by Heidi Lowe
"Well, I, uh..." The room had suddenly become hot and stuffy. Help me out here, Marcus, my eyes pleaded. "It's still early days for that–"
"Nonsense. It's never too early to plan for the future," Norman said. "What do you think of the name Beatrice for your daughter? I've always liked it. It was my grandmother's name. Of course, if it's a boy, I wouldn't object to Norman, wink wink."
Oh my God, was this really happening? Did they know something about my womb that I didn't? Because he was talking like I was already pregnant.
"Norman, that's enough now," Marcus said. "We're not talking about starting a family. I'm twenty-two years old, for heaven's sake. Still a child myself. We just want to enjoy each other for a while."
It didn't seem to faze his father that he'd used his first name when addressing him. He did it all the time when he referred to them. As annoying as my parents were, I don't think I would have had the balls to call them by their first names.
"Well someone around here needs to talk about it. God knows your sister won't mention it. She should have given us a small army by now," Norman said. He sighed wistfully. "A husband at least. That girl remains an enigma to me."
"We're not going to talk about Scarlett when she's not here," Marcus said firmly. It was admirable how he came to her defense so easily. He looked at my plate, realized that I had eaten all I could, then said, "Should we make tracks?"
"Yes!" I said, trying not to sound too relieved.
"We'll continue this discussion at dinner," they called after us as we left the table and headed back upstairs to collect our things.
"Maybe we should have dinner in London," I whispered to him.
"Definitely."
FOUR
It was hard to conceive of the idea that one city could hold so much history, so many awesome sights. Leaving early had been a good call, because we managed to cover a lot of ground that day.
"Where to first?" Marcus said on the train to London. He'd suggested taking the car, but the prospect of riding an English train fascinated me (pretty pathetic, I know).
"We should do Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament first. Do you ever get that feeling that because you're so excited, you'll suddenly drop dead before you get to see something you've always wanted to see or do?"
It was one of those things you kept to yourself. It wasn't only Marcus that gave me a dubious look and laughed at me. A middle-aged man in a suit peered over at me from behind his paper.
"You're not suddenly going to die, Jenna. It's just London. It's not as though we're taking a day trip to the moon!"
He didn't understand.
"After that, maybe London Bridge. You know, if it hasn't already fallen down," I joked. I was far too excited to care that my joke was lame, and that I sounded like a child who'd left America for the first time.
"Well, Trafalgar Square is closer to Big Ben, so we should do that next."
I wasn't really listening, I just nodded emphatically, grinning widely.
Our first stop was Parliament Square, followed by Trafalgar Square, where he snapped pictures of me standing in the fountain, my leggings rolled up so the water didn't wet them. The water was filthy, and I was certain I would catch Legionnaires' disease or something similarly unpleasant, but it was totally worth it.
After that we headed to Tower Bridge, the Tower of London, followed by London Bridge, which looked pretty much like every other bridge in the city – very underwhelming. A nice old man gave me a rose because he said he liked my smile.
"Now I'm beginning to worry," Marcus said when we sat down for lunch at an outdoor Italian cafe in Leicester Square. The sun blazed, hitting at least seventy-five degrees. I regretted not wearing my straw hat. There were plenty of visor sellers dotted around, though, in case the heat got too much.
"Worry about what?"
He pointed his fork at my rose, which lay on our table beside my plate. "First you talk about running off with my eighty-something year old grandfather, now you're accepting roses from random old men." He chuckled. "What are you trying to tell me?"
"All right, you got me. What can I say, I like my men like I like my whiskey, matured for decades, lived through a couple of world wars, you know."
"What do you think of the city so far?" he said, once we'd stopped laughing. "Impressed? Disappointed?"
"Impressed, definitely. I've heard a lot of American accents too, so I don't feel so homesick. Where to next?"
"Waterloo to see the London Eye."
"Sounds good."
He wouldn't let me get the check, not for lunch, not for anything. Maybe it was because I was the older one that I felt it was my duty to pay for things. After all, I was the one with an income.
I linked my arm through his as we walked down the street, my shades doing a pretty poor job of blocking out the sun, as they were more a fashion accessory than anything else. He wore his, and along with his khaki shorts, crisp white polo shirt, and vibrant long locks, he looked like a model. Slightly androgynous, I'll admit.
"It's too hot to walk all the way there, so let's hop on the tube," he said. "If the queue isn't too long, we could–" his voice trailed off.
"We could what?"
I looked at him as he removed his shades, then followed his gaze to the two women walking in our direction. The blonde had that English rose look about her. Pale skinned, rosy cheeks, Kate Winslet at half the size.
"Oh my God, Marcus. When did you get back?" She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. He hesitantly hugged her, though gave me an apologetic look as he did so.
"Hey, Emily." He released her quickly, his cheeks lighting up as I watched on. Her friend twiddled her thumbs beside me, probably feeling as awkward as I did. "I got back a couple of weeks ago."
"Why didn't you tell me?" She hit him on the arm. I took that as my cue to step in.
"Hi, I'm Jenna, Marcus's girlfriend." I took his hand in mine. My smile could have frozen hell, it was that cold. The green-eyed monster had struck. And it wasn't because I found her intimidating or anything like that, I simply didn't appreciate any woman hugging my boyfriend in front of me and not having the decency to introduce herself first.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry. Emily." She extended her hand and I shook it. "Marcus and I went to school together. Primary and secondary." Her laugh was so girly it made me want to puke. She gave women a bad name.
"Yeah," was Marcus's response. Why was he so nervous all of a sudden? Did they have history?
"My parents and I are coming to your father's birthday party next week. We'll be able to catch up then. And you can tell me all about your year globetrotting."
"Sure," he mumbled, trying not to look at her.
After we'd all said our goodbyes, Marcus stayed suspiciously quiet as we continued on to the tube station.
"So who was that?"
"Emily, you heard. We went to school together."
"Is she your ex or something?"
His laugh had an edge to it. "What, Emily? No! Just a friend. We grew up together. Her parents know my parents, you know how that sort of thing goes."
"Okay...why are you sweating right now?" I was only trying to tease him. It was clear they had history, and clear he had no desire to admit it. Maybe not just history?
"Because, Jenna, it's a million degrees."
"Okay," I said, smirking as I watched him squirm. "She was probably your big crush, am I right? The beautiful blonde best friend who friend-zoned you."
"Don't be silly," he growled, not sharing in my amusement.
He spent the remainder of the day in a weird mood, which I attributed to bumping into Emily, who I was certain was an ex, or at least someone he'd had feelings for.
We got back home at nine, worn out and desperate for bed, so tired that we fell asleep in our clothes.
We didn't rise until late in the morning. My skin was slightly sore from yesterday's sun attack. The sunscreen I'd picked up at the airport wasn't strong enough.
"I'm gonna go for a
run into the town center, and probably pick up some more sunscreen and...lady stuff," I said when I emerged from the shower and found Marcus lying back in bed, having stripped down to his boxers. He was channel hopping, looking for something interesting to watch on the TV.
"You want me to come with you? Or Vivu can run you up there if you like?"
"I actually need a run. After the meal we had yesterday, and the humongous breakfast your parents made, I'll need to work some of that off."
"You look great, what are you talking about?" He leaped off the bed and attempted to wrestle my towel from me, but I pushed him away, giggling.
"Behave!" I scolded, trying to keep a straight face. "I need real exercise, not that kind."
"We can be as energetic as you want."
I shoved him away again. "Not while your parents are home."
He gave up trying, and sulked for effect. "Add cock-blockers to the long list of their crimes. Are you sure you don't want me to come with you? I don't want you getting lost out there."
"I'll be fine. It's not the middle of the desert, it's the outskirts of London. I'll bring my cellphone with me."
I kissed him goodbye before I left, then headed out to explore the town.
Back in the states, jogging had become a part of my routine, and I tried to go at least twice a week, three times if I was stressed. The sun wasn't as powerful as it had been the day before, to my relief. Still, the weather reporters had warned of dangerous heatwaves sweeping the country in the coming weeks. I needed to be prepared.
I ran for forty minutes, and by luck, ended up in Merrick town center, as though led there by a biological compass. I stopped in a local shop for a bottle of water and some gum. The water was necessary, the gum not so much. It was sort of this thing I did, buying the peculiar gums from the different countries I visited.
In the pharmacy, I picked up a bottle of SPF 50 sunscreen because it was on offer, and they were almost sold out of that brand. It had to be good then, surely?
A text message came through from Marcus, asking me if I was having fun without him, to which I replied, "Of course. Just chillaxing with a gang of eighty-year-old men now. I know you're jealous."
I laughed to myself and slipped my cell back into the pocket of my jogging shorts, and claimed an empty bench in the little park just outside the shopping plaza.
Once I'd replaced the headphones in my ear, I went to hit shuffle on my iPhone's music player, when I heard a heated argument taking place behind me. It was coming from behind the tree.
"You're just afraid, that's all. You're a fucking coward."
"I'm not having this conversation with you, Susan. Accept my decision and move on."
"Then don't you dare call me again. In fact, delete my number from your phone. I'm not doing this anymore. Never again."
"That's fine by me."
The two women were about thirty feet from me, and with the tree hiding me, I watched them inconspicuously. One woman, seemingly the one who'd demanded that her number be deleted, snatched the phone from the other woman, flicked through it angrily. I watched the other woman – a well-dressed lady with curly brunette hair, which she'd covered with a floppy hat – roll her eyes impatiently as she waited for her phone to be returned.
"You don't believe that I'll delete it?" she said.
"No, seeing as you said you would last time, yet I still got that stupid text from you."
"That won't happen again."
"I know. I'm making sure of it." She shoved the phone back at the curly one, gave her one final, lingering glare, then stormed off.
I watched the other woman as she watched the angry one leave. A break up? What else could that have been? I shouldn't have been eavesdropping but it was kind of hard to ignore the shouting.
Peering around her, as though suddenly realizing that she wasn't alone in a public park, the woman hurried away, sandals clicking on the graveled pathway.
After a few minutes, when the sun had picked up, I left the park and started back home. As I crossed the road, totally forgetting which way the traffic was coming from, a car came speeding at me. It stopped mere inches from me, but I screamed anyway. I saw my life flash before my eyes.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" The driver stepped out of the car, and I saw it was the curly-haired woman from the argument. "Don't you look where you're going?"
"You were speeding," I shouted at her. It didn't escape me, now that I could see her clearly, that she was beautiful. Possibly the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Light brown eyes, tanned skin, and a beauty spot below her right eye. Her blouse was white and tight. If she hadn't almost killed me I would have thought she was an angel sent from the heavens. But, yeah, she'd just tried to kill me, and I was pretty sure angels weren't known for doing shit like that.
She shook her head. "Oh, you're American. Well that explains everything. Reckless and ignorant of our driving system. You should probably stay in your hotel."
I was so taken aback by the insult, my mouth just hung open, making me appear more stupid than she already thought me.
"Americans," she mumbled to herself, shook her head again, this time with disgust, then hopped back into her car. As if she hadn't insulted me enough, she beeped me rudely, making me jump, giving me the second fright of my life, and waved for me to get out of the road.
I felt like kicking her stupid Audi and putting a dent in it, because it looked so shiny and new. But I was afraid she would get out of the car and chase after me. What a miserable bitch!
I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and she sped off.
I cursed the ground she walked on as I jogged back to Marcus's house. Beautiful and as evil as Satan. Who could have created such an oxymoron? I thought of all the comebacks I hadn't used and wished I had. That always happened. Who the hell was she calling ignorant? It was an honest mistake to make for someone who'd only been in the country three days.
Marcus kissed me when he opened the door for me.
"We'll get a key cut for you tomorrow, so you don't have to wait for someone to let you in." Evidently my ire must have still been visible on my face, because he said, "Hey, what happened?"
Animated chatter was coming from the lounge.
"Some evil bitch almost knocked me down when I was in town. And then she goes on this rant about Americans."
He held my hand, kissed me. "She sounds horrible. Karma will come her way. She'll probably have bad sex for the rest of her life."
"Hopefully," I mumbled.
"Oh, guess who just got back? Scarlett." He beamed like Santa Claus had come to stay and had promised him gifts every day of the year.
The famous Scarlett.
He led me into the lounge. I froze at the door.
"Scarlett, this is Jenna. Jenna, my sister Scarlett."
Scarlett got up from her seat, smile radiant, teeth perfect and white, eyes glistening with amusement. She stuck her hand out.
"So you're Jenna. I've heard so much about you. I look forward to getting to know you."
I swallowed and shook the hand of the woman who'd almost run me over.
FIVE
Scarlett Rutherford-Manning had the smile of a goddess; the soft, sensual laugh of a siren; the penetrative, almost hypnotic sparkle in her eyes of a succubus. When she told a story, you thought you were there, that it had happened to you. When she looked at you, you could almost have forgotten that only an hour prior she'd been screaming blue murder at you and making bigoted comments about people who came from your country.
Almost.
Marcus and his parents listened with relish as she recounted tales from her time in Singapore, where she offered legal assistance to some of the local lawyers.
"It's true, hand on my heart, it's illegal to feed pigeons over there. I'm not making this stuff up."
She had them all transfixed; even Norman and Fiona gave her their undivided attention, as opposed to keeping it to themselves. She was a master storyteller.
Quietly, I stu
died her, sizing her up, astonished at the transformation from earlier. No one would have believed me if I told them what had transpired between us. Even I was beginning to question whether I'd made a mistake. It was as though she didn't recognize me, but that wasn't possible, unless she had the memory of a goldfish.
"But it's a beautiful, clean place. Marcus, you would love it," she said, squeezing his thigh lovingly. Because instead of sitting with me, his girlfriend, he'd elected to sit beside his sister.
They didn't look alike. She'd taken her looks from her mother, right down to the tight curls and the shape of her eyes. Marcus resembled their father, though in height he seemed to be the odd one out. Scarlett was about my height, 5'6.
"We'll have to go there together next year," he said eagerly.
Where's my invitation? I wondered, bewildered by how easily he'd forgotten about me.
As if he'd read my thoughts, he added, "Oh, you can come too, Jenna."
I smiled weakly. Scarlett smiled too, but there was something dubious about it. In her eyes I saw that she remembered me, that she was playing a role of the doting sister and friendly sister-in-law. I didn't trust the bitch!
"And that lovely man, Neil, did he go with you?" Fiona said, her tone far too curious to be convincingly casual.
"Yes. It was good to have a friend with me. And yes, Mother, he's just a friend." True to her name, her cheeks turned scarlet. "Let's not make this find-Scarlett-a-husband day, all right?"
Hmm, that was interesting. From the display she'd put on with the mystery brunette in the park, there wouldn't be a husband any time soon. Admittedly, I hadn't heard anything really damning or incriminating, but anyone could have seen they were having a lovers' quarrel. What was most interesting was that none of her family members seemed to know that she liked the ladies.
She got to her feet. "At least not before I've slept off my jet lag." She laughed her sensual laugh, then yawned. She might have been the only person I'd ever seen that managed to remain beautiful while yawning.
"No one's been into your flat, love. We know how particular you are about that sort of thing," Norman assured her.