Page 2 of London, Can You Wait?

“One to remember.” Alex ducked under his chin, hiding her face.

Mark wrapped his arms around her. “I can’t wait to show Mum the kitchen—it’s completely wheelchair accessible, and the walk-in tub…it’s amazing.” His eyes swept the cosy room where he spent many an evening as a child. “I made a promise to Dad that I’d look after Mum. I just want to feel like I’ve done him proud, you know? Not be a disappointment…”

“Mark, you are not a disappointment…believe me.”

“I’ve always wanted to buy Mum a new house. Lex, I can’t believe I’ve actually gone and done it.”

She lifted her head. “When are they arriving?”

“Soon. Gracie just texted her ten-minute warning from the car.”

Alex’s stomach fell. Great. And the award for ‘Worst Girlfriend Ever’ goes to…

The TV bellowed with a familiar voice tinged with a bang-on Scottish accent.

“Oh, God…” Mark let go of Alex and lunged for the remote, turning the TV off. “Nothing worse than seeing this ugly mug on screen.”

Alex edged towards the backpack, her tight lips dissolving into a proud smile; it was Mark’s breakthrough BBC role in Lairds and Liars. “Freddie said they’re running the first two seasons back to back for the long weekend. You should be flattered.”

“With all my new projects, people will be sick of me.”

“Fat chance of that. Those fans from the airport tailed us most of the way here. Didn’t you notice?”

“Seriously? Were you ever that devoted to Ben Whishaw?”

“You mean stalky? God, no.”

A shrill car horn trumpeted from the driveway and Mark jumped. “Christ, that was ten minutes?”

Alex twitched, pointing at the backpack. “I’ll toss that in your room, so your mum won’t have to steer her wheelchair around it.”

“Good idea.” He peeked through the front window’s net curtains. “Rhys might need a hand.” With bare feet and a cheek-busting grin, he rushed out the front door.

Alex grabbed his backpack and scurried up the stairs. Just steps into his bedroom, she dumped the bag’s contents onto the bed. She separated each item on the duvet: Mark’s iPad, his headphones, a dog-eared script, her Glamour magazine, a yellow Matchbox car, some new fan letters, his Vespa key…but no house key tied with a red ribbon. A burst of summer warmth sailed up the stairs, carrying laughter and happy voices into the bedroom. The front door banged shut, sending Alex’s heart crashing into her stomach.

“Fuuuck,” she mumbled under her breath. Reality couldn’t be avoided now—she must have dropped the key in the rush at their London flat. It was official: she had ruined Niamh’s birthday, and that desperately desired good first impression? So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good-night…

She punched the backpack. Mark was usually pretty easygoing, but this…this might crack him in half.

“Hey!”

She jumped, her heart nearly bursting from her chest. “You scared the crap out of me.” She shoved the backpack on top of the mess.

Mark snickered naughtily around the doorjamb. “What are you like? Come, meet my family.”

Alex’s eyes welled up. “Mark, I’m so sorry…”

“About what?” He glanced over his shoulder, down the stairs where excited Irish accents stepped all over one another.

“I’ve lost your mum’s present.” Chasing breaths, she blurted out the words. “I’ve lost the key—”

“No, you haven’t.” A grin lit up his face as he walked into the room.

“What—”

“I took it from your purse.” His hand disappeared into his back pocket, pulling out a key dangling from a small pewter disk. “I grabbed it after we came in, when you dashed to the loo.”

Her jaw dropped.