London from My Windows (8 page)

“I mean how did you find him?”

“He called me.” This man was a little bit nosy.

The driver roared with laughter. “No, I meant how did you find him—as in what did you think about him? Dodgy?”

“No. I quite liked him.” She laughed.

“What's funny? C'mon now. Give us a laugh too.”

“Nothing. Just.”

“Go on.”

“Even my mother found him attractive. She was shamelessly flirting.”
In her little cowgirl outfit
. Ava didn't mention that part. Oh, how her mother embarrassed her at times. Not that Ava was a saint. She had all but sealed her mother out of the London deal. It wasn't very kind of her. She'd have to have her mother for a visit soon. She just wanted to do this alone. Aunt Beverly was her family. Her last connection to her dad.

“Ah. Good-looking, was he?”

Ava raised her eyebrow. “Not in a traditional sense.”

“A real uggo then?”

“No. If by that you mean . . . ugly.”

“Ugly, yes. A real uggo.”

“He wasn't. He was good-looking if you must know.”

“But you said he wasn't. Not in the traditional sense.”

“He had kind of a goofy air about him. But he had nice blue eyes. Like yours.”
Oh shit.
The driver was smiling at her now. He thought she was hitting on him. “And I think he's tall,” Ava added, wanting to distract the driver from the compliment.

“You think?”

“He was sitting down.”

“So it was his personality that got you, was it?”

“He was friends with my aunt. They went skydiving together.”

“He's an adventurer. A bloke you could really fall in love with, I suppose.” He suddenly sounded twenty times more chipper.

Maybe the driver was gay. How could she tell? All British men seemed a little bit gay. “I wouldn't know about that.”

“You wouldn't know about what? Falling in love?”

“Do you always get so personal with your passengers?”

“You're the first. So go on, answer the question. A pretty girl like you. Is there a special lad?”

Was he hitting on her? Did it matter? That was the beauty of taxi drivers, a built-in time limit; you could say anything you wanted to them because they eventually dropped you off. “There was. But he was married.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“I didn't know he was married.”

“I'm sorry. Must have come as quite a shock.”

“Shock is my middle name.” Ava forced herself to look out the window. Maybe that's what was wrong with her. She was like an electric fence, ready to spark at any second. The cars looked boxier here. Like cute little milk trucks in the rain. She'd seen enough. She went back to looking at her hands. Her sketch pad was in her purse if things got too bad.

“Love is one of those things,” the driver said.

“One of what things?”

“It's just hard. Even when it's going swimmingly.”

“Let me guess. Your ex?”

“You've caught me.”

“Complicated?”

“It is.” He sighed. And waited.

“How so?” If he was going to talk the entire time, at least he could tell her the good stuff.

“Do you think you're supposed to know, I mean, really know when you're in love? Without a doubt?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh. Right then. That's me sorted.” He gave a fake laugh.

“So she wasn't sure she was in love with you and that's why she broke it off?”

“You hit the nail on the head. ‘I don't think we're really in love, do you?' ” He shook his head, then met Ava's eyes in the mirror.

“I don't know,” Ava said. Why was he putting her on the spot? “How would I know?”

“No, sorry. That's what
she
said.”

“What?”

“ ‘I don't think we're really in love, do you?' That's what my girlfriend said to me.”

“Oh.”
Duh.
Chatting. Not really her wheelhouse.

“You see—it was a test, and I failed.”

“What was your answer?”

“I said, ‘You're not expecting the earth to move, are you, because that's a fairy tale. We're attracted to each other. We get on. What more do you want?'” The driver finished his speech and waited for Ava to respond.

Apparently she wasn't the only one out of touch. “Ouch.”

“Bodged it, did I? Even if I was being honest?”

“When you're in love, the earth should move a little. At least that's what I believe.” It
was
what she believed. Which meant she had never been in love either.

“Perfection,” the driver said, almost to himself.

“No, God, no. Love is so far from perfect. It's hard. Sometimes it's searing pain. It's beautifully imperfect. But it just is. You never have to question it, because it's like air. You know that it's always there and you just breathe. I think love is about two very imperfect people falling in love with each other's flaws.” Their eyes met again in the rearview mirror. There was kindness in his, that was part of it, but that wasn't all. He was looking at her as if he found her attractive; dare she say, he was looking at her as if he desired her.

“That was beautifully said, madame.”

“Thank you.”

He fell silent. Rain pelted against the rooftop and Ava found the vibration of the road soothing. Was he thinking about what she said? Would he go home and tell his ex that he thought she was beautifully imperfect? Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut. She didn't want to bear the weight of anyone else's burden. Her own was heavy enough. They were getting off the M4, turning into London. Even the names on the signs were startling. Chelsea, Battersea, Kingston. Buildings lined up on both sides of the street, clean and regal. Red double-decker buses, and fancy yellow license plates with black letters. London. She was in London.
Oh, God.

She lay back down and placed the garbage bag over her head again. Much, much better. God, having a conversation was exhausting. She dozed off to an orchestra of sounds. Car horns, the thump and swish of the tires, the whistle of the wind. She didn't wake up until the car slowed down. They were pulling over. They had arrived. She could hear voices, and horns, and trucks backing up. London smelled like rain and baking bread.

But the pleasant feeling wore off quick as her brain began prepping her body for a five-alarm fire.
Danger. Outside. Danger.
Ava's heart immediately kicked into high gear. “It's a wonderful building,” the driver said, looking up at it. “In the heart of it all.”

“Goodie,” Ava said. She was going to have to sit up. She was going to have to look at the building. She was going to have to ring the bell to the top floor and wait for Jasper Keyes to come down. He was supposed to meet her here. How long would it take him? How long would she be standing on the stoop? What would the driver think if she asked him to stand with her? He was probably busy. As soon as she paid him he would flee.

“I can help you out. I can get your luggage.”

“Yes, thank you.” She sat up, eyes closed, and waited.

He came around and opened the door. He was holding a large, black umbrella. The rain had stopped. But he was holding it open, waiting for her to seek refuge underneath. It was almost as if he understood. And it was still so gray that it wouldn't look odd at all. Her suitcases were perched on the sidewalk. She opened her wallet.

“The fare has been paid.”

“What?”

“Your fare has already been taken care of.”

“By who?” Was it “whom”? Brits probably cared about things like that.

“Perhaps it was the nontraditionally good-looking barrister.”

“A tip then.”

“Already paid.”

Ava scooted over and the driver held his hand out. Ava felt a ripple of shock run through her as she took it and he helped her up. It so startled her, she snatched her hand away. “Thank you,” she said quickly to make up for it.

“My pleasure.”

Ava was actually touching the pavement. Now she would have to walk toward the building. One step at a time. She looked up at the black umbrella. Thank God he hadn't removed it yet even though it wasn't raining. He was astute, this driver. Maybe in his profession you learned to read people, just like a sketch artist. From behind them a car door slammed and suddenly a man was shuffling toward them. He approached Ava's driver.

“You're bloody late.” The man snatched the hat right off her driver's head. What was going on? Were they sharing the taxi, switching shifts?

“Sorry,” her driver said. “Traffic.”

“Traffic me arse. This was the last time it was.” The man put the hat on his own head and, sure enough, got into her driver's car and screeched away.

“Your taxi,” Ava said. “Someone just stole your taxi.”

“It wasn't mine,” the driver said.

“You share the taxi? How are you going to get home?”

“I don't suppose you noticed that the car didn't look like a normal taxi?”

“How am I to know what a normal London taxi looks like?”

“You might if you—”

“Say it.”

“My apologies. I didn't mean to carry this on as long as I have—”

“If I what?” Ava was feeling buoyed by the pills and the fear. She was right in front of the building; at least he'd done that much right. Her anger was actually helping her. “Didn't have a bag over my head? Is that what you were going to say?”

“Shall we go inside?”

“ ‘We'? Who are you?”

He picked up her suitcases. Then put one down. Ava snatched it up. She didn't want it touching the ground. With his free hand he pulled off his cap. Then his ZZ Top beard.
Wait, those blue eyes. Wavy hair like sand. He's tall.

“Oh my God,” Ava said. “You jerk.”

“I'm Jasper Keyes,” he said. “It's nice to officially make your acquaintance.” He smiled and stuck out his hand.

“You're Jasper Keyes.” She sounded like an idiot, repeating what he just said, but she was so furious she couldn't formulate any other words.

“Madam.” He bowed and tipped his missing hat.

“The barrister.”

“If you must.”

“You think this is funny?”

“I was trying to have a spot of fun. If you must know—”

“Must I?”

“I'm in training to become a stand-up comedian. My mate lent me his car, and I found this cap at a—”

“Unbelievable.”

“I got us here safely, haven't I? Like I said, I'm in training to be a comedian—”

“You're not a comedian; you're a liar.”

Jasper straightened as if slapped. Then his face flushed with color. “Oh, you've never lied, have you? What about—‘Oh, and my mum isn't allowed to live with me'?”

“That is a lie that will save lives. Definitely mine and quite possibly hers.”

“You assumed I was a driver.”

“You were wearing a driver's cap and holding a sign with my name on it.”

“I just explained all that. A spot of fun, research—”

“Fun at my expense. When I thought you were somebody else.” Somebody she'd never see again.

“If this is about the rubbish bag, or the wheelchair, I won't say a word to anyone. I'll keep my gob shut and Bob's your uncle.”

“Who's Bob?”

“Sorry. Lost in translation. I only meant—I won't say a word to anyone.”

“I don't care about anyone. But if you never say another word to me it will suit me just fine,” Ava said.

CHAPTER 8

It was a stately five-story redbrick apartment building adorned with black trim around the doors and windows. The massive front door had brass lion door knockers. It looked like a place Sherlock Holmes would live. The recent lashing of rain made everything smell fresh and tart.
Just like the new me,
Ava joked with herself. Because this was a new Ava. She actually had her feet on the ground in London, England. The thought almost lifted her like a balloon.
Steady. You might start to panic. Do not have a panic attack. Do not think about having a panic attack. Think about something else, anything else—

This was Aunt Beverly's home. Ava would give anything if she were here to see that Ava had made it. The rest of the street was probably just as quaint, but Ava couldn't bear to look anywhere but straight ahead as if she were a horse with blinders on. Jasper had recovered from their row and was rattling on about a food market across the street. And the wine store and dry cleaner and some famous pub within walking distance. He had done his job, he had driven her safely to her location; shouldn't he just be off now?

There were people everywhere. Like roaches. Her stomach churned. She could be hungry, but she'd never be able to keep anything down if she ate.
Fire, fire, fire.
She was breathing too shallowly to add the word “extinguisher.” “Top floor,” Jasper said as he opened the door and waited for her to pass. He reached for her suitcase. “I'll get that.”

“Are you the bellboy now?” Ava would carry her own suitcase. She didn't care what he did with Diana's. She didn't want to haul it up four flights, but she didn't want to owe him any favors.

With each flight, the thudding in Ava's heart eased slightly. By the time she reached the fifth floor she was breathing harder but sweating less. She reached for the door.
Keys. Right.
She didn't have them. What was taking Jasper so long? His voice rose up the stairwell. He was talking. Either on the phone or to a neighbor. So chatty. And loud. And peppy. She'd been hard on him back there. He was a friend of Aunt Beverly's. He was a barrister. He was the executor of Aunt Beverly's will. She would have to be nicer. She wanted to yell down the stairs,
Hurry up!
Laughter rang out. He was happy. He was standing somewhere between the first and fifth floor, just shooting the breeze, and laughing. It wasn't fair. Ava wanted to feel like that. She flung herself at the door. The doorknob jammed into her hip. She cried out.

“Hello?” Jasper yelled up the steps. He heard her. Soon his footsteps came pounding toward her. It wasn't logical, but she just couldn't stand there, so she flung herself at the door again. “Are you trying to break into your own flat?” Jasper sounded incredulous.

“I have to use the restroom,” Ava said. “Loo,” she added.

“Perhaps we should try these.” Keys dangled from his fingertips. She wanted to tell him to go away, but her tongue felt swollen to three times its usual size. She felt like Alice in Wonderland, shrinking by the second. A huge tongue and a shrinking body. “Are you okay?” She gestured to the door. She waited, holding her breath until he inserted the key in the lock. The door sprung open and Ava stumbled in. She dumped the suitcase by the door, turned, and faced the living room. She could breathe again. It was gorgeous. A generous space with light wood floors, cozy furnishings, and three large dome-shaped windows that overlooked London.
Best not gaze out quite yet. Look at the décor instead.

The walls were covered in theater posters. Cluttered, most might say, but these were Aunt Bev's things and Ava loved it. The sofa and a matching set of chairs looked Victorian. They were red with gold trim. Beverly lived out loud, that was for sure. An Oriental rug covered the floor, there was a piano against the near wall covered in pictures, and books, and plants, and a coffee table was overflowing with various magazines, books, and other objects. Each one would require careful scrutinizing; each one was a little clue, a connection to Ava's aunt.

But Ava could take her time with that later. When she was alone. And calmer. What she really wanted was the bedroom. She was exhausted. The Xanax was supposed to last twelve hours, but for her it was more like twelve seconds. A door just beyond the living room was ajar. She headed for it. Sure enough, there was a queen-sized bed. A thick white quilt was draped over it hiding the frame. Ava dropped to her knees and lifted the quilt.
Thank God.
She could fit. The bathtub was another option, but she was already here. A normal person would wait until Jasper Keyes was gone, but she'd reached her limit. She told him not to come up with her. She crawled underneath the bed. It was dusty. Aunt Beverly had never swept or mopped under the bed. Ava was going to start sneezing. But she couldn't move. Darkness. Refuge. She practically hugged the floor and marveled as her heart and breath began to slow. She could fall asleep right here. Jasper's footsteps headed her way. “Ava?”

He startled her and she inhaled. Dust went up her nose. She sneezed.
Shit.
Was he still here? Maybe if she was really quiet, he would just go away. If only she had shut the door. Then she could pretend she was taking a nap on top of the bed. But she'd left it wide-open. From the gap between the quilt and the floor she could see his black shoes standing in the doorway. They weren't polished like she thought a barrister's shoes would be polished. They were scuffed. He wore them a lot. Or perhaps he only wore them when he was impersonating cabbies. She sneezed again.
Darn it.
She'd always been a repetitive sneezer.

“Are you all right?” He sounded alarmed.

“I'm just looking for my earring,” Ava said.

“Would you like some help?”

“No, no, I'm fine.”

“Would you like me to leave?”

“Yes, please.”

He was silent for a moment, then shifted his feet. “I wanted to show you a few odd quirks about the flat.” She was now the oddest quirk in the flat. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing. Not much of a comedian if he wasn't. Or he was too polite. Comedians had to be brutal. She'd have to tell him not to quit his job as a barrister. “Ava?”

“Another time. Please.” He had to go. She wanted to be alone. Take a bath. Sketch. Fall asleep. None of those things were possible with him lurking about the place. Her black sheets were in her luggage, along with a miniature hammer and nails. So many windows in the living room. She might have to pull some sheets from the bed.

“I'm going to leave you some information on the kitchen table. A map of the London Underground, a map of the area, and a note with some basics—food market, pubs, deliveries, that sort of thing.”
Deliveries.
The word rang in her ears like bells in heaven. Deliveries. She was in a big city. She could have everything delivered. Everything and anything. She sneezed. “Gesundheit.”

“Thank you for everything. I think I tore my stocking. I'm too embarrassed to come out with you here. You can see yourself out, can't you?” Ava wondered if he was going to point out that she was wearing pants.

“Of course, of course.”

“Thank you for the ride.”

“I'm leaving my business card as well. As soon as you're up to it, you'll need to come to my office so we can discuss the stipulations of your year here.”

Stipulations? What stipulations?
“No problem.” Oh, it was going to be a problem all right. He was going to have to come here.

“It's in the financial district; all you have to do is walk two blocks to the Tube—”

“Get out. Now. Please.”

“Right then,” Jasper said. “Cheerio.”

She listened to his footsteps, the opening of the bedroom door, the closing of the bedroom door, footsteps, then finally the opening and closing of the door to her flat. She was alone. She could breathe. She sneezed. Five times. Apparently Aunt Beverly had never felt the need to seek refuge under her bed or there wouldn't have been so much dust. Ava crawled out, stood, and then ran to the bathroom. There was no bathtub, just a shower. Ava wouldn't be able to hide out in a bathtub anymore with the shower curtain pulled around her. She was going to have to start cleaning underneath the bed.