A Girl Called London

by Clare Lydon

  Alarm slithered through Sophie as the new arrival sailed into the lift, heading straight for her. Unable to stop in time, the woman stuck out her hands to break her momentum, but only succeeded in grabbing Sophie’s left breast and her right shoulder, slamming into her like a one-woman tornado.

  There was a thud as she came to a standstill, and then, due to inactivity, the lift doors slid slowly shut, leaving Sophie and the woman pressed together, with the rest of the world completely sealed out.

  Sophie let out an “oomph!” as her back crunched into the mirrored wall, her body pressed into the glass — and all because this woman was in a hurry. Her ribs shuddered and she gasped for breath. The brunette’s blue umbrella dripped silently down her trousers and onto her foot.

  Pain sizzled through Sophie, quickly followed by incredulity at the gall of this woman: she’d been holding the lift, there had been no need for her to run so fast. But clearly, life ran to this woman’s agenda and her agenda alone.

  And then, barrelling straight into the back of Sophie’s annoyance was a duelling emotion: lust. An attractive woman was pressed into her, one hand on her breast, and no matter what a massive idiot the woman was, Sophie still had eyes and her body still responded. And right now, a zap of desire hit the bull’s eye between Sophie’s legs, just as the woman eased herself off Sophie, untangling her hands from Sophie’s breast and shoulder, and then not quite knowing what to do with them.

  She took a step back and eventually let her gaze drift up to Sophie’s eyes, biting her lip and wincing.

  Sophie stared into her deep green eyes, marbled with blues and greys.

  And then her annoyance rose to the surface as she realised the woman was yet to apologise.

  In the same way she failed to say thank you earlier.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Sophie asked eventually, pushing herself off the wall with a giant heave, forcing the woman to take a step back as she did so. “I was holding the lift, and then you barrel in, nearly crushing me in the process.” The bit of Sophie’s brain that lodged attraction was jumping up and down and waving its arms, but she steadfastly ignored it.

  The woman, who was a touch taller than Sophie, shrugged, before seeming to realise that wasn’t an appropriate response. She followed it up quickly by raising both hands to her chest, palms facing out, and lifting her eyes to meet Sophie’s.

  “I’m so sorry, I just really wanted to get this lift. Are you okay?” she asked finally. The woman was grimacing as she spoke, and Sophie wasn’t surprised: Sophie was winded and she was sure the woman was, too.

  “Would it matter what I answered?” Sophie asked. Their faces were still inches apart and up close, the woman’s cheekbones were even more chiselled than Sophie recalled, her skin flawless, even after everything that had happened this morning.

  Which only angered Sophie that little bit more, seeing as she knew what a state she must look. “You were rude to me at the station, and then you turn up in my lift, landing on me. And why are you in my lift — you’re not following me, are you?”

  The woman brushed herself down, before rolling her shoulders, gripping one and wincing before she replied. “Of course I’m not following you, I’m just having a really bad morning and I keep running into you.”

  “You can say that again,” Sophie replied, pointing a finger to her chest. “You might want to try looking where you’re going and slowing the fuck down before injuring anyone else, particularly me.” She paused, shaking her head. “Honestly, wherever you’re going will still be there in five minutes.”

  The woman grimaced, her hand cradling the back of her neck. “Sorry, that came out wrong. A bit like when you asked if I was okay earlier at the station after I fell over.” She blew out a long breath, avoiding Sophie’s gaze.

  “Just slow down for a start,” Sophie replied, still bristling, pushing her glasses up her nose. She’d had bad mornings, too, but it didn’t mean she steamrollered everyone in her path. “And try being a little nicer when people try to help you — it goes a long way.” She paused, before leaning over and hitting floor 20. The lift began its ascent, making a whizzing noise as it did.

  The woman’s gaze drifted back up to Sophie’s, and held it for a few beats.

  Looking into her eyes, Sophie’s skin prickled and her mouth went dry. This woman’s gaze was making her feel hot and exposed, and she wasn’t sure she liked the reason why. She should be mad at her, but Sophie could already feel her annoyance fading, being replaced by curiosity about who she was and why she was in such a hurry.

  The lift glided to a halt, announcing it was at floor 20, and Sophie pried her gaze away, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were flaming red and her face could do with some make-up. She decided it was best to look away and ignore her appearance next to this woman: she might be rude and obnoxious, but she still looked like she’d just stepped off a shoot for designer jeans.

  Instead, Sophie pressed the door open button for the second time in as many minutes to hold it there. “Which floor do you need?” she said, indicating with her head towards the lift panel.

  The woman licked her lips, her flecked brown hair falling in front of her eyes, her face crinkling as she stepped backwards and took a deep breath. “Floor 30,” she said, stuttering slightly, before reaching out with her hand and cradling Sophie’s elbow.

  At her touch, Sophie drew a deep breath, staring at her elbow which felt like it was glowing red.

  “And I am sorry, it was totally my fault. I hope you’re not too hurt.” The woman’s face spelt apology now, and Sophie tried to regulate her breathing, shrugging it off as if she nearly got flattened in her lift every day.

  “If I need a new set of ribs, I’ll know to come to floor 30 with the bill,” Sophie said, before her curiosity got the better of her. “Are you visiting friends or have you moved in?”

  The woman shook her head, standing up straight. “Viewing a flat this morning,” she replied.

  So this could be her new neighbour? Sophie still wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Floor 30 is almost the top, great if you’ve got a river view, which we don’t,” she said.

  “It looked promising online, so I hope it lives up to the hype,” the woman replied. “And if I take it, I promise to be more careful in the lift in future, okay?”

  Sophie smiled. “Make sure you do,” she said, getting out of the lift before looking over her shoulder.

  The woman gave Sophie a shy smile, then stuffed her hands in her pockets and cast her gaze to the floor, then back up again. Hands in her pockets: Sophie’s gaydar twitched. It was just a shame the woman was such a hot mess.

  “Good luck with the viewing,” Sophie said, as the lift doors slid shut.

  “Thanks,” said the woman, giving her a pained smile.

  Chapter Four

  Tanya didn’t recall getting ‘the feeling’ before — but that was exactly what was happening as she stood in the open-plan living room of this Woolwich flat, staring out at the River Thames below. It wasn’t what she’d anticipated after the start to her day, but perhaps the universe was throwing her a bone — and it was one she was happy to accept.

  Her bruised knees and grazed ego were forgotten as she took in the place that could soon be her home: so far, the viewing was living up to its promise. Polished parquet floors the colour of autumnal conkers; a cream kitchen that looked almost brand-new; and breakfast bar stools that gleamed despite the lack of sunshine.

  She’d only been in the door five minutes, but she could already sense her spirit rolling around on the wooden floor, claiming the space as her own. She wanted to move in on the spot, but she knew there might be some other things to consider first.

  She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that opened out onto the balcony overlooking the river, raindrops sliding down its surfaces. She took a deep breath in: the smell of coffee was alluring, and she was grateful for the cup she was holding in her hands. It had steadied her shredded
nerves, helping her focus on what was important today: this flat.

  Jenny had been very clear there were many interested parties, telling her if she wanted to move on this apartment, she’d better do it quickly. This one was pulling on her heartstrings, even though some of her exes would probably say she didn’t have a heart, let alone any strings. But Tanya knew better.

  “So, what do you think?” Jenny was sauntering across the room, her heels clicking on the parquet floor. If Tanya bought this flat, she’d be telling Jenny to take those off straight away. “Done to a high spec, isn’t it?”

  Tanya nodded. “It’s incredible — more than I was expecting.” She put her hand to her heart. “It’s made me a bit emotional. It’s even better than it looks online.”

  Jenny was nodding, a satisfied grin on her face. “Told you. You’ve got all that money burning a hole in your pocket, this could be the one to relieve you of it.” She paused, coming to a standstill beside Tanya. “But remember, I’ve got three other couples viewing it later. So if you want to move, do it sooner rather than later. And you’re in a better position than most.”

  Tanya sucked on her bottom lip. “I know.” She strolled forward to just before the balcony doors, smiling as the river breeze tickled her face. Yeah, she could see herself sitting out here of a weekend, drinking her coffee, reading her tablet, watching the world go by. Well, the birds at least, seeing as she was on the 30th floor. Or maybe she could do some naked sunbathing — it wasn’t like she was overlooked. This almost-penthouse apartment could be just what she’d been waiting for.

  “Can you see yourself here?” Jenny asked, her painted lips inches from Tanya’s as she turned to face her. Not for the first time, Tanya wondered if Jenny was on her team.

  Tanya nodded, running a hand through her shoulder-length hair. She could totally see herself there: it was her time to step into the spotlight, in a whole new area with a block of people to get to know. Including the woman from the lift earlier, although she might have some reputation restoration to do with her. Tanya wanted to know more about her, though: she’d piqued her interest, as well as being gracious after Tanya had been anything but.

  “I can, actually,” Tanya replied. But could she afford the mortgage? Did she have a big enough deposit to put down? She did the figures in her head one more time, but with her gran’s help, she had the collateral. “I think this one, finally, could be it.”

  She turned to face Jenny, scanning the lounge with its built-in shelving lining the walls, great for all her framed photos and treasured ornaments. First to go on the shelving would be the photo of her and her gran in happier, healthier times, before her gran got sick. But her gran wasn’t dead yet, and she had to concentrate on that. And what had she told her the other day? “Spend my money, make me proud.”

  And Tanya was going to follow her advice. She walked through to the master bedroom again, with its muted cream walls, its boutique en-suite, its effortless style. This was exactly what she’d been after: her search was over. She turned on her heel and walked back into the lounge, where Jenny was waiting.

  “I’d like to make an offer. Ten grand under the asking price, so long as he agrees to leave all the white goods and that dining table. Can you do the necessary?”

  Tanya’s heart was pounding, but her words were coming out just fine: loud, strong, in control, like she knew exactly what she was doing. And she was pretty sure she almost did. Tanya was buying her own piece of London real estate, in the process spending the most money she’d done in her entire life, on a purchase that she’d seen for precisely six minutes.

  She spent longer pondering a £60 pair of jeans.

  Did this feel right? Would it go through? Would she get into a bidding war and be gazumped at the last minute? She’d never know until she tried. After all, like her gran always said, you’ve got to be in it to win it.

  Seeing pound signs light up in her commission, Jenny grinned anew. “I certainly can,” she said, grabbing her phone from the kitchen counter and pressing one of the buttons before holding it to her ear. She nudged Tanya with her elbow while she waited for it to connect. “I’m so excited you’ve finally found your flat!” she said. “I’ve got a good feeling about this: it’s got your name written all over it.”

  Chapter Five

  “And what time do you call this?” Rachel asked, walking into the living room just as Sophie added milk to her cup of tea. Rachel was dressed in blue-and-white striped pyjamas, her dark hair was sticking up at the back, showing she’d just got up. But even with that, she was still amazingly fresh-faced: it ran in her family, as she’d told Sophie numerous times. Rachel came from an Irish background, her dark hair set against milky-white skin. She also had the straightest teeth in the history of the universe.

  “I’d call it Cup of Tea O’Clock?” Sophie said. “Want one?”

  Rachel nodded, sitting down on the sofa with a groan. “Of course,” she replied.

  Like most modern London flats, their kitchen sat in one corner of their living room. They had no dining table, but Rachel had a free-standing butcher’s block, which served simultaneously as a wine rack and an island. The lack of a table had also allowed room for Rachel’s massive and soothing mustard sofa, where Sophie had conked out on numerous occasions — and it was what Rachel was sinking into now.

  “It’s also way past your curfew,” Rachel said, but Sophie could hear the smile in her tone.

  “I have a curfew?”

  Rachel nodded. “Since you can’t be trusted to do the right thing. Because getting in at this time means only one thing.”

  “That I got up really early and went for a jog along the river?” Sophie placed Rachel’s tea on the coffee table and sat down next to her.

  Rachel smirked. “In the same clothes you were wearing last night?”

  “I changed already — I’ve had a really productive morning.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “I don’t know when you became such a floozy.”

  “Am I not floozy material?” Sophie asked, her face the picture of innocence.

  “You are now, sitting here all chipper after a night of sex,” she said. “But you’re not when you’re moaning that Helen isn’t giving you what you want, that she isn’t treating you more like a girlfriend,” Rachel replied. “I’ve got nothing against casual sex — chance would be a fine thing — but it’s not casual for you, and I worry about your fragile heart.”

  Sophie smiled at her, rubbing her arm. Rachel always had her back, she knew that. “I know you’re right, it’s just that I like her,” Sophie said. “And she’s lovely in many ways.”

  “Apart from not wanting to have a relationship with you?”

  Sophie stuck her tongue out at her best friend in response.

  Rachel laughed. “Very mature,” she said. “But seriously: picture your ideal romance and I bet it doesn’t look like what you’ve got now. That’s what you should be aiming for — it’s what I do with my affirmations every day.” Rachel paused. “I will find that special woman, I am worthy of love.”

  Sophie smiled: Rachel was all about bettering yourself and self-help. “Yes, but you’re into all that hippy shit. I’m not.”

  “And who’s happier?”

  “I’m happy with Helen,” Sophie said, retreating into a ball on the sofa.

  Rachel snorted as she sipped her tea. “Sure you are.” She nudged Sophie with her elbow. “What would your perfect romance look like?”

  Sophie frowned as she tried to conjure up her ideal relationship, but nothing came. She let her mind wander over her teenage years, her ill-fated outings with boyfriends, her gradual realisation she was more into girls. And then, just as she’d joined the dots, her homelife had been turned upside down and her romantic dreams had stalled. She’d been chasing love ever since, but it had proved elusive.

  “I haven’t really given it much thought, but I suppose what everyone wants — someone who’s there for me, someone to love. Good hair, not an idiot, and ho
t, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” Rachel replied. “But you should know what you want — then you’ll recognise it when it arrives.”

  Sophie let Rachel’s words roll around the room. “You know, you make a surprising amount of sense at times,” she said eventually.

  “High praise from the romance dodger,” Rachel replied.

  Sophie folded her arms across her chest. “But who’s to say me and Helen aren’t destined to be together? You never know what’s around the corner — and she does have good hair.”

  “Do you really think that?”

  “That she’s got good hair?”

  Rachel gave her a look.

  Sophie smiled, before shaking her head. “Not really.”

  “Good, because you can do so much better than Helen,” Rachel replied. “She treats you like dirt and you let her. And I know that deep down you want a girlfriend: a proper, honest-to-goodness woman who might let you stay in her apartment later than 10am.” Rachel paused. “When you do meet someone who’s a game-changer, you’re going to fall so hard, you’ll spin.”

  “Sounds painful,” Sophie said, flexing her shoulder, still feeling the impact of the mysterious lift woman in her bones and in her blood. Her swirling green eyes, her penetrating stare that had reached in and grabbed Sophie’s attention. Did she kick women out at ungodly hours?

  Rachel nudged Sophie with her elbow. “It’s going to be magnificent, I have a feeling. When you do eventually fall in love for the very first time, it’s going to be mega. There will be love songs written about it. Sonnets. Poems. Flash mobs. The works.”

  Sophie laughed. “I love your faith in romance, you know that? You always believe in happy endings.”

  “That’s because happy endings never go out of fashion.”

  Sophie gave a deep sigh before the next words came out of her mouth — and as soon as she said them, she knew they were the absolute truth. “Helen isn’t my happy ending, is she?” She took off her glasses and rubbed her face with both palms, before peeking through her fingers at Rachel. “I’ve got to end it, haven’t I?” Her voice was hardly audible.