I eventually managed to disentangle myself.
“First of all,” I asserted, straightening my rumpled shirt. “I’m twenty-six years old, a fully-grown adult. Secondly, I’ve been a ‘real life journalist’ for three years, and finally, I am not a Beeb journo, I’m just doing a guest-spot on one of their radio shows.”
Dad elbowed my mum while they both looked at me indulgently, as though everything I’d just said amounted to me stomping my feet and asking for a lollipop.
I rolled my eyes.
I only stayed two nights, but it was refreshing to be somewhere that wasn’t permanently on in the way only a city could be. A perpetual beat of motion wove it’s way through London like a heartbeat whether it be 3 pm, or 3 am. Cumbria was decidedly less… constant.
It was the perfect reset, but it made me think on Patrick’s words back in February – questioning whether London was right for me. I wasn’t sure if I had an answer to that.
There was also another, quieter part of me that reared it’s ugly head to snidely suggest that perhaps London wasn’t the problem. That perhaps I was the problem.
But that was too much introspection for the three hour train ride back to the city. I shoved it down. Instead, I called Tae, who was on tour with Sol8 in Germany. Since he’d moved into a timezone more aligned with mine, he’d taken to regularly sending me nonsense, like memes, or videos of him and his group doing dance challenges. I pretended to grumble about how often he blew up my phone, but I didn’t really mind.
Since last summer, we’d fallen into the easy habit of a kind of pen pal relationship. Sometimes we didn’t talk for weeks, and then he, or I would suddenly send a block of text, just to catch up. Being in an adjacent time-zone was a novelty.
“Hey Pom, how’s tricks?” He greeted me when he picked up.
“I just spent the weekend with my folks.” I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the countryside stream by.
“Oh yeah? How’s your mum?”
“She’s good. Threatening to get her hair permed now that it’s long enough.”
Tae groaned. “No! Tell her not to! Her poor hair is still recovering!”
I laughed quietly, conscious of the people in the carriage around me. While I wasn’t in the ‘Quiet’ carriage, talking on the phone was still a bit of a faux pas.
“I already told her, don’t worry. How’s Deutschland?”
“Ky, it’s fucking amazing! You should have come like I told you to. The show isn’t for another couple of days, you still could!”
“And like I told you, Mr International, I have commitments in the city.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He sighed. “I guess I just wanted to put eyeballs on my mate.”
I chuckled. “Weirdly graphic. Hey, did I tell you about the Beeb?”
“The boob? Ky, we’re not that kind of friends.” He sounded scandalised.
I rolled my eyes, but grinned.
“Not boob, you boob. Beeb. As in, BBC.”
“No… Ky, are you working for the BBC? That’s fucking awesome!”
“No, I’m not working for the BBC,” I huffed. “Now my news isn’t exciting anymore.”
“Oh. Well, in my defence, that was a pretty fair conclusion to jump to. Come on then, what’s your news?”
“I don’t know if I wanna tell you anymore.” I sniffed.
“Pom,” he cajoled, “come on. Tell your old mate TaeTae-”
“TaeTae?” I scoffed.
“I don’t pick the nicknames, the nicknames pick me. Don’t get distracted. Tell me about the ‘beeb’.”
