What Happens in London

by Jen McConnel

  I turned my head, wishing the water would drown him out, but the memories kept coming. Water trickled down my hips in scalding rivulets, and I remembered the first time he’d called me a fat cow. I couldn’t have been much older than Gracie; it was one of my earliest memories. The water was unbearably hot, but I didn’t care. I stayed in the shower until my skin was pink and raw and the water had started to cool, but I wasn’t any closer to figuring out a solution than before.

  I also wasn’t any further away from the scars of abuse I’d left behind when I fled to London. All I knew was I couldn’t go home.

  Wrapping the towel around my body, I pulled Mrs. Johnson’s hair dryer out from under the sink. I hadn’t bothered with my hair since I took the job, not because I realized kids didn’t care, but because I simply didn’t have the time. But if I was going to be homeless the next day, I decided that I might as well look human.

  By the time my hair was dry and I left the bathroom, the flat was quiet and dark. I slipped into my room, but instead of sleeping, I pulled my laptop out of my bag and propped myself up in bed, searching all the online classifieds I could find. I didn’t know if I was looking for a job or a miracle, but by the time the sun was up, I hadn’t found either.

  Bleary eyed, I got dressed and packed my things. I cringed when I realized how few clean clothes I had; I should have done laundry last night after Mrs. Johnson fired me.

  Oh, well. I shoved the dirty clothes into the bottom of my bag and checked under the bed twice. Considering I’d been at the Johnsons’ all spring, I had acquired surprisingly little; there hadn’t been time to spend the money I made, and other than trips with the kids, I hadn’t done any shopping in London. Heck, I hadn’t even done any sightseeing.

  Maybe all that would change now.

  Chapter Four

  Gracie, Bailey, and Mrs. Johnson were all sitting in the kitchen when I emerged with my bags. Mrs. Johnson smiled at me.

  “Here,” she said, handing me an envelope. “That should be everything.”

  I didn’t open it to check. Even though she’d fired me, I trusted her. “Thanks.”

  Gracie came around the table and gave me a hug. “We’ll miss you, Sarah.”

  I patted her head, surprised to find my eyes filling with tears. “I’ll miss you, too.”

  “Will you come back and visit?” She tipped her cherubic face up at me, her freckles bright against her porcelain skin, and I almost lost it.

  “I don’t know.” I glanced at Mrs. Johnson, and she paused, considering.

  “You’re always welcome to visit, Sarah, if you ever find yourself in London again.”

  I nodded at her. “Thanks.” Bending down, I gave Bailey an awkward hug in his high chair. “Bye, little man.”

  Mrs. Johnson walked me to the door. “Have you made your arrangements?”

  I nodded. “Yes,” the lie came easily. “I fly out this afternoon.”

  “Well, that’s for the best then.”

  We stood there on the stoop awkwardly for a minute, but then she patted my shoulder. “Good-bye, dear.”

  The door swung shut as she stepped back inside the apartment, leaving me standing outside alone.

  Lifting my bag, I walked down the steps. The street was quiet; even on a weekend, the neighborhood the Johnsons lived in felt secluded, despite being near the center of London. Remembering the envelope Mrs. Johnson had handed me, I turned a corner and sat down on a wrought iron bench to see how much money I had. My paychecks had all been direct deposited to an account I opened when I got to London, but Mrs. Johnson must have decided to give me cash for the last one.

  I opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of thick, colorful bills. It was much bigger than I thought it was supposed to be, and glancing around to make sure I was alone, I hurriedly counted the money. Two thousand pounds! I counted it again, gaping. That was, like, over three thousand dollars; she was only paying me eight hundred pounds a month. Had she made a mistake?

  For a minute, I debated going back and asking her, but then I shoved the money back in the envelope. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little extra cash. My fingers brushed a scrap of paper as I put the money back, and I pulled out a little note. I skimmed it quickly, and then I shook my head.

  “Let’s keep things between us without bothering the agency. Good luck.” I sat back on the bench and squeezed my eyes shut for a minute, thinking. I had two thousand pounds in cash, and another two in the bank from my months as a nanny. I also had an unspent gift certificate for a flight home, if and when I decided to take it. Holy shit, I was loaded!

  Suddenly excited, I popped off the bench, tucking the envelope deep into the front pocket on my bag. Looking around, I took in the charming row houses for the first time. A black car drove down the street on the wrong side of the road, and a smile spread across my face.

  I didn’t have to go home. I was going to stay and explore London.

  ~

  I took the Underground to Piccadilly Circus because it was one of the names I recognized on the subway map. When I got there, I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been to worry about what to do next. Of course I didn’t have to go home. I was in London, wasn’t I? How many times in my life would that happen? It wasn’t like I was a kid anymore; I’d be nineteen in a few weeks, so for all intents and purposes, I was a real adult. And adults don’t have to go home if they don’t want to.

  The square was packed with people and traffic, and for a minute, I gaped at the red double-decker busses loaded with tourists fighting their way through the most congested roundabout I’d ever seen. It was amazing, but I realized I couldn’t stand there staring forever. If I was going to stay in London, I needed a plan. Holding more firmly onto my purse and tightening my grip on the handle of my suitcase, I rushed across the street toward a bookstore I’d spotted when I emerged from the Underground.

  No one paid me any attention as I wandered through the packed store, and eventually, I found the travel section. There weren’t many books about London, but I grabbed a slender volume with a picture of the London Eye on the cover and thumbed through it. First, I thought, I need a place to stay.

  Somebody behind me cleared his throat, and I looked up, surprised.

  “Did you lose your book?” A guy about my age stood there, watching me. His black hair was cut short, and it stuck up wildly from his head. I noticed two silver rods in his right ear, like a pair of staples. I’d never had anything pierced before, but the staples looked kind of hot, even if they were probably painful. He was dressed head to toe in black, and while it should have looked silly, there was something sort of charming about the guy. Like Johnny Cash, without the guitar. His accent wasn’t Cash, though: it was all Ringo.

  “What?” Smooth one, Sarah. I tried again. “Did I lose what book?”

  He gestured to the guidebook in my hands. “People don’t usually come in here looking for travel guides to London. I assumed you’d lost your book.”

  “Oh. Um, I never actually had one to begin with.”

  He raised an eyebrow, and I realized that his eyes were aquamarine. “That’s ballsy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You traveled here without a guidebook? Did you have a plan?”

  I flushed, conscious of how blotchy my pale skin looked whenever I got embarrassed. “Oh no. Nothing ballsy about it. I, um, had a job here, but now . . . ,” I trailed off, wondering why I was sharing my personal drama with this guy.

  He hesitated. “Are you looking for work?”

  I shrugged. “Not really. Just wanted to do a little sightseeing now that I have some free time.”

  He chuckled. “And you started sightseeing in a bookstore?”

  I shrugged, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I’ve always loved bookstores,” I babbled, looking anywhere but at him, “and I mean, well, I figured I needed a travel book before I could really start sightseeing.” Embarrassed, I bit my lip and tried to stop talking.

  “Oh.” He rubbed the back
of his neck. “That’s too bad. We’re hiring, I think.”

  “We?”

  He pointed to the name tag around his neck. Carson. “Yeah. I work here.”

  “Oh!” Now I felt like a real idiot. “That’s cool. Do you like it?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “Most of the time. It’s brill, I guess. At least I get discounted books!”

  “Brill?”

  “Brilliant. Although I wouldn’t tell any of my mates that I like this place; they’d be all over me for that.” He winked at me conspiratorially.

  I shifted awkwardly, and then I realized I was still holding the travel guide. “I guess I should buy this, then, huh?”

  He laughed. “Only if you think you’ll need it.”

  “Probably.” I hesitated, but then I stuck out my hand. “I’m Sarah.”

  His grasp was warm when he took my hand. “Carson.”

  “I know.” I pointed to his name tag, and he grinned.

  “Well, now we’re even. You know my name and where I work, I know your name and that you don’t want to work.”

  I laughed. “That’s not what I said.”

  Carson flashed me a wide smile. “Whatever you say.”

  I followed him up to the cash register and paid cash for the travel guide, carefully tucking the envelope back into my bag. “Where’s the best place to eat around here, anyway?”

  His grin broadened. “Are you asking me on a date?”

  “What? N-no,” I stuttered, “I’m just hungry.”

  Carson laughed. “I’m hungry, too. I get my break in an hour, if you can wait.”

  My stomach growled. Embarrassed, I shrugged and looked away. I’d been too upset to eat anything before I left the Johnsons’, and I was suddenly aware of how hollow my stomach felt.

  “Or not.” Carson was still smiling when he handed me my bag. “There’s a great little Ethiopian place around the corner.”

  “Thanks.” I risked looking up at him, and my eyes locked with his teal gaze. “Um, maybe.”

  “If you change your mind, just meet me outside in an hour.”

  I nodded dumbly. “Maybe,” I repeated.

  “Maybe’s good enough!”

  He waved as I left the store, but my stomach was jumping around like crazy. What had just happened? Had he actually been flirting with me? I stood there for a minute outside the bookstore, until someone jostled my arm as he passed, and then I shook myself. Carson had been cute, with his aqua eyes and his lilting accent, but there was no point getting my hopes up.

  Chapter Five

  Ignoring Carson’s offer to meet for Ethiopian, I parked myself in the first pub I came to, wedging my bag under the tiny table and getting the guidebook out to figure out my next step. I nibbled an order of salty, greasy fish and chips while I skimmed the book. The food was heavenly; Mrs. Johnson was big on local and organic foods, and her kids ate amazingly healthy things, but I’d always had a soft spot for fried foods. Something about growing up in the South warps your palate, I guess. As I licked the grease off my fingers, my dad’s voice threatened to push into my mind, but I busied myself with the guidebook, trying to ignore the biting things he’d say if he could see me now.

  Even though I felt like I was loaded, I didn’t want to blow all my money on a hotel. If I planned to be here awhile, I needed to make my funds stretch. I could always get another job, I reasoned, but for right now, I just wanted to be a tourist. I scanned through the budget hotel and hostel listings in the guidebook, and my eyes landed on the entry for the Official London Bar and Youth Hostel. The review was short, but the price listed made my eyes bulge. Only ten pounds a night!

  Flipping to the map at the back of the book, I finally figured out where the hostel was located. It was down by the river, and it looked like it was sort of near the Globe Theatre. Hurriedly, I settled my tab and stuck my book back in my bag before heading out into the street.

  The tube stop was near the bookstore where I’d met Carson, and I glanced at the store wistfully before I turned away. No reason to pretend he’d been interested in me. Still, it had been nice to imagine he was flirting with me. My boy action had been virtually nonexistent, ever since my dad called me a whore in front of my first and only date when I was sixteen.

  Shaking my head, I told myself that the sooner I stopped thinking about my dad, the better I would feel. If I couldn’t get away from my past here in London, I couldn’t escape it anywhere.

  I had to change trains twice to get to the other side of the Thames, but I made it without incident. I was starting to get the hang of this whole traveling alone thing, but it would be a relief to stop dragging my suitcase around. The wet smell of rotting wood greeted me as I emerged from the Underground, and I pulled out my map and tried to orient myself. I took a few wrong turns, but eventually, I found the street the hostel was on. I almost walked by it, but the sign on the second story of the gray-stone building caught my eye.

  I hesitated for a moment. From the street, it didn’t look like a youth hostel; it looked like a bar. The day was warm, and the tall wooden shutters had been folded back, opening up the storefront to the street. Even though it was barely noon, the bar looked packed. I checked the sign again, and then looked at the guidebook. Finally, I shrugged.

  Nervously, I entered through the narrow wooden and glass door. There wasn’t a hostess stand or any kind of reception desk, so I finally pushed my way to the bar, trying to keep my bag from swinging into any of the patrons. A girl with long dreadlocks was behind the counter, and she nodded at me as she finished filling a couple of pints from the tap. She delivered the drinks to a pair of older guys at the end of the bar and then walked back toward me.

  “Need a room?”

  I nodded, relieved. “Is it that obvious?”

  She jerked her finger at my bag. “Most folks who come in here to drink don’t bring their luggage with them.”

  “Oh.” I felt really, really stupid. “Yeah, of course.”

  “I’ll just need to see your passport. How long are you staying for?”

  I hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m sort of figuring it out as I go.”

  She shook her head, her dreads swinging. “Not gonna work. We take payment up-front.”

  Feeling put on the spot, I tried to decide how much time I wanted to stay in London. “I guess a week then?”

  “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  God, this girl had an attitude. “Telling. But if I want to stay longer, can I?”

  She shrugged. “As long as you pay up.”

  Glancing over at the customers, I made sure they weren’t paying any attention to me before I pulled the envelope out of my bag. “How much for a week?”

  “Eighty pounds.” She leaned over the bar, looking bored.

  I frowned. “That’s not what my guidebook said.”

  “We’ve raised the rates. Take it or leave it.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll take it.” I handed her a crisp one-hundred-pound bill.

  She tucked it into her apron and pulled out a twenty. “Here. I’ll show you the dormitory.”

  I followed her to the back of the bar, where a set of narrow black stairs reached up to the second story. They were steep and uneven, like they’d been built before people bothered measuring things, and I was panting by the time we got to the dormitory. The girl shot me a look, and I tried to make the sound of my breathing less audible.

  She gestured to a door. “There’s an empty bed in this one.” Handing me a key with a scrap of plastic bag tied through it, she added, “There’s no light’s out here, but there’s breakfast in the bar each morning, free of charge. The WC is down the hall, but make sure you don’t take more than a five-minute shower; the hot water runs out fast, and everyone has to share.” She sighed. “That’s it, I think. If you need anything, ask one of the other girls.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  She nodded and headed back down the stairs. I was starting to regret my decision to stay there, but since
I’d already paid for a week, I decided to make the best of it. I inserted my key in the lock and opened the door.

  Sunlight streamed into the narrow dormitory room, illuminating the bare floorboards and rows of bunk beds. “It’s like a scene out of Dickens,” I grumbled, looking at the stark room. A bunk in the far corner of the room didn’t have anything on it, and I moved gratefully toward it, tossing my bag on the lower mattress. This certainly wasn’t the kind of place I would want to hang out, but at least I had somewhere to sleep.

  I dug my envelope and passport out of my backpack, and then I hesitated. I didn’t want to carry that much money around with me, but I also didn’t want to leave it here in a room full of strangers; there was no telling what might happen. Finally, I rolled half the money up in a pair of socks and tucked it back in my bag, and I stuck the rest of it in my purse. Maybe I should swing by the bank and deposit it into my account.

  Putting my passport into my purse, too, I headed back out into the summer sunshine. There was no point waiting around in the hostel; I had a city to explore.

  Chapter Six

  It still felt incredibly strange not to have anything to do; for the past three months, my days had revolved around Gracie and Bailey. I hadn’t really seen anything in London yet, and when I left the hostel, I was overwhelmed with choices. Since I was near the river, I decided to walk along the Thames and maybe cross one of the bridges back to the main part of the city.

  The day was warm, and the banks of the river were crowded with people. I wondered idly how many of them were locals and how many of them were tourists like me. Some people it was easy to tell; I guessed that the group of teenagers sitting on the low brick wall beside the river, dangling their feet and smoking cigarettes, probably lived in London, and the older couple with binoculars around their necks and straw hats was probably on vacation. I wondered if I was as easy to label as a tourist.

  I walked along, enjoying the warmth and the sunshine, trying not to stare at all the iconic buildings I passed. It was like a post card had come to life, I thought, as I walked past the huge Ferris wheel, the London Eye, and spotted the top of Big Ben across the river.