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“But what if he had proposed in Dublin?”
“But he didn’t. I’m done mulling over what-ifs. Things don’t always work out in the end. Life isn’t a fairy tale, Lucy—we both know that.” She scooped up her shoebox of tools and walked back to the kitchen.
Twenty-Five
Two weeks later
Freddie hopped out of the rental car and slammed the driver’s side door.
Mark winced. “Christ! Freds!” He snatched at his messy hair as he slowly slid off the front seat. Gently closing his door, careful not to jar his thumping head any further, he nudged his Ray-Bans up his nose. His red, watery eyes would remain his secret. He looked up at the four-storey building in front of him, trying to focus on the top floor window—the flat he used to call home with Alex.
“When we’ve got your stuff, I’m calling Tom.” Freddie strode around the car to face his hungover friend. He curled his lip, taking in the chaos that was Mark’s appearance. “Giving him a right ol’ bollocking for all this.”
Clutching his bubbling stomach, Mark stared back. “I’ve already told you, this isn’t Tom’s fault. I’m having a hard time dealin—” His shoulders lunged forward. Cough, cough, cough! His fit sent puffs of warm, boozy breath into the chilly January air.
Freddie wrinkled his nose and waved a hand in front of his face. “Jeez, Keegs! You reek! Please tell me you didn’t drink Dublin dry?”
Cough, cough!“I drank beer”—cough—“nothing else,” he wheezed.
“Yeah, a whole brewery’s worth—”
Mark sniffed. “Tom was looking after me…”
“Tom’s the worst babysitter—ever. I mean, if ‘looking after you’ means putting you on a plane completely shit-faced, well I—”
Mark squinted behind his sunglasses. “For fuck’s sake! GIVE IT A REST!” He flinched at the loudness of his own voice. “I don’t need this, not today.”
“Keegs…” Wilting under Mark’s outburst, Freddie gave up. “Let’s get this done.”
Ushering a weaving Mark inside and towards the first flight of stairs, Freddie mumbled under his breath, “You’re in absolutely no state to move fuck all…” He planted his hands on Mark’s back, pressing him forward.
Above their heads, the stairs creaked. Rushing feet galloped downwards from an upper floor.
“Mark…?!”
He jolted, tripping up the next step. His sunglasses slipped down his nose.
Alex met him on the small landing, her eyes wide, mouth agape. With a stuttering sweep, she looked him over from head to toe and back again. His wool coat was buttoned wrong and one of his boots’ laces was untied.
His sweaty face softened as he swayed closer. “Lex…” He plucked his sunglasses off his face and tried to smooth down his disheveled hair.
Lucy pushed past her best friend, creating a barrier. “Keegs, back OFF!” Her eyes flew to Freddie. “What the fuck? We agreed!”
Freddie shrugged. “The car was ready early so…”
Lucy clenched her jaw, her eyes shooting to Mark.
The corners of his mouth rose, ignoring Lucy and Freddie. Only Alex mattered. His eyebrows creased as he looked over Lucy’s shoulder. “It’s good to see—”
“Freds,” Lucy interrupted, a vein pulsing in her temple. “We’ll talk about THIS later!”
Mark inched closer, sandwiching Lucy. Alex’s eyes fell to the floor, but her lips parted like she was about to say something…
Lucy turned and snatched Alex’s upper arm. “COME ON!”
“OW!” The playwright winced, digging in her heels. “That hurts!”
Lucy tugged, propelling Alex into Mark’s side. He stumbled backwards, blinking at the sweatshirt peeking through Alex’s open coat. She’s wearing my shirt! Maybe she’s regretting this… “Lucy, please…give Lex and me a minute—”
“Time’s up, Mark.” Lucy scowled over her shoulder, marching Alex down the stairs. “Just get your fucking shit out of here!”
Alex didn’t look back.
Mark didn’t look away until Alex was through the front door, out of sight.
