London from My Windows (18 page)

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh, please. The two of you have been struck with the stupid stick. Do you know what's more annoying than a flatmate who never leaves? A flatmate that never stops smiling.”
She feels the same way. She feels the same way. Smiling
. Like Jasper was doing right now. Queenie wagged his fork in Jasper's face. “See? What a load of bollocks. A month ago you were pining over Hillary like a man about to kill Cupid.”

“Speaking of Hillary,” Jasper said.

“We won't. At least I certainly won't.” Queenie retreated as far as he could into his side of the booth. He was frightened of his own niece. It was like watching a vicious tiger turn into a mewling house cat.

“She's been very attentive lately. Do you think she's still in love with me?”

“She's a bloodhound. She doesn't want you back, Jasper. She just doesn't want to see you with a Septic.”

“Well, that's none of her business now, is it?”

Queenie gasped. “Don't play with fire.”

“You're saying I'm not supposed to date Ava because my ex-girlfriend wouldn't like it?”

“Wouldn't like it? She'd burn down the flat.”

“Fuck.”

“You wouldn't be able. Not after she was done with your balls.”

“Queenie.”

“Better I say it now than let you suffer later.”

“You need to help me.”

“Help you chop off your own head? It would be my pleasure. How can I help?” Queenie held up his index finger. “And before you ask, I'm all out of rusty axes.”

“Why don't you feel Hillary out for me? See if it would bother her if I was to start seeing Ava.” It was ridiculous to be worrying about this. Hillary was the one who dumped him. He shouldn't give a fop about her feelings. But Hillary was lethal when it came to jealousy. It was her worst quality. And Jasper didn't care how she treated him, but he certainly didn't want her plotting against Ava.
God, women.
When it came down to Hillary and Ava, Hillary was truly the crazy one. Why had that been so appealing to him before? Thank God. Thank God he was no longer under her spell. Or rather, thank Ava.

“Stay away from Ava.”

“What if I can't? What if I'm in—”

“NO.” Queenie banged his spoon against his pint glass as if he were about to give a big speech. “Do not say that. You're mental. This is lust, nothing more.”

“It's not just lust.”

“It's mostly lust. It'll pass.”

“I can't stop thinking about her. I. Can't. Stop.”

“Can you truly live with a woman who never leaves the flat?”

“She'll get there. As long as we don't push her.”

“See! You're rooting for her to get the flat.”

“Of course I'm rooting for her to get the flat; that's what my client Beverly Wilder intended.”

Queenie threw down his napkin like a dueler throwing down his glove. “Even if she makes progress, I don't think she's ever going to be completely happy running about.”

“Probably not.”

“Is that the kind of life you want, Mr. Jumping from Aeroplanes and Taking Off for Holiday Wherever the Wind Blows?”

“I want to cure her.”

“You can't.”

“She deserves it.”

“Don't tell me you've shagged her.”

“No. We just kissed. Twice. Maybe three times. It depends how you count.”

Queenie gasped.
What a dreadfully annoying habit. How did Ava put up with it?

Annoying habits.
What did Jasper do that drove Hillary mental? He'd have to think on it, then start doing more of it. A lot more. “What can I do that would turn Hillary off?”

“Tell her about wanting to quit your job as a barrister to become a stand-up comedian. That should start things off.”

“I tried. I handed her a brochure for my Open Mic Night. She thought it was rubbish someone handed me on the street. She dropped it to the ground without another glance.”

“When is it?”

“Thursday week.”

“I'll get her there.”

“What?”

“I'll bring Hillary. She'll see you make a fool of yourself onstage. You'll tell her it's your dream and you're going to do it no matter what. You'll quit your job. She'll freak out. And before you know it, you're dumped. Again. She'll be so disgusted by you, she'll walk you down the aisle when you marry Ava.”

“Do you really think so?”

Queenie slammed his fist down near his plate. “Have you gone completely mad? Beverly wanted you to help her disabled niece, not drag yourself into her pitiful life.”

“Don't talk about her like that. Don't you like her? Has all this turned you heartless?”

Queenie had the decency to look a little sheepish. “There's something a bit appealing about the girl, I'll admit.”

“See?”

“In an ‘oh, look at the poor pup romping around on three legs' kind of way. She's handicapped, Jasper.”

“Who doesn't have their share of problems? You can't audition for anything without your lucky charm.”
Bollocks. Why did I bring that up again?

Queenie's hands flew to his neck. “Give it back!”

“Sorry, mate. I left it at the office.”

“Well, go get it. That was the whole point of having lunch. I only have four more days until the audition. Can you imagine seeing me on the telly?” Queenie grasped his hands like he was praying. “Then,
perhaps,
I can buy my own flat and your little head case can have hers.”

“Right, so. That would be brilliant. But even if you don't get the part—”

“Do not jinx me, do not jinx me.”

“Right. Where did Alfred get that charm, by the way?”

“I've told you a hundred times.”

“Then one more won't hurt, lad.”

“A commemorative event for the Globe Theatre. It coincided with our anniversary.”

“Brilliant. Truly one of a kind.”
Shite.

“Truly. Should we go to your office right now?”

“We're waiting on Hillary.”

“Until we get this whole mess sorted I think you should stay away from Ava,” Queenie said.

“But.”

“No buts. You keep your hands, lips, and schnozzel away.”

“Schnozzel. Really?”

“Away.”

“I'm supposed to accompany her when she does anything from the list.”

“If she does anything on the list.”

“When.”

“Conflict of interest. We'll assign someone else.” Queenie reached onto the seat and hauled up a pile of notebooks, swatches, and magazines, and dumped them on the table.

“What's that?”

“My redecorating plans. In case I don't get the part. I'll console myself by redecorating my new flat.”

“I can't believe you.”

“A girl can dream, can't she?” Queenie's head immediately snapped to the left. Jasper followed suit. Hillary was making her way toward the table, her arms filled with Marks & Spencer bags.

“Hello, lads,” she said. She plunked down next to Queenie. Her eyes landed on his pile of decorating ideas. She clapped her hands. “I can't wait to get my hands on that flat,” she said.

“You?” Jasper said.

Hillary put her hand on Queenie's arm. “Us,” she corrected.

“We were just discussing this. I was reminding Queenie that Beverly intended the flat to go to Ava. Whether or not she completes the list.”

Hillary looked at Jasper. He would hate to be on her witness stand. Any virile male would walk off cupping his balls.

“Then she shouldn't have put it in writing,” Hillary said. “Because it will stand up in court.”

“Not if Queenie doesn't fight it.”

“He won't have to fight it. When the ninety days are over and she's done nothing from the list, the little Septic will crawl home, and the flat will be ours.”

“Ours?” Queenie said, arching his eyebrow.

“We're family, are we not?” Hillary said. Queenie shrugged, and Hillary punched him on the shoulder with a laugh.

“That's not nice.” Jasper threw twenty pounds on the table and stood. “Beverly would be ashamed of both of you.”

“What's gotten into you?” Hillary said. Queenie made a slashing motion across his throat while Hillary wasn't looking.

“I'm trying to honor Beverly's intentions. So much for letting her have the flat if you get on telly, isn't that right, mate?” Queenie looked up, startled. He had just pressed a piece of pink fabric to his cheek.

“Telly or no telly, we're not giving up the flat,” Hillary said.

Queenie buried his head in the decorating binder.

Jasper stood. “I have to get back to the office.”

“Thank God,” Queenie said. “When can you get me my lucky charm?”

This was it. Queenie wasn't ever going to let Ava have the flat. Even if he did get on telly. There was no use pretending now. “I'm sorry, mate. I lost it. It's gone.”

Queenie's hands flew to his neck. “No. No! You're lying.”

“I'm sorry, but it's the truth. I tried to retrace my steps, but no luck. I'm sorry. It's gone.”

“I want to die. Oh, God, I want to die.”

“Now you know how Ava feels. Every single time she steps outside.”

“You're doing this to bully me into giving her the flat.”

“Look at me. You know what kind of liar I am.”

“A terrible liar,” Hillary said.

“I'm sorry. The lucky charm is gone.”

“You've ruined my career. My entire career. It's over. I'll never be the star. I'll never be on telly. But you can be sure as Christmas I'm getting that flat. I don't care if you love her or not.”

“What?” Hillary said. “Love whom?”

Jasper looked at Hillary. “I'm going to become a stand-up comedian,” he said. It was the only thing he could think of to throw her off.

Hillary threw her head back and laughed. Somewhere, pigs were getting slaughtered. “As if being an actor weren't hideous enough,” she said, patting Queenie on the shoulder. She turned back to Jasper and grinned with all her teeth. “That's the funniest thing I've heard all day. Why doesn't one just give up on life altogether and become a clown?”

Jasper took the binder, turned it upside down, and shook it out over the table. Pieces of fabric and design patterns rained down. Queenie grasped for all the bits, gasping and sputtering, while Jasper walked out.

“Soon to be sixty-nine more days!” Queenie yelled after Jasper, shaking his fist. “I'll be the proud owner of a West End flat in sixty-nine more days.”

CHAPTER 19

Ava perched on her stool and opened her laptop. London was only half-gray today. Strips of blue cut through the remainder of the sky, offering a little bit of hope. It made Ava hungry. After Queenie's apoplectic reaction to her not having plastic, Ava had applied online for a credit card. It was in her pile of mail this morning. She never knew it would be that easy. Then again, she didn't have any debt and she had a decent savings. And this was without mentioning that she might soon be the proud owner of a European flat. She'd put in her mother's address in Iowa, and when the card arrived her mother had graciously mailed it. They weren't talking a lot these days, but at least they were somewhat communicating. The mail here was delivered to a little room on the first floor, but Queenie always brought hers up. There was just one note from her mother with the credit card:
You need this for?
Her limit was only $1,000, presumably because she had very little credit to begin with. But a thousand dollars was plenty. She put on some music, and a black silk robe that she had taken to calling her dressing gown. She danced around the flat with her credit card before settling onto her stool with her laptop.

Food!
Mangia!
Yum!
Most girls would take their plastic to Marks & Spencer, Harrods, or Selfridges, but Ava had her eye on Sainsbury's.

She would order groceries online, then request that Vic deliver them. Or she could just invite her over like a normal friend might do, have her in for tea and crumpets, but what if Vic didn't think of her as a friend? Or normal? She did kind of disappear on Vic and her mysterious gardener friend, Deven, although that was after they disappeared on her. Were Vic and Deven in love? Had they already shagged? Ava loved all the British terms.
Shagged.
Made her think of doing it on carpets from the seventies. Whether or not they'd had sex, Ava couldn't believe how fast Vic had bonded with this guy. Ava had been drawing him for days and didn't feel the need for anything more.

Then again, her feelings for Jasper had taken off like a rocket, hadn't they? She'd felt a spark with him from the moment she saw his handsome, grief-stricken face on the video, and she'd even been attracted to him when he was posing as a bearded, lovesick taxi driver. When the chemistry was there, it was undeniable. She would have sworn it wasn't possible to feel so connected so fast. Maybe it was because Beverly loved him, and he her; maybe it bridged some kind of gap. All she knew was that he triggered her like no one else had ever done. And she liked it. That was the wild part. She actually liked feeling this way. It was like a drug. Thoughts, feelings, fantasies. How did people deal with all these things happening to them? It made it hard to get on with the business of life. Always waiting, wondering, hoping he'll walk through that door. When was he going to walk through her door again? How fast were these things supposed to go? Could she confide in Vic? Tell her she and Jasper had kissed? Tell her about the list? That's what friends were supposed to do, confide in each other.

Ava had never felt such a deep need for a friend before. Then again, Ava had never had so many things bubbling inside her, dying to get out. Hunger first. Ava pulled up the Web site for Sainsbury's. This would be fun. A virtual-shopping experience in London while looking out the window was very close to the actual experience, wasn't it? Especially if Ava imagined herself in the aisle, pushing a cart and picking up items as she clicked. It was nobody's business but hers how she enjoyed her life. Who said people were better off with fresh air? If she wanted some fresh air, she'd open the windows. But not today. It probably smelled like exhaust and pigeons anyway. So many cars, and lorries, and fat gray birds. She'd get her fresh air from a fan. Her eyes flicked to the computer screen.

How lucky she was that this was the age of the Internet. Ava couldn't imagine being agoraphobic at other times in history. How isolated she would have been. Nothing to read but perhaps a classic by the fireplace. Then again, that didn't sound so bad either. A rocking chair, a blanket, and a tin cup of whiskey. Maybe she would leave the curtains open a peek so that she could catch a glimpse of snow falling outside the cabin. But what would she do when the cupboards were bare? Who would bring in the firewood? She would have to have a husband who didn't mind a wife who never left the house. Or the cabin in the woods. Or the turret in the castle. Such husbands would be up to no good the minute they were out of sight. But there would be nothing she could do about it if she was using them for her very survival. What a world. It sucked to be dependent on someone, but it sucked more to be alone. Jasper was someone she could trust outside the house. But Jasper was also someone who deserved a woman on his arm, accompanying him on his adventures.

Focus.
With a click of a built-in mouse, she could order in anything she liked. She even heard of a person—she couldn't remember if it was a woman or a man—who purposefully stayed inside for an entire year, ordering everything they needed and wanted online. Was it too late to tell Jasper she was a blogger doing a social experiment?
My agoraphobia is just a cover. I'm doing a study on technology and social media and how it has isolated all of us in these little cocoons. To prove it I'm going to stay in my flat for a solid year, order everything online, and have all my social interactions through a screen. It's horrid, yes; that's the point. I'm sacrificing my freedom for the good of the people. The British People. Starting with ordering some tasty lunch.

She couldn't believe all the items she could purchase from the comfort of her own home:

 

 

Yes.
She would take two boxes. They were on sale this week for only two pounds! She could get two bottles of selected wines for ten pounds. A tab at the top read:
Favourites
. She scanned the list.

 

 

She didn't know who Loyd Grossman was. Should she? Oh, what the heck. If he was important enough to have a sauce named after him, why, she was going to try it. If they named one after her would it be Septic Sauce?

 

 

Who didn't want a good round pound deal? Ava certainly did.

 

 

Ava hadn't given a single thought to laundry. Mainly because she'd been raiding Beverly's closet. Looked like she'd be washing all her clothes in the sink for the near future. Might as well get a bottle or three of Colour Persil.

 

No thanks.
The last thing a shut-in needed to do was eat a load of beans. If she did, she'd definitely have to open the windows.

 

 

Hell yes!
Eating foods she'd never heard of was educational. She was being a tourist. She could eat a Brioche Pasquier Croissant while looking out her window at all of London, sipping on Earl Grey tea. Watch the London Eye rotate. Take in the crowds in the West End. Ava didn't care what anyone else thought. She was in a new and foreign place. She was observing life. Memorizing the points of interest, the shape of the buildings. She watched the world at sunrise when the first glint of morning light bounced off windows, and at sunset when the night sky leaked behind the skyline seconds before it started to glow. It was riveting. Sparkling. Exciting. New. Ava felt alive. A true show, morning and night, and Ava had a front-row seat. It changed day to day, never the same shades, or shapes, or pace. Life was ever constant, and there was something profoundly comforting about that.

“If you knew how much I appreciated this, you'd let me stay,” Ava said aloud. She paused, in case Aunt Beverly wanted to rattle a teacup or the windows. “For an actress you're awful quiet.” Ava suddenly had an urge to sketch Beverly. She'd find every picture she could of her aunt and sketch her. That's how she got to know people. But she'd have to do that later; right now she needed to finish her food shopping.

 

 

Now that sounded a bit homophobic. She ordered them anyway.

 

Personally Ava would have called them Emma's Rock-Hard Buns. She ordered them.

 

 

They all sounded like porn. She was going to order everything that sounded foreign and dirty.

 

 

Well, maybe not everything.

 

 

Now she was thinking of strippers and tiny chickens. Seriously. These people were sexed out.

 

 

WTF?
Where did she begin?

 

 

Minced what? Not meat, but still a mystery. No thanks.
She'd stick with the beef.

 

 

Ava would taste the difference all right; she would taste London. She could see London out her window and taste it. That was an adventure. That was progress. And British Boneless Pork Crackling Leg Joint. Large. Less than five pounds a kg. How much was a kg? Damn her lack of metric system upbringing. She'd just get it. Queenie could eat some; didn't he say he was on a protein diet? Maybe she could order him an entire pig, roast it on a spit in the flat.
I'd like to make amends. Have a sow
.

Here we go. Sainsbury's British Whole Chicken with Pork, Sage & Onion Stuffing.
Ooooh,
Sainsbury's Beef Sandwich Steak. They had everything. They were just begging her not to leave the flat.

 

 

What in the wide world of London were those? Mr. Brain's Faggots. It sounded gross, and once again homophobic, and somewhat Jekyll and Hyde–ish, and there was no way she could resist buying them. She wished her father were here to laugh with her. Ava froze. She hadn't thought so fleetingly of her father before. Not in an upbeat way like that.
Strange.
Maybe it was being here in Aunt Beverly's home. Her mother was probably worried too. Ava should call her. She had been waiting until she'd actually successfully gone out and done something. She didn't want to hear:
I told you so
. Mr. Brain's Faggots. She definitely wasn't in Kansas anymore.

 

 

Then again, maybe she was.

 

 

Now that was the way to lose weight.

 

 

What the hell was gammon? Ava was starting to get dizzy. Whatever it was, you could get it smoked, unsmoked, with pineapple and cheese, sticky honey glaze, or rosemary and thyme. Heck, maybe Simon and Garfunkel would come over and sing while you cooked. British this, British that. They were very patriotic about their food. Saute British Gems with Rustic Salsa Verde. FruitBroo Elderflower & Lime Iced Tea. British Gems Potatoes. The words on the site were starting to blur. Somewhere she remembered reading: From Field to Fork in 48 Hours.
How about from field to flat in two hours, Sainsbury's?

Sainsbury's Kiwi Fruit, Ripe & Ready. British Sweet Chili Chicken Wings—She was ordering too much, but she couldn't stop clicking. She checked her cart. Over four hundred pounds. Four hundred pounds! Nearly half her credit limit.
Wait.
She'd order some of their canvas bags, too, for surely her order could choke a flock of seagulls. She didn't know how many bags it would require, so she ordered twenty.
Yowza.
She'd just stop looking at the credit card total. It was for later anyway. Wasn't that the whole point of it? Buy now, worry later?
Oh, God. Over six hundred pounds now. Those damn gulls better appreciate it.
Oh, she missed the red velvet cake with buttercream icing. She'd always wanted to try red velvet cake. It sounded so royal.

Gobshite.
Now
this
was British porn. She shouldn't have ordered two of everything that sounded dirty. Or so much meat. Would they talk about her?
That mysterious woman who orders boatloads every single time. We hear she never leaves the flat. Maybe she has a broken leg like Jimmy Stewart in
Rear Window. If only Jasper would have lifted that wheelchair like she asked him to. She'd have to look into getting another one. She could probably do it online. Craigslist. As part of the experiment she could compare how people treated the Ava they thought was normal to the Ava in a wheelchair. It would be an eye-opening exposé. They would never glare at her, or shove past her, or whisper about her, or judge her, or ignore her, or scream at her if she were in a wheelchair. She alone would dare to throw open the velvet curtain and show the world the true Wizard.