London Belongs to Me

by Jacquelyn Middleton

  “I know, right? He was my first proper boyfriend, my first everything. And I was totally blind to any consequences, if he thought I was sleazy for making the first move or if he’d bolt once he learned all my secrets, but he didn’t.”

  “He sounds wonderful.”

  “He was. It was so new, being that vulnerable with a guy. I felt good around him, safe. We fooled around, but he didn’t rush me. Two weeks in, my vow to take it slow fell to his dorm room floor along with my clothes.”

  Lucy raised her hand for a high-five. “Put it there, girl. Someone was getting shagged senseless. Sexy Lexy!”

  Alex’s cheeks grew warm, and she met Lucy’s hand with a giggle.

  She cleared her throat and retreated back into a soft grin. “Funny. That’s the nickname Devin gave me…Things moved pretty quickly from there. I barely slept in my own bed. It was like this new secret world was unlocked and I couldn’t get enough. We even skipped lectures to stay in bed, but he was a real gentleman. He’s from Louisville, Kentucky and had this warm, respectful southern charm about him.”

  Lucy smiled above the edge of her glass. “Lucky duck, Lex…an amazing boyfriend, your dream course; talk about the picture perfect uni experience. You weren’t in a sorority too, were you? Please say no.” She laughed.

  Alex shook her head. “Me…in a sorority? Only if their Greek traditions were swapped for Geek…but I did become best friends with a girl in my Reading for Performance course. Taylor McCoy. I had plastered my dorm room’s walls with tourism photos of London. She came over to study one night, but we ended up talking about how badly we both wanted to come here.”

  Alex opened the second packet of cheese and onion crisps. “We bonded over the silliest things like our love of Mindy Kaling. We joked about our fondness for Will and Kate, and shared an addiction to Twizzlers.”

  Lucy looked confused.

  “Twizzlers?” said Alex. “They’re strawberry licorice twists. We’d eat package after package while binge-watching Gossip Girl episodes. She could also match me song for song at Friday night karaoke.”

  “Belting out the tunes on the piss. Love it,” said Lucy.

  “Yeah. I’m a sucker for musical cheese from the sixties and seventies. No era does schmaltz better.” Alex crunched a handful of crisps.

  “During our sophomore year, Taylor and I decided to plan a post-grad trip to England, taking a few months to live it up before work commitments owned us. I even convinced Devin to come along too.”

  “Nice one. Being an adult can wait.” Lucy downed the dregs of her pint.

  “But when we started our senior year at university, something seemed off…Devin—”

  Lucy interrupted. “You wouldn’t be here on your own if you were choosing a china pattern together. I’ll kill him if he broke your heart…”

  Alex plucked the cutlery from the table. “I better hide the knives, then.”

  “No. Really? Wanker.” Lucy banged her pint glass down on a beer mat.

  With a final sip through her straw, Alex finished her drink. “I couldn’t put a finger on what it was, but around Halloween, I spotted a Snapchat video Devin received from Taylor. Their secret was out.”

  “Ew. A video? It wasn’t dirty, was it?”

  Alex stabbed at the ice in her glass. “Put it this way, if she uploaded screencapped images to Tinder, she’d set a record for right swipes.”

  Lucy scrunched up her face.

  “I still don’t know when it started, what happened exactly.”

  Lucy shook her head. “That’s horrible—to cheat on your best friend, to cheat on your girlfriend!”

  “I couldn’t sleep or eat. I felt sick, so I confronted them. I used my phone to record her Snapchat video so they had no choice but to admit it.” Alex crinkled up the crisp bag. “I was done. They were dead to me, but I couldn’t avoid their smug faces for seven more months. If I skipped the courses we had together, my degree would’ve been in jeopardy.”

  “God, talk about rubbing your nose in it,” said Lucy.

  “I spent most of my senior year replaying everything in my head, trying to figure out what I did or maybe didn’t do that caused this to happen. I’m still at a loss. Coming to London is my chance to move on, leave them behind and start over. This time the happy ending I write will be my own.”

  Alex stared down at the table. “Still, there are times when I can’t help looking back, rehashing events, what I did wrong—”

  “I’m sure you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Tears blurred Alex’s vision. “I wish I knew…but I keep coming back to a pattern. I can’t depend on people. Every time I do, disaster strikes. They leave me.”

  A cascade of tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “Dad left when I was little. Mom and Kathryn never had time for me, and Robbie moved to Orlando for work. And then this mess with Devin and Taylor. People don’t stick around. I always care more about everyone else than they do for me. Time and time again, I take a chance, rely on them, and they let me down. I always end up alone. I’m easy to walk away from.” Alex felt the pangs again…she was dispensable, broken.

  Lucy yanked her friend into a side-by-side clinch. “Don’t be daft, you silly cow. You’re spewing complete bull. No wonder your self-confidence is in tatters. Look, I’m gonna be selfish. I’m glad these other people buggered off because it means there’s more of you for me. I don’t have to fuckin’ share.”

  Alex snorted, snot unexpectedly bubbling from her nose. A half-laugh escaped amidst the tears.

  Lucy howled and thrust a clean tissue under Alex’s nose. “What are we like? Both blubbing in the pub. They’ll lock the doors the next time they see us coming.”

  “I wouldn’t blame them.” Alex scanned the small room to make sure no one was witnessing her nasal explosion. “So much drama. I need another drink.”

  “Definitely.” Lucy scooted off the couch. “Stay here and clean yourself up, you cry-baby, you. When I’m back, you can tell me about Harry. I bet he’s lush.”

  Alex shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell. He’s blond. Not really my type.”

  “Ah, I love a blond, me. Well, that’s settled, then. We need to find you a fit boyfriend. I’m on it. And don’t worry, whoever I find, I won’t snog him.”

  While she waited for Harry to come home, Olivia indulged in some quiet time, reading through Alex’s suffragette play. The strong characters and detailed writing surprised her, and the story arc held all the hallmarks of an engaging and popular play. It needed some work, some fine-tuning, but it had good bones. Little Alex had talent. Who knew?

  Olivia logged onto her computer to read through her own script. Scenes weren’t exactly flowing, and a few of the characters lacked substance. Her attempts to flesh out the story about the colourful Hackney neighbourhood on her doorstep left her less than satisfied. It would require a lot of massaging, but eventually she’d get there.

  At twenty after nine, an apologetic text from Harry interrupted her editing session.

  ‘Babe, so sorry! Kitchen’s sprinkler system’s on the fritz. Chef freaking out. Must cancel tonight. Be home after closing. Love you. H xo’

  Olivia scowled at the last splash of prosecco in her glass. Another cancellation. The fourth date this month—all at the last minute.

  She lit a cigarette and leaned on Facebook for company. Scrolling through her newsfeed, Alex’s accepted friend request popped up.

  The Floridian’s Facebook page screamed ‘geeks gone wild’. Olivia’s stern frown softened with each photo click. Such a weirdo. Alex was dressed as Wonder Woman, Supergirl, some Doctor Who person Olivia couldn’t care less about, and a character called Captain Marvel; none of Alex’s profile photos were without a silly costume. Even her cover photo was totally dorky. It featured a long rambling quotation by actor Simon Pegg about how ‘cool’ it was to be a geek. Yeah, sure it is.

  Olivia sank back into her chair. She now cringed at her pangs of jealousy in the kitchen over brea
kfast and her treatment towards Alex on their shopping trip. This silly, odd little American girl, she’s really quite sweet. And certainly no serious competitor for her Harry’s affection. How strange to react so…defensively? She put it down to a reflex reaction. Harry was one of the most eligible bachelors in London. She’d grown accustomed to warning off so many Pretty Young Things during their blossoming relationship four years earlier. Old habits die hard, it seemed.

  She finished her prosecco and raised her eyebrows at the overabundance of pictures. Ms. Alex Sinclair certainly liked to overshare her meals, family get-togethers, and American holidays like the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving. Olivia smiled. She remembered sexting Harry on the Thursday morning of that long weekend to offer a scantily clad ‘Happy Thanksgiving, Pilgrim’. He responded, saying he would be spending the four-day weekend stuck alone in the library, plowing through a mountain of course work.

  She clicked through Alex’s album for Tallahassee Thanksgiving 2014, and snickered at the photos of her mother putting on airs. Nice try, lady! But in the jumble of faces, someone familiar caught her eye.

  …Harry. Her Harry—without textbooks or laptop—in Tallahassee, not Atlanta.

  She clicked from photo to photo, her pupils constricting into defiant dots, shocked by the images flaunted one by one across the screen.

  Harry lied. Why the HELL did he lie?

  Her abdomen constricted, cramping into a knot, its heavy weight tying her to the chair. A sourness rose in her throat. No amount of swallowing could make the distaste, the anguish wash away. She slammed her laptop closed and with a sweep of her hand, sent her wine glass flying towards the floor.

  Eight

  Alex stumbled into the lounge, wiping sleep from her eyes. She sideswiped a pouffe, her feet just missing a stray cricket bat.

  “Hey, Sleeping Beauty.” Tom threw cushions off the couch and shoved his hands forcefully into its deepest recesses. “You were late last night. You dirty stop out.”

  The brightness leaping through the large windows taunted Alex’s pounding head. Her mouth tasted sticky and metallic, like it was coated with wallpaper paste. She hugged her stomach, clad in newly purchased blue plaid cotton pajamas.

  “Where is everyone? What are you doing?” Aspirin. She needed Aspirin. She rummaged in the kitchen cupboards. Her head spun like a wound-up ballerina inside a jewellery box.

  Tom nudged her out of the way and liberated a bottle of Paracetamol from a high shelf. “Harry’s taken Olivia out for the day. She made him feel guilty about missing Friday’s party and cancelling their date last night.”

  He shook two tablets into Alex’s hand and handed her a bottle of water. “God, she was in an epic mood last night. I don’t know what’s eating her. She was fine when I left for the pub. Olivia and her moods, eh? They change like the English weather.”

  They both smirked. Alex may have only met her forty-eight hours ago, but Hurricane Olivia was already an erratic force to be reckoned with. She swallowed the two tablets and plunked herself face down onto the kitchen table, just missing a bundle of flowers suffocating in layers of orange tinted cellophane. A slight head shift alleviated the pressure on her now mountainous zit.

  “Have you seen my wallet? This place is such a tip.” Tom snapped his knuckles. “If I show up at the match without cash again, the lads will skin me. I’m already half-hour late.”

  He knocked over Olivia’s muesli box from the top of the microwave, showering oat flakes and dried fruit onto the floor. Alex lifted her head. The swaying microwave’s clock glared 12:36 p.m. at her.

  “Oh, two things…a delivery came for you yesterday afternoon.” Tom ignored the spill and wrestled a card from the flowers.

  “Can you read it to me? Everything’s…fuzzy and… moving,” said Alex. The muesli mess scattered on the hardwood didn’t help, lying there begging to be swept up.

  “It says ‘Beautiful flowers for a beautiful daughter. Just a little something to make you feel at home. Love and kisses, Dad, Helen, and Joan xo’. Aw, that’s sweet. They’re not roses. What are they?” Tom pressed on the plastic wrap.

  “Probably snapdragons. If they look like funny little jaws, they’re snapdragons. My favourite,” said Alex, her head still in a face plant.

  Tom shrugged. “Weird choice.”

  He moved back towards the unruly counter congested with dirty plates, overflowing ashtrays, and several empty wine bottles. “And your suitcases showed up last night around seven…bloody hell, there it is.” He plucked his missing wallet from behind the Styrofoam clutter of last night’s kebab take-away. “Man, your cases are big. They wouldn’t fit in your room, so I tucked them in mine. Feel free to unpack in there and then leave the empty cases in the lounge. One of us will stow them later…somewhere.”

  A flush of relief interrupted the nauseating ripples in Alex’s stomach. She raised her head, taming the errant strands of hair that stuck to her oily face. “Oh thank God. My entire life is in those bags. That’s my day figured out, then.”

  She let out a big sigh and dumped her forehead on the table. “Baggage. Everyone’s got some. Sometimes it just takes a while to catch up to you.”

  Tom adjusted the collar of his Chelsea shirt and snorted. “That we do, oh Wise One. Well, I’m off. Can’t keep the Blues waiting! Good luck with the hangover—and the unpacking.”

  One steamy bath followed by a buttery English muffin and an overflowing bowl of sugary cereal, returned Alex to the land of the living. Just in time, too.

  Her mission: to unpack…so daunting, like a life-size game of Tetris, but instead of puzzle pieces, her clothes, books, and personal items had to find their most space efficient positions.

  Alex hung each item of clothing individually in the wonky wardrobe, testing its stability. Would the weight send the cupboard crashing down on top of her? She grounded its base with her heaviest books including her chunky volume of Bartlett’s Quotations, a prize for earning the highest grade in English during her senior year of high school. Pairs of motorcycle and ankle boots, and Chuck Taylors also lent their heft.

  Books sorted by size—paperbacks on top expanding downward to coffee table tomes on the bottom along with two large spiral-bound photo albums from her childhood—scaled the walls of the room in three Jenga-worthy towers. Without shelves or a desk to display her framed pictures, she placed them atop the book stacks. Photos with her brother Robbie and of the family cat shared pride of place alongside comic con shots hamming it up with Elijah Wood, Hayley Atwell, and Matt Smith.

  She tucked away her final necessities—several bashed in boxes of Lucky Charms cereal, Pop-Tarts, and packages of Twizzlers. If she smartly rationed her stash, it could last until September. Home sweet home.

  She stood back to admire her work. No limbs were crushed underneath falling furniture; no books were sacrificed. Mission accomplished.

  With the unpacking behind her, Alex relaxed, her mind reacquainting itself with all the things she deemed important enough to cart across the ocean: her mementos, clothing, food. But her packing list—a strict roll call of what to bring, what to leave behind—wasn’t infallible. What you leave behind says as much about you as what you bring along.

  Her shoulders sagged under the weight of her memories. The seldom mentioned, the unseen—the people left behind—haunted her heart. She hated herself for feeling a shred of sadness over leaving her mom. She shouldn’t let it bother her. Usually it didn’t. From an early age, Alex knew her mom didn’t love her like she did Kathryn and Robbie. It was as if Geraldine blamed Alex for delaying the inevitable—the divorce from Michael. If Alex hadn’t come along, she wouldn’t have wasted seven years tied to a dead marriage. But when their union crumbled for good and they stormed towards a permanent split, Geraldine wouldn’t let Michael take Alex to England, denying him what he wanted most. She’d rather hold on to the daughter she didn’t want than allow her ex to ‘win’. But at the airport four days ago, it was as if Michael had finally triumphed. Drop
ping Alex at the curb, Geraldine didn’t cry, her face hard and defiant. Alex hoped for a last minute emotional reprieve, a hug, some sniffles even, but got nothing—her mom didn’t crack.

  Alone with her thoughts, Alex knew she shouldn’t be disappointed by that reaction, but it did bother her, more than she had expected. You can be belittled, ignored, and rejected, and eventually fly the nest, hoping never to return, but those familial bonds still pull and twist, making you yearn for what you don’t have and probably never will. Sure, her mother was more invested in the older kids, her smarmy politician boyfriend, and her precious job, and she seemed to dole out affection to Alex in meager amounts, bit by bit—none of that behaviour was new—but she was still her mother. Your mother is supposed to love you unconditionally.

  And so are your boyfriends. Well, one boyfriend. There was only one. Devin. All the other flirtations didn’t count—stolen kisses in clubs, clumsy fumbles at house parties…little crushes, little infatuations, but nothing that prepared her for the full-on tidal wave of all-consuming love and devastating heartbreak that Devin brought to her life. It was easy to purport to Lucy that he was out of her life—gone, banished, never to be thought of again—but the reality wasn’t that simple or painless.

  The last two-and-a-half years were all Devin. Calendars and dates didn’t matter; life events were bookmarked according to what she and Devin were doing at the time: her first A on a play came just after they slept together for the first time; her stint in the university’s brief production of The Unravelling—on the heels of their first fight. Everything linked back to him. Her life tied to his and vice versa. He may have moved on back home with Taylor, and Alex may be a world away on another continent, but she still struggled with letting him go. It was during quiet moments that she felt the strings painfully tugging all the more.

  She brushed away a few hot tears and breathed deeply. Old hurts weren’t so easy to leave behind. In the excitement and desperation to get away, perhaps it was naive to believe that only the items jotted down on her packing list would accompany her on this journey. Four days ago when she was packing in her Tallahassee bedroom, it seemed much more black and white.