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The doors slid open. She ducked her head and lunged for cover under the outdoor station’s metal shelter, its roof popping non-stop as wave after wave of fat raindrops met their maker. She exhaled and stood back, allowing the other passengers to exit down the steps. First challenge completed.

Alex 1, Rain 0.

A blinding flash illuminated the sky. She gasped and snapped her eyes shut, bracing against her laptop bag.

Wait for it…

An earsplitting clap of thunder shook the elevated train platform. Alex shuddered, the zipper pulls on her backpack and laptop bag jangling with uneasy solidarity. Some people fear spiders, others heights. Alex’s phobia? Thunder and lightning. Mother Nature really knew how to twist the knife. She walked gingerly down the enclosed staircase to ground level. Was it too much to ask for nature’s car wash to complete its cycle by the time she reached the exit?

Flickering flashes and snarly rumbling threatened through the downpour. Alex hugged her laptop tightly against her chest like a life preserver and ran for it. She splashed along Mentmore Terrace, coming face to face with a red phone box. Perfect timing. What newcomer to the United Kingdom didn’t love this famous icon? And right now, Alex loved it even more. She heaved on the door and squeezed inside.

But her love proved fickle. She could barely move. Her Converse All-Stars battled for space with crushed beer cans, and her eyes watered, tormented by months—or years, maybe?—of drunk men using the enclosed refuge as a urinal. This was not an Instagram-worthy moment. She held her nose, stifling her gag reflex. Her dripping clothes and bags created a design resembling a Rorschach test on the floor while the breath from her mouth fogged up the greasy windows, lending a fuzzy Dali-esque appearance to the people and vehicles rushing past outside.

A spike of nausea gurgled in her throat. Urgh. That stench! She stumbled outdoors and bent over, her lungs pleading for fresh air.

Another searing flash lit up the street. Alex’s heart jolted, an out-of-control jackhammer pounding her chest. Her only choice—run. She sloshed through puddle after puddle, each step splattering filth up to her knees. Pummeling raindrops stung her face, while her jacket offered no defence, its denim sucked onto her bare arms like a second skin. A patch of goosebumps rose underneath her sopping t-shirt, now a useless sponge.

She gave up the race. Alex 1, Rain 1.

“London, I love you, but you’re treating me like an ex, not your new crush!” she hollered to the whipping rain while turning onto Martello Street. With each step, the loose shoelace of her left Converse slapped through the overflowing puddles like a bloated noodle.

London Fields, a large green park dotted with old trees, stretched beyond the street’s right side. The wet grass gave off a fresh springtime scent. Three and four-storey buildings stood shoulder-to-shoulder along Alex’s left. She trudged along the sidewalk, avoiding the park’s canopy of trees and its waving invitation to the lightning gods. In between booms of thunder, an eerie quiet amplified the emptiness of the street, a dead end. It terminated in an old red and white brick building, retrofitted with modern apartments and blue balconies. A tall metal fence embraced its forecourt; a few cars and wheelie trash bins occupied the limited parking spaces. Alex straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. No more running from the storm. This is it. Harry’s flat.

She sped up her pace, the intercom affixed to the fence just an arm’s length away, but an exiting car sprung the gate open. She slipped onto the property unannounced and headed towards the front door. A glass awning, peaked like a raised eyebrow, offered a dry welcome.

A year ago, Alex would’ve scoffed at the suggestion of packing twenty-one years of belongings and memories to live in a city she loved but had never visited. A lot can change in a year, and heartbreak can spur you on to do the previously unthinkable. Buoyed by each deep breath, Alex’s heart danced a little faster. Why not attempt the outrageous, the unexpected? If you don’t try, you’ll never know. She adjusted her wet jacket and smoothed down her bangs.

She pressed the buzzer for apartment 2B.

Nothing happened.

Three

“Seriously? 2B or…not 2B? Did I press the wrong one?” Alex retrieved a soggy email printout from her jacket pocket. Blurry and beginning to shred, the page offered little assistance.

She leaned on the circular button. BUZZZZZZ!

Ten seconds passed. Is anyone home? Where’s the mysterious Tom?

Alex stepped backwards and tilted her head to peer through the glass awning, the windows above it staring blankly into the park.

The squeal of a hinge pierced her eardrums. The front door swung open, its metal frame missing her chin by an inch.

“Hey!”

Her backpack’s swaying momentum tipped her back onto her heels. Her arms flailed around and around like the sails of a Dutch windmill until she regained a shaky balance.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t see you.” The half-hearted apology slipped from the lips of a pretty thirty-something redhead toting a briefcase. She struggled with her trench coat, fumbling its belt with one hand, her half-unbuttoned dress—no longer a secret—lurking underneath. A severe case of bed head and a faint smear of pink lipstick below her mouth betrayed her; someone had an energetic session between the sheets this morning.

Thunder rumbled overhead. “That’s not the smartest place to stand.” The woman sneered, eyeballing Alex from head to toe.

The Floridian’s knees wobbled, and yet the urge to put this pushy chick in her place pestered her brain. Who shoves open a door without checking first to ensure the coast is clear? What a bitch.

But could this girl be one of her flatmates? How would that look?

Alex bit her tongue. She’d have to get used to dealing with difficult people; egos and tempers ruled the theatre world.

“I’m looking for Tom. Does he live here?”