“I’m not sure there’s a hotel room big enough to fit the three of us and that elephant if you two don’t talk about it,” Claire says.
“Wait.” Scarlett narrows her eyes at Claire. “You knew?”
Claire half nods, half shrugs. “Sort of. I mean, it didn’t take a rocket scientist.”
“Nice.” Scarlett’s tone is icy as she crosses her arms over her chest and turns her attention back to me. “What’s your plan for London?”
“Why can’t we talk about this?” I furrow my brow. “I mean, it’s not like you and Jasper are archenemies. I know hooking up with him wasn’t part of the deal, but Claire’s right. Not talking about it makes it the elephant in the room.”
Scarlett’s mouth twists and I know before she speaks she’s going to be mean. “Well, look at you wanting to handle this like an adult. Funny how the time for that would have been before you fucked my brother. Not that you need my permission. Obviously, you can fuck whom you’d like. And, bloody hell, look. You have.”
Claire steps up and puts her hand on Scarlett’s arm. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s not.” Scarlett’s face drops for a minute, but I blink and her mask is back. “But there’s a lot of things that strike me as unfair right now. Like the fact my so-called best friend confided in someone else rather than tell me the truth. And the fact it’s not just Bea, but both of you keeping secrets. It pisses me off, quite frankly.”
“I’m sorry…” Claire and I start at the same time.
Scarlett holds her hand up. “Don’t. I don’t want talk about it and I sure as hell don’t want to think about it right now. I’m going to London for this interview. The end. We can all go and have a great time, but I won’t hash this out before or during our trip.”
“After?” I ask.
“If you insist.” Scarlett rolls her eyes, then plasters on a smile. “Speaking of, we need to leave for the train. If you’re coming, you should pack.”
It’s not an invitation, exactly, but I’m pretty sure it’s the best I’m going to get. I swore to myself ten minutes ago I was better off going to London than not, so I head to my bedroom to throw clothes in a bag.
I have no idea what I pack, since my time isn’t spent actually looking at the clothes I pulled from my drawers, but eavesdropping on Scarlett going over travel arrangements with Claire. True to her word, she doesn’t say another thing about Jasper and me or about Claire knowing the truth, and the first opportunity I have to talk to Claire alone is somewhere in the middle of England as the train barrels through field after field of sheep.
We’ve all been sitting on tenterhooks- Scarlett staring out the window with headphones in, Claire pretending to read, and me flipping through a magazine. Occasionally one of us says something innocuous, but it’s a long way from conversation. Scarlett finally gets up to go to the bathroom and I wait until the sliding door closes behind her before leaning over to Claire and saying, “What the hell? This is a nightmare.”
She lets out a long breath. “Give me your ten second version of what happened with you, her, and Jaz.”
Ten seconds? I can do it in three. “Jasper and I hooked up. Scarlett found out. She’s pissed.”
“And she’s pissed because it’s not just a hook up?” Claire asks.
For the first time since Jasper and I tumbled out that door, I let myself think about last night. I stayed all night because I couldn’t stand to leave and the extra hours were worth the risk of sneaking back to the cabin in full daylight. I wonder if I’d still think that if it weren’t for the accusations Scarlett hurled at Jasper ringing in my head.
“She’s pissed because it’s her best friend and her brother. Again.” My voice is flat. “And she’s doubly pissed because I told you, not her.”
“I don’t think she’s pissed at you. At me, maybe, because she feels like I’m taking her friend away, even though we both know I most definitely am not. I think maybe she’s scared?” Claire asks this like a question, but her whole body says it’s not.
“Of what? She told me about Sam and --” I start.
“Sam and Jasper were a bright flare that sparked and fizzled pretty quickly. Yes, it had tragic consequences, but it was never going to last.” Claire flicks her hand like she’s brushing off a fly. “You and Jaz are a slow burn. What if you ignite? Where does Scarlett fit in that bonfire? Answer? She doesn’t.”
“Of course she does. I refuse to believe she’s acting this way because she’s jealous. I think she genuinely believes she’s protecting me.”
“And that’s why she’s so pissed at me? Because I don’t have your best interests at heart?” Claire’s eyebrows go up.
My mouth forms an O, but I don’t get to respond because Scarlett walks down the swaying train car and lurches back into her seat. She completely ignores our earlier tension, even though now I’ve got Claire’s words echoing through my head loud enough to give me one hell of a headache. “Okay, girlies. What’s our plan? I’m meeting with Mr. Waring-Smith tomorrow at ten, but we have this afternoon and, more importantly, tonight.”
Scarlett wriggles her eyebrows and Claire laughs as she says, “We have to show Bea some touristy things. The Tower of London and a cheesy photo in front of Buckingham Palace are mandatory, I think.”
I gape at Claire, who’s so clearly going along with Scarlett’s moratorium on discussing anything of substance. Why is she doing this?
“Agreed. Also, Harrods so she can say she’s been,” Scarlett says. She turns to me. “We’re staying pretty close to the National Portrait Gallery and the Tate Modern if you want to get your culture fix, too.”
I nod. It’s pretty much the first thing Scarlett’s said to me directly since we left Castle Calder, so I reply. “That sounds good. If you want to go too we can go this afternoon?”
“I think I’m probably more in a Tower of London type of mood myself. A little head chopping, even vicariously, sounds right up my street.” Scarlett’s expression hardens, even though her tone remains light.
“Henry VIII, I am, I am. Henry VIII, I am,” Claire sing-songs, then rolls her eyes at her off-key tune. “The fake crown jewels are there, too, don’t forget.”
“Are they really fake?” I ask. “I thought the jewels in the tower were still used for state functions? That’s what the website said.”
“Who’d want to visit a fake?” Scarlett says. Then her mouth turns into a slight sneer. “However false advertising has its merits. Obviously.”
Scarlett’s being a complete bitch, Claire’s letting her, and I’m not sure what I’m doing. What I am sure of is that I don’t have to put up with it. I clench my jaw and stand up. “I’m going to go find the café car and get a coffee. Does anyone want anything?”
Claire asks for tea, Scarlett for a white coffee, and I set off through the aisle, trying not to fall. The café car is two carriages down, and by the time I get there, I’m queasy from the swaying of the train. Thankfully there are stools near the window and I fall onto one, closing my eyes. I’m in no hurry to get back to Scarlett and her snark anyway, but I’m pretty sure if I ventured back now, I’d end up vomiting on someone’s head.
It takes a good three minutes before I feel well enough to open my eyes and another two before I’m ready to look around. The café car is tidy, except for a countertop littered with empty sugar packets and wooden stirrer sticks for hot drinks. The girl behind the counter leans against the wall, immersed in her phone. She has a faint smile on her face and I wonder what she’s looking at. Her smile grows and I decide not to interrupt her yet, digging my own phone out of my bag.
I connected to Wi-Fi when we got on the train – after I got over the marvel that trains have Wi-Fi at all – and now when I navigate to my home screen, I see all of my emails and notifications have come through. Twenty-two emails and three WhatsApp messages.
I scan my messages first. Harry from the bar in Windermere has sent a picture of a jar of Marmite with the caption “must try,” which ma
kes me smile. After I replied to his request for a date with a “thanks, but no thanks” he started sending me suggestions of things I should be sure to experience while I’m in the UK. Most of his suggestions are food related and we’ve established an unexpected easy banter all via text. Granted, it’s centered around food, but there’s something nice about that, too.
I scan the next message from my mother, reminding me the weekend I fly home she’s out of town for a spa weekend, and I say a silent amen. I’d rather drag my luggage onto public transit than have my mom pick me up, if only to delay her barrage of questions until I’m rested and fully caffeinated.
The final message makes me straighten on my stool. Hey, Bea. I’m in London this week. Not sure if you’re here, too, but coffee or a beer would be great. – Theo.
Damn. Theo. Between being caught up in Jasper and my drama with Scarlett today, I’ve forgotten about Theo being in London. And my suggestion we meet, which he’s obviously not forgotten. Whether he’s remembered out of politeness or something else is impossible to know, but I do know I’m going to meet him. I need to put him to rest once and for all.
I’m free tomorrow afternoon. How about a beer at 2:00? Staying by London Bridge, so will scope out a place. – Bea
I press send and turn off my phone.
Chapter Thirty-One
London is insane. The traffic. The busses. The people.
From the minute we get off the train at Euston Station, we’re surrounded by more people than I’ve seen all summer, and it only gets worse. By the time we leave the Tower of London at 5:30 and start across Tower Bridge, I’ve been jostled and jabbed so many times, I’m ready to scream when Scarlett’s purse catches my funny bone. Decidedly unfunny.
I yank my arm away and grimace. “Okay. I need a drink or I’m going to kill somebody.”
Specifically, Scarlett. Between her steady stream of sly snide remarks and the crowds, I’m not sure which is more maddening.
“There’s a pub on the other side of the bridge that has outdoor seating. Then we’re close to our hotel, too, to go and change,” Claire says. She’s been keeping the peace all afternoon because, as she told me while we climbed the stairs to the White Tower, “Scarlett’s being a bitch, but she’s family, and family’s allowed to have a bad day now and then.”
Which instantly made me vow to try harder.
The fact that I haven’t started screaming is me trying. Very, very, very hard.
“I say we definitely go back to the club we went to last time,” Scarlett says. “Plus, we have to go up to Oxo Tower for a cocktail so Bea can see the view.”
“Or we can go up the Shard.” Claire points to a tall building we’re walking towards. “Tallest building in London with a bar at the top.”
I shrug. “I don’t care where we go. It all sounds amazing. I’d just love a drink and a shower, in that order.”
“Oh, right. I guess you didn’t have time to shower this morning after last night’s rendezvous, did you?” Scarlett wrinkles her nose.
I stop in the middle of the bridge and grab Scarlett’s arm. A guy walking behind us mutters a curse as he steps around us, but it’s nothing compared to the fury I’ve got building. “Okay. Stop. You’re the one who said you didn’t want to talk about this, but it’s okay for you to get a dig in whenever you get a chance? You’ve been doing it all day and I’m done. Whatever you have to say to me, say it and get it over with.”
Scarlett’s withering expression slays me. But not nearly as much as her tone, which borders on haughty with a dose of bored. “Oh, Bea. That’s the thing. I’ve been trying to find the words all day and it turns out the sad fact is – I have nothing to say to you at all.”
“Besides your snide remarks and crappy comments?” I snap.
Scarlett shrugs, the strap of her sundress falling off her slim shoulder. “A happy coincidence.”
My eyes fill and I turn away. In the next minute, I’m running across the bridge, my purse thumping against my hip as I dodge pedestrians. I don’t know where I’m going and I don’t care. All I know is I won’t let Scarlett see me cry.
And I’ll ruin our friendship forever if I stay.
That, more than anything, propels me forward. Despite the voice in my head saying, “Scarlett doesn’t seem to care.”
She’s angry and lashing out.
And jealous.
Claire was right, and I’m not so blinded by friendship I don’t see it. I see it like she spray painted it on the side of the fucking Shard. Which looms large to my right as I reach the end of the bridge.
I follow the mass of people down the stairs and end up on the Thames riverbank. We came this way as we left our hotel, but it’s a lot more crowded now. The concrete stairs are full of people eating ice cream and at least four different couples pose against the wall to snap a photo with Tower Bridge in the background. The glass bubble building in front is familiar. The Lord Mayor’s office, I think?
Ugh.
Recalling the tourist sites isn’t what I need to be focusing on right now. As I’m about to mentally slap myself, I stop. Maybe that’s exactly what I need to be focusing on right now. I’m in a city where I’ve never been and may never come again. Alone, for all intents and purposes. Because even though Claire and I have become friends, she’s Scarlett’s friend first – and it’s not like I’m going to make her choose. I can’t. I won’t.
I need a London Plan B. I dig my phone out of my bag and for a full minute debate texting Theo or calling Jasper. I even go so far as to turn on my data roaming and open WhatsApp, but then stop. What would I say? I ditched Scarlett and Claire because Scarlett was being petty and mean, and now I’m all by myself? I’m pretty sure Theo would offer to meet me and/or Jasper would offer to come to London, but neither option gives me any sense of relief.
Instead, I take a deep breath and type one message, to both Scarlett and Claire: Sorry for running off. I’m going to hang out on my own this trip. See you back at the train on Thursday. Have fun.
I stare at the screen for a minute after I press send, half hoping for a return text telling me not to be stupid and they’re on their way to meet me right now. When it doesn’t come, I turn data roaming back off, slip my phone into my bag, and set off towards the Shard. If I stop and think too long, I’ll probably cry at how this has all gone so horribly wrong, so instead I do what I do best. I break down the components into chunks.
First order of business, find the hotel. It’s near London Bridge station and is, conveniently, called London Bridge Hotel. The only problem is I have no idea where London Bridge even is. Thankfully, there are signs and plenty of people to ask, including one middle-age woman who’s nice enough to escort me through winding corridors of the station and put me directly across the street from the hotel entrance. I could hug her, but I settle for an overly enthusiastic handshake instead.
When I enter the lobby, I’m tempted by the signs leading to the hotel bar, but I remind myself of the text I sent to Scarlett and Claire. I said I was changing rooms and not doing it now will do more harm than if I actually follow through. Scarlett will add overly dramatic to her litany of complaints and I’ll have one more thing to try to disprove to her.
I push down the little voice in my head questioning what kind of friendship comes with things to prove and approach the bald man behind the front desk, who looks at me through glasses perched on the end of his nose and sounds oh-so-posh as he speaks. “How may I help you today?”
“I’m…” Shocked to hear my voice crack. I clear my throat and start again. “I’m currently staying in room 312, but I’m going to require a separate room. Do you have anything else available?”
Baldy raises an eyebrow. “Is something unsatisfactory with your room?”
“No. The room is fine. I need a separate room is all.” I force myself to stop talking before I spill out the whole story to this guy.
“Ah, of course. Will that just be for yourself, ma’am?”
After I co
nfirm a single room, Baldy’s fingers fly over the keys and he announces, yes, indeed, they have a room available for 247 pounds per night, including VAT. Considering the original cost was free when I was sharing with Scarlett and Claire, an almost-five hundred-pound increase is hard to swallow, but I slide my credit card across the counter.
As I take my new room key – 238 – I ask Baldy, “If anyone asks for me, can you please tell them I’ve left the hotel?”
Baldy tilts his head at me in a way that makes me think for a minute he’s going to get all weird and start asking me why, exactly, this is necessary and might I be overreacting a tiny bit. Then he straightens and says, “Would you prefer I register you as an anonymous guest, meaning our staff will have access to your personal information in case of emergency, but there is a block on it otherwise?”
“Yes, thank you. That would be perfect.” Except for the realization that hits me later as I unpack my suitcase in my new room – no one on the planet knows where I am right now. That probably hasn’t happened since I was in high school and maybe not even then.
For a second, I think about texting my mother, but when I think again I realize she’d respond and I’d be caught in an endless loop of trying to say nothing of substance while sustaining my half of a chat. And God forbid she decides to FaceTime and asks to say hello to Scarlett.
Jasper’s the next likely choice, but after how we left things this morning, I’m not sure he cares where I am or with whom. Plus, how can I text him without acknowledging the shit storm that’s developed between Scarlett and me? He’s right to be angry, regardless of any truth to Scarlett’s accusations. I erase my message six times before I finally type: I’m sorry. Very, very sorry. I’ll see you Thursday and be even more sorry in person.
He doesn’t text me back. I peek at my phone at least thirty times while I shower and change, but the screen stays black. Finally, I shove it deep in the bottom of my bag as I grab a sweater and my room key.
A Brit on the Side (Castle Calder Book 1) Page 21