“Alex. Come sit. Freddie and I have something to show you.”
The blonde stopped fiddling with the metal cart and bit her cheek. “That sounds ominous.”
She plunked herself down on the sofa, cuddling a squirmy Moriarty.
Lucy eyed the cat. “Freds, can you stick that soul sucker in the loo or something?”
Upon the feline’s banishment in Freddie’s bedroom, Lucy sat down.
Freddie set a box wrapped in green and silver paper on the coffee table. “We forgot one of your Christmas presents. It’s all Lucy’s fault.”
“It’s not my fault. Well, okay, it was…sorta…I left it at the office by mistake. Anyway, it’s here now. Open it. It’s from both of us.”
Alex went to gnaw a freshly painted fingernail, but thought better of it. She gazed at all the pretty. “It’s beautiful. I saw this wrapping at Paperchase.”
“I know. I was there, remember? Open it,” said Lucy.
She tore the paper easily, thanks to Lucy’s economical use of tape. A Topshop box greeted her. “What?” She flipped open the lid and gasped. The glittery dress—the same one she had returned—lay amidst red tissue paper.
“You guys!” Happy tears sprung to her eyes. “You didn’t!”
Freddie beamed. “We bloody well did! Isn’t it glorious?”
“You shouldn’t have to pay for Olivia’s bitchery with your New Year’s Eve dress,” said Lucy. “You haven’t bought anything special since May. This dress just screams cocktails and confetti.”
“When I heard you returned it, I ran out on my lunch hour and stuck it on my card. We tucked it away at Lucy’s office so you wouldn’t find it during one of your crazy housecleaning sprees.”
Alex held it up against her ratty Gryffindor tee. “But you guys can’t afford this. The other dress would’ve been fine for tonight.”
“Fine, sure, but not spectacular,” said Lucy. “What good are the holidays if you can’t share a little love and sparkle with your best friend?”
Alex steered clear of booze, determined to keep a clear head. She wanted to remember every detail tonight. The black dress skimmed her body like it was tailor-made, fine lines of delicate silver beading twirled like glittery tinsel to its mid-thigh hem. The thin straps and deep v-neck showed off a sprinkling of freckles on her shoulders as well as her small tattoo. Alex loved how the dress put the spotlight on her boobs—built-in cutlets magically boosted her chest to a B-cup. Eat your heart out, Caprice! For once, Alex felt like a woman, not a kid playing dress-up.
The flat vibrated with high-spirited pleasure-seekers and a never-ending soundtrack of Madonna, Michael Jackson, Kylie Minogue, and seventies disco. Lucy’s co-workers mixed easily with Freddie’s clubbing buddies while the BBC gang roared with laughter playing Cards Against Humanity with the London fandom posse. Even the chippy owner ventured up from the shop downstairs to partake in a toast to Freddie and his noisy bunch of merry-makers.
Freddie’s and Lucy’s co-workers and friends were chatty and funny, but there was one problem—no Mark. Alex had received a text from him around five saying he’d be there, but as of ten o’clock, the Irishman remained a no-show. His flight was due hours ago, and a pit stop at his East Acton flat shouldn’t have made him this late. His absence was further concerning because his flight wasn’t appearing on her tracking app. She tried calling him, but her attempts bounced straight to voicemail.
Lucy noticed Alex’s sneaky glances at her phone. Enough was enough.
“You’re not going to make him arrive any faster by checking your phone every five minutes.” Lucy snatched a mushroom pizza bite off a tray and popped it into her mouth. She straightened the slit of her merlot-hued halter-neck dress while she chewed.
Alex slumped against the kitchen counter, kicking off one of her heels. “I just figured he’d be here by now.”
“Stop leaning. You’ll get creased.” Lucy sipped her white wine, her eyes pouring over her friend’s dress. “It’s stunning, Lex. You’ve got boobs!”
On Lucy’s orders, Alex shifted, but jutted out a hip in protest. “He’s having second thoughts, isn’t he? I blew my chance. Otherwise he’d be here.” She nudged a tray of sausage rolls along the counter.
“Mark likes you! He’ll be here. Stop stressing. You’ll laugh about this at midnight. He won’t be able to keep his hands off you. I hope you’ve got some condoms in your bag, lady.”
Alex bit down on a slight smile. “I do, actually. Freddie made sure of that.”
“You slapper!” Lucy winked. “Stop worrying. Think about the fun you’ll be having later.”
Freddie bounded over, dolled up in a secondhand black tuxedo, a crisp white shirt, and a dapper bowtie. “Whatcha talking about, chickies?”
“Were you spying on us, Mr. Bond?” Lucy set down her empty wine glass. “We’re discussing Alex’s not-so-secret plans for Mark tonight.”
“Poor guy’s gonna be begging for mercy. I bet that’s why he’s late. He’s girding his loins.”
Alex smacked him playfully in the stomach.
He grabbed both friends by the hand. “C’mon, enough counter-surfing. The accountant from Pret’s setting up his portable karaoke. We must have a go.”
“Fredd-ie! Fredd-ie! Fredd-ie!”
The chant overtook the flat as the half-cut guests beckoned their host to be the first to take the mic.
“Me? Oh, go on then. Let’s have a little Into the Groove, shall we? My Madonna anthem. Hit it.”
“This should be good,” said Lucy, donning a pointy New Year’s hat.
Several other guests followed with renditions of songs by Oasis, Ed Sheeran, and Rihanna. The accountant from Pret did a spot-on impression of Drake—dad dancing and all—much to the crowd’s howls of amusement. Lucy took her turn, waving her arms to the heavens in a peppy version of You’ve Got the Love by Florence and the Machine. While at the mic, she caught Alex’s optimistic facade crumbling with each passing verse, her dull eyes staring at her phone.
Lucy hauled her friend towards the microphone.
“Alex is dying for a turn.”
“No, Lucy—c’mon, don’t make me do this…”
“Oh, you’re doing this. Anything to spare another moment of watching you moon over your phone.”
Alex scowled at her friend and whispered to the accountant from Pret. She grasped the microphone tightly. The music to When Will I See You Again by the Three Degrees filled the room. She didn’t need the screen prompt. She knew all the lyrics by heart.
Lucy elbowed a sweaty Freddie. “How apt.”
By five minutes to midnight, most of the partiers had clambered up to the rooftop deck of Freddie’s building, waiting to catch the fireworks launching at midnight from a distant pier near the London Eye. Squished and jostled, Alex sulked at her phone. The thin straps of her dress slipped down every time her body shuddered under the late night chill.
Lucy nudged the straps back up. “Why didn’t you wear your coat?”
“I thought Mar—someone would be here to keep me warm,” she said, wiping her nose.
“He still has a few minutes.”
“Face it, Lucy. He’s not going to rush in at midnight and kiss me. That only happens in romantic comedies. I’m not Bridget Jones.”
Freddie pushed his way through to his friends, a glittery party tiara nestled in his hair. “Sorry. Just had to make sure that Moriarty was safely stowed in his carrier. Fireworks give him the willies.”
He couldn’t ignore the glum expression on Alex’s face. “Don’t pout, darling. I know it’s not the same, but I’ll kiss you at midnight.” He shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and covered her quivering shoulders.
Alex’s phone pinged, lifting her scowl and sending her pulse on a tear. Her eyes flew downwards to the Facebook messenger app notification.
‘Happy New Year, Lexy. I hope this year’s everything you want it to be. Much love, Devin xo’
Her heart sank. “Not you. Not…YOU!”
&n
bsp; She tore at her neck, snapping her necklace. The A charm fell away from the busted chain and catapulted across the deck like a wayward silver bullet. Her eyes cursed its existence as it vanished into the fickle shadows of swaying bodies, glowing cigarette ends, and glinting beer bottles. Good riddance.
Lucy nudged Freddie behind Alex’s back. They simultaneously looped their arms around her shoulders.
The rooftop revelers began their rowdy countdown to midnight.
“Ten, nine, eight, seven…”
Alex tossed a look over her shoulder to the door leading downstairs to Freddie’s flat.
“Four, three, two, one…HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Ear-popping bangs, rumbles, and high-pitched whistles erupted in the distance, echoing through London and overtaking the squawking party horns on the rooftop. Electric bursts of red, blue, and white illuminated the inky sky, eliciting “oohs” and “wows” from the easy-to-please audience.
Alex’s view grew blurry. At this moment, she hated everyone and everything.
Happy couples and pissed strangers grasped each other for snogs and polite pecks. Freddie seized both Lucy and Alex and laid boozy wet kisses on their cheeks. “Happy New Year, you two. I couldn’t start a new year with two better accomplices. I love you, my fangirlies!”
A quartet of BBC buddies began to slur their way through Auld Lang Syne. The accountant from Pret accompanied the singers on a green and orange party horn that seemed to sneeze tissue streamers with each raspy puff of air.
Lucy chuckled at their shenanigans, then thought better of it. Alex’s eyes didn’t leave the wooden planks on the floor. Lucy tightened her hold around her friend’s slumped shoulders.
They stood silently as the partiers whooped and cheered each explosion in the sky. The breathtaking display wowed London for close to fifteen minutes.
Alex trembled despite the warmth of Freddie’s jacket and retreated downstairs to his flat.
Once out of Alex’s earshot, Lucy had a go at Freddie. “Mark better have a good explanation. I really thought he’d be here. My heart’s breaking for her. Such a bastard—”
Freddie nodded. “Couldn’t agree more. But the angrier we get, the worse Alex will feel. She needs to forget this mess. I feel so bad for geeing her up.” He let a bunch of his friends exit down the stairs first. “Grab her a drink, keep her occupied. And let’s save the review of Keeg’s behaviour until tomorrow afternoon, okay? God, the fact that I’m being rational proves I’m not nearly pissed enough. Let’s remedy that.”
Upon entering his flat, he snatched a bottle of vodka from the cart and threw himself into a twirl with the disheveled Pret accountant and a curvy BBC receptionist, all three singing Kylie’s Can’t Get You Out of My Head at the top of their lungs.
Alex weaved through the flailing arms and wobbly drinkers, tossing empty beer cans into a large trash bag.
Lucy clutched at the bag. “Lex, stop. The party’s still in full swing. Come dance.”
“I’m not in the mood. I’d go home, but I can’t afford a cab on my own. I need to keep myself busy. It’s all I can do not to cry, so, please…let me do this. If I dance, I’ll want a drink. Dancing and drinking didn’t end so well last time.”
“I’m sure Freddie appreciates you keeping everything tidy, but if you’re still doing this at 1 a.m., I’m forcing you to dance. Cleaning’s no way to welcome in a new year.” She sighed and leapt into the dancing fray, joining a twerking Freddie.
Alex did three laps of the crowded flat, clearing abandoned cans, bottles, and overflowing ashtrays. She refilled bowls of crisps and heated up four more trays of mini sausage rolls and pizza bites. She glanced at her phone—12:58 a.m.—and began another sweep of the room for stray cans.
Something tugged at the trash bag trailing behind her.
“Lucy, look, I’m gonna get going…”
A familiar sexy scent—spicy cardamom, juniper berries, and leather. The delicate hairs on the back of her neck stirred. “Hello, stranger.” Mark whispered in her ear.
Her heart fluttered, as effervescent as a champagne bottle about to pop its cork.
She spun around. His leather jacket rose and fell with each laboured breath, his black hair disorderly and teasing above his determined brown eyes. His forehead glistened with perspiration, giving him an otherworldly glow.
The bag slipped from Alex’s grasp, her eyes afraid to blink in case he vanished. The throbbing sub-bass of Kylie’s On a Night Like This faded into the background, her ears hearing only his sensual Irish lilt. A room crowded with forty people and only one person existed—stood inches away, stealing her heart.
One hand gently held her waist, the other caressed her cheek. Mark tilted his head towards Freddie’s muted TV, broadcasting New Year’s countdowns around the world. “I knew I’d make it in time…see, it’s now midnight…in Greenland.”
He leaned down and kissed her tenderly. Alex threw her arms around his shoulders, months of longing and tension melting into the desperate embrace. She pulled away to smile and lose herself in his brown eyes. “Greenland? You better show me how they keep warm, then.” Mark laughed and swept her into a deeper, more passionate kiss.
Seeking some liquid refreshment, Freddie broke free of the disco inferno and spied his friends in a tight clinch. Alex’s hands were lost in Mark’s hair while his were claiming ownership of her ass.
“Oh, mmmyyyy!” Freddie slurred his best George Takei impression, a cheek-pinching grin spreading across his flushed face. He hugged Lucy, who let out a high-pitched squeal. Tipsy and teary, she began to hiccup with glee.
Thirty-Five
The evening Alex both dreaded and welcomed had arrived. Tonight—January 6—the first workshop since Olivia poured her bitter revenge all over Alex’s future.
She spirited away to the second floor of the National, her cold hands fiddling with the hem of her grey knee-length skirt and the nape of her neck, but her A necklace—her crutch—no longer hung in its faithful spot. Lost among discarded beer bottles and glittery cardboard hats somewhere on Freddie’s roof, the gift—along with the boyfriend who gave it to her—belonged firmly in her past.
She checked her phone. Only an hour stood between her and the big reveal. Only an hour left to rehearse what she wanted—no, needed—to say.
It didn’t help her nerves that the window behind her howled in distress. Heavy rain-soaked gusts bombarded the glass, prompting Alex to smother her white blouse with the coziness of her fuchsia cardigan. She inhaled deeply, hoping the incoming breath would hush the jitters that needled her chest and harassed her mind. Just fifty-five minutes now until her performance…actors to the stage, please. Take your positions…
“I wanted to wish you luck.”
Mark sat down and leaned in, delivering a trail of kisses along her neck while his fingertips stroked her arm. Alex’s whole body loosened with his touch. She closed her eyes and ran her hand through his tousled hair, begging him not to stop. His lips met hers urgently, coaxing her to abandon the laptop beside her.
A P.A. announcement regarding a platform discussion in the Lyttleton Theatre disrupted their smoldering reunion.
“Wish me luck? More like you’re trying to get lucky, not that I’m complaining. It actually made me relax a little.” She stroked his stubbly chin and smiled. Since New Year’s, time together had been limited. Mark was juggling his shifts along with a lead role in a BBC radio drama while Alex had been setting up her new computer and re-constructing the lost second act of her Waterloo Bridge play.
Their belated New Year’s kiss nearly didn’t happen. Fog had played havoc with flights departing from Dublin. After several delays, the airline finally cancelled Mark’s flight, offering him the option of flying out of Cork on Ireland’s southwest coast instead. They paid for his train trip and somehow got him on the last flight arriving at London’s Stansted airport at 11 p.m. He tried to call Alex and Freddie, but all the phoning around to arrange last-minute tickets had killed his battery.
When Mark slipped into the noisy party at 12:57 a.m., he stood silent for a minute just watching her wandering through the crowd, detached. She had no clue he was there, her gorgeous dress hugging every curve, inviting him to take hold and never let go. Their initial kiss stretched into a breathless twenty-minute snog until Freddie threatened to douse them both with a bucket of ice water.
Lucy offered to stay over at Freddie’s, allowing Alex and Mark the luxury of spending their first night together alone at the flat. The stubble burn on her face and elsewhere may have started to fade, but the dizzying memories of his lips exploring every inch made her want to surrender all over again. Once the workshop wrapped tonight, they could tumble back into bed and get reacquainted.
Mark held her hand. “You’ll be fine. I wish I could watch you kick some Kensington arse.”
Alex chuckled.
“Go ahead and laugh, but I totally believe in you. Look what you’ve achieved in the past few months: you moved abroad, found a new flat, got a job you love, and wrote two new plays.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Scoff all you want, but you’re the bravest person I know. Standing up to a bully is never easy. Just a few months ago you’d be having a panic attack at the very thought of it, right? But now look at you, you’re this close to taking back what’s rightfully yours.”
He brushed Alex’s bangs out of her eyes. “You walk in there with your head held high, okay? Grab Isabella alone during the break. Send me a text when you’re done. I’ll meet you.”
“I wish I could see myself the way you see me,” said Alex.
He squeezed her hand. “I had a snoop through your Pinterest boards …”
“Oh God…” Alex curled forward. “You must’ve hated that. Did you break out in hives?”
Mark scrolled through his phone. “Okay, here’s one. You pinned this quote from Yvonne Pierre—’Use what you’ve been through as fuel. Believe in yourself and be unstoppable’. See? That must’ve resonated with you if it’s in your collection.”
London Belongs to Me Page 30