Page 51
“…an Ood!” they announced simultaneously. They crumpled into each other, chuckling.
Freddie scoffed and pushed up his glasses with mock indignation.
Alex popped open the box and pulled apart the seal on its blue and silver foil packet.
“Freddie, I think you did good…yes, REALLY good.” She waved the three-inch plastic figure in the air. “It’s a fez-wearing Matt Smith.”
“Of course it is,” said Freddie, pouting.
Lucy doubled over with laughter, sloshing wine on the cement.
“Want to keep him? I didn’t spot this one at your flat.”
Freddie bit his lip. “Tempting, but…he’s all yours. Maybe this means our luck has changed. You’ll be the toast of the West End, Lucy wins a contract with Marvel, and I meet the man of my dreams.”
“Blind date go badly the other night?” asked Lucy.
“The less said about that, the better.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Not fair, Freds. You’re always nosey about my love life. Or lack thereof.”
“What’s wrong with everyone? You’re both great catches in my eyes,” said Alex. Talking about dates and partners, her mind swung around to a certain someone.
“Isn’t Mark working here now? Maybe we could go say hi?”
“He is, but we can’t,” said Freddie. “The workaholic’s shooting a TV advert in Wales.”
Lucy noticed Alex’s sigh, and pulled a flat square from a plastic bag. Wrapped in colourful London scenes, it looked like it might be a vinyl record. “And here’s my gift.”
The wrap clung together with only two small strips of tape. Alex opened it effortlessly.
Ben Whishaw’s eyes peeked out between shreds of paper. “It’s genius! Is it a colouring book?”
“I made it.” Lucy beamed. “The National’s bookshop sells colouring books for Hiddleston, Redmayne, and Cumberbatch, but not Whishy, so I made one.”
Freddie raised his glass to Lucy. “Putting those artistic skills to good use! Nice work, Hardy.”
“It looks so professional. Thanks so much!” Alex flipped through the pages. “Lucy, you should go back to art college. You could create your own graphic novels.”
“Maybe. One day. But for now, my creativity’s for your eyes only.”
“Before I forget…there’s one more card.” Freddie handed Alex a magenta envelope.
“More? You spoil me.”
Freddie rested his hand against his heart. “It’s not from me.”
“Moriarty gives birthday cards, too?” Alex chuckled. Her eyes swept over the celebratory sentiment, pausing to smile at the cute cat juggling cupcakes on the cover. She flipped the card open…
‘I was all set to jump out of your cake, but my agent (party pooper) called with a job. So I’m stuck in Wales with sheep by my side instead of you, and I’m cursing my dumb luck. How ’bout a rain check? Another Vespa adventure? London is yours—if you want it! Happy Birthday, Lex. Mark x’
Her lighthearted appreciation floated away on the warm breeze, lost along with her breath. She blinked several times. Yep, that ‘x’ wasn’t a mirage. She stroked her neck absent-mindedly as she poured over the handwritten message again…and again.
Mark’s words, committed in ink to paper, like a promise—unlike a text dashed off on a whim, only to be sent and instantly forgotten. Every looping vowel and crossed T offered a glimpse of his personality and sincerity.
Despite teasing from Lucy, Alex regularly sent handwritten cards for birthdays, Christmas, or just because. Having the tables turned—by Mark of all people—was a delicious surprise.
Life in London had been isolating and grim as of late, but this card and the efforts of her friends temporarily lifted the double-decker bus flattening her heart.
