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“Yeah, where did she go? If you see her again, let me know.” Alex half-joked, picking up a Jon Snow figure.
“You’ve got to move out of that hell hole of a flat. I thought you guys were viewing some places this week?” Freddie lifted his arm away from Alex so he could study a Sherlock Pop! Vinyl figure up close.
“We did, the past two evenings after work. Put it this way, if that’s all I can afford, I’m moving under London Bridge. I’ll probably become known as the Shopping Trolley Lady—barking at tourists, feeding invisible pigeons…”
Lucy wiped perspiration off her forehead and upper lip; wearing PVC in August wasn’t her smartest idea. “I can put up with noisy neighbours or drafty windows—not a lot bothers me—but the three flats we visited were a horror film come to life.”
Freddie’s eyes widened.
“One flat had black mould growing on all the walls. The carpet actually squished when you stepped on it,” said Lucy.
Alex interjected. “And the drains reeked.”
“Another had cockroaches and no hot water after 6 p.m. In the third place, the landlord had fifteen women living in a basement flat. They shared one bath and the kitchen was just a mini bar fridge, and a hot plate.” Lucy crossed her arms. “It gave me the willies.”
Alex leaned into Freddie to allow a girl dressed as Harley Quinn to push through to the front of the table. The cosplayer’s oversized inflatable mallet skimmed Lucy’s head. “I tried, but anything better is too expensive,” Alex shrugged. “Even with flatmates, I can’t afford a half decent place on what I’ve saved, not to mention what I earn.”
“London sucks for affordable flats,” said Lucy.
“I’d suggest staying with me, but the doctor had a huge domestic with his girlfriend. He’s been sleeping on the sofa-bed most nights. He’s totally cramping my style. Moriarty hates him,” said Freddie.
“I know what you’re going to say, but…there’s always my loveseat,” said Lucy.
Alex frowned. “And a cramped neck…and a folkie sing-a-long at two in the morning…”
A swarm of Trekkies clad in red command uniforms overwhelmed the Star Trek Titans to Freddie’s left. He spun around to let a determined Worf join his Starfleet crew.
“What about asking your dad for financial help?” said Freddie. “Take a weekend trip to Manchester? If you need moral support, we can come along.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. He’s already on the hook for my student loans. And besides, asking him for help makes me feel like a failure.”
“Does he even know what you’re going through?” asked Lucy.
Alex shook her head again.
“What about a better paying gig?” Lucy pursed her lips at Harley Quinn’s poor mallet control. “Making egg and chips isn’t going to cover first and last month’s rent. Have you looked for something better paid?”
“No.” Alex ran the zipper up and down on her bag. “Outside of making chip butties and writing, avoiding Harry and Olivia has been my main job lately.”
A TARDIS sound reverberated within Freddie’s pocket. He looked at his phone and then tucked it away again. “Sorry. Just Mark. He says hi, by the way.”
Alex’s face lit up. “How’s he doing? How’s the job?”
“Four weeks in, so far so good. He says the people are fantastic; they’re cool with him getting time off for auditions—and he’s had plenty lately.” Freddie settled on a Moriarty figure, handing the vendor twenty pounds. “If you’re escaping the flat to write, why don’t you head to the National? You can type away to your heart’s content and talk to Mark about any jobs going there.”
Lucy scratched her wig. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because I’ve got the looks and the brains, darling,” said Freddie.
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and squeezed her way out of the crowd.
Alex followed Lucy out of the throng, losing her smile along the way. “But it’s so far to go each day…” Each syllable, each word, pushed her friends further away. Her heart hated that she was doing it, but her head screamed self-preservation.
Lucy yanked at the neckline of her PVC costume, desperate to cool down. “Well, if you keep nit-picking and making excuses, nothing will change, will it?”
Alex pouted and shuffled to the next table, alone.
• • •
