London Belongs to Me

by Jacquelyn Middleton

  Freddie tried on the smoking jacket. He posed in the mirror and turned forty-five-degrees.

  “That one looks good,” said Alex.

  “The sleeves are almost long enough. I can roll them up.”

  They stopped at the cashier’s desk. “Lucy might kill me when she sees me walk out of here with this, but we can’t please her all the time, can we?” He smiled at Alex and handed his credit card to a green-haired punk.

  “But what about you? I know absolutely zip about your family. You never mention them.”

  “Not much to tell,” said Freddie. “My family isn’t the most ‘gay friendly’, put it that way. My twin’s a good guy, but I don’t see him that often. He lives in Kent.”

  “You have a twin? You mean there’s two of you roaming the earth?”

  “Yep, there’s another me, although we aren’t identical. In fact, Joe’s chubby, blond and straight. Go figure.”

  Cigarette in hand, Lucy sat in a metal chair outside a coffee shop on Oldham Street.

  “I figured you wouldn’t get far.” Freddie nudged Lucy playfully with his purple plastic bag.

  “Since when do you smoke?” asked Alex.

  “When I’m stressed. See, it turns out that online friendships aren’t real friendships after all. There’s so much you don’t know about the other person.”

  “I guess I deserve that,” said Alex.

  Lucy looked away and blew smoke over her right shoulder.

  “I should’ve been honest about my intentions for this trip. It wasn’t fair to you or Freddie.”

  “You think?”

  Freddie stepped in. “Hey, hey, c’mon. She’s apologized.”

  “Did she?” said Lucy. “I didn’t hear I’m sorry.”

  Saying ‘I’m sorry’ when it really mattered wasn’t Alex’s forte.

  “Being pissy isn’t helping anyone, Lucy. And it’ll ruin the rest of our visit,” said Freddie.

  Alex gulped. “I’m…I’m sorry…and I’ll find a way to pay you back the seventy-two pounds.”

  “I only said that to hurt you,” said Lucy. “It’s okay. I was having a great time up until thirty minutes ago. There’s no need to pay me back.”

  “I hate when we fight,” said Alex.

  “Me too. Apology accepted.” Lucy flicked the cigarette into the street.

  “Okay, good,” said Freddie. “Now make it official. Hug it out, bitches.”

  Alex leaned down towards Lucy who rolled her eyes at Freddie. They embraced briskly and let go. “But I’m still cross about the Florida thing,” said Lucy.

  “Dad wasn’t happy about it, either. That’s why he wrote the cheque—I didn’t ask for it. He wants me to stick it out for a few months longer—he made me promise I’d give it more thought. He thinks that once I’m out of Harry’s flat, things will improve—I’ll be less stressed out, more settled.”

  “Yeah, that’s what we’ve been saying,” said Freddie.

  “I guess, but it all depends on finding somewhere decent to live—and fast.” Alex picked at her cuticles. “Otherwise, I’ll be trading an umbrella for sunscreen.”

  Freddie showed off as much of Manchester as he could. They explored more of the Northern Quarter, including Forbidden Planet, roamed around the central retail district, and snapped photos in front of Manchester Cathedral. They skipped the Arndale Centre (“too many of the same shops we have back in London,” reasoned Freddie), but made a point of finding the Royal Exchange Theatre, and Barton’s Arcade, a stunning iron and glass-domed shopping arcade built in the 1870s.

  Manchester Town Hall proved to be Alex’s favourite. “It’s so gothic and spooky, especially the clock tower. I love it.”

  “They do a lot of film and telly shoots here; that Daniel Radcliffe film Victor Frankenstein, one of the Downey Jr. Sherlock movies. But wait until you see this place in December,” said Freddie. “The outdoor Christmas markets are legendary. You can shop and eat around the city centre and then pay the huge glittery Santa a visit at the Town Hall. He sits atop the entrance…it’s magical.”

  “I had no idea Manchester was so cool,” said Alex.

  Lucy sighed. “Loving all the architecture and culture, but can we finally have a pint? I vote for the Gay Village.”

  “Really?” said Freddie, leading his friends along Princess Street. “What happened to your interest in Castlefield?”

  “Nah, I want to visit your old stomping ground. My one and only visit here was just up and down to see Mark’s play that time. Let’s make up for it. As long as you’re okay with it, Lex?”

  “Lead on. I’m enjoying Freddie’s trip down memory lane.”

  Lucy chimed in. “Maybe we’ll run into your old ex.”

  “He wasn’t that old,” said Freddie. “He was only twelve years older than me.”

  “Cradle snatcher.” Lucy smirked. “I know what you gave him, but what did he give you? A bunch of ancient Madchester records and a broken heart.”

  “And three years of unforgettable memories.”

  Alex grabbed his arm. “Aw, Freddie. Three years…that’s amazing.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Freddie bounced on his heels and rounded the corner onto Portland Street. The girls upped their pace to catch him.

  Twenty-Three

  Alex pushed her chair back from the dining table and patted her mouth with a paper napkin.

  “Helen, you’ve ruined meals for me. Roast potatoes and carrots, gravy, and Yorkshire pudding. I’ll never eat this well again. I still think having dinner on Sunday afternoons is weird, though.”

  “It’s tradition,” said Freddie, savouring his last spud. “We used to have a roast every Sunday at one when I was a kid, and then we’d fall asleep in front of the telly.”

  “You sure you’ve eaten enough? You’ve got a long bus ride down south,” said Helen.

  Alex held her stomach. “I had two helpings of everything except the roast beef.”

  “I’m good, thanks. My plate was heaped three times,” said Freddie. “Meat sweats, here I come.”

  “This guy can eat everyone under the table and never has to adjust his belt a single notch. So not fair,” said Lucy.

  Joan leaned in beside Freddie, who sat to her left. “I’m impressed, love. In my experience, most men who eat like you are football players or builders.”

  “Is that why I don’t have a boyfriend? Do gays think I’m straight because I’m not watching my figure?”

  “I’ve missed this. I love the gays, me!” Joan laughed conspiratorially with Freddie.

  “Well, if you’re all full, more pudding for me.” Michael stood up, clearing an armful of plates.

  “Hello? Have you forgotten your youngest daughter? I live for desser—pudding. That word still sounds weird. I haven’t had an actual pudding in the American sense since I’ve been here. Yorkshire pudding doesn’t count, which…let’s face it, isn’t really a pudding. It’s not a dessert either. Weirdos.”

  Michael chuckled. “I guarantee you’ll like tonight’s pudding, love.”

  Alex and Lucy rose to help.

  “Sit and chat with Joan, girls.” Helen collected several platters and followed Michael into the kitchen.

  Joan sighed. “It’s been such a treat having you here. I don’t know what you’re all doing for Christmas, but I hope you’ll celebrate with us. I may have spoken out of turn, but I’m sure Helen and Michael won’t mind.”

  “I’m in,” said Lucy with a bright smile. “Thanks for inviting me. Now you just have to twist Alex’s arm. She’s the fuckwit—” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, I mean…she’s the one who needs convincing.” She shot a look at Alex.

  Joan leaned back. “Ha! Bloody Nora.” She tossed her napkin down on the empty table. “Lucy, you’re a girl after my own heart. Never apologize for cursing, love. If you can’t hold your drink or swear like a sailor, I don’t want to know you.”

  Freddie and Lucy laughed while Alex hid behind her hands.

&nbs
p; “Now, I have a job for you two.” Joan put her left hand on Freddie’s knee and extended her right hand across the table to Lucy. “You need to help our kid stay on the right path.” She nodded in Alex’s direction. “I don’t want to hear another mention of bloody Florida or leaving writing behind.”

  Alex half-frowned. “Joan…”

  “You’re a clever girl, and you come from strong Manchester stock,” said Joan.

  “She’s right. Theatre’s in your blood,” said Lucy.

  Alex bit her cheek just as Helen and Michael brought in a chocolate cake decorated with swirls of fudge icing, and a carton of vanilla ice cream.

  “Sure your birthday was in July, but we couldn’t let you head back home to London without cake and candles.” Helen’s eyes beckoned. “Make a wish.”

  Joan winked across the table at Alex.

  The end credits rolled on Alex’s third episode of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell. Three hours down, only two more to go until the bus arrived in London at five past nine. Her stomach snarled. She paused her iPad and lifted her laptop bag off the floor. Rustling around for her two packets of chocolate buttons lost inside, a folded piece of paper sliced her finger. She winced at the cut and pulled the prime suspect out of her bag—the folded cheque from her dad.

  Studying the handwritten amount, Alex wasn’t sure the cheque would stretch as far as her dad had hoped. At best, it would cover a deposit and maybe three months’ rent. If she was searching in Manchester, she’d be okay—but London’s rents were comparatively sky-high.

  She traced his firmly crossed Ts and tilted consonants, each letter pressed further into the paper, each more determined than the previous one. His writing, his words—urging her to stick with it…

  ‘Once you get out of that flat, away from that horrible girl, I think you’ll see things more clearly’…

  Maybe he was right. She had allowed Olivia’s taunts and threats to grind her down, to poison her self-confidence. A bully. That’s all she was. Olivia didn’t hold the key to Alex’s future.

  A few months ago, quitting wasn’t an option. Why should it be now? She owed it to her dad and Joan to try again. More than that, she owed it to herself.

  Lucy and Freddie had tried all along to keep her on course—protective, supportive, always in her corner. Eyes closed beside her, Lucy’s head bumped lightly against the window, her headphones emitting Sam Smith. Freddie’s loud snores punctuated the air from two seats away, his long legs bobbing up and down in the aisle whenever a wheel hit a bump on the motorway. Alex’s heart warmed at the sight of her two dear friends. Even if her dream career seemed out of reach, she had already won the lottery with these two.

  A vibration buzzed Lucy’s jacket pocket, interrupting her musical interlude. Her lids crept open. She yanked the headphone cord, spilling her phone onto her lap, the screen’s glow illuminating her face.

  “What?!” she screeched.

  She thrust her phone in Alex’s face.

  “Look!”

  ‘Lucy. Good news—We rocked the Cornwall cheese festival. An A and R guy from Norway signed us to his label. Bad news—we’re moving to Oslo in two weeks. Sorry to leave you in the lurch with the rent. Love and rainbows, Clem and Jasper’

  Lucy beamed. “Cider with Rosie is leaving London!” She smothered Alex in a hug. “Hear that sound? That’s your cell door opening. You’re free!”

  Twenty-Four

  Harry shrugged. “Who knew Scandinavians loved British folk music so much?”

  Alex stifled the cheek-pinching grin that was threatening to overtake her face. A new sense of control electrified her. No more sitting back, allowing Olivia to derail her future—moving out, escaping her venom—just the start.

  She wheeled her two overstuffed suitcases out of Harry’s flat and into the hall where they joined her bulging backpack. Her laptop bag waited for her inside the lounge, basking in a mid-September sunbeam.

  Harry scratched at his temple. “But living in a camper van in the middle of a Norwegian winter…”

  Olivia, still wrapped in her silk dressing gown, hovered behind her boyfriend, a steaming coffee and the Saturday paper in her grasp. She glared at Alex over Harry’s shoulder.

  Alex bounced back into the flat and adjusted her Batman baseball cap with a snap of her wrist. “I know, right? They told Lucy living simply would feed their creative juices; make their music more grounded or earthy or…something. When the spring festival circuit starts, they’ll be ready to roll. Literally.”

  She peeked back through the doorway, catching sight of Lucy reaching the top of the stairs. Lucy pulled the straps of Alex’s crammed backpack onto her shoulders and winced as it kicked heavily against her back. She weaved like a drunk college kid, then regained her balance. She acknowledged Harry with a polite wave.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a tea or need a hand with your stuff?” asked Harry, waving back.

  “Nah,” Alex smiled at him knowing that Olivia couldn’t miss it. “It was kind of you to let me push back my moving date a few weeks to coincide with Cider with Rosie leaving Lucy’s.”

  Freddie stomped up the stairs and landed with a pout. He grasped a suitcase handle in each hand, and bumped and banged down the stairs towards the front door and the waiting taxi.

  Olivia’s face pinched tighter with each slam in the stairwell.

  “I’m just sorry I haven’t been home much. Bespoke’s been off the charts. I haven’t had time to breathe,” said Harry.

  “Don’t I know it,” said Olivia, reminding everyone of her presence.

  Harry sniggered and smiled at Alex. “Shame you couldn’t stay longer, but I understand why you’re going. A larger bedroom, your best friend? You’d be mad to pass that up.”

  “You’ve been wonderful hosts these past four months.” She tossed her laptop bag onto her shoulder. Fibbing to Harry had become commonplace lately, though it still didn’t sit well.

  Tom stomped into the front room clad in only his boxer shorts. He bumped into his sister and hurled a scowl at her. “Why didn’t you tell me she was leaving? Cheers, Olivia.”

  “I didn’t hear you come home last night.” She juggled the newspaper that Tom dislodged from her arm.

  “Who’s going to feed my newfound Lucky Charms addiction, eh, Alex?” He wrapped himself around her shoulders, squeezing her close. “Maybe I’ll see you at Broadway Market sometime. Or at the Royal Court. Give me a shout if you want a theatre buddy, yeah?”

  Alex smirked at his boozy aroma. “Will do. Thanks, Tom.”

  “And if you want me to proofread your plays, Alex, just say the word.” Olivia took a dainty sip from her cup and sat on the arm of the purple sofa.

  Harry swiveled in place, nodding to his girlfriend. “That’s my girl. I’m so glad you two got to know each other.”

  Alex sucked in a quick breath and widened her eyes before Harry turned back. “Yeah…”

  “So, this is it, then.” Harry ran a hand through his hair.

  They both extended their arms at the same time. He lingered in their hug. “I’m always here if you need me, okay? Don’t be a stranger.”

  Chin on Harry’s shoulder, Alex met Olivia’s stare, but didn’t blink or look away. “I won’t, I promise.”

  Olivia’s eyes narrowed. Tom dropped down on the sofa, shaking its frame and unsettling his sister’s perch.

  “Before I forget…” Alex rifled through her hoodie pocket. A set of keys clinked in her hand. She handed them over with a big grin. “Thanks, Harry.”

  “Anytime. See ya.” He stood in the doorway, watching her leave.

  Tom hollered from the sofa as he crinkled the pages of Olivia’s newspaper. “Bye, Miss America.”

  Olivia curled her lip. “Bye, Alex. Best of luck with your next play.”

  Lucy pushed the last of Alex’s bags into her new bedroom. “I hope you didn’t mind that we didn’t come in to chat. I couldn’t be held responsible for my tongue. It has a mind of its own.”

/>   “Fine by me,” said Alex. “Olivia hung around like a bad smell. Heaven forbid I spend five minutes alone with Harry.”

  She dropped backward on the bare mattress and bounced several times. “A real bed. And a window and bookshelves…”

  “It’s definitely brighter and bigger than the bat cave at Harry’s, and your female flatmate’s much friendlier, too. Shame there’s nothing here to match the titillation of Tom’s midnight sexcapades.” Lucy winked and skipped out of the room.

  Freddie breezed in and flopped down beside Alex on the bed. “I’m famished. Time to pay your movers. A lovely bacon butty or sausage roll would be ace, thanks.”

  “You dragged two suitcases down, then up some stairs. Hardly moving, Freddie.”

  “That’s my cardio for the day. I’m knackered. I think I pulled a muscle, too.”

  “Lightweight,” said Alex.

  Lucy stamped up the stairs and into the room. “Here’s a room-warming gift, courtesy of Cider with Rosie.” Several pointy green arms stretched out in all directions from a huge clay pot.

  Alex sat up. “Why would I want that? It looks like an octopus but with…spiky bits?”

  “Or a bloody Triffid,” said Freddie.

  “What’s that?” asked Alex.

  Freddie smiled. “Google it.”

  Lucy shook her head. “It’s an aloe vera plant. It wouldn’t fit in their camper van. Freds, you can have one, too.”

  He leaned on one elbow and adjusted his glasses to get a better look. “And let Moriarty fight with it? No, thanks. Take it to work. Your New Age sandwich bosses will probably chop it up into a salad or something.”

  “That’s a crap gift,” Alex pouted.

  “I’ve got something much better than that horticultural horror show.” Freddie stuck his hand into the back pocket of his jeans and yanked out his wallet. “Feast your eyes upon these gems.” He held up four tickets, which Lucy tore from his hand. Alex followed their flight path with keen interest.

  Lucy shifted the clay pot on to her hip, inspecting the tickets. She smirked at Freddie and handed them to Alex.