London, Can You Wait?
Page 10
Alex bounced on her toes. Yes! When she reached the table, she would whip off the stuffy mask and surprise Mark. He would be hers again, the two of them against this new, strange world, for better or for worse.
A girl, stood in front of Alex, wearing a red wig and cosplaying Black Widow, pointed in Mark’s direction. “Gawd! He’s a total life-ruiner.” She elbowed her blue-haired friend. “Talk about hot.”
Alex chuckled and stepped closer to listen in.
“I can’t even. One glance and…oh, my ovaries, just stahp,” said Smurfy Blue Hair.
Alex gnawed her lip, trying not to laugh. These girls were hilarious, and yeah, she had to agree with them, Mark brought on all the feels—full stahp.
“After I meet him, I swear, I’ll DIE.” Black Widow took a breath and smirked. “And speaking of walking dead, did you see his girlfriend earlier? God, she’s the worst.”
Alex’s eyes bulged. What? The mask was seriously hindering her hearing.
Smurfy checked her makeup in her phone’s camera. “I thought they broke up, or maybe that was just wishful thinking.”
Black Widow nodded. “Why doesn’t he date his Lairds co-star? At least she’s pretty.”
The mask wasn’t hindering Alex’s hearing at all. Nope—these messages were coming through loud and painfully clear. These girls couldn’t be more different from the fans earlier. These girls wished her ill will; they begrudged her…Mark. She swallowed heavily, their ugly words echoing through her head, shredding her self-confidence and souring her stomach.
Smurfy scrolled through her phone. “She must be a good lay. Fuck knows what Mark sees in that butt face of hers.” She held up her phone so her friend could see.
With a clammy hand, Alex grabbed the forehead of the mask and gave it a tug, peeling it from her sweaty skin. The shift adjusted the mask’s tiny eyeholes and she spotted the Mail header. Of course. Her heart broke out into a sprint.
“I bet no one saw her play,” said Black Widow.
“I did. It was shit. Full of clichés, stereotypical characters.” Blue Hair sneered. “She needs to do me a favour: not write another one.”
The girls laughed.
Alex’s jaw dropped. These words stung more than any anonymous online attack. Maybe it was hearing the venomous slurs in person? Or watching their faces contort with disgust only inches away?
They hate me…because Mark loves me.
Their nasty remarks, paired with the suffocating sweatiness of the mask, felt like two hands tightening around her throat. She gasped for air, tears brimming in her eyes—not that this crowd would care. She ducked out of line and fled towards the exit.
“Mouse, did you order me that bacon cheeseburger? I’m starving.” Mark slicked back his wet hair and sat on the edge of the hotel bed with a white towel knotted at his waist. A second towel was flung open over his right shoulder, creeping down his chest, and the fresh scent of strawberry body wash hung in his wake. “All I had today was an energy drink and some crisps.”
“They said twenty minutes.” Alex stood in front of the TV, fussing with the uncooperative remote.
“My hand is so cramped, I could barely shave. Luckily, tomorrow is just photos…” Mark frowned and slipped off the bed. “Hey, stop playing with that.” His hands pulled her in. “How’s my girl? Did you have fun?”
Alex spun around, her nose coming within an inch of his shifted towel and an angry purple and yellow bruise that enveloped Mark’s entire shoulder and upper arm. Eyes staring, she held her breath. Beads of water trickled down his bare chest.
“Oh, God, Mark! What’s that?” Worst-case scenarios trampled through her mind: a plunge down a mountain, a choreographed fist-fight gone wrong, a spooked horse…?
“It’s fine.” He smiled. “You should see the other guy.”
Alex didn’t laugh—her heart was too busy trying to explode through her chest.
“It looks a lot worse than it feels—”
“What happened?”
“I fell on the ice—”
“I knew those stunts—”
“—during a snowball fight.” He rolled his eyes. “Embarrassing.”
Alex gritted her teeth. “How hard did you fall?” Her hand hovered, unsure if she should touch him.
“It’s fine, honestly. Would I be here if it wasn’t?” He tucked her underneath his chin, his grimace out of her sight. “Did you have fun today? I love your Silence mask!”
“Yeah.” She carefully rested her head against his chest, avoiding his eyes and any contact with his poor shoulder. “It’s a shame it was too late to invite Lucy. A guy was here, taking pitches. She could’ve shown her drawings—”
“She can do that any time. This weekend is for us.” He kissed the top of her head. “I knew you were off having fun when I didn’t see you all day. See? I was right, wasn’t I? This weekend’s been good for both of us, and we still have tomorrow to enjoy.”
“Can’t wait.” Alex shivered.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. You’re—”
“Damp, yeah, sorry babe.” He let her go and removed the towel from his shoulder, patting it gently over his upper half. “Weren’t the fans great? They’re so kind and thoughtful…” His voice trailed off as he walked into the bathroom.
Alex slowly sat down on the bed. Behind the bathroom door, the hairdryer roared to life. “And honest,” she whispered to herself.
Twelve
Manchester, four weeks later
Squeezing through the crush of Albert Square, a passing rain shower did little to dampen Alex’s Yuletide cheer. Three days before December 25, the heart of the annual Manchester Christmas Markets was aflutter, its wooden chalet-lined streets playing host to perusing crowds and a rainbow of bobbing umbrellas. The sweet smell of roasted chestnuts competed on the dank breeze with smoky grilled bratwurst, tickling Alex’s nose as she searched for her last gift—something special for her grandmother, Joan.
Alex checked her phone: only twenty minutes! Soon Mark would be in her arms again, fresh from four weeks of rehearsals and principle photography on his Irish movie. Her National tote bulged with chocolate truffles and wine—sweet treats to share later.
Stopping at a chalet specializing in handcrafted glass jewellery, she closed her umbrella, shaking away any raindrops hitching a ride. There had to be something there Joan would adore. Bangles, nope. Earrings, no—she had said, “they fly around too much while riding my motorbike.”
The Sherlock theme erupted from the pocket of her parka, battling the stall’s holiday music.
“Hey, Lucy. What’s up?”
“Fucking Simon, that’s what. Next time I offer to help cook Christmas lunch, give me a smack to the head.”
Alex rolled her eyes. “What’s he done now?”
“He just texted a recipe and a shopping list. Bloody vegans.”
“Don’t tell me…you’re making a nut roast. How Gavin & Stacey.”
“I wish. No. Curried lentil, parsnip, and apple soup.”
“Ew, puke.”
“Yup, that’s what it looks like in the photo.”
Alex shifted backwards, allowing the stall owner to parlez with a frantic Parisian tourist. “Try not to think of us on Christmas morning, lounging by the fire enjoying Helen’s bacon baps.”
“Yeah, rub it in. I’d kill for bacon Christmas morning. So, where are you, anyway? Sounds like the UN.”
“The markets.” Alex smiled at the charm bracelets tinkling in the breeze.
“Still shopping? Did you rob a bank?”
“Very funny. I’m using panto money, and I pawned a few things; I wasn’t wearing the diamond earrings Mom gave me for grad, so—”
“You what? That’s it, I’m returning the gift you gave me and giving you the money.”
“You will not—”
“Fuck. My boss is back…chat later?”
“Sure, but don’t panic if it goes to voicemail.”
“I hope it goes to vo
icemail if you and Mark are shagging.”
“I would never answer mid-shag. I’m not Freddie!”
Lucy squealed.
“Love ya, babe.” Alex disconnected the call and bounced in her ankle boots.
The Sherlock theme rang out again: Mark’s mum.
“Niamh, Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas, love. We’re all checked in, ready for Malta. I tried Mark but got his voicemail—again.”
“Want him to call you?”
“No, love, it’s fine. Just let him know we’re all set.”
“Will do.”
“And remind him that he has my present for you. He tossed it into that black hole he calls a backpack, God knows if he’ll ever find it again.”
“Yeah, what goes inside doesn’t always come out. Did my gift arrive in time?”
“I have it in my carry-on. I wish you didn’t, Alex. Writers don’t make a lot of money.”
“That’s why I only spoil the people I love.”
“Ah, bless you, darling.” A smile tinged Niamh’s voice. “Mark’s really looking forward to Christmas.”
Alex’s fingers trailed along a velvet box of sparkly rings. “Yeah, me too.”
“Oh, they’re saying we can pre-board now. I’ll call when we land.”
“Please. Safe flight, Niamh.”
“Lots of love, dear.”
Alex stuffed her phone in a pocket. Oh…wait! A necklace with miniature comedy and tragedy masks…perfect. Once an actress, always an actress—Joan would love it.
She handed over twenty pounds and rocked back on her heels, watching a baby stroller break through the thick fence of legs like a battering ram.
“Thanks! Happy Christmas, love.” The Santa hat-wearing vendor stretched over the table with Joan’s necklace tucked inside a paper bag.
“Happy Christmas!” Alex glanced up at the glittery Manchester Santa, the size of six elephants, perched above the entrance of the town hall. He was kinda freaky, his boggly peepers staring blankly over the Square, his gaze all-knowing, never blinking. Alex felt dizzy for a moment and stood still, waiting for it to pass.
Right. Time to get a move on—if only the crowds would budge. These shoppers, hypnotized by the staggering array of goodies and snacks for sale, crept along like ants stuck in treacle. Alex didn’t know Manchester that well, but she knew the general direction she needed to go. She pulled her National tote into her waist, dodging exuberant office workers let loose at noon, sporting snowman head-boppers and garlands of gaudy-coloured tinsel. Every hand rushing past seemed to be brandishing an arsenal of overstuffed shopping bags.
As Alex headed left onto Mosley Street, the grey clouds overhead burst into an urgent encore, causing umbrellas to bloom from the hands of hurried pedestrians. She pressed the button of her umbrella and ran across the street, clogged with trams approaching in both directions. Their Thomas the Tank Engine toots whistled in the damp air as she swung around the corner and splashed through the swollen puddles on the Piccadilly Gardens pavement. Not far now…
To any one else, Mark would have been difficult to recognize, hidden underneath a flapping umbrella, a peacoat, and a black Manchester United cap pulled down over his eyes, but Alex could pick out that slightly crooked stance in skinny jeans anywhere. Nodding his head to some unknown track streaming into his ears from his headphones, he stood outside Pret a Manger with his backpack and suitcase. Alex’s lips parted into a smile and her heart turned up its pace another notch, giddy for what was to come.
“There’s my girl.” Mark yanked off his headphones and surged forward, his hand reaching for her face. He tilted his head and kissed her tenderly as she melted into his hug, her free arm squeezing him like a vice grip while their umbrellas collided into an awkward battle of nylon and metal. “I guess I’m forgiven for missing the earlier flight, then?”
“I’m so happy to see you.”
Mark clamoured for her hand. “C’mon, Elsa. Inside.”
“Who?”
“Your fingers are Frozen.” Laugh lines creased the corners of his eyes as he kissed her hand. “Let’s get you warmed up.”
Sandwiches purchased, they claimed a table for two tucked into the back corner of Pret, Mark choosing the seat facing away from the entrance. The welcoming scent of ground coffee beans and freshly brewed java infused the room, while round metal trays clanked on the silver countertop overlooking the glass case housing sugar-dusted crumble bars and mini Christmas mince pies. A barista who recognized Mark brought over two gooey chocolate chunk cookies on the house. She praised Mark’s TV role, gushed over Alex’s handbag, and then politely left them to it.
Alex blew on the steaming froth of her hot chocolate. “How did the chemistry reads go?” She took a tentative first sip and grimaced—so bitter.
“Good, yeah.”
Mark cracked the plastic cap on a bottled water and handed it to her. She gladly took a gulp and then ripped open her bag of cheese and onion crisps.
He peeled away the seal from his Christmas Lunch sandwich, his finger scooping out a taste of its minced pork, herb, and apricot stuffing. “Some of the chemistry reads have been so awkward, you know, like really bad blind dates.” He sucked on his finger. “But this morning, it clicked. Luckily, everyone agreed, so now we have our female lead and my male sidekick.”
“Just in time, too.”
“Yup. Their first scenes are next Thursday.” He leaned over and brushed her bangs from her eyes. “Any word from the National about Upton Park?”
“They passed this morning, but I’ve made a list of other theatres to pitch.”
“Someone will snatch it up. Be sure to mention the Donmar project when you do pitch. It shows you’re in demand.”
“Yeah…” Alex leaned back and swallowed hard. She couldn’t tell him about the lost commission, not yet…not with his first lead role in a movie making him so happy. Her bad news might sour his joy. “I was thinking of taking on some corporate writing, too…”
“Do you have time? I thought you hated that.”
“I do, but it’s money. I kinda got used to the extra cash from the panto.”
Mark peered underneath the table at Alex’s National tote, straining at its seams. “I can see that! Steady on, shopaholic. Did you leave anything behind for anyone else?” He laughed. “As long as you won’t feel too stretched then, yeah, why not? And corporate work is still writing.”
Phew. She grinned and pulled the chewy ham from her cheese toastie.
Mark’s fingers curled around Alex’s. “Five days. It’s the most we’ve been together in eight months. They’re gonna have to come drag me away on the twenty-eighth.”
Alex squeezed his hand and leaned forward, craving the intimacy she so badly needed. In a few hours, her body would be trading the cosy comfort of Mark’s sweatshirt for his warm lips and gentle touch. Her nerve endings tingled at the thought. “At least we won’t have to wait weeks to be together again. New Year’s—in Dublin! Can’t wait.”
“I promise we’ll make our anniversary memorable.” Mark smiled at his girlfriend.
They were just an ordinary couple, stealing kisses over their sandwiches, sharing knowing glances. No one else existed; the customers choosing baguettes and soup from the nearby shelves dissolved in an unimportant blur.
Alex reluctantly released his hand and nibbled her toastie without peeling her eyes from him. “I’m so proud of you. Your first leading role, working in Dublin…it’s a dream come true.”
“Yeah, it’s another life-changer, that’s for sure.” He pulled a piece of turkey from his sandwich and popped it in his mouth. “Mouse…” He chewed slowly, buying time. “I’m sorry about New York. If things were different—”
“It’s okay.” Alex cut him off, not keen on getting into it again. She looked at her sandwich and tore off the crust. “You’re here. We’re together. That’s all that matters.” A soft smile parted her lips. “A few weeks ago, I didn’t think we would be.”
Alex slid her finger underneath the back flap, tearing the envelope open. Eyebrows furrowed, she pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
Mark leaned closer, desperate for a reaction.
She opened the document cautiously.
London Heathrow (LHR) to New York JFK–December 22, 2018
Alexandra Sinclair, Mark Keegan
and
New York JFK to London Heathrow (LHR)–January 3, 2019
Alexandra Sinclair, Mark Keegan
Flight confirmations…complete with assigned seating—first class, both ways. “New York? A year from now?”
“This isn’t your main present.” Mark smiled. “That’s still coming. Remember in April, I promised we would spend Christmas in New York City? I meant it, but you’ll just have to wait a little bit longer.” He pointed at the small print. “See? Non-refundable. We are going!”
“But a lot can happen between now and then…”
“That’s why I’ve warned Wink. I’m learning, yeah?” He gave Alex the cheeky smile that always made her melt. “I don’t care what jobs are offered for next December. That time is blocked off for us. You can be my New York tour guide, keep me from getting lost.”
“Great.” Alex leaned back in her seat. A year seemed so distant, a mirage she couldn’t quite decipher. Mark, by comparison, couldn’t contain his glee. His fast-paced banter and ants-in-his-pants demeanour suggested they would be lacing up skates and exchanging kisses on the Rockefeller Center ice rink tonight, not twelve months from now. She wanted to share his enthusiasm, but the trip didn’t seem real. It was too far away. But, Mark was pleased with himself, so she faked it. “I can almost taste Serendipity’s frozen hot chocolate,” she said with a tight grin. She looked at the confirmation again. “I’ve never flown first class before. I’ll feel like Taylor Swift.”