon nodded.

  “I wonder what Simon’s dreading more…” Freddie’s cheeks couldn’t hold back his grin.

  Forty-Seven

  The bounce of Alex’s knee, hidden underneath the hem of her skirt, was out of sight from Laurel Rodriguez, the artistic director of the 59E59 Theaters. This woman held Thirteen’s off-Broadway fate in her hands as she flicked through the manuscript. Laurel paused, reading a scene for a few minutes, and then continued her tour through the pages. Flip, flip, flip. Eyes glued to each page turn, Alex’s knee bounced faster.

  Laurel slapped the manuscript closed and removed her glasses. “Well…”

  Holding her breath, Alex met Laurel’s eyes.

  “Thirteen is unlike anything we’ve staged before…the time travel aspect…”

  And…! Alex’s heartbeat rose to her throat.

  “Is it true that your grandmother was the inspiration?”

  “Yes!” She exhaled with a shaky grin. “She was a dancer, an actress in Manchester during the fifties. She’s quite the character.”

  Laurel nodded. “I can tell! Well, Thirteen is heartbreaking and inspiring, a beautiful story of love and redemption. I have to say, Alex, it’s perfect for our ‘Brits Off-Broadway’ season next year. I think New York audiences will really enjoy it.”

  Alex’s eyes widened, matching her smile.

  “So, our Brits season happens April through July. For Thirteen, I’d like to propose a run of three weeks—probably late May into June.”

  It’s all happening! “Great!” Alex bounced to the edge of her chair.

  “We can offer you the going rate for an off-Broadway debut. Peggy’s typing up your formal offer now. It will include royalty rates as well as a breakdown of the pre-production payment schedule—our theatre prides itself on paying the playwright for time spent during meetings, design consults, casting sessions, readings, and rehearsals. I’m sure you’ll find it fair.”

  Alex nodded. Wait till I tell Dad—and Joan!

  “Take a few days to consider our offer. Let me know, say…” Laurel peered through her glasses at her Hamilton wall calendar. “…a week from now, Monday, July 9th?”

  “That would be perfect. Thank you!” Alex’s cheeks ached. What’s to consider? My play performed HERE…in a 195-seat theatre just steps from Central Park! She wanted to scream YES from the top of the Empire State Building but swallowed her excitement. The week would allow her time to meet with an agent and find out whether the theatre’s offer accurately compensated her work. Thirteen was her baby—there was no way she was going to place it into the bathwater without checking the temperature first.

  “Wonderful. Be sure to pick up the envelope from Peggy before you go.” Laurel stood up, extending her hand. “Thanks for trusting Thirteen to us, Alex. I’ll speak to you next week.”

  “Thanks, Laurel.” Alex shook the artistic director’s hand and left the office with a grin that shone so bright, only the lights of Times Square could rival it.

  Forty-Eight

  Four days later

  “You sure you can’t join us for a birthday bunk off?” Simon pulled several American bills from his wallet to pay the waitress.

  “Yeah, c’mon, Lex! Say hi to Lady Liberty with us.” Freddie set his fork down on his empty breakfast plate. Just fifteen minutes earlier, it was heaped with heuvos rancheros.

  “I wish, but I have to finish edits on Suffragettes and send them to the Lyric Hammersmith before noon, so I’m under the gun.” She licked maple syrup off her thumb. “Lucy said she’d FaceTime me after that.”

  “Best leave you to it.” Simon paid the bill and stood up from the bench.

  They headed outside into the sunny sauna on Gansevoort Street.

  “Thanks for breakfast and my present.” Alex pointed at her summery dress with its thin straps and star print. “I love my Simon Desjardins original!”

  Simon beamed. “I just hope the shop on the Bowery likes my designs as much as you do.”

  “What time you headed there?” asked Alex.

  “Meeting’s at four.” Simon put on his sunglasses. “I’ll pop back and grab my designs around half three.”

  “Okay.” She nodded. “You know where you’re headed?”

  Simon pointed past Freddie. “Yeah, that way, give or take. It’s been ten years since I’ve been here, but it’ll come back to me.”

  “Well, if you need anything or get lost, text me, okay?”

  “Oh, I plan to get very lost,” said Freddie. “There’s no better way to get under the skin of a new city, especially one with mega pretzels beckoning from every corner.” He squinted through his camera. “Ooh, and that Shake Shack place. Food hug!”

  Alex raised her eyebrows at Si and mouthed, “Good luck.”

  Simon chuckled, steering a camera-wielding Freddie towards Washington Street. “Cheers, Lex!”

  Alex broke out into a light jog back to the loft. With only two and a half hours until her deadline, every minute counted.

  A click of her finger—send. The edits on Suffragettes zoomed across the Atlantic Ocean with five minutes to spare. Alex pushed her chair back and stretched. If the Lyric Hammersmith approved these rewrites, the play could be in front of London audiences late next year.

  A FaceTime trill on her tablet interrupted her reverie. Right on time, Lucy. Alex’s eyes lazily left her laptop, landing on her iPad.

  Mark Keegan would like to FaceTime.

  WHAT? Oh, God! Alex flinched.

  She sat up straight, licked her lips, and ran her fingers through her hair. In the five days since Mark’s New Year’s acquittal, she’d half-expected a text or email from him. Just something to soothe the hurt, make amends, but nothing came…until now.

  Breathe, Alex. Breathe!

  She leaned away from her tablet. Time to yank the reins. Her heart was galloping full speed ahead in a direction that felt familiar for all the wrong reasons. She would always love Mark, but she couldn’t be with him. Their lives were like pieces from different puzzles, impossible to fit together. She knew that; her heart bore the scars.

  Ignoring the call wouldn’t erase the questions that were gnawing away at her. Fuck it. She grabbed the tablet and hit accept.

  Niamh popped on screen, sat in her wheelchair in her bungalow’s conservatory.

  Oh! Alex exhaled, disappointment and relief leaving her lungs. Mark’s mum smiled, her eyes crinkling in the corners—just like her son’s. Damn. Had Mark put her up to this? Why else would she call—on her son’s tablet?

  “Alex! Happy twenty-fifth birthday.”

  “Thanks, Niamh. How are you?”

  “I’m good, love. You look well.”

  Alex’s foot jittered. What to say next? Ugh. “Yeah…I guess New York City agrees with me.”

  “Oh, you’re not in London?”

  Hmm. So, maybe F
reddie didn’t tell Mark she was in New York? Or maybe he did, and Mark just didn’t tell his mum? Wait…Why do I care? Mark’s absolution didn’t change why she had left him. Nothing has changed, Alex! Remember that!

  “No. I’m working here for a few months.”

  “Are you staying in a safe area?”

  “I am. The neighbourhood’s nice, lots of cafés, dogs…trees.”

  “Good. Can’t be too careful.”

  “That’s true.” Alex nodded, the crumbs of this conversation feeding the butterflies in her stomach. Niamh and Alex may have only known each other for four months before ‘the shag that didn’t happen’, but they had always talked about things that mattered. They didn’t ‘do’ stilted casual chat. It certainly didn’t help that two massive questions hung over every word—was Mark listening in? And why was she calling? Best to play it safe. “How has your summer been, Niamh?”

  “It’s been pouring, love, but the sun finally found us five days ago. It’s been lovely for Mark.”

  Alex took a deep breath as her eyebrows tensed along with her shoulders. What to say to that? A soft smile spoke for her while she searched for words. The cars on the street below were the only sounds passing through her tablet’s microphone.

  Niamh grinned warmly, but her eyes bore through the screen as if she was trying to get a sense of how Alex was really feeling.

  “Mark’s not here, love. Sorry, I should’ve said straight away—my tablet broke, so he gave me his.” Niamh pulled her cardigan over her shoulders. “He doesn’t know I’m calling.”

  Her words didn’t bring relief. They actually made the tumbling in Alex’s stomach turn into a full-on gymnastics routine.

  “There have been so many times I wanted to reach out to you…” Niamh’s smile slipped away. “…but Mark made me swear not to tell you everything that’s gone on.”

  Everything? Alex’s brows creased. “Sorry?”

  “Mark experienced loss at a young age, and there were times when I feared that I had lost my sweet, happy-go-lucky little boy. He would go to a dark place, sometimes…become sullen, angry with everyone. I think part of him to this day blames himself for what happened…” Niamh took a deep breath. “Oh, I’ve probably said too much.”

  Huh? “Sorry, Niamh, but…I don’t understand.”

  His mum bowed her head, remaining silent. Awkward times a thousand. Alex threw out the first thing that popped into her mind. “I’m sorry I didn’t call to say good-bye.”

  Niamh looked up, kindness in her eyes. “Oh, love, us Keegans hold on to the hellos, not the good-byes…”

  Alex would never forget their first hello… The emotions of that day were imprinted on her heart: the panic over losing Niamh’s house key, the relief of finding it, the fear of meeting Mark’s family and the joy of discovering that—like Mark—his loved ones were friendly, kind, and hospitable.

  Despite it being her birthday, Niamh had made Alex a chocolate biscuit cake and asked questions about her playwriting, her family in Manchester, and the flat she shared with Mark. She listened intently and praised Alex for her triumphs, both personal and professional, and she wasn’t territorial like Devin’s mother. When Alex held Mark’s hand or met his eyes with a loving smile, Niamh beamed, nodding her approval. During that three-day weekend, Mark’s mum showed more interest in Alex than her own mother had done during her three years in London.

  But the warmth of Mark’s sister did more than put Alex at ease that visit: it changed everything. Grace shared emotional stories about her engagement and wedding, and while Mark and their mum were in the kitchen, Rhys was in the bathroom, she leaned in with a cheeky, conspiratorial smile. “When your time comes, Fappy will propose with Mum’s ring,” she whispered.

  Your time?

  Unlike the rest of the sentence leaving Grace’s mouth, those two words lit up Alex’s brain like a blinding camera flash, refusing to fade. A gentle nudge of Grace’s elbow diffused their brightness, dropping Alex back into the conversation, but she had missed most of the ring’s description, her ears only picking up “…Beatles lyrics engraved inside the white gold band.”The ring I just saw in Mark’s backpack—MUST be it!

  Back then it had all matched up—or so Alex had thought. Now, almost a year later, sat here talking through the tablet screen with Niamh, the memory made her feel silly and embarrassed: the ring Grace gushed about wasn’t the ring she had found in the backpack after all.

  “Since the day we met, you’ve always felt like part of our family.” Niamh’s eyes didn’t waver. “You know it’s not my way to interfere but—”

  “Niamh—”

  “Mark hasn’t been completely honest with you. You two need to talk…if there’s any hope of moving on and being friends again. I know my boy owes you that much, love.”

  Being friends with Mark. Alex wasn’t sure she could be. Seeing him with whomever he happened to be dating at the time would be a constant reminder of what would never be. Sometimes, the best way to heal and move on was to remain strangers.

  “Niamh, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have moved on. My plays are in demand. I’m working here until the end of summer. And to be fair, Mark’s moved on, too. I appreciate what you’re saying, but…I think talking will just stir up a lot of stuff that’s better left in the past.” A pang squeezed her heart. “I’m sorry.”

  Niamh nodded, resigned. “I understand.”

  The Sherlock theme drowned her out.

  “Is that your phone, love? You ought to get that.” Niamh smiled. “And Mark will be home from the gym soon.”

  Alex picked it up off the desk. “Oh, it’s London. Sorry, Niamh. I have to go. Thank you for the birthday wishes. It was lovely seeing you again.”

  “Take care, darling.” Niamh waved and the tablet went black.

  Alex accepted the call. “Hello?”

  “Good afternoon, Alex. It’s Sue at the Lyric Hammersmith calling to confirm receipt of the final Suffragettes edits. Is now a good time to talk?”

  By three-thirty P.M., Alex was nose deep in edits for Lucy’s graphic novel. She welcomed the work: it was fun and challenging, and a distraction from Niamh’s strange call.

  A key clicked the lock. Her eyes didn’t leave her laptop screen. “How was the sightsee—”

  “SURPRISE!” Freddie and Simon burst into the loft. “The party starts NOW!”

  Alex jolted in her chair and spun around so quickly, she almost flew off.

  Freddie smirked in the doorway, cradling a large box of Sprinkles cupcakes in his skinny arms. Simon filled the space behind him with a bouquet of twenty-five red balloons bobbing around his head.

  “What about your meeting?” Wide-eyed and giggly, Alex leapt out of her chair towards the couple.

  Simon shrugged. “I fibbed—it’s Monday morning.”

  “You’re sneaky!” Alex laughed. “But I love it!”

  “Not so fast…” Freddie shifted the cupcake box out of her reach, tossing his hair from his eyes.

  He walked in, and Simon followed, wrestling the rambunctious balloons through the doorway, revealing…Lucy and Harry. Tied to the handle of Lucy’s case, a foil Paddington Bear balloon waved in their wake.

  “No way!” Alex did a happy dance on the spot and threw her arms wide, gathering Lucy and Harry into a group hug.

  Lucy beamed. “Tricked ya!” She squeezed her best friend. “You only turn twenty-five once. There was no fucking way I’d miss it.”

  “Happy Birthday, Lex.” Harry kissed her on the cheek. “We’re a week early—”

  “I don’t mind!” Her eyes strayed to Freddie, lifting the lid to the cupcake box. “I’m happy you’re here!” Her smile softened, allowing a shaky laugh to escape.

  “You…sure?” Lucy pulled back slightly. “You preoccupied with something? Besides those chocolate cupcakes…”

  Alex sunk slightly. “Mark’s mum called.”

  Lucy’s face pinched. “Why?”

  “What?” Freddie mumbled through
a bite of cupcake. “You talked to Mark?”

  “No, he wasn’t there. Was still weird, though. Niamh said something about Mark not being completely honest with me. What’s that about?”

  “Fuck.” Lucy threw her hands in the air. “You don’t need that. Not on your birthday.”

  “Do you know?” Alex turned to Freddie, who was licking peanut butter frosting off his fingers.

  He shrugged. “Got me. You gonna call him?”

  “No. Why would I do that—”

  “Here’s a little birthday advice, Sparkly Girl.” Freddie placed the half-eaten cupcake back in the box. “Stop listening to your head. Listen to your heart.”

  Forty-Nine

  Three days later

  The bronze statue of Prometheus, reclining in the fountains of the sunken plaza of Rockefeller Center, stared over Lucy’s shoulder. “It’s not every day we get treated to lunch by an off-Broadway playwright. I could get used to this.” She grinned into the July sunshine, fanning herself with a Rock Center Cafe menu.

  “To Alex’s first New York production!” Harry raised his sweaty beer, inviting his friends to join his toast.

  “London’s loss is New York’s gain!” Freddie clinked glasses with Simon, Lucy, and Alex. “I’m gonna miss you, darling.” He raised his voice, competing with the strong lungs of a crying baby two tables away.

  Alex sipped her cola. “I’m not moving permanently. I’m just staying a bit longer for pre-production. Most stuff will be taken care of during the next two months while I’m here, and then I’ll come back next year, a month before Thirteen is staged, to help with the rest.”

  Harry leaned across the table. “Lex, Dad says the loft’s vacant until November, so don’t rush back—”

  “Don’t say that.” Freddie stuck out his bottom lip. “She’ll never come home.”