“I’m so proud to be in your first play, babe.” Naomi playfully dabbed at the lipstick smudge left behind on Alex’s face. “I never dreamed that we’d work together. Now look at us. Forever connected because of your art.”
“Art? Is that what we’re calling it now?” A clean-shaven Tom in a lilac-coloured tie, white shirt, and slightly wrinkled white linen suit strode up to the two women, smiling widely. He wrapped his arms around both of their waists, but only one was the recipient of a steamy kiss.
“Is this what happens now? No bouquets at curtain call, just big juicy snogs?” Alex laughed and threaded free of Tom’s grasp. “I’ll leave you to it. Have fun, guys.”
Her elegant black lace-up heels tapped down the steps, letting the happy couple go at it from a safe distance. A wave of hot, humid air greeted her at the bottom, the July heat and crush of bodies—four deep at the bar—conspiring to suffuse everyone with a natural celebratory glow. Alex zigzagged towards the spot where Michael, Helen, and Joan stood wide-eyed and laughing with drinks in hand.
“Alex, love, aren’t you glad you didn’t quit?” Michael’s smile practically stretched to Manchester and back. “When the car dropped us off at the front door, I couldn’t help myself. I cried like a baby.”
“We all did,” laughed Helen.
“Seeing Alexandra Sinclair in neon lights above the theatre’s entrance…are you trying to give your poor old Dad a heart attack?”
“Never mind you. What about me?” Joan took a quick sip from her pint of ale. “It’s not every day you have a play performed about your life.” She kissed Alex on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you, love, we all are. I take it you saw your mother’s Facebook post? I always knew she was a braggart, but chasing up her local paper for an interview?”
Alex nodded. “Yeah, the Tallahassee Democrat. Anything to boost interest in her real estate business, I guess. Did you see the photo they used of the two of us? She really had to dig to find that one.”
Joan rubbed her granddaughter’s back. “She’s the one missing out, love.” She peered towards a man standing a few feet away. “See that reporter over there? He wants a word with me, ‘the real Joan’. Wait until I post photos from tonight on Instagram. My followers won’t know what hit ‘em!” She toddled over to the scribe, pint in hand, to bask in her second chance at fame.
“Did you get the bouquet of snapdragons from Robbie?” asked Michael.
“They’re gorgeous! I put them in a vase in the dressing room. I’ll collect them when we leave tonight. I wish he could’ve been here. He said he’d try for closing night if the hospital gives him time off. Glad I never became a doctor. I like staying out late too much.”
“Lex!” Lucy and Freddie bobbed through the crowd, careful not to spill their drinks. “Did you see who’s here, talking to Isabella? Only Amanda Abbington.” Lucy nearly tripped over her own feet in excitement. “Here’s your chance to right a wrong. Go have a word.”
“She’s here with Molly, too—I mean, Louise Brealey. She’s lovely.” Freddie craned his neck back towards the corner nook. “I know you met Loo at the con back in January, but you can play your I’m a Celebrity card now. And then you can introduce me and Lucy.”
“Are you using me, Freds?” Alex laughed.
“Well, knowing the playwright certainly has its benefits. Sobbing through your play, the cute guy next to me handed me a tissue—and his mobile number. Thirteen might become my lucky number.”
Alex hugged him. “Anything for you Freddie, anything.” Her eyes settled on the stairs. “And we’ll meet Loo and Amanda in a sec. There’s someone I have to see first.”
She pulled away from her friends and family, approaching a single figure walking down the stairs.
“I’m so glad you made it,” said Alex.
Harry hugged his friend. “My God, Alex. A standing ovation—twice. Your name lit up outside the theatre. You’ve come so far.”
“Isn’t it crazy?”
“And look at this crowd.” Harry surveyed the room. “They’re all here because of your writing. That’s got to feel good, especially with everything you’ve faced.”
Alex blushed. “Well, ‘that which does not kill us makes us stronger’, right?”
“So true. I hope you don’t mind, but when I sell my flat, I’m mentioning in the listing that a Royal Court playwright used to live there. I think that will instantly give it an increased cool factor. The Hackney hipsters will be biting my hand off.”
“Just don’t divulge that I lived in the closet. I’ve got a rep to think about.” Alex winked.
“I’d never,” said Harry with a smirk. “Hey, did you hear? Olivia’s moved abroad. She’s trying her luck in New York City. London can breathe easy.”
“Tom told me.” Alex leaned in. “Can you believe it? He’s been dating Naomi exclusively for nearly eight months. She tells me all the Olivia gossip, so I’m up-to-date whether I want to be or not. I think Tom’s breathing easier, too. He seems happier, and he’s been going on auditions! Blame lust…or love?”
Harry grinned. “A lot can change in a year.”
“Correction. A year and…two months,” said Alex.
“I thought you were terrible at maths?”
“I still am. Why do you think I’m in the arts?”
“Well, it looks like you’re not the only rising star in attendance.” Harry pointed to three blushing young women squeezing past, clutching autographed theatre flyers.
“Come.” Alex gripped his elbow. “Say hi to Mark.”
Hugs, air kisses, and words of congratulation greeted Alex through the busy bar. As they reached the end of the counter, Mark was saying “thanks for stopping by” to four more fans of his new TV series, the BBC’s latest hit.
“There you are. Hello, stranger.” Mark gave Alex a lingering kiss on the lips. “I saw Naomi and Tom getting busy on the landing. I didn’t want you feeling left out.”
She beamed at her boyfriend. “I don’t. Not with you.”
“Oh, get a room!” Harry laughed. “Who am I kidding? You two don’t need any encouragement. Great to see you, Mark.” He slapped the actor on the back, and the two men shook hands warmly. “So, do you always bring your own fan club with you?”
“Feels like it lately.” Mark widened his eyes. “The morning after the first episode aired, I started getting recognized. It’s been fun—so far. No creepy autograph requests in the men’s loos or people following me—nothing like that, thank God.” He laughed. “Never underestimate the power of a role in a BBC drama.”
“I almost never watch TV and even I’m hooked, so that’s saying something,” said Harry. “When’s the second series being filmed?”
“We’ve already started. I had to beg for two days off so I could be here for Alex.” He squeezed her waist and drew her closer. “This time tomorrow, I’ll be back in Aberdeen. Work’s been mental. Since May, we’ve been apart more than we’ve been together.”
Alex agreed with a small nod.
“Nice to be in demand, though.” Harry smiled. “I hate to be the first one to leave, but I must whip back to Bespoke before last call. I’ll say a quick hello to Michael and Helen, and be off.” He gave his friend a hug. “Congrats, Lex. You did it!”
“Thanks, Harry.” She smiled and adjusted his bent lapel.
“Mark, look after our girl. She’s a keeper.”
“Will do, Harry. Cheers.”
Alex nuzzled into Mark’s neck and gently pulled on his black tie. Her left hand continued its journey down his purple shirt, resting just above his belt. “So, tell me, Mr. Keegan, how does it feel to be back here, where we first set eyes on each other?”
He dropped his left shoulder and pivoted, wrapping both arms tightly around her waist. Face to face, their bodies leaned together, not even a whisper could float between them. “Actually, I’m kicking myself I didn’t snog you right there on the spot. Baggy Captain America t-shirt and all.”
Alex winced. “Ergh, don
’t remind me. I’m lucky you gave me a second look.”
“Well, it wasn’t just about looks, Mouse.” His finger lingered softly over her mouth. “Although there’s a lot to be said for those pouty lips of yours…and how great your arse looks in yoga pants.” He playfully grabbed a handful and winked. “But at the pub, when you spoke in your cute American accent about writing—TOTAL turn on! I said I only liked you for your accent, remember? I told you that on our first date…”
“Our first date? On the Vespa? You consider that our first date?”
“Why wouldn’t I? I asked if you fancied a little London adventure—you accepted. I think the best dates feature new experiences, easy conversation, and the girl you fancy rotten holding onto you for dear life. As beginnings go, yeah—I’d say it was pretty epic!”
“I thought you were lovely, but as for getting it together, we were hopeless.”
“I know.” He pressed his lips against her forehead. “Blame the workaholic in both of us…and certain…extenuating circumstances…”
“To think, I almost ruined our chances. Stupid baggage, getting in the way. Things could’ve turned out so differently. I’m glad you never gave up on me.”
“The course of true love never did run smooth, and all that. But cheer up, Mouse—we made it…and so did your play! Just look at tonight—London is yours. I’m not surprised, not at all. It may have taken you a while to realize it, but you can do anything you put your beautiful mind to.”
He kissed her on the nose. “And if a little corrupting takes place along the way, well, so be it.”
“You’re a bad influence, Mark Keegan.”
“So I’ve been told. But you do realize, don’t you? You’re everything to me, Alex Sinclair. I won’t risk losing you again.”
A twinkle of mischief lit up his eyes. “You and me, we’ve only just begun our adventures together. Vespa Rules from now on: hop on, hold tight, and remember to enjoy the ride.”
Alex laughed and kissed Mark tenderly. She slipped her arm tightly around his waist, leading him towards her family and friends. A discreet new tattoo, a Doctor Who quote in Cocktail Script, peeked out from the inside of her forearm—
‘We’re all stories in the end. Just make it a good one.’
Acknowledgements
It can be a grammatical nightmare when you’re a Canadian writer creating a story about an American gal living in Great Britain, so I hope my Canadian spellings were easy to follow!
Music plays a huge role in my life and in my writing process, so it was natural for me to include specific songs through the novel. Consider their mentions ‘Easter Eggs’ (using the old DVD term) of a sort. If you have a listen to these tunes, you might unlock further insight into the characters’ motivations and thoughts in those particular scenes.
A huge thank you and tons of love goes to my husband, Darren Lee and my sister, Heather Middleton, who read endless drafts, offered clever suggestions, and never made me feel guilty about running away time and time again to London—“It’s for research!”
Cheers to Judy Faulds and Dee Asprey for answering my questions about what it was like for a Canadian and an American moving to London and Manchester respectively. Your early insight was so helpful. Next time I’m in the UK, the hot chocolate, and grilled cheeses are on me.
A very special thanks to Emily Cline, Renate Lameraner, and Gabrielle Domingues who went above and beyond the call of duty—advice mavens, readers, editors, and beloved friends.
To my favourite gals, my partners in fangirl crimes, who share my passions for theatre and pop culture, and friendships beyond borders: Vicki Angel, Charlie Roberts, Paula Wiseman and Cristina Baptista—I love you, girls— “It’s all happening!”
They say you should never meet your idols, but in my case, it gave me the much-needed kick in the pants to start this book. To Stephen Beresford, whose enthusiasm, humour, and thoughtful answers to my questions about writing for stage, screen and TV were just what I needed to commence this journey—thank you! And if you haven’t seen Stephen’s award-winning film Pride, please do. It is everything!
Love and hugs to my family and friends—my ultimate cheerleaders who always believed: Dad, Zoey, Bill & Tobey, Val, Tony & Jason, Sally & Bruce Gibbs, Esther Layland, Sheila MacDougall and Maria Mackay.
Warm thanks to my writer friends: Carolyn Leslie, David Burga, Tracy Abrey and Wayne Barton—your encouragement and advice was much appreciated.
In a story that features pop culture idols, I’d be amiss not to celebrate some of mine. Many are already mentioned in this book, but I’d like to thank Andrew Scott, Ben Whishaw, Louise Brealey, Matt Smith, John Barrowman, Bertie Carvel, Saint Etienne (Bob, Pete, and Sarah), Simon Stephens, and Steven Moffat for their inspiration and talent—and for being kind and generous with their fans. I’m so proud to call myself one.
To my two favourite cities, London and Manchester—I owe you so much.
And to everyone who bought, read and hopefully enjoyed my first novel, thank you! xoxo
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Table of Contents
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright
Contents
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Acknowledgements
If you enjoyed this novel, please leave a review…
London Belongs to Me Page 33
