London Belongs to Me Read online

  “You don’t like Lady Gaga? But she’s so creative, so theatrical.” Alex laid a napkin on her lap. “I thought you would like her…because…”

  “What? Because I’m gay? That’s…homophobic.”

  Alex’s face dropped.

  “I’m kidding.” Freddie squealed. “No, I don’t like her because she feuds with my beloved Madonna. Mess with Madge, you land on my ‘Don’t Play’ list. Simples.”

  He removed the bun from his burger, slicing the oversize patty with his knife and fork.

  “But didn’t Lady Gaga and Madonna kiss and make up?” asked Lucy.

  “Doesn’t matter. The damage has been done.” Freddie looked at Alex. “So…about Manchester…let me know when you plan to visit. I’d love to tag along.”

  “Promise, I will.” Alex raised her voice in order to be heard over the increasing din in the lively pub. “But I must warn you that Joan—I mean, my grandma. I’m so used to calling her Joan—will want to meet you both.”

  “You call your gran by her first name?” Freddie blotted excess relish from his upper lip. “Do all Americans do that?”

  Alex licked barbecue sauce from her fingers. “No, she always told us to call her Joan instead of Granny or Nanny because she felt too youthful to carry around those so-called ageist ‘labels’. She’s feisty. Dad says some people find her quite intimidating. I’ve only met her in person once. She’s this unfiltered force. Lucy, you’ll love her.”

  “I love her already. My kind of woman.” Lucy tossed a chicken wing bone onto the pile on her plate.

  “What play are you seeing tonight, Freddie?” Envy lingered in Alex’s question. She desperately wanted to devour as many productions as possible, not only for pleasure but also for any lessons they might hold for her. Watching professionals in action—the best way to learn.

  Freddie rummaged in the inside pocket of his jacket. “I wish we had extra tickets so you two could come along. It was at the Fringe Festival in Edinburgh last year. Some two-hander starring Mark’s friend and some old guy, I’m not sure of the title. Mark’s bringing the tickets. At least I hope he is. He’d forget his head sometimes if it wasn’t attached.”

  He put on a pair of black-framed eyeglasses and checked his phone. “Speaking of Mark, I hope he arrives soon. I haven’t heard from him all day. He’s rubbish at keeping in touch.”

  “You wear glasses? They suit you,” said Alex.

  “Cheers. Yeah, I don’t wear them all the time. I’m a bit farsighted…unlike some people I won’t mention who aren’t visually compromised and only wear glasses to make themselves look more intelligent at work.”

  Lucy smirked and gave him a cool dose of side-eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “But anyway…we’ll see something together,” said Freddie. “Isabella Archer’s new play opens this autumn at the Almeida. It’s supposed to be really innovative and weird from what Mark’s told me.”

  Alex sputtered on her drink, unsure if she heard him correctly. “Isabella Archer? THE Isabella Archer? The one who won her third Olivier Award last month?”

  “That’s the one.”

  She smacked the table. The shock rippled through the drinks causing them to shimmy on the spot. “Oh my God. She’s my favourite writer, Freddie. I own all her plays. She’s been the darling of London’s theatre scene for, what, the past ten years? I mean, who wins an Olivier with their first play at twenty-three?”

  She stopped to catch her breath. “Go see her play? I’d die. I would. I hope you’re not pulling my leg—”

  “I’m not. I wouldn’t. Look, if you don’t believe me, ask Mark…”

  Freddie stood up to hug a guy with jet-black hair who had wandered up to the edge of their table. Alex did a double take. It was the handsome Irish stranger from the Royal Court lobby. Freddie delivered a roguish smooch to Mark’s forehead. The guys laughed, but she couldn’t make out what the two friends said to one another. Raised voices and the venue’s blaring music made for a deafening mix.

  He was a few inches shorter than Freddie and a few pounds heavier, but then everyone weighed more than Freddie. The scruff of whiskers above his lip and along his jaw line matched his friend. He playfully slicked his hair back away from his forehead and leaned across the table to embrace Lucy, giving her a peck on each cheek.

  Sitting down across from Alex, he looked at her with his soulful brown eyes. They lingered a little too long as if they were memorizing every freckle. He shrugged off his beat-up leather jacket to expose a loosely knotted purple tie and a fitted, white dress shirt that hugged his chest when he moved. He leaned over the table full of drinks and plates, extending his hand to her. His handshake was warm and firm. She hoped he couldn’t detect her racing pulse.

  “Hello, I’m Mark Keegan. You must be Alex.”

  Laugh lines gathered around his eyes, and his smile was easy and genuine, just as she remembered from the theatre.

  “Have we met before? You look familiar.”

  Alex’s stomach did a back flip. “Were you at the Royal Court box office last weekend?”

  He blinked rapidly and then his eyes widened in recognition. “That’s it. Wow, small world.”

  Lucy laughed. “What a crazy coincidence.”

  Mark’s kind welcome and charming Dublin accent captivated Alex, but before she could say much more to the soft-spoken Irishman, Freddie broke the spell.

  “And here I thought I was introducing two strangers. Fancy a pint, Mark?”

  “Hell yeah. My shout. Same again, ladies?” Mark leapt off his chair and disappeared into the swarm of Saturday night revelers.

  “Mark’s an actor,” Freddie blurted out to Alex as soon as his friend was out of earshot. “You two should have plenty to chat about. He’s done everything: radio dramas, voiceovers, theatre. I met him in the Beeb’s canteen two years back. He was taking a break from a radio play, and he scooped the last cheese and onion pasty. I could’ve throttled him, but he was too bloody adorable. And did you check out that arse? He looks so fit in those black trousers.”

  Alex smirked, unsure of Freddie’s relationship with Mark. Was he Freddie’s partner? No mention had been made about a current boyfriend, so she didn’t know what to assume. She wasn’t great at reading new people.

  When Mark returned with a tray of drinks, Freddie commandeered the conversation. Alex noticed that Mark didn’t mind. He seemed perfectly at ease letting Freddie take the lead. He interjected his thoughts a few times, but he wasn’t boisterous or an attention-hog like some actors tend to be. And when he laughed, his entire body became committed to the cause. He threw his head back with abandon and chuckled explosively, a contagious giggle that enticed everyone to join in the hilarity.

  Alex yearned to share a few words with him. Why did she feel so needy for someone she’d just met? Sure, he was attractive, but lots of people ticked that box. But she didn’t hang on their every word as she did with him. She studied every smile, nod, and laugh. His presence, intoxicating. If only Freddie would take a breath or a bite of his burger and give her a chance…

  “Alex, are you enjoying London so far?” Mark grabbed a moment to jump in while Freddie chewed a large mouthful.

  “I love it.” She sat up straight. “I can’t believe I’m actually here. It doesn’t seem real.”

  “I was the same when I first arrived five years back. Everything is brighter, more vibrant than you expect. I’m still discovering areas of the city I never knew existed.”

  Lucy jumped in. “That’s because you’re a workaholic.” She turned to Alex. “We rarely see him.”

  The Irishman raised his eyebrows. “Oh, come on now. I’m not that bad. Can’t a guy love his job?”

  Alex smiled. “Did you see the play at the Royal Court?”

  “I was supposed to. I got called into work, and had to return the tickets.”

  “See?” said Lucy. “Workaholic.”

  Mark swatted across the table at Lucy, liberating a chip
in the process.

  “Did you see it?” he asked Alex.

  “I did!” Alex’s eyes danced at the memory. “It was terrific, and the Royal Court…” She placed her hand over her heart. “…blew me away. Freddie says you’re an actor.”

  Mark nodded. “I am. Graduated two years ago from the Guildhall School of Music and Drama. I’ve done some theatre and plenty of voiceovers for adverts back in Ireland. A few radio plays for the BBC. Auditions keep me busy. What about you?”

  Freddie adjusted his glasses and volleyed back into action. “Alex is a playwright and a geek. Today, we baptized her at Forbidden Planet, and in turn she dragged us around…wait for it…the London bloody Transport Museum!”

  Alex sank into the banquette. Nerd alert.

  “Really?” Mark winked reassuringly at her.

  Freddie went to take another bite of his half-eaten burger but thought better of it, so he could continue talking. “I particularly enjoyed fighting through screaming rug rats to climb on the double-decker buses on display. And those wax mannequins in period costumes on the Tube carriages really freaked me out.”

  “God, they were awful. I swear the shaggy-haired one looked like a cross-eyed Boris Johnson. This Covent Garden talk reminds me, it’s Show-and-Tell time…” Lucy reached towards her feet and dropped a plastic bag on her lap. “Go on, Lex, show us what you bought.”

  Alex opened her handbag, looking for her purchase, but Lucy’s eye caught a glimpse of something red and plastic.

  “What’s this?” Lucy snatched the rectangular packet and held it aloft. “Twizzlers? Are you always packing sweets?”

  Alex grabbed it out of Lucy’s hand and chucked it into her bag. “It’s a comfort thing, and they’re hard to find here.” She shot an anxious look through her bangs at Mark, who smiled kindly.

  She flashed a small transit pass holder. “All I could afford was this Sherlock Oyster card cover. Maybe Benedict’s lovely face earns me a few points for trying?” Her eyes wandered back to Mark.

  He held her gaze. “I’d say it does.” Alex bowed her head with a slight grin.

  “Never feel bad, never. It was your first go.” Lucy stole some fries off Freddie’s plate. “At least you didn’t buy an Elementary cover. Then I would’ve been concerned. You can’t compare the two shows. It’s like Empire Strikes Back versus The Phantom Menace. Just wait until you get your first pay packet. You’ll be loading up on Doctor Who Titans just like Freddie.”

  “I refuse to accept that comment as an insult.” Freddie raked his hand dramatically through his hair and swigged his pint.

  “Mark, he did the bloody blind box thing again,” said Lucy. “Came away with three Oods and a Cyberman. I think the collectible gods threw in the Cyberman to prevent Freddie from doing something desperate. I laughed so hard I nearly gave birth to my kidneys.”

  “Oods…remind me?” Mark scratched his head. “I’m not into Doctor Who like you lot.”

  Lucy wiped her mouth with a napkin and launched wide-eyed into her explanation. “They’re the aliens that have human bodies, squinty reptilian eyes, and squid-like tentacles that hang down where their mouths should be. They carry these glowing orbs that are attached to their bodies by an umbilical cord.”

  “Ah, right. Those guys.” Mark shook his head at his friend. “Yeah, that’s not a score, Freddie.”

  Freddie couldn’t defend himself. His cheeks bulged with hamburger like a squirrel hoarding peanuts.

  “Never mind the fandom failure over there.” Lucy dove into her plastic bag. “Correct me if I’m wrong, and I’m sure I’m not: I win the prize for best find today.” She held a Marvel comic a loft called A-Force #1, a cluster of colourful female Avengers vaulting from its cover, faces unflinching, and arms thrust defiantly towards the heavens. A powerful golden glow radiated their unspoken confidence. “It got a great review online. Alex, you can borrow it after me if you’d like.”

  The blonde nodded enthusiastically. Any book or comic celebrating strong female characters immediately claimed the top spot on her must-read list.

  “While we’re on the topic of writing…Alex, it’s brilliant you’re a playwright.” Mark’s tone was soft and indulgent.

  “Well, I hope to be if all goes to plan.”

  Mark leaned closer, so he’d be heard above the booming pub soundtrack. That scent again…the same one from the Royal Court lobby. He smelled yummy.

  “I’m in awe of people like you, bringing an idea to life on the page. If you ever want your work-in-progress performed, let me know. My actor mates and I love workshopping new plays and helping up-and-coming writers.”

  His dark eyebrows rose to punctuate his point. “We’re all in this performing lark together. Theatre’s a team sport. Us creative types need to support each other, you know?”

  Alex blushed at his unexpected offer. “Thanks so much. I’d like that.”

  His kindness sounded genuine, and in Freddie’s words, he was adorable, but what if he wasn’t everything that he seemed? She’d trusted an actor before and look how that turned out.

  By 7 o’clock, Freddie and Mark were on their way to the theatre, leaving Alex and Lucy to juggle a pressing decision—whether to pool their resources to purchase two more drinks or to call it a night and disperse into the brisk London air. In lieu of a decision, Lucy bit her lip and stared at Alex.

  “What? Do I have ketchup on my face or something?”

  Lucy cocked her head to the side, eyebrows raised as if to say “you know what I mean.”

  “Mark?”

  “Pretty fit, right?” said Lucy, toying with her petite ruby and gold ring, a cherished heirloom from her gran.

  Alex stalled cautiously, not knowing if Lucy had her eye on Mark or if they had history. And she still wasn’t sure if he was seeing Freddie. So confusing…

  She went the non-committal route. “He’s lovely, yeah.”

  “I knew it. You drooled over him like he was a cartoon steak!”

  “I did not.” Alex carefully chose a different line of questioning. “Are he and Freddie…together?”

  Lucy burst out laughing, knocking over her pint glass. “Freddie wishes!”

  She snatched the remaining napkins strewn in front of her, blotting up the fast moving trickle of beer. “No, they’re just mates. Mark’s as straight as they come. Freddie flirts with him in fun, and Mark thinks it’s endearing. He’s a cool guy, very protective of Freddie. I have to admit, I fancy him. I mean, how could anyone not? And as far as I know, he doesn’t have a girlfriend…”

  Twelve

  Alex swore she had spring fever. Excited and optimistic, she had kicked the sleepy haze that had troubled her during her first week. Now with two weeks at the Tasty Munch café under her belt, she slapped together bacon ‘sarnies’, chip ‘butties’, and all-day breakfasts with aplomb. Regular customers raved about Alex’s scrambled eggs and milky coffees, and began asking the owner for her by name. She even scored a few healthy tips. Best of all, she finished her shift at one and had plenty of energy left to tackle several hours of writing at home.

  It didn’t feel like the first Friday of June. It felt more like July in Tallahassee based on the short-sleeved tops and light fabrics Londoners were sporting. An unexpected heat wave hugged the southeast of England, and London basked in its humid embrace. Jolly Brits skipped out of work early, spilling onto pub sidewalks across the city, toasting the beautiful weather with their well-earned pints and glasses of wine. Sunbathers, rambunctious toddlers, and excitable canines dotted every grassy square and park. Even Londoners temporarily stuck commuting underground seemed softer, more open and friendly. The dank days of May were truly over, and London couldn’t wait to chuck its brolly and wiggle its toes in the lush green grass.

  Alex popped on her sunglasses and practically danced out of Tasty Munch. The weekend starts now! At seven, Freddie and Lucy were meeting her at St. George’s Tavern on Belgrave Road. A short walk from Lucy’s office, it made for the perfect venue fo
r a departing coworker’s leaving do. Payday was still another week away, and cheap entertainment options were currently few and far between. The promise of free booze and sausage rolls—too tempting to ignore.

  And then tomorrow, Bespoke’s official opening bash, but first, a date with a coffee shop and her writing. A quick pit stop at home for her laptop, and she’d be all set.

  She glanced at a guy wearing a helmet, straddling a red Vespa parked by the curb.

  “Alex?”

  She slowed her pace, lifting her sunnies from her eyes and following the voice, escaping on the breeze.

  “It is you!” The mystery man lifted the visor and pulled off the helmet, revealing a beaming, tousled Mark. His black hair pointed up and sideways while his brown eyes sparkled in the sunlight. “Hello, stranger!”

  “Mark! You live around here?” Alex’s eyes darted between his smile and the scooter.

  “Not even close. My flat’s in East Acton…west west London.” He smoothed down his hair, the grin taking up permanent residence. “I had an audition at the Hackney Empire this morning. Crazy running into you here.”

  “I live beside London Fields, and I work there.” She pointed to the tiny Mare Street café.

  “You landed on your feet. Hackney’s cool.”

  “It’s only temporary. I’m staying with a friend.”

  “Well, that’s the best way to feel at home in a new city, living with friends. When I moved here, an actor mate set me up with his spare room. I think he wanted me there as a buffer from his other flatmate. He’s a dentist, so he drones on about bicuspids and root canals. Wanna trade?”

  Alex tugged on the hem of her Batman tee, pulling it towards the pockets of her skinny jeans. “Ooh, that’s tempting, but he’ll probably confiscate my licorice. Can’t have that.”

  “That’s true.” He leaned forward. “What are you doing now?”

  “Just off to do some writing. Why?”