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“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 breakfast 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
