Page 73
Twenty-One
London, Tuesday, January 9, 2018
Alex’s mind wandered as she tiptoed over a sheet of ice that made the pedestrianized walkway of Tower Hill one face-plant away from a lawsuit. The bright sun did little to take the edge off the freezing temperatures or melt the glistening hazards that lingered after the sleet storm the night before.
“Shit!” Freddie pushed his glasses up his nose. Six busloads of boisterous eight-year-old schoolchildren clogged the Tower of London’s entrance. “Don’t people believe in birth control anymore? We’ll be stood here forever. Freezing my dick off was not on today’s agenda.”
“We can do something else.” Alex pulled off a glove and opened Google on her phone, wishing she were back in bed. Lucy had insisted she join her friends this Tuesday morning instead of being “a mopey arse” alone at home. It was a big ask—January 9 was circled in red on her Lairds calendar.
“No, you’ve always wanted to come here, and we’ve got tickets.” Lucy glared at Freddie. “And besides, we’re English—queuing is what we do best.”
“Do they have anything to drink here that’s hot, low sugar, low fat?” Naomi shivered, her over-the-knee black leather stiletto boots tapping out a tune on the cement.
Lucy rolled her eyes.
“What?” The actress peered over Lucy’s head towards the riverside café. “The wardrobe mistress will kill me if I pop the seams on my costume tonight.”
“One hot bloody chocolate isn’t going to make you sprout hips like mine, Naomi,” said Lucy.
Alex’s fingers scrolled her phone. She flashed a quick smile, determined not to be that irritating, heartsick girl that bummed out her friends. “We could tour Westminster Abbey instead—”
“And risk bumping into my boss on Victoria Street? Fuck that.” Lucy steered Freddie and Naomi to the line. Alex followed.
“At least your boss knows you exist.” Freddie pressed his lips tight. “The promotion went to someone else.”
Alex’s face fell. “What, again?”
“Freds, that’s awful,” Naomi scowled.
“Yep. Third time unlucky.” He flung his scarf over his shoulder, just missing the nose of the woman lined up behind him. “My boss can officially go fuck himself.”
“So that’s why you were so quick to skive off today.” Lucy hugged him.
“Screw ’em. I’ll end up making a mint with my YouTube channel, and one day, the BBC will come crawling back to me, crying, We used to know him. Fuckers.” He released Lucy and exhaled, a cloud of breath rising skyward. “But all is not lost…bunking off work, the Crown Jewels, hanging with my girls—things are looking up.” Freddie laughed with a shiver. “As long as my dangly bits don’t fall off.”
Naomi turned to Alex. “Have you talked to Mark today?”
Lucy gritted her teeth. “Naomi—”
“It’s okay.” Alex shook her head. “I don’t know what I would say right now other than fuck you.”
“How ’bout off with his head?” Lucy’s attempt at Tower of London humour missed its mark.
Alex jumped back in. “I hope he feels even a fraction of the pain I feel and can’t show up to his precious job. But I bet he’ll get up, arrive on set, and pretend—that’s what he’s good at. Asshole.”
Naomi patted her arm, her eyes darting to Freddie. “I know you’ve talked to him. It’s written all over your face.”
“It’s my best friend’s birthday—of course, I’ve talked to him.”
Alex sighed.
“You didn’t mention that we were taking Lex out today, did you?” asked Lucy.
“No…” Freddie looked through her towards the Thames.
“You did, didn’t you! Freddie!” Lucy dug her thumb and forefinger into his upper his arm and twisted.
“Ow, ow, OW. Okay—OKAY.” He shook her off. “All right, I did…sorry, Lex.”
