Page 2
She didn’t answer.
Michael swallowed, stifling his worry. He chose his words cautiously, careful not to send Alex into a deeper anxiety spiral. “We’ll get through this, love—together…one breath at a time. We’ve dealt with a distance larger than 200 miles, haven’t we? I’m here for you. Now, what belongings do you have?”
She blew her nose three times into a tissue, flinging the room into a jerky spin reminiscent of an out-of-control amusement park ride. “I have my laptop, one of my plays… but my playwriting books, my notes for my latest projects… are lost. I need them for what I’m writing now…”
Alex stalled for air, dropping her head on her knees.
“Aw, sweetheart. You’ve got your laptop and your play—that’s what you need most, isn’t it? Do you want us to come down there? We can catch the train and be in London in a few hours.”
Tears played follow the leader down Alex’s cheeks. She craved a hug from her dad and step-mum Helen, but having them travel down from northern England on a rescue mission? No way. That would prove she couldn’t look after herself. Besides, she hated asking for help. Ever.
“No, Dad, really…it’s okay. Hearing your voice makes me feel better. I pictured my arrival differently, you know? I hope this screw-up isn’t a sign that moving here’s…a mistake. I…can’t go back…”
“I know, love, I know. It’s easy to feel like everything’s against you when something unexpected happens, but things will be okay. You’re doing great; I’m so proud of you…did you speak to an airline rep?”
“They gave me a form…”
“Honey, fill out the form, hand it in, and then go to the flat. Your luggage will turn up. The airline will be tracking it, but you need to be at your flat to receive it. Is Harry meeting you?”
Harry Manville was a twenty-three-year-old British exchange student Alex met last September during her senior year at Atlanta’s Emory University. She had spotted the tall fellow standing alone, his shoulders rounded and his eyebrows scrunched over a map. When she asked if he needed assistance, his gloomy frown melted away into an eager smile. Lost on campus, he couldn’t locate his business lecture hall. His posh London accent captured Alex’s heart. How could she not help this charming British stranger?
That moment sparked a deep friendship. Harry offered Alex brotherly advice and in exchange she teased him like the cheeky little sister he never had. They even looked alike: their blond hair and blue eyes often misled people into thinking they were siblings, an untruth they playfully adopted with over-the-top Cockney accents on more than one occasion.
Harry’s arrival in her life felt like serendipity, a happy accident. His companionship came when she needed it most. Just before Halloween, Alex suffered a betrayal by the person she trusted most, the one person she believed would never hurt her. The discovery ate away at her; the ‘Freshman Fifteen’ she had carried for two years whittled away, and she considered dropping out of college. Harry lent a sympathetic ear at all hours of the day and night, held her hand through panic attacks, and pulled her back from the brink. He also suggested that she follow her passions for writing, theatre, and London, and move abroad after May graduation. She could stay in a spare room in his flat, a temporary home until she could find something permanent. With barely a year’s rent money saved in her pocket, his hospitality would grant her twelve months to make her mark. Harry offered an escape from her problems, and a glimmer of hope for the future.
Now aged twenty-one, the ink on her Bachelor of Arts degree still wet, Alex had taken that leap, turning her back on the only life she had ever known, looking for a new start. Arriving in London was the first piece of the puzzle and each decision, each chance taken, would snap into place, unlocking her picture perfect future.
Talking about Harry, Alex’s gasps for air lessened, and the room no longer resembled a Tilt-a-Whirl, but the receding attack left her with the usual souvenirs—self-consciousness, exhaustion, embarrassment.
“Yeah, he’s meeting me. I can’t wait to see him. I wish I had a change of clothes though. I’m stuck with yoga pants, a baggy tee, and my denim jacket. Talk about making a terrible first impression. I’m meeting his girlfriend for the first time today. She’ll think I’m a total loser.”
“Don’t be silly. She’s lucky to be meeting you. Now…are you feeling better?”
“I am. Thanks, Dad.”
“Fill out that form and go see Harry. Call me tonight once you’re settled?”
“I will. Love you.”
Alex tapped the screen’s red button and blew her nose one more time. She peered into her compact’s mirror and cursed the pimple sprouting above her right eyebrow, as well as yesterday’s decision to wear mascara. Raccoon eyes stared back at her. She dampened a tissue with bottled water and dabbed her eyes, the melted black makeup staining her hands. Several tries later, she almost looked human again.
The lost baggage form proved tedious, but Miami’s airport code had a sense of humour—MIA. MIA luggage? A tired giggle escaped from Alex’s throat. Oh, the irony. She rose to her feet, shaking the pins and needles from her legs. She pushed through the restless throng suffocating the courtesy desk and handed her completed form to the now frenzied airport worker.
“Miss Sinclair, your bags will arrive at the address provided within seventy-two hours. Unfortunately, I cannot give you a more precise ETA. Your patience is appreciated.” Ms. Dark Roots pulled her thin red lips into a taut pout and with a single finger jab sent her sliding eyeglasses back to the summit of her ski sloped nose. Fancy an argument? Like a Rottweiler guarding a juicy bone, her expression snarled ‘approach at your own risk.’
Alex raised her right hand in surrender and backed away, her nerves still on high alert. She scraped her hair into a lopsided ponytail, then dragged her backpack and laptop bag towards the elevators leading to the high-speed train into Paddington Station. Hunger growled in her stomach, leaving it hollow and tight—a wobbly combination. So much for her breezy trans-Atlantic re-invention.
She sagged into her seat on the train, hauling her bags to safety under her feet. She opened Facebook on her phone. Wonder Woman smiled back at her—Alex’s profile photo, complete with black wig and corset, taken during cosplay at last year’s Florida comic con. Her alter ego, the woman she wanted to be: in control, powerful, confident with nary a worry. If only life could imitate art. Her thumbs flew over her phone’s keyboard, drafting a status update when an unexpected text burst onto the screen.
“Alex. Welcome to London. So sorry. Last minute change of plans…”
Two
It was Harry.
‘I have an emergency at the club. I’ll be stuck in Mayfair today. Don’t worry. Tom’s home. He’ll give you the grand tour! See you later. H x’
Alex gulped. Shoot. A stranger—instead of Harry? Who’s Tom? Harry had never mentioned a Tom. She played with the silver A charm on her necklace. Is Tom the landlord? A roommate? Harry and his girlfriend lived there, but did others as well? Alex rubbed her throbbing temples. She’d only been in London for a few hours, and old demons were yanking her backwards. Get a grip, girl.
