Page 82

Resting his hands on his hips, he tipped his head back, glancing at the ceiling. “Okay.”

“Goodbye, Mark.”

Head bowed, Alex squeezed past him. She rushed down the stairs as fast as her shaking legs could carry her.

• • •

On the journey home, Alex dried her tears, her mind and heart pulling in two different directions. Her thoughts lay tangled like a string of Christmas lights, while her heart felt hollowed out, a mere shell left behind. Turning onto Henshaw Street, the local kids were playing soccer on the road. She could relate to their deflated ball, kicked to the curb again and again. With a heavy sigh, she dodged around the erstwhile Ronaldos and Rooneys. There was no turning back—she’d get her head down, lock her heart away, and write through the pain. Full stop. She quickly closed the flat’s red painted door on their joyful shouts.

“Hey, sunshine, good day at work?” Freddie cleared plates and cutlery from the table. The tomato-y aroma of spag bol saturated the flat.

“Don’t you ever eat at home?” asked Alex.

“Ooh, a bit harsh. Someone’s got the hump.”

Lucy strode in from the kitchenette. “Was the Tube delayed at Lambeth North again? I’d be pissed, too…hey, did you talk to Mark?”

Freddie abandoned the table clearing and plopped down on a chair. “So, where’s he taking you on your date? I want all the gory details.”

“He’s not.”

“Why not?” asked Freddie. “I know he likes you. He was going to ask you out.”

“I wouldn’t know. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I only have time right now for my first love…”

Lucy crossed her arms. “Bloody Devin? Fuck—I knew it!”

“Not Devin, Lucy. Writing. It’s time to knuckle down. No diversions. No distractions and definitely no booze or boys.”

“How boring,” said Freddie.

She shook her head. “I’ve also got Dad’s cheque to think about. He’s put so much faith in me. I can’t let him down. London’s crazy expensive—and that money’s not going to last forever—”

“But what did Mark actually say?” asked Lucy.

“Nothing much. He didn’t have to.”

“Well, if you blurted out that shit about ‘distractions’ and ‘boys’, you probably scared him right off,” said Lucy. “You two could’ve been great together. I’m blaming you if it’s awkward at the play next weekend.”

“If I know Keegs, he won’t give up easily. When he fancies someone, he’s patient and persistent,” said Freddie.

“Don’t start writing your best man speech just yet, Freddie. Well, not for me and Mark, anyway.” She mumbled under her breath. “Maybe for him and Naomi.”

Lucy’s ears pricked up. “Who’s Naomi?”

“Naomi? Naomi Khan? She’s back? That’s weird. Mark hasn’t mentioned it.” Freddie shoved his glasses back up his nose. “Hmm. I thought she would’ve latched onto some rich bloke in the States, never to return.”

“Somebody tell me. Who’s Naomi?” asked Lucy.

“Remember that actress? Mark’s co-star in that Simon Stephens’ play, a year and a half back? The one at the Royal Exchange in Manchester?”

Lucy stared blankly at Freddie.

“Legs that don’t stop, big boobs, beautiful light brown skin? Half French, half Indian?”

“Oh, God. That one. Yes, I do.”

“That’s Naomi,” said Freddie.