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“Yep. It’s like having room service downstairs,” said Freddie. “Greasy carby goodness.”
“Mmmm, carbs. You know what a load of carbs is? A food hug,” said Lucy.
Alex laughed. “It is. My happy place. I could get used to fish and chips twenty-four-seven though.”
“I swear one of my recent flings only stuck around for those delectable fish and chips,” said Freddie. “I yearn for him whenever I catch a whiff of mushy peas.”
“Freddie, do you need a flatmate? I’m ever so tidy and don’t mind sharing household chores.” Half joking, anything would be an improvement over the windowless prison cell Alex currently slept in.
“Sorry, hon, but I’ve got the perfect set-up.” Freddie shook his umbrella one last time, splattering raindrops on the dingy dirt-encrusted linoleum. “My flatmate’s rarely here. He’s a medical resident at University College Hospital. He kips on the sofa-bed when he can’t get home to Reading. I only see him once or twice a week.”
Lucy tugged on the back of Alex’s raincoat. “And before you change your address, dear Lex, I’ve first dibs on this place. I’ve bored Freddie into submission complaining about my annoying flatmates and their grating band.”
“You live with a band? How cool!” said Alex.
“Oh, it’s so not.” Lucy crowded Alex on the top step. “They’re a couple, a folk duo called Cider with Rosie. Their hippy-dippy cooking and vomit-inducing pixie music is doing my head in. I’d leave today if the rent wasn’t so affordable.”
“You mean downright cheap, Lucy.” Freddie winked at her and unlocked the door. “Make yourself comfy, girls…but not too comfy. I just need to feed Jim Moriarty, and then we’re off.”
Freddie’s flat was little more than a small box with a row of shoulder height windows along the back wall. The sparse lounge, painted lavender, contained a grey sofa that might uncomfortably seat three people, and a secondhand oak coffee table. White floating shelves hovered along the far wall, showcasing his Titan collection, carefully curated novels, and his favourite DVDs. A large framed photo with Lucy smiled brightly on the middle shelf, hugged by selfies with Kit Harrington and David Tennant. A small flat screen television clung to the wall facing the sofa along with a framed Madonna poster from her Sticky and Sweet world tour. Underneath, a low wooden rectangle supporting a turntable and speakers housed a sampling of vinyl—albums by the Stone Roses, the Charlatans, and the Happy Mondays lay scattered on the beat-up hardwood floor.
To the right, his kitchen was an afterthought. A row of three Tiffany-blue painted cupboards hung above a short, white counter with a single sink, a tiny fridge, and a two-burner cook top. It faced a breakfast bar, crowded with a crumb-covered toaster, kettle, a pyramid of Pantone mugs, and a plastic mountain of stuffed shopping bags from Topman, Beyond Retro, and Forbidden Planet. His tiny bedroom and a bathroom—with just a shower, no tub—were just to the right of the front door.
Lucy stomped into the flat like she was trying to scare away evil spirits. “Keep that thing away from me.” She planted herself at the far end of the sofa. “I hate black cats. They’re creepy soul stealers.”
“Your cat’s named after Sherlock’s Moriarty?” asked Alex.
The suspicious feline darted underneath the single side table. Alex stooped down, her hands trailing through his velvety hair. “Awwww, I miss our cat so much.”
Moriarty purred and slinked up against her bent knees. “It’s the perfect name, too. You’re a man after my own heart.” Alex laughed. “Marry me, Freddie!”
“Aw, if only, my love, if only.”
“Cats, Moriarty, Doctor Who, you’re my perfect match. Damn it. Why are all the good ones gay?”
“Bless,” said Freddie. “If only you were muscular and male.” He sighed. “One day my dream fella will commit, and I’ll be blissfully ensconced in my little love nest.”
Lucy snorted. “Freddie, you are such an incurable romantic … and a drama queen, but a pretty one at that.”
Alex pivoted to face Lucy. “And you’re a superstitious spaz. What’s next, avoiding ladders, stepping over cracks in the pavement?”
“Always. I have a thing about spilt salt, too.” Lucy created a battle scene with a cluster of Titans on Freddie’s narrow coffee table. “I really hate that black cat. I’m glad you’re on the scene now, Lex. You can be his friend.”
Freddie bent down to set Moriarty’s bowl on the floor. “He needs all the friends he can get. You hate him. Mark’s allergic. My poor fur baby. Okay, let’s go!”
“Not so fast, Titan terror. Did you forget Show-and-Tell?” Lucy sprung from the sofa. “If you’re not bringing your toys, you have to open them here. Now. I’m not letting you sneak away from this embarrassing moment.”
“I suppose I have to give in otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it. Must be quick, though. Can’t keep our Mark waiting.” Waving his arms with a flourish, like a cheesy magician, Freddie snatched Titan box number one from the breakfast bar, singing an old show tune about luck being a lady tonight…
Eleven
A rowdy but jovial crowd basked in the late afternoon sunbeams stretching through the large windows of the Castle pub in Islington. Freddie planned to meet Mark around six at the Pentonville Road hangout for a relaxing pint, before heading to the Old Red Lion Theatre down the street.
Lucy’s hunger pangs proved impatient and wouldn’t wait for their final guest to arrive, so she ordered barbecue chicken wings and fries to share with Alex. Freddie opted for the massive Angus beef cheeseburger. He purchased the first round of drinks at the yellow-painted bar and ambled behind the two girls towards the last available table, tucked into a discreet nook between a wall and the pub’s side door entrance.
“All right, bitches, it’s selfie time.” Freddie scooted the tray of drinks across the distressed wooden table and plonked down on the banquette. He pulled out his phone, snapping a burst of photos cuddled together with the girls—drinks aloft, silly faces, and falling off Lucy’s lap.
He shifted to a vinyl-padded chair on the vacant side of the table. Lucy pushed the banquette’s yellow, purple, and green throw pillows out of the way and pointed at the price of the cheeseburger on the menu, giving Freddie an incredulous stare across the table.
