Page 27

Nine

The FaceTime ringtone trilled from Alex’s sofa as the apartment door closed behind her. With the determination of a Premier League goalkeeper, she flung her body across the sofa, arms outstretched, snatching the iPad hidden underneath a Time Out magazine. Her leap sent her keys flying across the cushions and the opened parcel in her arms—a care package from her brother Robbie in Florida—to the floor. Six packages of Twizzlers slid in all different directions on the hardwood. She pushed the iPad screen’s green connect icon, a smile racing through her freckles. “Perfect timing. I was just out with Lucy.” She straightened up, lifting the tablet to chin level as she wrestled one arm out of her coat.

Mark’s screen jerked abruptly, distorting everything in view like a funhouse mirror. A tall floor lamp appeared, then a blurry glimpse of his bare feet walking across burgundy carpet, and then a flash of charcoal-coloured curtains.

“Hey str—” Mark’s greeting crackled as the iPad’s picture continued to warp and lose sync with the audio. The camera sailed over a decorative blanket then the screen froze on a shot of his neck.

“Whoops.” Alex frowned. “It’s breaking up.”

She leaned forward, pulling her other arm free, and something sharp jabbed her bottom. She shifted and spied the bum pincher—her keychain, the one that matched Mark’s.

“Hello? Mark?”

The image released, revealing Mark propped up on a puffy white duvet. “Ah, there you are. I’ve waited five days to see that gorgeous face…sorry, Lex, the Wi-Fi here’s a nightmare. Did you get my texts?”

“You texted? No. Did you get mine?”

“No. Bloody mountains.” A smile brightened up his pasty complexion. “It’s so good to see you. I love you, Mouse. Here, there…everywhere, just like that old Beatles song.”

“Aw!” She smiled. “I love you, too, babe.”

“So, how’s Lucy?”

“Crushing on her flatmate, upset about kale.”

“Kale?” Mark rubbed his eyes with his fists.

“Don’t ask.”

“Sorry I didn’t call this morning. I did text…” Mark exhaled loudly and shifted backwards into a cloud of white pillows, plumped against the bed’s headboard. Deep creases travelled across his favourite Manchester United sweatshirt, the same top Alex stole on a regular basis. Random tufts of his hair stood up when he laid his head against a pillow. “I was working with the fight director at four-thirty this morning, and then filming started at six. Talk about COLD…”

Alex balanced the tablet on her thigh. “You look exhausted.”

“Yeah. Only another week or so, and then I’m all yours for an entire weekend. I could lie in bed for days, but…” He raised an eyebrow. “I know you won’t let me.”

“Oh, I’ll let you. Whether you’ll get any sleep, well…”

Mark chuckled. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.” She reached under her skirt and began pulling down her tights, a coquettish smile growing. “I know what might help—”

“Ah, I can’t, Mouse. Not tonight. If I weren’t so knackered, I’d be up for more than just a chat.” He winced as his hand crept underneath the stretched neckline of his sweatshirt.

Her shoulders deflated. Not tonight, not tomorrow—lately, sex over FaceTime or Skype was as rare as a play commission. No doubt Mark didn’t tell Freddie that.

“Our call time got moved forward tomorrow morning. Snow is forecast, and we’re riding horses again.”

“Mark, be careful—”

“I’ll be fine. I always am.” His heavy lids barely blinked. “So, tell me how the Garrick thing went.”

“It went.” Eyes watering, Alex looked down. “I didn’t get it. I’m not even on their radar.” She picked lint off the knee of her tights. “Sorry. I didn’t want to cry, but with all this, I wish you were here…” She rubbed her nose and glanced back up at the screen, but her boyfriend was frozen, one eye closed. “Mark?”

“Al—” His voice crackled.

“Mark?”

“Mo—se. I didn’t catch tha—”