London, Can You Wait? Read online

  Lucy furrowed her brows, glancing at her friend’s phone. “Lex, maybe you should call your Dad back.”

  Alex crossed her arms. “Well?”

  “You mean my straightener burn?” Lucy smirked. “Nope, Harry’s work.”

  “What…?” Alex’s finger poked her phone’s calendar, counting weeks. “That means you two have been at it…” Her eyes bulged. “…for eight weeks?”

  Lucy winced. “Try ten.”

  “And you’ve been mad at me for hiding things. I thought you just hooked up over Christmas or something!”

  “Don’t rub it in. I already feel like a shit friend. Harry wanted to tell you straight away, but I thought it best to stay mum for a bit. Plus, I must admit, sneaking around was fucking hot.”

  “If you’ve been dating for ten weeks, it’s not just sex, Lucy. Why aren’t you at his parents’ dinner? Surely he asked you?”

  Lucy shuffled her drawings. “It’s a family thing.”

  “Sausages in the garden, a post-meal stroll around the Berkshire estate, Scrabble in the library—Harry’s family are rich, sure, but they’re really nice.”

  “Sausages in the garden? Is that a euphemism?”

  Alex laughed. “Maybe that can be your code for sex from now on.”

  Lucy’s phone lit up. “Bloody hell, that’s number seven.”

  “Mark again?” Alex caught a flicker of a frown on Lucy’s face. “You shouldn’t be in the middle. I’ll text him—”

  “No.” Lucy smacked her hand on top of Alex’s. “You want time, I’ll buy you time.” Lucy’s phone buzzed again. “For fuck’s sake, Mark.” She snatched it from the drawings. “Oh, it’s Naomi. What…? Oh…Mark’s been texting her, too. Want me to text her back?”

  “Why is he bothering Naomi? I can understand Freddie—”

  “I spoke to Freds while you were napping. Mark called him first thing.”

  “So, everyone knows?”

  “Lex, Freddie and I debated telling you…”

  “What have you guys done?”

  “We haven’t done anything. Mark’s flying back. He’s landing in two hours.”

  “I don’t want to see him.”

  “I figured as much. I told Freddie to tell Mark to do one.”

  “I’m serious, Lucy.”

  Lucy’s shoulders deflated. “We argued about something else, too.” She tapped her phone and turned the screen around, exhaling forcefully. “I found this.”

  NationalMail.com boasted a New Year’s Eve exclusive: an article with photo after grainy photo of Mark and Fallon pressed against a wall at the Stag’s Head. Each image was credited to a name Alex didn’t recognize, a fan most likely cashing in on her heartbreak.

  Alex’s phone lit up with yet another text.

  Honey, we saw the photos. Worried about you. Call me. Dad x

  “Well, that’s it then. If Dad knows, everyone does.”

  Alex closed her eyes and laid her head on the table.

  Eighteen

  Later that evening

  Freddie set a plate crowded with runny fried eggs, veggie sausages, and beans in front of Mark.

  “Urgh, mate.” Mark gagged. “The smell.” He covered his nose and mouth then slumped his shoulders away from the cramped breakfast bar in Freddie’s north London flat.

  “Care for something else?” Simon raised an eyebrow. “A conscience, some truth serum, an STI test?”

  “Si…” Freddie scowled.

  Mark squinted, avoiding Simon’s leer. “What are you doing cooking a fry-up at nine at night anyway?”

  “Turning your stomach, are we?” Simon’s knife and fork slashed his eggs and a blob of Worcestershire sauce into a swirly abstract design of yellow, white, and brown. “Imagine how Alex feels.”

  “I haven’t thought of anything else.”

  “You still determined to head to Lucy’s?” Freddie gulped tea and patted Moriarty, slinking along the counter past a cluster of prosecco bottles and two trays of half-eaten vol-au-vents. The black feline poked his nose in one and recoiled.

  “Why are you encouraging him?” Simon slapped organic honey on his multigrain toast as he stared at Freddie. “What’s he going to say to her?”

  “I am in the room, Si.” Mark nudged his untouched plate.

  “Unfortunately.”

  Freddie whipped off his Licence to Grill James Bond apron. “Si, please—not helping!”

  Mark’s eyes began to water and itch. Great. Thanks, Moriarty. “Whenever you’re ready, Freds. Thanks.”

  “We can go now.”

  “Yeah, cheers, Freds.” Simon nodded. “You swan off. I don’t need any help cleaning up your party.”

  “This mess can wait. Mark’s can’t.” Freddie grimaced at his best friend. “God, remember that New Year’s when I barfed up a brewery, snogged the face off some rando at midnight?”

  “Ah-choo! Ah-choooo!” Mark half-smiled, holding back another sneeze. “Yeah, sickly suave, mate.”

  Freddie caught Simon’s disapproving eye. “I was much younger then.”

  “How’s your hangover?” Mark asked, cradling his throbbing head, his allergy to the cat not helping.

  “Barely there.” Freddie sipped his tea. “We went for Thai, and I skipped the bubbly at Bespoke. Stuck with white wine and switched to club soda when we got back here.”

  “Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”

  Freddie laughed and went to scrape Mark’s plate into the trashcan. “Have you remembered anything more—”

  “Christ, how good would your memory be after absinthe, tequila, and God knows what else?”

  “So why should Alex take you back?” Simon’s honey-covered knife clanked against his plate. “Talk about falling down the rabbit hole of celebrity self-indulgence. Hardly reliable boyfriend material.”

  “Simon!” Freddie said over his shoulder.

  “No, he’s right. I deserve that.” Mark’s bloodshot eyes stared at a photo of Alex, Freddie, and Lucy on the wall. “But I have to make her see, this was all a horrible, drunken mistake. I never meant for anything like this to happen…”

  “You’re wasting your breath.”

  “Si, I know, okay. I know. You don’t care, but hopefully Lex still does. I hope I haven’t completely lost her trust, though I wouldn’t blame her if I have.” He leaned on the counter, propping up his head with his hand. “Christ, I’ve really fucked up. I’ve kept her in the dark about so many things.”

  “Like what?” asked Freddie.

  “Austria for starters…”

  “Oh, Keegs, you didn’t—”

  Mark clenched his jaw. “No, Freds, I didn’t. I fell on some rocks—from a horse.”

  Freddie sputtered on his tea, all colour draining from his face. “What? You could’ve died.”

  “I dislocated my shoulder. Hit the ground at the wrong angle, and it just…popped. Lex was always worried about the stunts.”

  “For good reason.”

  “Freddie, if she knew the truth, she would have panicked the entire shoot. It was better that she didn’t know—for both of us—but in Brum, she saw the bruising. I tweaked the truth a bit, but it wasn’t a total lie. I said I fell during a snowball fight.”

  “A snowball fight?”

  “Sometimes it’s best to gloss over the details, you know?” Mark sniffed his runny nose. “The occasional white lie? It’s easier on both of us…”

  “I guess…” said Freddie.

  “But this time, I should’ve been completely straight with her. If I had told Lex the truth about that chemistry read, who Fallon was, the sex scenes in the script—”

  “You have sex scenes with her?” Freddie lowered his tea. “Proper nudity with grinding and orgasm faces—the whole meal deal?”

  “Yep. Bare butts, breasts, you name it, you see it—well, almost see it.”

  “Shit, Keegs. No wonder Lex got blotto when she found that out. You should have told her.”

  He slowly
sat up. “Don’t you think I know that? She wouldn’t have been too happy about it, but at least it wouldn’t have come as a shock last night. New Year’s would have been completely different.”

  “Mate, be honest.” Freddie leaned on the counter. “Did you know Fallon was coming to that read?”

  “No. Fuck!” Mark winced, unable to get comfortable. “I don’t stay in touch with her. I haven’t seen her in four or five years. Last time I saw her was at her mum’s funeral. I didn’t know she was coming to read until she showed up. I have wanted to tell Lex everything, but she hasn’t been herself lately. That morning in Manchester, Lex seemed…distracted. I asked her what was wrong—a few times—but got the same answer every time: she hates us being apart. Maybe there’s more to it?”

  “Like that’s not enough…” Simon chomped his toast.

  “You haven’t noticed anything, have you?” Mark rubbed his eyes. “Panic attacks?”

  Freddie shrugged. “Don’t think so.”

  “Carrying this movie has been so fucking stressful. When Lex left the party, I just…let loose. I thought I could handle it…stop before I went too far, yeah? I didn’t plan on blacking out or waking up starkers in Fallon’s bed.” His Adam’s apple bobbed heavily. “I lifted the duvet, saw her naked…I just…knew we must have…” He closed his eyes tight and inhaled slowly. “I panicked—got out of there as quick as I could. It was only when I slipped into bed beside Alex, I realized I could still smell Fallon’s perfume on my skin.”

  “Oh, Mark,” said Freddie.

  Simon stopped chewing.

  Mark glared at Simon. “Fallon was as horrified as I was, by the way. She was in tears, worried about Duff.”

  “Duff?” asked Simon.

  “Some rugby player she’s been seeing a few weeks.”

  “Nice, more casualties.” Simon snorted. “Where was he when you had your tongue down Fallon’s throat, then?”

  “He left after Lex. Curfew—” Mark fought back a sneeze. “He had a match today.”

  “So, you just missed spending New Year’s in a full-body cast.” Simon shook his head. “Luck of the Irish.”

  “Right. Come on, Mark. Get ready to grovel.” Freddie slammed his mug on the counter.

  Nineteen

  Alex tugged a scratchy afghan—Lucy’s first and last attempt at knitting—up to her chin. Riddled with dropped stitches, it looked like Joseph’s Technicolour Nightmare. The weathered cotton of her plaid pajamas, paired with Mark’s sweatshirt, offered warmth, and yet the combo left her unsettled, reminding her of what she was at risk of losing—her boyfriend, their cosy home, his loving family. She stared at the TV but saw nothing, the events of the previous twenty-four hours playing on a loop in her head.

  “Let her ’ave it, judges!” Lucy howled, watching the precarious layers of dark chocolate goo and spongy gateaux fall to the floor. “That cow is finally going to get hers.”

  Her laugher shook the loveseat as her hand dove into a banged-up box of Cadbury Heroes, chocolates left over from Christmas. Discarded Dairy Milk and Twirl wrappers flew out of the cardboard and settled on her bathrobe-covered boobs. “Lex.” Lucy nudged her friend’s knee with a sock-covered foot. “Want a baby Wispa?”

  Alex swallowed, but the acid taste in her mouth lingered. “I feel like I could be sick again.”

  “I’ll get you a bin bag in case you can’t make it upstairs.” Lucy dumped the chocolate box on the loveseat and padded into the kitchenette.

  BANG BANG BANG BANG!

  Alex jumped.

  “What the fuck?” Lucy shouted from the kitchenette.

  “LUCY?! IT‘S MARK.” His voice, hoarse and urgent, emanated from the front door.

  Alex’s breath stalled as her heart took flight, its escalating beats filling her ears.

  Lucy ran into the room, foisting a hastily snatched plastic bowl in Alex’s face. “Stay there.”

  Alex gripped the bowl, lowering it to her lap. Holes? Her puffy eyes focused on the object in her hands. “A strainer?”

  Lucy peered through the sheer curtains. Henshaw Street, dimly lit by the streetlights across the road, seemed darker than usual thanks to a bone-chilling downpour. Freddie was to Lucy’s right, his usually out of control bangs hidden under a woolly hat, his shoulders hunched in his black wool coat. He planted his hands in its pockets and swayed from foot to foot like a fidgety penguin. Mark wasn’t visible, but from his loud announcement, it was obvious that he stood in front of Freddie in the small alcove by the door.

  Freddie’s head turned, his water-splotched eyeglasses catching the light streaming from Lucy’s lounge. “I see you, Hardy. C’mon, open up. It’s bucketing down.”

  Lucy leapt backwards, her curls flying over her shoulders. “Lex, hide in the kitchen. I’ll get rid.” She tightened her robe and strode through the doorway that separated the lounge from the small landing at the bottom of the stairs. She flicked a switch, the outside light illuminating the front window. Staring at the door, Lucy’s chest rose and fell as if she was running an uphill marathon.

  Alex left the strainer on the loveseat and grabbed the DVR remote, hitting pause on all the sweet talk of cakes and fondant icing. The constant tip-tapping of icy rain on the window filled the silence.

  BANG BANG BANG!

  “Lucy, open the door, please?” The tone of Mark’s voice hinted that he wasn’t really asking a question.

  Lucy squinted through the door’s peephole. Mark’s tense brows and dark eyes stared back underneath the brim of his United cap. “Jeez, Mark! Are you trying to wake up all of Southwark?”

  She pried the door open a few inches, just a sliver of her face revealed. A blast of frigid air brushed past her into the lounge. Alex hugged herself, willing the sweatshirt and pajamas to fight off the chill, but goosebumps riddled her skin.

  “Lucy, thanks.” Mark’s shoulders relaxed with a sigh.

  “Thanks? Are you kidding me? I’m this close”—she held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart—“to having your balls on a plate. You’ve got a nerve showing up here.” She clasped her robe tightly at the neck. “Besides, you’re wasting your time. I don’t know where she is, and I’m hungover, so if you don’t mind—”

  “Nice try.” Mark blew on his cupped hands as he weaved back and forth. “I can tell when you’re lying. Your voice gets all high and you forget to swear.”

  Lucy scrunched up her face. “You want swearing? I’ll give you swearing: she’s not fucking here!”

  Alex left the loveseat and followed Mark’s voice, staying out of Lucy’s sight behind the wall. Despite her heavy heart and the chill creeping around the corner, part of Alex yearned to move closer to hear his comforting Irish lilt again. Her present, her future—everything—depended on his words and whether she chose to believe them.

  Mark pulled out his phone and hit redial. The Sherlock theme burst from Lucy’s loveseat. Alex’s eyes flew to her phone.

  “Please…” Mark’s lips trembled. “Let me speak to her.”

  “Piss off, Mark—”

  “Christ, you can’t keep me from seeing her. Let Lex decide, eh?” Mark dropped his phone into a pocket, wrapped his arms around his waist, and craned his neck, trying to see past Lucy. “Mouse, I know you’re upset, but please, babe…come to the door.” His voice faltered. “I need to see that you’re all right…please.”

  Alex picked at the peeling wallpaper and slumped against the doorjamb. Ignoring his texts and voicemails was hard enough but this? What to do? Her bruised heart screamed, Go to him, but how could she live with herself if she gave in so easily? She pulled away, but Mark’s sweatshirt kept her tethered to the wall. A loose thread had snagged on a sneaky nail and wouldn’t let go.

  “Mark, she’s not interested.” Lucy shoved the door closed.

  “Wait! Lucy! FUCK!” Mark threw his arms into the air and turned to Freddie, lowering his voice. “Any chance you still have a spare key?”

  “Lucy, at least let me in. I’m dying for
a wee—”

  Mark gave his friend a double take. “Mate, really?”

  Freddie shrugged. “Too much tea.”

  Alex fought with the sweatshirt, but the more she struggled, the more the stitching unraveled.

  “Better hurry, Freds,” Lucy hollered. “The kebab shop closes at eleven. You’ve got five minutes.”

  “Lucy, come on, please.” Mark pounded his fist on the door.

  Outside, a sudden brightness lit up the right side of the front window. Alex froze.

  “Nice one, Keegs. You’ve woken up the widow next door. Go. HOME. Before she calls 999.” Lucy stared through the peephole. “Do you want a New Year’s mug shot? The press will love that.”

  Mark slumped. “Lucy, I’m not giving up. As long as Lex is here, I’m staying.” He clamped his mouth shut, tugged his cap over his eyes, and plunged downwards, revealing a blurry blob of Freddie standing in his shadow.

  “Mate, what the hell?” Freddie’s voice rose. “You can’t stay here. You’ve already got the hangover from hell. You…You’ll catch the lurgy.”

  Lucy stomped past Alex to the window, yanking the curtains aside. “Mark, stop being a knob!” She turned to Alex. “I think that daft boyfriend of yours is having a sit-in on the doorstep.”

  Freddie shivered, drenched from the unrelenting rain. “Great! You’ve totally lost the plot, and I’m bursting for a piss…” He turned towards the road, keeping his back against the driving wind and rain. “I’m off! Give me a bell if you’re coming back to ours.”

  Lucy banged on the window. “Don’t even think of leaving him here, Freds.”

  “It’s okay, you go,” said Mark, nestled into the alcove. “You don’t need to stay.”

  A bolt of lightning lit up the skies. With a violent clap of thunder, the dark sky doubled its efforts to drown the streets of London.

  “Ah, fuck it! Shift your arse…” Freddie sunk into the alcove where Mark had hunkered down, disappearing from Lucy’s view.

  With a sharp tug, Alex finally freed herself from the wall. Fuck! A huge tear now separated the bottom hem from the shirt. She retreated to the stairs, torn between running to or running from Mark.