Alex watched the bacon sandwiches being assembled, avoiding Lucy’s gaze. “After breakfast when you’re on the way to the train station.”
Twenty-One
Alex paced around the lounge, waiting to hear the door slam to Helen’s SUV. Freddie and Lucy were buckled in for a lift to the Heaton Norris train station. Within twenty minutes, they would be at Manchester Piccadilly in the city centre where Alex would join them later. Joan had returned to her granny flat at the back of the house to finish a piece of pottery, so Alex had her dad all to herself.
“You’re going to wear a hole in that carpet. What’s so worrisome that you shuttled your friends off, and want to speak with me on your own? Not boy trouble? Devin hasn’t been calling, has he?” Michael settled into his leather recliner and slapped his Saturday morning newspaper on the small side table. “I know how hard it’s been for you to let him go.”
Alex crumpled into the couch, pulling her knees into her chest. She picked at a stray thread sticking out from the toe of her sock. “It’s not that, Dad.” She dropped her chin. “It’s something else.”
“I’m all ears, love.”
Her nostrils prickled. “It’s…not working, being in London, writing…I feel sick admitting it, but…I don’t think I can keep doing this. I’ve completely lost my way.” Tears filled her eyes.
“Oh sweetheart, where’s this coming from?” Michael sat forward in his recliner. “We thought it would take a few months to get going. You’ll get there.”
“No, it’s more than that.”
Alex took a deep breath and told her dad about her misguided trust in Olivia, the weird possessiveness over Harry, the theft of her play, her public humiliations, and being forced out of the flat. When she got back to London, she’d have a day or two at most to collect her things and get out.
“Unbelievable. And all because she thinks you and Harry?” He put his glasses back on and blinked several times.
“Basically, yeah. It’s such a joke.” Tears raced down her cheeks.
“Well, then we’d best get started, finding you a new flat.” Michael grabbed his iPad from the windowsill. “Let’s find some listings online—”
“Dad, you’re not getting it…”
She pushed her bangs away from her forehead and tugged the cuffs of her black hoodie over her knuckles. “I can’t do this anymore. Clearly, I’m not cut out for playwriting or London. I’m having more panic attacks. I’ve embarrassed myself.”
Michael stopped scrolling on the iPad.
“Mom was right. I’ll just keep struggling here with nothing to show for it. I’m kidding myself—coming here was a mistake. I need to go home. I need to go home and do something else. Office work, retail, anything but…this.”
“But you don’t have to go back to the States to do something else, love. You could stay in London, right? You’ve made some smashing new friends.”
“Yeah, they’re great. I wanted you to meet them. I didn’t think I’d be here for Christmas, so I brought them with me for one last weekend before I say goodbye. I feel bad, though…I kinda brought them here under false pretences. Lucy thinks I’m asking you for help with rent money so I can move, but I’ve already made up my mind…to go back.”
Alex wiped her nose with her cuff. “If I stay in London, I’ll just be reminded daily of what I screwed up—every time I pass any of those beautiful theatres. No thanks. Writing is all that I’ve ever wanted to do…until now. If I’m not a writer, who am I?”
She brushed tears from her cheeks.
“I couldn’t tell you all this over the phone. I had to see you—and Helen and Joan, too.”
Michael pushed his eyeglasses up his nose. “I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t know you’d had such a rough time.”
He shifted from his recliner, cuddling his daughter. She sagged into his chest, her body giving in to wave upon wave of shoulder-quaking sobs. He stroked her hair and gently rocked back and forth as if his love could swaddle his baby girl in cotton wool, shielding her from further heartbreak and disappointment.
Alex felt like she was seven again…
“I think I started writing because my make-believe worlds were always happier than my real one.”
Michael gave her a squeeze. “I should’ve done things differently. When the divorce happened, I should’ve fought harder to get custody of you, appealed the court’s decision. Looking back, it’s my biggest regret.”
Alex found a tissue in her pocket, and wiped her streaming nose.
“I didn’t do enough—I know that, and I know I can’t make it up to you, all those missed moments—birthdays, Christmases…Well, I’m not making the same mistake again.”
He patted Alex’s shoulder and rose from the couch. He opened the drawer of the side table.
“I’m still paying the instalments on your university loan, but I can stretch a little further.”
Alex scrunched up her eyebrows. “What are you doing?”
“I’m writing you that cheque to cover rent for the next six months. Leave Harry’s flat when you get back home to London, but don’t move into a dump or far out in the suburbs. I’d worry about you travelling on public transport late at night.”
“But Dad, you’re not listening. I need to leave, to go home… now.”
“Alex, you are home. London’s where you belong. Look, I know you’re upset, you’ve been treated terribly, but you’ve come so far. Don’t throw it away. Your life’s here now.”
“Did you slip some Bailey’s or rum into your coffee this morning?”
Michael shook his head. “You’re talented, sweetheart. I’ve always known it. You just need to believe in yourself. Once you get out of that flat, away from that horrible girl, I think you’ll see things more clearly.”
He finished writing and tore the cheque from the booklet.
“Please, Alex—promise me you’ll give it another couple of months? If things haven’t improved, if you still want to go back to Florida, I’ll buy your plane ticket myself.”
He placed the piece of paper beside her. She blinked several times to get a better look at it. His offer was so generous, but wasn’t it just delaying the inevitable—at his expense?
“I can’t promise you that. I wish I could. But I promise that I’ll think about it…”
“What are you two talking about, then?” Joan strolled into the room. “I was going to ask for a lift to the garage, but you seem to be in the middle of something.” Her gaze shifted from Michael to Alex.
“More motorbike magazines, Mum?” said Michael.
“You’ve been crying…” Joan sank into the couch next to her granddaughter.
Michael eased back down on his recliner. “She’s thinking of calling it a day, Mum, going back to Florida.”
“Quit writing? Oh, Alex, no.” Joan clasped her hand. “I’m so proud of you, my love. It’s like you’re following in my footsteps. I had to stop chasing my dream at your age, but you’ve got the chance to go further than I ever did. It’s your calling. It’s a chance to be yourself.”
Alex wiped away lingering tears with her free hand. There was no point explaining her plan to leave to Joan. She was hell bent on Alex staying the course.
“If I could go back in time and talk to myself at age nineteen or twenty, I would’ve said ‘Joan, you silly cow—life’s too bloody short. Follow your dreams and don’t let a man or bullies or anyone tell you to stop.’”
She pulled Alex into a tight hug.
“Don’t take the road I took. Don’t have regrets. Don’t become resentful. You can’t give up, love. Get back to your writing.” She pulled away and grinned at Alex. “Give me something new to brag about on Instagram. I’ve got 800 followers and they can only put up with so many photos of motorbikes and dodgy pottery.”
Twenty-Two
“This place was made for you, Lex,” said Freddie.
Lucy and Freddie linked arms with Alex and guided her towards Northern Soul Grilled Cheese.
; “We found it a few hours ago, wandering around.” Lucy looked at her phone. “Half two was our cut-off. If we didn’t see you by then, screw it. We were going in without you.”
“It’s quite new. It definitely wasn’t around when I went to uni here,” said Freddie. “I would’ve known—I survived on food from the Church Street Market.”
Alex dragged her feet. First her dad and Joan, and now Freddie and Lucy: everyone figured they knew what was best for her. “I’m not that hungry.”
“Bloody hell. We waited for this?” Lucy scowled.
They passed a pretty strawberry blonde in a flowery dress and biker boots tearing her way through an overstuffed cheesy sandwich. Alex’s eyes popped. “Good God, is that mac ‘n’ cheese in there?”
She hadn’t eaten mac ‘n’ cheese since she left Florida. “Forget what I just said. I need that— now.”
“Atta girl. I always knew you were a cheese-whore,” said Freddie.
The trio joined the queue snaking around the small shop.
“How did the rent money talk go? Any joy?” asked Lucy.
“He wrote me a cheque. A big one.”
“Thank fuck! You had me going there for a moment. You arrived in such a strop. I thought he said no.” Lucy flattened Alex’s inside-out hood. “You’re quids in now.”
“Operation Ditch The Bitch is go,” said Freddie. “You’ll be free, and Olivia can go back to storing her ugly designer clothes in that poxy box room.”
Both friends looked at Alex, searching for a sliver of a smile. “Aren’t you relieved?” asked Freddie, moving forward in line.
“Sorta, but I’m dreading it too.” Alex’s shoulders slumped. “Finding a new place, living with strangers? It’s all such a gamble…” She tried to sound devoted to the cause for her excited friends.
“It can’t be any worse than living with those so-called ‘friends.’ Don’t worry, babe. We’ll vet your potential flatmates.” Lucy shifted closer to the counter. “You won’t get stuck with losers. I was born to play judge and jury.”
Alex hid behind her smile. Time to pretend, for everyone’s sake.
“I’m going to turn into a big lump of cheese. All these cheese sandwiches, cheese and onion pasties,” said Alex. “Helen thinks I’ve lost weight. I’ve actually gained since May.” She chewed a final bite of her mac ‘n’ cheese sandwich, her eyes rolling back in her head. “It’s so damn good though.”
“Chop, chop. Let’s go exploring.” Lucy brushed crumbs from her plaid shirt and hopped off her stool. Alex gathered their trays and trash, placing the pile at the end of the counter for the staff to collect.
“A day isn’t enough to see all of Manchester, so I’ll show you my highlights,” said Freddie. “The old buildings are beautiful. The city’s done a great job of modernizing without forgetting its past, you know? And the arts and culture is second only to London. Great clubs, music, bars, museums…”
“Football teams,” said Alex. “Well, one specific footy team.”
“Since we’re already in the Northern Quarter, let’s have a nose around here, then we can move on to the Cathedral, Albert Square, and if we have time, the Gay Village or Castlefield. Whatever you prefer,” said Freddie.
“Castlefield has the canal-side bars, right?” asked Lucy.
“Yep. You’ll love it.” Freddie lifted the strap of his messenger bag over his head and onto his shoulder. “Alex, you should be proud of your birthplace. This city’s creative, tolerant, and fun. Just like you, my little blonde friend!” He wrapped her in a hug and lifted her off the ground with a flourish.
Lucy groaned. “Freddie, you’re so cheesy.”
“Like me,” said Alex, legs dangling. “I’m full of cheese.”
Freddie laughed and lowered her back onto her feet. “This way, bitches.”
He led the girls eastward along Church Street. Saturday afternoon shoppers searching for rare vinyl and secondhand clothes clogged the sidewalk, forcing Alex and Lucy to walk single file behind him until they reached Oldham Street.
“Okay, here we are. Afflecks! Four floors of shopping mayhem. My favourite secondhand leather jacket came from here. Go forth and shop.”
Lucy put her hands on her hips. “Not sure how much shopping’s gonna happen. I only budgeted so much, and if we’re hitting up Castlefield later, I’d rather buy food and booze than clothes.”
Freddie’s shoulders drooped. “Kick me where it hurts, why don’t you?”
“I’ll check it out. Looks cool,” said Alex.
Lucy squeezed his arm. “Okay…but Freds…don’t go nuts. You know what you’re like.”
They climbed the stairs to the first level where secondhand clothing, jewellery, tattoo, and piercing vendors elbowed for space with kitschy Japanese wares and a beauty salon.
Lingering outside the tattoo studio’s entrance, Lucy rubbed her upper arm. “God, I thought the pain would never end. I almost bit right through my lip, didn’t I, Freddie? I’d do it all again in a heartbeat, though. I love my tattoo.”
“Yours is one of the best I’ve ever seen,” said Alex. “I’d love another if I could decide on a design. I’d like a quote, from Shakespeare maybe…’Oft expectation fails, and most oft where most it promises’.”
The line from All’s Well That Ends Well proved the great Bard was on to something. High expectations really were the root of Alex’s heartbreak. Her chest grew tight.
Lucy snickered. “Well, that’s fucking cheery. Why don’t you get one that sums up your dedication to playwriting?”
“Or get a Union Jack, Big Ben—something that screams London,” said Freddie.
An artist worked on an intricate flower design on a woman’s shoulder. Alex’s stomach lurched with queasiness. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t keep the truth from her best friends.
“Look, I wasn’t 100 percent honest with you guys.” Her declaration pulled their attention away from the tattoo in progress. “I didn’t ask Dad for money. I told him I wanted to go home…home as in back to Florida.”
“You did what?” Lucy snapped. “I thought we agreed. You would ask for cash so you could move to another flat.”
Freddie froze in a rare display of stunned silence.
“I never said I was going to ask. You assumed.”
“No, you did. Why else are we here?”
“Lucy, I told you guys I wouldn’t ask him for a handout. Remember? That day at the comic con?”
Lucy crossed her arms, frowning.
“I came here to tell him in person that I wanted to go home. He paid my university tuition. I couldn’t tell him that over the phone or FaceTime. It was the decent thing to do, face-to-face.”
“Wow. I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” said Lucy.
Freddie stepped in. “Hey, shhhh!”
The tattoo artist and her client glared at the trio. Freddie ushered his friends away from the shop’s entrance. They shifted several stalls down and wound up in Pop Boutique, where they could be less conspicuous between the dense racks of secondhand clothes.
“Can we discuss this without involving all of Manchester, please?” asked Freddie.
“So you’re still thinking about running back to Florida?” said Lucy. “Even though your dad wrote you a cheque…so he must think it’s a bad idea, too, right?”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”
“And everything that we’ve done to convince you to stay…was for nothing? Great. I could’ve used that seventy-two quid coach fare to replace my worn out boots or for groceries.”
“Lucy, that’s not nice,” said Freddie.
“Well, she’s being honest. I might as well be honest, too. Shame she wasn’t honest about her intentions before we each forked out seventy-two quid.”
Alex shoved a bunch of vintage dresses along a rack, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know why you’re taking this so personally. You’re acting like I’m doing this to hurt you. Whatever I decide, it has nothing to do with you, Lucy.”
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“And maybe that’s the problem. I thought we were really good friends, best friends, but obviously I think more of our friendship than you do. Alex, for someone who goes on about people abandoning her, it seems like you really have no problem doing it to other people.”
She stormed out of the boutique and down the hall.
“Let her go,” said Freddie. “She’s upset. Let her burn it off. She won’t go far.”
“I know she doesn’t want me to go, but I have to do what’s best for me. You get that, don’t you, Freddie?”
“I do.” He sighed. “But I don’t want you to go, either.”
He held a pinstriped jacket against his chest. “Lucy’s been different since her grandmother died. She’s more sensitive. She doesn’t have anyone except me—and now you. She’d never admit it, but she’s scared to be on her own. You two aren’t that different.
“Yeah, I get it. Being alone’s the worst.”
“I know, but are you really alone? Devin and Taylor might be out of your life, but let’s see…” He counted on his fingers. “…you still have your dad, Helen, Joan, your brother Robbie—they all love you. Who does Lucy have? She has no family left. So maybe you’re not as bad off as you think.”
Alex toyed with the sleeve of the pinstriped jacket. “I never thought of it that way. I always looked at both physical and emotional distance as abandonment.”
“And it is abandonment, Lex. I’m not saying it’s not, but you can still pick up the phone and call your dad or Skype with Robbie. Lucy can’t call her dad. She has no siblings. God knows where her mum is; she hasn’t seen her since she was three. She certainly can’t rely on those hippie freaks living in her flat. You and I are her family. I think that’s why she’s taking your decision so personally.”
He pulled a vintage red smoking jacket from the rack. “I’m not saying you should reconsider to make her happy. I just want you to know where she’s coming from.”
“I know. Sometimes it’s hard to see beyond my own issues. I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
London Belongs to Me Page 19