“They’re not for me.” Alex released his hand. “They’re for you. I made you a care package for tomorrow morning.”
Mark grinned. Love this girl!
Alex handed him the Jamie’s takeout bag and reached into her oversized carry-all, pulling out a large plastic container. “I snuck out at lunch. I got Jaffa Cakes, Nutella snack pots, water, and now these nacho bites.” She popped the lid. “Put them in here, and you’re all set for your journey. Oh, I got a football mag, too.”
“You thought of everything. Thanks, babe!” Mark wedged the bag into the container and snapped the lid shut. “I better call ahead—warn the Lairds costume department.” He laughed. “I’m gonna need bigger britches when I get to Aberdeen.” Damn early train. His smile faded. “I wish I could stay at yours tonight…”
“I know, but you’ll be closer to the station. Just make sure you set your alarm…don’t rely on Freds, okay?” Alex looped her arm through Mark’s. “At least you have something to remember me by—our lie-in this morning was…” She raised her eyebrows.
Remember? I’ve thought of nothing else all day! Mark winked. “It was!”
“Gotta leave you wanting more…so you’ll come back!”
“Deal, but only if you throw in more crispy nachos.” Mark hugged his care package and smiled, his eyes not leaving her.
“Who says I’ll share next time…Pebble?”
“Christ Almighty!” Mark jerked his head back. “Did Freddie tell you that? The lanky shite—I’ll throttle him. Actually, scratch that—I’ll Full Throttle him!”
They both laughed.
“Look, you can sniff Paddington to your heart’s content, Insta the hell out of Tower Bridge, and hog all the crispy nachos, but call me Pebble again and it’s the sofa for you, Sinclair.”
Alex stopped walking. “The sofa?”
Mark’s heart began to race. Seeking privacy, he pulled her close, behind a telephone box. “Well…yeah.” His eyes drifted away for a moment, making sure no one was listening. “We’ll have to buy one first…”
“Buy one…?” she whispered, raising a brow.
I think she’s ready, but…what if she’s not? Mark breathed deeply, hoping to calm his nerves.
“I miss leaving you love notes on our fridge. I miss making you grilled cheese sandwiches when you’re on deadline. I miss holding you when we binge-watch TV—on our sofa, not Freddie’s or Tom’s…and I think maybe you might miss those things, too…?” He broke into a grin. “We’re better together in our own flat…aren’t we?”
A smile crept across her face.
“And Harry’s old place is up for rent November 1st—”
“So, the London Fields lido, pub quizzes at the Cat and Mutton…” Alex leaned closer. “Broadway Market!”
“They’re ours, if we want them.” Holding his breath, Mark beamed. “Move in with me—again.”
“You do make a killer grilled cheese, so I could be persuaded.” Alex bounced on her toes and kissed him.
Mark let out a sigh of relief. Thank Christ! “Oh, I can be very persuasive, young lady.” He pinched her ass and laughed as they walked towards a taxi rank.
Fifty-Eight
London, fourteen months later
Join Lucy Hardy and Alex Sinclair signing
STRANGELY GIFTED
at Forbidden Planet
on Thursday, November 28, 2019 from 6 P.M. to 7 P.M.
The basement of Forbidden Planet bustled with comic fans, early Christmas shoppers, and curious tourists, snapping up the girls’ debut before heading out into November’s chill. Freddie weaved between bodies, filming their comings and goings for a fandom feature on his YouTube channel.
“Thanks so much. Lovely to meet you.” Alex beamed and handed an autographed copy of Strangely Gifted to the last person in line. She glanced at Lucy, sat to her right. “Wow! That hour flew.”
“I’m gobsmacked.” Lucy checked the time on her phone. “People actually showed up!”
“Isn’t it cool?” Alex neatly stacked the remaining books. “I want to hug each person, buy them a drink…‘thank you’ just doesn’t cut it!” She flipped her phone over. The screen glowed with texts.
Naomi: Sorry, babe! Can’t get away. Catch up tomorrow? x
Dad: Call when you can. Let us know how it all went. x
Niamh: So excited for you both, have a wonderful night! Gracie, Rhys & I send our love. x
“Aw, Niamh.” Alex nudged Lucy. “You have to meet her. She’s so supportive.”
“Like mother, like son.” Lucy scrolled through Instagram, stopping on a photo of Mark reading their novel on the Tube. “This—fucking genius! It’s now got over 8,000 likes. We owe Keegs—majorly—he sure pulled in the punters.”
Alex leaned in, smiling. Mark’s Instagram photo also signaled his limited return to social media. Long gone were his Wink-era Twitter and Snapchat accounts, and his website had undergone a complete makeover, ditching the brooding Harley shots in favour of professional photos from Lairds and his plays. A new category had been added, too—awards—including images of Mark posing with his Olivier for Best Supporting Actor for A Doll’s House.
Her foot nudged two empty boxes and she glanced down at the floor. On top of her bag sat the latest issue of Time Out, opened to an interview with her boyfriend. The piece talked about his latest movie, filmed in Estonia last spring, hitting cinemas that day. He also spoke the previously unspeakable—taking a stand for their relationship. Her eyes caught a paragraph.
“I don’t talk about my personal life in the press, but I’m making an exception. In a few instances—online comments, in restaurants, at stage doors—a line has been crossed. If you’re a fan of my work, please show my loved ones respect. They don’t deserve to be followed or treated badly because I love them. They didn’t sign up for this—I did.”
Alex nodded at Lucy. “I can’t thank him enough.”
“You’ll find a way!” Lucy shot a look at Mark, laughing with Harry as Freddie filmed them near a shelf packed with books. “Oi! Keegan!”
Mark sauntered over, followed by their friends. “Hey, comic queens…that was quite the crowd, eh? How many sold?”
“All but three.” Alex put the remaining books into a Forbidden Planet bag. “But we can sell out if you, Harry, and Simon each buy one.”
“I have mine already.” Harry leaned over to kiss Lucy on the forehead.
“Don’t I get a freebie for sleeping with the writer?” Mark cheekily raised his eyebrows.
“You’re cute and all but…” Alex crinkled her nose. “No.”
“Well, it was worth a try.” Mark winked and slipped her a ten-pound note. He squeezed her hand, refusing to let go.
Lucy kneaded her left wrist, her grin slipping into a grimace. “How do you do this all day, Keegs? After thirty minutes, my hand was about to snap off—”
“Hey!” Simon appeared over Mark’s shoulder, wiping perspiration from his brow. “Sorry! Traffic from London Fields…”
Mark nodded. “Tell me about it. The roadworks…let’s just say that Mare Street lives up to its bloody name.”
“You can say that again, mate.” Simon gasped, out of breath, and slapped Mark on the back. “Am I too late?”
Freddie turned off his camera and hugged Simon from behind. “Lex saved you one.”
“Aw, cheers!” Simon slapped ten pounds on the table as Lucy pulled his copy out of the bag. “I didn’t want to miss out.”
“Only one left now!” Lucy signed her name with a flourish and passed the book to Alex. She began writing a heartfelt message.
Simon turned to Freddie. “I’d like to have a browse…”
“Go for it.” Freddie backed up and lifted the strap of his messenger bag over his head. “I’m gonna help them pack up.”
“For you, Si.” Alex smiled and gave him his autographed book.
“Cheers! Won’t be long, Freds.” Simon flicked through Strangely Gifted and walked towards the stairs. Freddi
e watched him slowly disappear upwards, step by step.
“Si goes to a few cons and now look at him?” he whispered, doing nothing to help Alex and Lucy pack up. “Bandwagon-jumping git.”
Mark laughed and grabbed the bag containing his book and the last unsold copy. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“Well, yeah, but he’s taking cosplay creation to an insane level. I’m talking designer sketches, expensive fabrics, freeze-framing Doctor Who, Game of Thrones, and Lairds over and over. Every single freakin’ detail has to be…” He pinched his fingers together. “…precise.”
“His twelfth Doctor costume for Halloween was incredible,” said Harry, scooping up the Sharpies. “The bespoke red lining in his jacket—looked like he stole it off Capaldi.”
“Before it was all Balenciaga this, Tom Ford that…now I get that, plus this.” Freddie shook his hair from his eyes. “I can’t escape into my fandoms because Si’s already there—and now he’s setting up a website to sell bespoke cosplay outfits. He says it will be a nice little earner.” He elbowed Mark. “He’s going to ask for the Lairds costume designer’s deets—to pick her brain.”
Mark buttoned up his coat, smiling at Alex. “Better hers than mine.”
“Ah, shaddup.” Lucy stood up and swatted at Freddie. “You love it.”
“Joke all you want, missy,” said Freddie. “He’s whipping something up for you. I’ve seen sketches. He’s thinking Daenerys Targaryen.”
Lucy’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, with dragons and everything.”
Alex shrugged on her coat and collected Mark’s Vespa helmets from under the table. “Lucy, is it okay that Robbie gets the last copy?”
“Sure! Our first international sale! That will teach Tom not to show up.”
“Where is Tom?” asked Mark.
“Naomi had a late audition…” Harry helped Lucy with her coat. “…and they’ve got Rex for the night. Tom’s looking after him—solo.”
“Ergh, I hope he packed away the sex toys.” Freddie cringed. “Rex might confuse a penis ring for a teething ring.”
Lucy burst out laughing, leading her friends to the stairs. “Freddie! He’s almost four! He’s done teething.”
“Whatever.” Freddie played with this camera. “So, what’s everyone doing now?”
“I have a presentation tomorrow.” Lucy held hands and shared a smile with her boyfriend. “Harry’s prepping with me tonight.”
Freddie smirked. “Prepping? I’ve never heard it called that before…” He followed Lucy and Harry up the stairs and glanced over his shoulder. “Keegs?”
“Lines to learn—pick-up scenes for Lairds next week. Sorry, Freds. Another time?”
“Sparkly Girl?” Freddie turned to Alex.
She shook her head. “I have edits…for this guy.” Hands full with Vespa helmets, she bumped Mark with her elbow.
“January can’t come soon enough.” Freddie smiled. “Shockwave is gonna be epic.”
“I hope so,” said Alex. “The Dorfman run is almost sold out.”
“It’s only the National. No pressure, then.” Harry chuckled.
“I think they’re coming for Mark, not my words.”
“Ahh, stop being so modest!” Mark kissed his girlfriend’s cheek as they continued up the stairs. A playful smile crept across his face. “Did Lex spill about Thirteen?”
“No…?” Lucy squinted at her friend.
“I was going to, but the signing got busy—”
Reaching the top step, Mark beamed. “Thirteen’s transferring to Broadway next year.”
“Wh-What?!” Freddie popped the flash on his camera.
“You’re headed back to New York?” Lucy stopped dead, yanking Harry back by the hand. Her gasp turned into an exuberant grin.
“Yeah!” Alex laughed. “Laurel messaged me earlier…she’s been working on a transfer since the run ended in June. It might happen around Halloween next year—if she gets the cast she wants.”
“Ooh, the casting game starts now!” Freddie furrowed his brow, concentrating.
“Congrats, Lex.” Harry hugged her. “Well deserved.”
“So, whatcha reckon? Julie Walters for Joan? Or Dame Judi?” Freddie stashed his camera in his bag. “Ben Whishaw for the male lead…?”
Alex shook her head. “Honestly, I have no clue. Before they even think of casting, I have to figure out my schedule, see if there’s a break during Shockwave rehearsals to fly over…”
Mark nodded proudly.
“Laurel wants me to meet some producing partners—”
“Well, honey, you better not be too busy schmoozing with theatre royalty to hang with me!” Freddie sighed.
Alex smiled. “Will next Monday or Tuesday night do?”
“Monday? Quiz night at the Cat and Mutton, then?” Freddie’s face lit up.
“It’s a date.” Alex and her friends walked towards the store’s entrance.
Freddie hung back. “Well, Simon’s buying up the shop, so I better help him with his haul, get in his good books so I unbox it for my YouTube peeps—ha!”
“Okay, have fun, Freds. Tell Si goodnight.” Mark followed a waving Alex, Harry, and Lucy outside. A small cluster of fans clutching the Time Out magazine waited for him, including Daisy. Alex left him to it, joining her friends by the curb.
“Hey!” Mark smiled. “Sorry, I can’t sign tonight, but how ’bout a quick selfie?” He posed politely, the bag of books in his hands.
The fans were understanding and let Mark return to his friends…all except Daisy, who wanted more than selfie #336. The girl couldn’t spot a hint if it was piano-sized and fell on her.
“Mark, can you FaceTime with my cousin?”
“Ah, sorry, Daze. I can’t. I’ve gotta go, but have a good night, okay?”
Daisy lingered, watching Mark return to Alex’s side. She finally gave up and lumbered away.
“So…” Harry waited until Daisy was out of earshot. “I guess we won’t see you until next weekend?”
“Yep. Up to Aberdeen on Monday, back down on Thursday as Shockwave rehearsals start Friday…” Mark winked at his girlfriend as he stashed her books in the under-seat storage on his scooter. “Lex and I have a shopping date for three Christmas trees that night.”
“Three?” asked Lucy. “Freddie’s more of a bridezilla than Naomi ever was!”
Alex shrugged. “He just wants his Christmas theme done right. He’s entitled—”
“Yeah, entitled is the word.” Mark chuckled. “Just wait until my best man speech…”
Alex handed him a helmet. “I still have to write mine. I’m excited to be Si’s best woman, and I’m really looking forward to the reception—our place is going to be so Christmassy.” She looked at Harry. “Listen to me, our place. I still can’t believe you sold it to us.”
“Ahh, you’ve always loved that flat more than me…” Harry waved at his Uber SUV pulling up to the curb. “…even when Tom stole your bedroom and left you with that titchy box room!”
Alex giggled. “That closet’s home to suitcases and Mark’s footy gear, now.”
Mark grimaced at Alex. “Wow, yeah. I keep forgetting you used to sleep in there.”
“Well, don’t forget this, sieve brain…” Lucy gently flicked Mark on the forehead as Harry opened the SUV’s door for her. “A week Saturday, seven P.M., Southwark Playhouse.”
“Tom’s first preview?” Mark nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Lucy leaned out the vehicle’s window. “Lex, call me tomorrow—lunchtime? I’ll need to vent after my presentation.”
“I will—good luck!” Alex watched her friends drive down Shaftsbury Avenue.
“So…” Mark tossed his helmet back and forth in his hands. “It’s only quarter past seven, how ’bout we check out the Christmas lights? We might not get another chance with rehearsals, and the wedding, Mum and Gracie’s visit. I can have us home by half nine…still plenty of time for writing and line-learning?”
&n
bsp; “A Vespa adventure? Hell yeah! It’s been a while…” Alex smiled, hugging her helmet.
Fifty-Nine
Mark straddled his Vespa, parked tightly along the curb of Vere Street, a wide smile permanently etched across his stubble. “What’s your favourite so far?”
Alex snapped a burst of photos, capturing the twinkling Christmas lights that stretched high above the Oxford Street intersection. She bounced back to Mark’s side, ignoring a honking black cab swerving past.
“I loved the massive reindeer in Covent Garden—oh, and the huge boughs of mistletoe dangling over Apple Market.”
“Yeah, I know you liked that one. I still can’t feel my lips…” Mark swayed to his left, avoiding Alex’s swatting hand.
Several feet away to their right, four teenage girls stood near the entrance of a Debenhams store, taking sly photos and considering whether to approach. Alex was so mesmerized with London’s festive finery that she didn’t clue in.
“I liked Carnaby Street, the disco balls, but way too many people. I thought we were going to get swarmed.”
Mark put on his helmet. “Yeah, we escaped just in time.”
“The paps caught you, though. I bet those photos are online already.” She took her helmet from Mark’s hands. “Nice getaway-driving skills, babe.”
“It’s easy on these wheels.” He glanced at the girls starting to stir. “Hop on, Lex! Let’s get a closer look at the lights up ahead.”
Alex climbed behind Mark and put on her helmet. “Ooh, can we head to Trafalgar Square after? I want to see the big Christmas tree.”
“Yep, it’s easy going from here. Ready?”
Alex squeezed his waist.
Mark revved his scooter and joined the flow of vehicles through the intersection. High-end New Bond Street, with its pricey boutiques and world-famous labels, sailed past as they travelled southwards on their Christmas lights hunt.
Reaching the short, pedestrianized stretch of the street, Mark slowed his Vespa to a stop, allowing Alex to jump off for more photos. Huge sprays of glistening lights, fashioned into peacock feathers, fanned out across the night sky, creating a magical archway over their heads. Still wearing his helmet, Mark walked anonymously alongside his scooter, weaving through upscale Christmas shoppers as Alex flittered back and forth across the pavement, taking photos and babbling excitedly.
London, Can You Wait? Page 38