Page 68 of London, Can You Wait?

Twenty

The stalls of Borough Market yearned for company—hungry tourists, fresh from the Shard, were long gone. Alex checked Lucy’s whereabouts: yep, still lined up at the Pieminister stall, making faces at her and drooling over the Moo & Blue pie that would soon be hers. Alex pulled her phone from the pocket of her parka. No texts. No voicemails. Nothing. After last night’s drama, Mark had gone silent.

She dove into #MarkKeegan on Instagram. Someone had posted two photos from the BBQ she and Mark had attended last August in Greenwich—an industry-only get-together. No press had been invited as far as she could remember. So much for privacy.

Alex scrolled to the second photo. Ah, that top. Her lips loosened into a slight smile. The pink halter top, worn bra-less, was breezy and pretty—perfect for a warm summer evening. Paired with her purple diagonal-striped cotton skirt, she looked polished and presentable without trying too hard. Mark, fresh from filming Lairds season three, gave off a relaxed holiday vibe in a Bruno Mars concert tee, cargo shorts that barely hugged his hips, and a month’s worth of whiskers. He had arrived from Scotland an hour before, in town just for the weekend, and hadn’t yet reunited with a razor or event-appropriate trousers. His arm was slung around Alex’s shoulder as they chatted to another guest. They looked happy, picture perfect, albeit in Mark’s case, dressed more for the beach than an industry garden party in a posh London borough.

How had everything fallen apart only a few months later? There were certainly no hints, no cracks to be found in these photos. Alex’s finger swiped tentatively up the screen to see if any comments had been left…

Mark looks hawt, his date tho—NIPPLES! Too casual! Go home and change, bitch.

Doesn’t this girl realize who she’s with? Put in some effort.

Alex kicked the pavement with her Converse, ignoring the rest of the post. Now she was sad and insulted. God, I should have known…

Lucy danced towards her, proudly holding a box.

Alex tugged her hat down over her stringy, unwashed hair and the sore pimple in the middle of her forehead, so large, it was probably visible from space. Stress zits, yay! “You’re going to regret pulling a sickie when someone spots you. We should’ve stayed in.”

Lucy shoved her change purse into her cross-body bag, her Christmas gift from Alex. “My boss never ventures south of the Thames, so it’s all good.” She blew on her mini steak and Stilton pie, a spiral of steam rising above the pastry. “Are you sure you don’t want a grilled cheese? Brownies, cookies…you never say no to the cookies here!”

Alex shook her head.

“I feel bad, though, eating in front of you…”

“Don’t. I’m not hungry.” Alex stared at the Bread Ahead stall with its decadent orange and chocolate donuts.

“I’m sorry my plan to cheer you up with pricey plonk fell through. The Shards’ rule about no trainers is stupid as fuck.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t think they even looked at my shoes. I look yuck. This”—Alex pointed at her face—“is all they needed to see: huge zit, puffy eyelids. I’m a total mutt. No dogs allowed.”

“You do have the dark eye circle thing going on, babe. Very Pug-like, but cute in a Frankenweenie kind of way.”

“You’re comparing me to a Franken-dog? Are you planning to shock me back to life, too?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes! And don’t diss Frankenweenie. He’s small, faithful, adorable—just like you.” Lucy nudged her friend, trying to raise a smile. “We’ll try the Shard another time. Harry says the view is really something, better than the London Eye.”

“New year, new Lucy. Listen to you…Harry says.”

“Erghh, what am I like? You don’t need me swooning.”

“Lucy, just because Mark and I have imploded doesn’t mean you can’t be excited about Harry. Talk about him. I love seeing you happy.”

Lucy bit into the chunky steak pie, closed her eyes, and chewed in silence until a large smile overtook her cheeks. “Oh, my God, that is soooo good. Look, give me a smack if I ramble on about him too much, okay? I don’t want to be one of those women who gets lost in her relationship.”

“Like me, you mean…”

“No! Well…kinda? Don’t hit me! I’ll drop my pie.”

“No, you’re right. I did lose myself a bit…everything revolved around him.”

“Yeah, Marlex…but with the life he leads, how could it not? It’s easier with Harry. Even if he’s busy, he’s here. Plus, he does exactly what I tell him to.” Lucy laughed and bit into her pie.

Alex admired the nearby stacks of boozy cheese wheels drawing in customers at the Drunk Cheese stall beside them. “There’s no denying it. Yoooooou liiiiiike Harry. Admit it!”

Lucy beamed. “I do. There, I said it! Any second now, I’m gonna burst into flames. I wish Gran were alive. She’d love him. She always hated my ex.”

“Yeah, Harry’s a good one.” Alex held up her hand like she was swearing a pledge. “My name is Alex Sinclair and I approve this relationship.” The phone buzzed in her other hand.