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Alex shook her head. “No, it’s all Tom’s fault. He’s such a shag monster. He’s had noisy sex four out of the eight nights I’ve been here. I feel dirty hearing everything through the wall, but it’s impossible to block it out, even wearing earbuds. I finally fell asleep around three fifteen this morning. One thing’s for sure, the guy’s got stamina.”

Lucy laughed. “Lucky girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend? I don’t think he knows the meaning of the word. A different chick stumbles out of his room each morning. He’s such a man-whore!”

Lucy flopped over onto her stomach, her denim-covered legs just missing the leaning wardrobe. “Geez. You weren’t kidding. Even a Hobbit would feel claustrophobic in here.”

“I know, right? I feel like I’m in solitary confinement. No daylight. No space. I keep bumping into my stuff, but the rent’s practically non-existent, and London Fields is to die for. I’m trying to focus on the positives.”

Lucy flipped to the first page of Alex’s play. “Good idea. Just don’t let that bohemian rhapsody in the lounge give you a headache. So many patterns…”

“Blame Olivia,” said Alex. “Tom said she fashions herself as some sort of bohemian culture vulture. She used to be obsessed with Kate Moss and Sienna Miller, making inspiration boards out of British Vogue clippings. Now ten years later, that boho vibe’s overtaken her home décor. She hasn’t even been to Marrakesh.”

Lucy sneered. “Typical.”

“I don’t care how the flat’s decorated. I’m just happy I found a job close by. That’s a big worry off my shoulders.”

“Now we can have proper fun—nights out, theatre, films,” said Lucy. “Watch out, London!”

“My pay cheque’s not much, but it’s something.” Alex slipped the flat iron along the last section of hair, resisting the urge to rush. “The worst part’s coming home smelling like egg salad sandwiches. I swear I made 100 of them on my first day.”

She unplugged the straighteners from the wall and began a struggle with her skinny jeans, jumping up and down on the spot. A final tug brought them up over her hips. “I want to impress Freddie. Is that weird? And he works at the BBC. How cool is that?”

Lucy’s stomach cried out as she glanced up from the page she was reading. “Freddie’s the last person to call himself cool. He’s a total geek. There’s no need to avoid pervy discussions about Hiddleston or Cumberbatch either; he’s all in. Chill, girl. You’re being too hard on yourself.”

Alex kept fussing. “I hate this top. I think I left some clothes in the dryer. I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time. Your suffragettes are keeping me company.”

• • •

Late morning crowds had already sprung up around the piazza of Covent Garden. Alex rubber-necked under her burgundy-hued umbrella at the rows of shops and a pair of street performers wearing suits and top hats, covered in silver paint.

Both girls upped their speed. The persistent mist teamed with unseasonable gusts made their walk a chilly, windswept chore. Alex kept tabs on her black Converse, splashing along the slippery cobblestones, hoping to clear the square without a twisted ankle.

She pouted. “I shouldn’t have bothered straightening my hair. I’ve gone all frizzy.”

She held Lucy’s umbrella while her friend gathered her wet flyaway curls into a low ponytail. “Tell me about it. Story of my life. I’m glad you did it, though. It gave me time to read your suffragette play…it’s riveting.”

A drenched, overly theatrical magician hollered at a swarm of passing tourists. Alex was unsure what Lucy said. “You liked it?”

“Loved it, so far. I felt like I learned something, too.”

“Really? Thanks.” Alex always felt relieved when people complimented her writing—receiving criticism left her cold. Her back usually went up with suggestions for improvement. “I did a ton of historical research for authenticity.”

“Do you submit your work to anyone, to theatres?”

“Not yet. I keep finding things to change. Once I start revising, I can’t quit. I’ll submit it once it’s ready. It’s got to be perfect, though.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you’re not just delaying a decision? At some point you should see if your ideas fly. Maybe you’re not finishing your work so you don’t have to face rejection? Or you’re worried that it’s not good enough? Just a thought…”

Alex’s eyes widened. She admired Lucy’s blatant honesty, but when it came to her playwriting, she was protective and stubborn like a momma bear hovering over her cub. Lucy’s words stung somewhat, but she knew her uncensored remarks rang true. She always worried if she was up to the task—in relationships, in writing, and everything else.

“No, it’s not that…it just needs a few final tweaks. And I have to find the right place to send it.”

The girls weaved through the throng in Covent Garden and into a Boots drugstore. Lucy cooed at a big nosed monster smiling manically from a colourful bag of crisps. “C’mere, big boy.”

Alex’s eyebrows tightened into a knot. “What the hell is that?”