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“Morning, ladies. Ooh, that was a heavy night.”
He spotted Alex’s half-eaten breakfast and rubbed his temples. “I don’t think I can tolerate brekkie. When did your friends become so boring, Olivia? I had to get totally polluted to have any semblance of a good time.”
Olivia rolled her eyes and shoved Alex’s unopened Frosties out of her way, plucking a box of fair trade muesli from the top of the microwave. She poured a stingy amount into a bowl.
“You seemed to have no complaints last I saw you. Who was that awful girl you were snogging? You barely came up for air.” A splash of soy milk topped her breakfast.
Tom ignored his sister and flopped down onto the chair beside Alex, picking up the ATM receipt. His bleary eyes focused on the handwritten phone number. He pulled a cigarette from a packet on the table.
Olivia shot him a withering dose of side-eye. “Obviously you liked what you sampled, if the moans coming from your bedroom at 4 a.m. were anything to go by.”
Ick. Alex’s room shared a wall with Tom’s. Thank goodness for her comatose slumber. A play-by-play of Tom bumping uglies?
She also didn’t want to be caught in the middle of another sister-brother squabble. She silently gathered her dishes and bundled them into the dishwasher. The siblings continued bickering, so she left them to it. She ran into a squeaky clean Harry wrapped in white towels on the way to his bedroom.
“Are they kicking off again? Take no notice. They do love each other, but you wouldn’t know it.”
“They’re pretty hardcore,” said Alex.
“Look, I feel awful about your room. You were supposed to have Tom’s. I warned Livvy it was a bad idea, having him move in. He’s a good laugh and means well, but once here, he’ll never budge. He’s not exactly a self-starter.”
Alex giggled. “Yeah, he gave me that impression. He’s an actor? When was his last audition?”
“A few months ago. And at this rate, he’ll never be treading the boards at the National or guest starring on EastEnders. He got kicked out of RADA, and since then he’s been faffing about. Their parents got fed up with his mooching and cut off his cash, hoping it would push him into action. No such luck.”
“I wish I had a trust fund,” Alex fluttered her eyelashes at Harry. “What’s that like?”
Harry laughed. “Cheeky monkey.” He playfully shoved her and slipped into his room.
Tom and Olivia’s conversation grew louder in the kitchen, so Alex claimed the elusive bathroom. It had been thirty-six hours since her last shower back in Florida. She gathered towels, her toiletries, and clothes, and shut the bathroom door on the warring siblings.
She twisted the shower’s handle and waited for a steamy surge of water. A lukewarm, half-hearted sprinkle dripped onto her head. It barely saturated her hair. Is that IT?! Haven’t the Brits discovered water pressure yet? She shivered and lathered up quickly.
• • •
By one o’clock that afternoon, the two women were on their way. Alex couldn’t wait to kiss goodbye to her day-old flight attire, but she dreaded having Olivia as a shopping companion. Her tepid welcome was unsettling and standing next to the statuesque brunette in her fashionable red, black, and orange DVF shirtdress, and espadrille wedges, Alex—back in her baggy Captain America tee and yoga pants—resembled a shrimpy teenager on take-your-kids-to-work day. The pimple definitely didn’t help her look older or sophisticated, either.
Alex never chased the latest trends or drained her savings on designer labels. Her go-to outfits consisted of dark jeans, t-shirts, and Converse All-Stars. When she was feeling particularly girly, she’d channel Jess Day, Zooey Deschanel’s character on the TV show New Girl, in cute retro-influenced skirts or dresses with a cardigan and flats—comfy but presentable.
The women popped into an independent coffee shop tucked underneath the arches of London Fields Overground station. Olivia desperately craved a cappuccino to fuel the afternoon shopping excursion.
Harry had warned Alex that their Hackney ‘hood was hipster central, and he wasn’t kidding. Guys with big beards, skinny jeans, and hats left their bicycles outdoors and queued for coffee with women dressed in crop tops and high-waisted jeans. Alex tugged at her creased outfit. Their trendy vibe made her feel even more out of sorts. She stepped outdoors to pet two bulldogs that were whining, missing their owners. “On the outside looking in, guys. I know how you feel,” whispered Alex, scratching their chubby shoulder rolls.
Drink in hand, striding through the door, Olivia took charge, proclaiming her distaste for London’s most popular shopping destination. “Forget Oxford Street. I despise it.” She adjusted her Dior Sauvage sunglasses while balancing her white leather Burberry hobo bag on the crook of her arm. “One day you’ll see what I mean. It’s overflowing with slow walking tourists and bratty teenagers. I’m taking you to my favourite shopping area in Chelsea. It has designer shops, plus the more popular chains, something for both our tastes.”
She carefully sipped her steaming cup. “And let’s skip the Tube. It’ll be hot and sweaty, and there are too many changes between here and Sloane Square. The drive will take about thirty-five minutes, so we’ll have plenty of time to chat.” She waved at a taxi. The first one in sight swerved to her command.
Alex sat down in awe, taking in her first ride in an authentic London black cab. Clean, tons of legroom—so different from the rank, dirty crampfests back home in the States. She buckled the seatbelt with no fear of finding a questionable sticky substance lurking on its strap. Her legs happily stretched out as far as they could reach; her Converse still couldn’t touch the other side of the seating compartment. She felt like the Queen.
Olivia seemed softer, chattier. Maybe Tom was right and her dark moods were his fault? The questions began to flow.
“How did you move over here? I thought it was impossible for Americans to live here unless they had a firm job offer.”
Alex pushed a random button, sliding the window open. A welcoming cool breeze soothed her clammy skin. “I was born here—well, not here, but in Manchester. I have dual citizenship.”
“Really?”
“My family flew over from Florida in July ’93 for my grandfather’s funeral, my dad’s dad…” Alex trailed off, distracted by the old pubs and quirky Bethnal Green shops whizzing past.
