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The announcement that the train had arrived at Piccadilly Circus sobered Leo from his thoughts back to reality and he swung himself up from the pole by the side of his seat, swaggering off the train and heading for the escalator.
He chuckled at the performer at the bottom of the escalator. The man somehow had aHenry the Hooverplaying the saxophone solo from Baker Street, whilst he accompanied the thing with his guitar.
Leo appreciated the brazen innovation of the guy and threw whatever change he had into his tray of money, scoring a nod and a smile from the performer.
As Leo exited the station, he was met with a barrage of people bustling around, happy ones on their way out and the more solemn of the crowd traipsing their way home.
Heading up to Carnaby Street seemed like a decent first stop. It’d be rude not to have a nose around the shops. The windows of the quirky clothes shops made him fantasise about how close he was becoming to being able to become a customer of one of these establishments. A particular pair of £200 jeans caught his eye and he visualised himself strutting around town in them with an armful of shopping bags looped over each arm.
Smiling at that, he carried on walking up to Oxford Street, making his way down towards Selfridges, again tormenting himself by looking around at the things he couldn’t have.
Leo started to feel hungry, so after a quick Google, he found a cool burger place up towards Marylebone that seemed quite reasonable.
Around the back of Oxford Street, he passed some swanky cocktail bars and plush-looking restaurants and stopped to look at the menu of an amazing-looking place with the most inviting-looking twinkly lights he had ever seen called Agosti’s.
Leo laughed when he saw the prices, despite the descriptions of the food making it sound out of this world.
The faint sound of a plate smashing caught his ear, and he looked up to see a waiter flustering around trying to clear up a mess that he’d just made, his colleague patting him on the back, smiling to the diners around him that had taken the disturbance in good spirits.
“Bloody ’ell. First day, eh, pal?” Leo muttered to himself, chuckling. Then he headed off up the street in search of his humble burger.
ChapterTwelve
As Quint took up his seat in the café to do some work, an unmistakable figure headed his way, sauntering flamboyantly down Chiswick High Road, thick cigar in one hand, coffee cup in the other. A shopkeeper stood outside Curios, the quirky trinket shop, taking in the morning sun as the man passed, her eyes glued to his blue-suede loafers.
Quint couldn’t help but smile. That was the instant effect that Harry would have on anyone.
“The only way is Harry, eh?” said Quint, looking him up and down.
“Oi, oi!” joked Harry, hamming up an Essex accent. He was dressed in skinny jeans, a stylish Holland Esquire velvet jacket and of course his trademark loafers; no socks, despite the grip of winter settling in. He sported a crisply ironed white shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal a teasing view of the top of his smooth pecs, all covered with a long dogtooth overcoat.
His hair, as usual, was pristine, not a strand out of place. To Quint, he smelt like a five-star hotel lobby, clean and fresh, a compliment he kept to himself.
Because of the glorious morning sun, despite the time of year, Quint had decided to eat his smashed avocado toast in Mia’s outdoor space, soaking in every ray and feeling great about not being one of the poor souls rushing up and down the high road.
“That looks tip-top, my son,” said Harry, eyeing Quint’s breakfast with a greedy glare.
“No,” said Quint, pulling his food away. “You order your own.”
“Pfft, after all I do for you.”
He had a very strong point. Quint reluctantly shoved the plate towards Harry.
“I was joking, boy. Come on, lighten up!” said Harry, chuckling.
Mia came out to clear some cups from the table next to them.
“Ah, garçon, I couldn’t grab another one of these, could I please?” pleaded Harry, snatching Mia’s attention.
“Call me garçon again, Harry, and you’ll be wearing it.” Mia was used to his playful manner. Harry was a well-known face down the High Road.
“Ah, come on, you know you’re my favourite Chiswick coffee shop owner,” said Harry.
“Just Chiswick?” Mia raised an eyebrow.
“Hey, it’s a big old world out there, sweet’eart.”
Mia laughed and rolled her eyes. “Can I get you anything else… ‘sweet’eart’,” she said, mimicking his East London accent.
