London Belongs to Me

by Jacquelyn Middleton

  Alex calmed her flyaway tresses and closed the window, silencing the wheezing breaths of the passing Routemaster buses. “We flew over with Mom for a visit when I was seven. I guess it was a last ditch effort to salvage something, but it didn’t work. Their divorce was finalized a year later in 2001. When I was old enough to understand, Robbie told me that they were having issues for a long time. Apparently, they almost split in ’92, but then Mom got pregnant with me. I was an accident, so they stayed together…”

  The taxi zipped around St. Paul’s Cathedral, its majestic 300-year-old dome piercing the blue sky. Alex fell silent, contemplating how something so robust and massive could be so beautiful.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Olivia looked up mid-text. “I take many things for granted here, but St. Paul’s always makes me smile.”

  “I bet. It’s like that Samuel Johnson quotation: ‘When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.’ There’s so much to love here. I could never be bored of all this.” Alex steadied herself as the cab swung around a sharp corner.

  Olivia smirked at Alex’s grand statement, smothering a titter behind her hair. Alex didn’t notice her seatmate’s reaction and continued with her starry-eyed commentary. “I didn’t expect it to be that magnificent; photos don’t do it justice.”

  With the cathedral receding into the distance, Alex turned back to Olivia. “Anyway, Dad flew to Florida most years to see us, but I haven’t been back to England since I was seven. I haven’t visited my grandmother since then. It’s weird being sep-arated from family, especially when it’s not your choice.”

  The Victoria Embankment, the northern side of the River Thames, blurred as the taxi picked up speed, passing signs announcing the approach of Waterloo Bridge. Alex leaned against the window, tapping her fingers, her eyes searching across the water. There! The National Theatre, rising above the river on the South Bank. She took a deep breath and didn’t dare blink, absorbing the view before her eyes. “I’ve waited so long to see that building in all its cement ugliness, and I mean that in the most loving way possible.”

  Olivia took a quick sip of her cappuccino. “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s not the daintiest or prettiest of London architecture, but there’s something about it. If you love theatre, you’re drawn to it.”

  For the first time, Alex felt a kinship with Harry’s girlfriend. She wanted Olivia to like her. They had playwriting and theatre in common, as well as a fondness for Harry. At the kitchen table during breakfast, her familiarity with Harry had concerned the brunette. Lots of girlfriends are possessive, but Olivia seemed agitated by the littlest things. Alex shrugged off her gnawing discomfort, determined to become better acquainted with her new friend and enjoy the day.

  Both women slipped into silence as the taxi swept by the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, and St. James’s Park, all sights that Alex couldn’t wait to explore up close. She smiled, catching a fleeting glimpse of Buckingham Palace and the scarlet-coated Beefeaters, standing guard under their tall fuzzy hats. All those hours poring over magazine and online photos of Will and Kate, and the Queen’s home—right here! Alex leaned closer to the window just as the cab bounced over a bump in the road. She smacked her head on the taxi’s curved frame, a sharp ouch escaping from her lips.

  “Sightseeing with you should come with a health warning,” said Olivia, her eyes glued to her phone.

  Alex giggled, but offered no apologies for her geekiness. Maybe these London landmarks were as common to Olivia as the corner diner back home was to Alex, but seeing these long-loved places was like stepping into an enchanted storybook. She didn’t want to sully this first impression with distracted chitchat.

  The lack of conversation didn’t faze Olivia one bit. Immersed in reading texts, she only looked up after a short drive through Belgravia. “We’ll be arriving in Sloane Square soon.”

  Six

  Alex climbed out of the taxi, squinting into the eye-watering sunlight. The Royal Court Theatre stood across the square to her left. She raised her hand to eyebrow level, blocking the sun and gasped at the regal building. “Oh, wow…”

  “So you’ve spotted it,” Olivia tossed her empty cup into a bin. “I must admit coming here was somewhat selfish. I have theatre tickets waiting at the box office.”

  Alex didn’t expect to visit the beautiful old theatre’s lobby so soon. Forget curbing her enthusiasm—she swooned—wobbling up the theatre’s steps.

  “You’re shaking!” Olivia chuckled. “I hope you don’t pass out from joy.”

  Alex knew this theatre’s history by heart. Her dog-eared copy of The Royal Court Theatre Inside Out was a gift from her dad when she was accepted into Emory’s playwriting program. Known in the industry as one of the most supportive institutions for new and young playwrights, the Royal Court exemplified what Alex held dear in writing for the stage: innovation, creativity, and an eclectic voice. She dreamt about having her work accepted, developed, and performed within its esteemed walls. It shared top spot on her list of must-see London venues along with the National Theatre.

  Olivia chatted and charmed the front desk staff. Alex didn’t hover. The modern lobby invited her to peek up its stairwells and run her fingers along its walls, happy to share its secrets with someone so keen. It seemed much smaller in real life, but its intimacy made it even more captivating.

  Alex hoped that someday soon she’d have the spare cash to see a play here. That was her top task for the coming week—finding a part-time job to cover such expenses. The money she saved over the past two years would cover Harry’s generously low rent for a year, but it wouldn’t stretch towards food, or fun like comic cons and plays. She couldn’t live in this theatre-rich city and not catch a production or two. If forced with the choice, she’d go hungry before she’d skip theatre; it nourished her soul more than any meal.

  A guy about Alex’s age carrying a motorcycle helmet and wearing a black t-shirt, jeans, and a distressed leather jacket, strolled through the glass doors and waited behind Olivia. He unzipped the jacket, and a subtle waft of deliciousness settled in his wake. Ooh. Spicy cardamom, juniper berries, and leather; Alex guessed he was wearing Burberry Brit Rhythm. A brief spell last Christmas working in the fragrance department at Saks Fifth Avenue in Atlanta meant she could identify cologne within seconds. He raked a hand through his thick jet-black hair and caught her gaze. He smiled, his brown eyes large and dark, full of mischief and warmth.

  Alex grinned back, savouring the moment.

  A staff member waved the smiley stranger towards the desk. He raised an eyebrow at Alex and began speaking to the clerk. Alex wasn’t an expert at accents, but she could tell a soft Irish lilt when she heard one. Good looking, friendly, and a fan of theatre—what more could a girl want?

  “Got them,” Olivia waved a pair of tickets in front of Alex and ushered her through the doors, down the steps past a red vintage Vespa and into the sun-soaked square.

  “Let me see?” Alex squinted at the tickets Olivia placed in her hand. “May 25—this Monday. Lucky.” Envy ate her up from inside.

  Olivia pointed to the Club Monaco on the edge of Sloane Square. “Let’s head there and get you some jeans, maybe a dress.” She lowered her sunglasses over her eyes as they walked across the road. “You might want to tuck those tickets away somewhere safe.”

  Alex scratched her temple, confused.

  “In the cab, I got a text about my fundraising meeting on Monday. It will probably run late, so I won’t make it in time,” said Olivia. “Go in my place and take Tom with you. He could use a night at the theatre. Maybe it will remind him that his talent’s growing stale.”

  Alex stopped in her tracks, her eyes growing misty. She grasped the tickets to her chest and crumpled Olivia in an impromptu hug. “You’re sure? You really can’t use them?”

  Olivia raised her eyebrows at Alex’s embrace and pulled away, smoothing her dress. “Nope. Mustn’t let them go to waste.”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Alex couldn’t stop beaming. She grinned all the way into Club Monaco, past the racks of khakis, jeans, and dresses. A play in forty-eight hours? Nothing else mattered. How bad can the world be when you have Royal Court tickets in your wallet?

  The clerk at Club Monaco snipped off the tags from the jeans and the flowery blue blouse Alex purchased, so the yoga pants and Captain America t-shirt were dumped into one of her bulging carrier bags. In her new attire, she seemed to sprout up three inches—shoulders back, chin up—and she zipped about like Tinker Bell, interested in everything.

  She followed Olivia into Hugo Boss and Whistles. One glance at a price tag hanging from a pretty beaded skirt in All Saints, and Alex swore her wallet flinched. Olivia, however, managed to buy several tops, two dresses, and a soft motorcycle jacket in white leather.

  While ambling through the racks of bras and underwear in the Peter Jones department store, Alex decided to broach the subject of her friendship with Harry. Olivia seemed jovial and on the heels of her spur-of-the-moment generosity with the theatre tickets, the timing couldn’t be better.

  “So tell me about uni in Atlanta.” Olivia beat her to it. She tilted her head to the side. “Harry said the two of you were inseparable.”

  Alex let out a half-laugh, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t say we were inseparable. Our programs were in different parts of campus for the most part. I’d only see him if we planned to meet up.” Alex replayed her words in her head. Oops. That didn’t sound reassuring to a possessive girlfriend.

  Olivia shoved the bra hangers along the rack two at a time, their plastic edges squealing in protest with each push. “Did you meet up a lot?” She wouldn’t look Alex in the eye.

  “Once or twice a week. We both had heavy course loads, and I was doing a double major,” Alex’s hands grew clammy. “We studied together sometimes. That’s where my fondness for his sugary tea comes from. It kept me going into the night when I started to fade. You know what it’s like when you have a lot of ground to cover and only a few hours to do it? Studying and assignments owned me twenty-four-seven. A social life? What’s that like?”

  Her breeziness didn’t crack Olivia’s intense facade. She pursed her perfect red lips and glared at the sexy push-up bras. Alex half-expected the lingerie and its promotional photo of model Cara Delevingne to spontaneously combust.

  “Harry helped me through a heartbreaking time.” Alex rifled through a table of cotton bikini briefs.

  She looked up through her bangs to gauge Olivia’s reaction.

  There wasn’t one.

  She slipped behind the table’s chest-high sign proclaiming Buy Two, Get the Third Free. “I missed my brother Robbie. He’s always been in my corner, a great listener. Harry filled that void. He kept my spirits up and told me not to drop out of college.” She picked at her cuticles. “If it wasn’t for him, I doubt I’d be here. I’m so grateful to Harry—to both of you—for letting me stay in the flat until I find something permanent.”

  Olivia bit the inside of her cheek and looked away towards the hosiery. Alex’s stomach cramped, waiting for a response. Say something, anything.

  The brunette remained silent. A toxic cloud of speechlessness filled the room. Suffocating, Alex burst out in a ramble. “Harry’s such a sweet, wonderful guy, and he loves you so much. He always talked about how he couldn’t wait to get back to London.”

  Still nothing.

  “He’s been a great friend…nothing more.” Why did she sound so defensive?

  Olivia swallowed hard and took a step back. Alex’s worry-meter shot into the red.

  “You’re right. He’s wonderful,” said Olivia. “Lots of women would love to have what I have with him. We’ve been together for four years, so I’ve seen plenty of girls try to steal him away, but that will never happen.”

  She snatched two lace bras off their hangers and marched towards the customer service desk. She didn’t look back to see if Alex followed.

  The girls stepped outside into the late afternoon warmth, but the air between Olivia and Alex held a chill. Alex didn’t know what more to say without shouting ‘I only slept with one guy in college and it wasn’t Harry!’ If Olivia’s freeze continued, those words might be her only ticket towards forgiveness—forgiveness for a fling that never happened.

  Alex offered an olive branch as they walked away from Sloane Square. “Are you hungry? My treat as a thank you for today.”

  Maybe the friendly Olivia last seen thirty-five minutes ago could be coaxed back with food. Some skinny girls get angry and weird when they’re famished. Alex tore the three-pound price tag off her new black sunglasses, waiting for an answer.

  Olivia lit a cigarette, her shades coolly masking her emotions. “There’s a Pret south of here on the King’s Road.”

  Economical and somewhat brisk, but a response nonetheless.

  Olivia didn’t utter another word. She stuck her nose into her phone, scrolling through texts. Alex turned away, absorbing her surroundings: so many small dogs being carried by so many well-dressed women; no homeless people; leathery-skinned men leaning against foreign cars; very little trash—definitely a wealthy area.

  A few blocks down the King’s Road, Olivia erupted in a laugh. Alex snuck a sideways glance. Had the spell been broken? A vague grin trespassed across Olivia’s face while reading something on her phone. Her moods seemed to change with the shifting breeze.

  “Everything all right?” Alex bit her tongue and waited.

  Olivia slipped her phone into her purse. “Just Harry. Being Harry. Bless.”

  Whatever that meant.

  “What are you working on play-wise right now? Anything promising?” said Olivia.

  Alex exhaled. “I’m fine-tuning the play that was my final college assignment. I think it could work quite well here. It’s based in the UK and delves into the British suffrage movement. It’s an empowering women’s story with an all-female cast. Even the male characters will be portrayed by women.”

  “Sounds ambitious. Do you think you can pull it off?” Olivia took a final drag on her cigarette and flicked its glowing embers to the curb.

  “I hope so. I keep fiddling with it, editing, adding scenes. That’s my problem. I’m always tinkering, trying to make it perfect. Sometimes I don’t know when enough is enough. What about you?”

  “I have a few ideas on the go,” said Olivia as they entered the King’s Road branch of the Pret a Manger sandwich chain. “I tend to juggle several and dip in and out. There are a few new writers’ workshops and development programs coming up, so I need to figure out which play to submit.”

  A question about these upcoming programs hesitated on Alex’s lips, but Olivia changed the subject.

  “I drank far too many calories last night, so I need something light. What’s got a low calorie count?”

  Alex didn’t care about calories or fat grams, but she did care about her picky tastes. On her right, chilled stainless steel racks displayed tidy rows of fresh sandwiches enclosed in triangular-shaped cardboard boxes. Alex had never seen anything like it. Pre-packaged sandwiches weren’t a take-out option in Florida or Georgia.

  She stood wide-eyed, blocking one of the shelves, many of the sandwich filling combinations beyond her comfort zone. Avocado and Toasted Pine Nut wrap? Pass! Most of the customers knew exactly what they craved and didn’t hesitate to reach around her, snatching their prizes.

  A meaty bicep flew out of nowhere, its owner reaching for a veggie wrap from the highest shelf. Alex ducked backwards. She stumbled, crashing into an employee balancing a pyramid of sandwiches. Chicken Avocado, Classic Super Clubs, and Pret Pickle triangles sailed through the air, landing with a succession of muffled cardboard thwumphs. The grand finale—the jarring clang of the round silver tray on the cement floor. A few patrons sarcastically cheered, “Wahey!”

  Alex didn’t know whether to hide or take a bow. Olivia rolled her eyes, distancing herself from the spectacle by zeroing in on her phone. She pretended to have no association
with the American klutz.

  Sweat broke out on Alex’s brow. Most customers stared, others tutted, looking inconvenienced. Being the centre of attention killed her appetite in one fell swoop. She dropped to her knees, her shaky hands corralling the wayward sandwiches, plucking each triangle one by one out of harm’s way. She looked over at the Pret employee she had accidentally tackled. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  The employee, a twenty-something black woman wearing a Pret server’s cap, slowly knelt down and barely batted an eye at the smorgasbord of sandwiches strewn across the floor. She didn’t even glance at Alex. She just calmly piled the sandwiches on her tray. “No worries. Most of the boxes stayed sealed…”

  It couldn’t be…

  Alex paused her frantic sandwich recovery. The tattoo on this girl’s toned bicep, an elaborate Cyberman, a robotic villain famous for threatening Doctor Who and his companions, was instantly familiar. She stared at the employee’s face, partially hidden by her curly hair. She had to make sure.

  “Wait. I know you…I would recognize that tattoo anywhere.”

  The woman lifted her left eyebrow but kept stacking sandwich boxes.

  “Lucy? Lucy Hardy? It’s me, Alex…Alex Sinclair from Florida?”

  The Pret employee looked up, puzzled. She did a double take. “Oh my God! It’s not. It’s not!”

  Their shrieks in unison alerted Olivia, who peered over her sunglasses from the safety of the beverage fridge. Alex and the employee were on their knees, embracing in the middle of the store. Olivia turned her back, letting out a bored sigh.

  Shop patrons gingerly stepped around the reunited friends and the triangle-shaped collateral damage scattered in their wake. Breathless, Alex didn’t clue in to the scuttling feet nearby, her perma-grin, aching. “Of all the people to run into, I can’t believe it’s you. This can’t be a coincidence. I just know bumping into you was meant to be!”

  She pulled Lucy up off the floor, her five foot six frame dwarfing the blonde by three valuable inches. Alex reminded herself to call her friend by her full name—Lucy hated it when people called her Lu or Luce.