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.

Before, that had never been a decision to make. Being reunited with Mark had always been the answer, but the previous night, the morning after—they had changed everything. Fallon’s damning Instagram photos, Mark’s lying about knowing her, his almost tangible guilt—he had betrayed her trust, completely.

Alex no longer knew what to believe or what to do. Had she been duped all along? Was Mark just pretending to be serious about her? All those times he couldn’t say no to Wink, the broken dates and cancelled holidays—was it his cowardly way of putting space between them? Had he been pining after his first love all this time?

Or maybe he was telling the truth—maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people, fueled by a stupid, misguided bender then exploited for sex by an unscrupulous ex? He had come to her, after all. Would he have done so if she didn’t matter at all? Mark had always been the answer, always, but…their universe had shifted.

Sat near the top of the stairs, Alex stared down at the front door. Mark was only a dozen yards away, but in reality, there had never been a greater distance between them.

Lucy returned to the front door. “Better cuddle up, then, boys,” she hollered through the wood, switching off the front light. “You’re in for a bloody long wait—and Freddie, don’t even think of weeing in my wheelie bin.”

• • •

Bundled up in Charlie’s duvet, Alex splayed one hand on the bedroom window as she clasped her Vespa charm in the other. She angled to look straight down, squishing her forehead against the glass. The iciness jolted her skin, but the chilly ache couldn’t compare to the heaviness in her chest. The rain had stopped a half-hour ago and a thick fog now cloaked the street. An eerie glow from the streetlights set off the reflective orange, yellow, and blue striped markings on the side of the police vehicle that had just arrived. Two Metropolitan police officers made their way towards the house.

Alex shivered, desperate for a glimpse of Mark or Freddie, but they were still tucked away.

The female constable adjusted her cap. “Good evening.” Her voice echoed in the damp street. “We’re from Borough High Street station. There’s been a complaint about two men loitering and exhibiting antisocial behaviour—causing a disturbance and public urination. Could you tell us your names and addresses, please?”

Down in the alcove, Mark and Freddie’s responses were a mumble.

The female constable did a double take. Did she recognize Mark? “So, what brings you to Southwark?”

Mark stepped forward, the top of his cap appearing. “I…surprise my girlfriend…” Alex jammed her ear against the glass. The alcove made his voice hard to make out. “…didn’t want to miss her…I’m sorry…too loudly…the neighbours.”

Freddie came into view, fidgeting with his glasses. Alex had never seen him so nervous—he was bricking it, as Mark would say.

The male constable nodded his head. “Mr. Keegan, this behaviour—loitering, watching a person—can be classified as a Section 2A offence for stalking. Now, we’ll give you a warning, provided you leave the property immediately and don’t return within the next twenty-four hours.”

“Yes officer, no problem,” Freddie jumped in, his shoulders leaving his ears. “It won’t happen again. Right, Mark?”

He stepped forward. “Right. Thanks for letting us go on a warning. I’m sorry for any misunderstanding.”

The female constable smiled. “Have a safe trip home.”

The officers walked to their car while Freddie mouthed, “Come on!” and speed-walked in the opposite direction.

Alex lifted her face from the glass. The show was over.

Mark stepped into the alcove again, out of sight, and then reappeared with his backpack and a courier box—the rectangular box she had claimed for him from the concierge. He took a few steps towards the road then turned around, looking up at the window.

Damn! She jerked backwards.

He kissed his palm and raised it at the empty window before turning and walking away.