Sneak Peek of Elephant and Castle
BY HANNAH LEDFORD
Nora Shrapsan spun in a slow circle on a street just south of the Thames.
Not that she knew which direction was north or south or which way was to the river or to Buckingham Palace.
Seven years ago, Nora had zipped through the streets of London like a local, hopping on red double-decker buses and hailing midnight cabs, emerging from the labyrinth of underground stations with the ease and confidence of someone who d lived there for years, though it had only been one summer.
Nora had found her way around the city without any problems when she was a teenager with few responsibilities and nowhere in particular to go, so she had foolishly assumed that she could just pick up right where she left off in her relationship with ye olde London Town.
She had assumed that she—an expert traveler and experienced tour-book copy editor—could jump on the Tube with ease and get to where she was going.
She was wrong.
When she d gotten off the Underground and pulled up the address on her phone, the little blue arrow kept spinning in circles, changing its mind about which way she should turn.
If Nora didn t figure it out soon, she was going to be late for the first meeting with her new editor, and she was going to have moved all the way across the Atlantic just to get fired, which would really be a shame, honestly.
She d been preparing for months—paperwork and visas, packing and parting words to friends.
She had even broken up with her super-hot boyfriend, abandoning the comfort of upstate New York and regularly scheduled above-average sex.
The breakup was a thrill for her mother, who always said that she shouldn t bother with Brandon anyway.
Too pretty, too shallow.
According to her mother, above-average sex wasn t worth the hassle of dating someone who made you watch Monday Night Football, but Nora was quick to point out that this was coming from a woman who wasn t getting laid at all.
We re very comfortable together, Nora had explained to her mother again and again.
Kathleen Shrapsan, cancer survivor and member of the Binghamton City Council, did not take comfortable for an answer.
They had the same conversation in perpetuity: Brandon is very easy to look at, her mother would say.
Even she couldn t deny it.
And he s nice to you.
Heck, I feel comfortable with him too, but that doesn t mean he has any interest in marrying and impregnating you.
Mom—
And you re too smart for him, her mother complained.
Nora stopped arguing that a lot of men didn t care as much about smart.
I want you to get married and have lots of babies and be happy, happy, happy, but I don t want you to do any of that with a man whose favorite book is Sports Illustrated .
Also, not getting laid is a choice.
As usual, Nora knew her mother was right.
Kathleen had been overjoyed when she heard the news about the London job, and she immediately waved off all the guilt Nora felt about abandoning her in-recovery matriarch.
That was just a minuscule con in a long list of pros: no more football, no more dinners with finance bros, no more Brandon.
With little regard for any of Nora's fears or concerns, her mother was praising the Lord that she wasn t going to just be comfortable anymore.
Even though her breakup was so fresh, and Nora kind-of-rudely told him two weeks before leaving the country, she was only partly concerned about the end of her relationship with Brandon and only slightly more concerned about the fact that she couldn t read a map.
There was also the matter of the diary.
A diary that had turned up while she was searching for her passport.
A diary that was still sitting at the bottom of the overstuffed backpack slung over her shoulder, practically throbbing like it was a freaking tell-tale heart.
Nora decided she better just pick a direction and take her chances.
She had done this before, after all; she d trekked all over that city by herself or with her British boyfriend and his friends.
She d walked in the footsteps of The Beatles and Anne Boleyn and Idris Elba, probably.
She shouldn t have a problem finding a company office in Southwark.
She lifted her chin and marched down the sidewalk.
Make a U-turn, her phone said.
Nora wanted to fling it into oncoming traffic.
The diary had only started taunting her recently, and in fact she didn t even remember it existed until a few weeks ago when she d opened an old shoe box, praying it wasn t going to be a smelly pair of Keds.
Inside, there were old photographs, ticket stubs, a crinkled map, and a loose bunch of old tampons (not used, obviously).
There was no passport, but underneath it all she found a diary with a pink, faux-leather cover that she recognized immediately.
With her fingers touching the fake leather, Nora couldn t help abandoning the search for items that may have actually had some use to her as she prepared to move to a different country, and she took the little book over to the couch where she could sink into the cushions, crack it open, and remember for a second what it felt like to be nineteen.
It was impossible not to memorize the words while studying the pages like an anthropologist who had uncovered a discovery that could unlock the secrets of a lost world.
London, June 5
Hugh keeps saying such romantic things, things that I don t know if I believe, but it s nice to hear them anyway.
I was perfectly content before I met you, he says, but now I can t imagine what I ll ever do without you.
He tells me he s sure I will ruin him.
I know in my head that it s cheesy and he probably says stuff like this to every girl he dates, but I can t help feeling like it might be possible that he s falling in love with me too.
London, June 29
Here s the honest truth.
There is nothing like getting kissed by a British man in an elevator at three o clock in the morning…
London, July 7
I have never slept with anyone before...well until now.
I have roommates, and Hugh has roommates, so it s not like we get a lot of privacy, and even when I would stay over at his place just to cuddle, I still felt a little embarrassed at what Dev might be thinking.
One morning I walked out, and Julian was over, and I think we both turned bright red.
Dev eavesdropping on my love life is one thing, but Julian…he s so sophisticated and shy.
So Hugh got a hotel room, and that s where we went.
I think maybe I m a bad influence on you, he said.
Maybe he s right.
He s five years older, and he s a man, and I know very little about men. But I wanted it to happen all along. I wanted him to take me somewhere private. I wanted to kiss him all over, even if I was worried about looking like an idiot and not knowing what I was doing. When I was there with him, I didn t really worry about that at all.
Nora could admit that discovering this significant artifact may have had something to do with her breakup as well.
Sure, she d been preparing to leave the country, but long distance was a thing.
She and Brandon could have tried that.
She wasn t sure exactly how long she would be in London; they could get back together when she returned.
But after reading those pages and remembering how she felt that summer, Nora thought maybe she had known Hugh Jeffries better than Brandon from just three wonderful British summer months.
She knew she was probably being stupid and idealizing their whole relationship.
For one, she had been so young and had never been abroad before, and she was already inclined to indulge in romantic notions.
Then there was the man himself. Hugh was a musician. With an accent. And he wrote songs about her. How could you not be head over heels for someone who wrote songs about you? It really wasn t a fair fight.
If she had stayed, she would have grown up, and the rose-colored glasses would have come off.
They would fight, and she would get bored, and he would get lazy and messy and forget her birthday after spending more time in the pub with his friends than making her happy.
They had just never gotten to that part.
A long time ago, she stopped fantasizing that Hugh Jeffries would show up on her doorstep and sweep her off her feet.
Still, Nora realized as she shuffled down the street—slightly frazzled and increasingly panicked—one part of her brain was looking for her office, but another part was disobediently searching for Hugh, as if she could imagine him into existence just by standing on a street in the city where he lived.
You would think that someone who had finally gotten the chance at her dream job—or at least a lot closer to her dream job than sitting in a tiny office copy editing articles about beautiful places she would never get to visit—would have more important things to think about than men they d been in love with when they were teenagers.
She should be worrying about money, or how to actually do well in her new position, or the fact that she would only be freelance and the company could drop her contract and abandon her in the UK at the drop of a hat.
So no more NSFW British ex-boyfriend fantasies.
She should probably wall the diary up behind a big stack of bricks and never look at it again.
Oh, wait.
That was The Cask of Amontillado.
Nora was relieved to find that she had finally picked the right direction when her phone didn t command her to turn around again.
With her eyes focused on the screen, she almost walked into a couple of well-dressed Londoners before she discovered the small office space with a big window and little yellow sign with purple lettering that read 99 Flamingo Publishing.
Perhaps for the first time since exiting the Tube, Nora exhaled.
It was cozy inside—little desks blocked out at different angles, an office and a conference room in the back, and the sound of constant clacking as each person in the main room banged away on their keyboard.
It wasn t exactly what she had imagined when she packed up her life and left America.
She d been picturing a big corporate office with elevators and a first floor Starbucks.
This was kind of a rinky-dink operation, a one floor, very cramped, and very brown workplace situation.
She knew publishing didn t have the budget it used to, and 99 Flamingo was only a very small imprint of a larger press, but this was still a surprise.
Nora? A woman at the front desk stood up and removed her glasses.
Nora did a double take, wondering if she should already be acquainted with this person.
Surely the arrival of one American writer was of little significance to this place.
How did you know?
The woman smiled warmly.
Well, we don t get a lot of people wandering in here, and we re expecting you.
She reached out a hand for Nora to shake.
I found the place, Nora said.
It was an obvious statement, but she meant it more as an affirmation for herself than a conversation starter, as if she weren t a travel journalist with a terrible sense of direction.
Give me a minute, and I ll take you back to Darcy, the woman said.
Also, I m Jasmine.
Did I mention that?
Nora had forgotten how much she loved being surrounded by British accents, the way it made her feel as if she had stepped into a Jane Austen novel or a George Bernard Shaw play.
It made her want to shout hear, hear! in raucous agreement whenever anyone said something exciting.
She smiled to herself while she waited for Jasmine to introduce her to Darcy—of course her editor would be named Darcy.
She wondered if it was a man or a woman.
Perhaps it was a Mr.
Darcy and her wildest Pride and Prejudice fantasies would play out in the little publishing office.
Come on back, Shrapsan! a smoky voice called from the back office, and Nora jumped.
The other people in the main room kept their heads down with their eyes on their computer screens as she passed by them.
Friendly, Nora thought sarcastically.
She popped her head around the corner and peeked inside the back office to see a mess of books and papers, maps and notes, ashtrays and takeout containers.
Behind the desk was a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties with giant dark eyes and round cheeks.
Her black hair was pulled back from her face, and her lips formed a displeased pout.
Have a seat, Darcy said, and Nora quickly did as she was told.
Jasmine slipped back out of the office, leaving Nora alone in a sea of publishing debris with her new boss.
Actually, Darcy was just her editor, but Nora couldn t stop thinking the word boss.
She d thought it so much that it didn t totally seem like a real word anymore until she saw Darcy.
She appeared to embody the term, and despite the fact that she looked the opposite of Mr.
Darcy in every way, she did exude his same sternness and derision.
Nora had been practicing this moment in her mind, planning her first impression, but she didn t even get a chance to say hello before Darcy started going on in her raspy voice.
Well, here you are then, she said, not looking up from the note she was writing on her desk.
They insisted on having an American do some research and writing for the project, though I find it unnecessary.
We can easily write the book on our own city and every other place they throw at us.
Right, Nora said.
Well, I suppose they just want multiple perspectives for the app.
Darcy scoffed.
Our perspectives are good enough, I think.
But we do have a bit of ground to cover in a relatively short amount of time, so I ll want you writing and editing blurbs as quickly as possible.
Am I correct that this will be your first time writing this kind of content?
Yes, Nora said quietly.
She didn t know how to elaborate.
She was pretty sure that she would be great at this.
She d been waiting for the chance for so long, but this woman was already making her doubt herself.
She tried to give herself a mini pep talk in her mind.
You can do this.
She could focus on her writing and publish incredible travel guides and forget that she was once again in the same city as the most beautiful man who had ever touched her.
A man with stormy eyes and incredible fingers, the first man to ever give her an org— Nope, get it together, Nora.
We ll check out the first place on the list together, go over what kind of details we re looking for, Darcy was saying.
That will be your training.
It may be unusual, but I think it s important that you get a feel for the tone of the book.
Nora nodded.
This isn t just a run-of-the-mill guide.
It has personality and a special appeal for young, chic travelers.
There s a restaurant in Kensington they want to include.
A couple of new clubs in Piccadilly. A hotel in Marylebone. Those are going to get bigger write-ups in the book, but there will be even more content on the app. God knows I m too old to go to the clubs, but you can do that with Timothy. Did you meet everyone?
No, not yet, Nora stuttered.
Timothy! Darcy called, and a pencil-thin, dark-haired man appeared in the doorway almost immediately.
He would have looked like a steampunk villain if only he d been sporting an oddly manicured mustache.
This is Timothy.
He does some writing, some IT, and whatever else, Darcy announced, as if that gave Nora all the information she would ever need to know about him.
Hello, lovely, it s a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Timothy said, running his hands through his hair.
His accent wasn t as charming as she would have expected.
That s enough, Darcy snapped, and Timothy was gone again.
Nora felt terrified but also like she should be laughing her head off at the same time.
It was not at all the nurturing mentorship she had been expecting with her new editor in her dream job.
Anyway, Darcy said, about the museums… She proceeded to talk about the project as if in bullet points, not pausing even when Nora tried to ask a question.
Nora jostled the things in her backpack, searching for a pen as quickly as possible so she could take notes on everything Darcy was firing at her.
Darcy wasn t even looking in her direction while she was talking—she was simultaneously typing an email on the computer.
Nora tried to say something, but Darcy cut her off again.
You ll need to get to know some locals, as it helps to get some context about the different neighborhoods from their view. You want to get input from the kind of people that pass by these places every day as well. We re not just writing reviews or telling people about the latest events. We re telling a story. Though, you know, there will also be a lot of brochures to collect and facts to check.
Ok, what do you think about— Nora tried, but Darcy cut in again.
I guess now is as good a time as any. Let s go.
Go?
To the new restaurant.
Training.
Have you been paying attention?
She mostly had been paying attention; there was just that one little part in the middle where she really zoned out.
Maybe if she burned the diary, she could somehow stop her weird memory/fantasy life from taking over.
Darcy stood.
Come on then, let s get started.
* * *
When Nora was starting college, she wasn t quite sure what she wanted to do with her life.
She loved studying English, but that wasn t really one of those majors that led to an easy, specific career path.
She loved books and stories, but she didn t want to teach, which seemed to be the only thing that anyone expected you to do if you got a BA in Literature.
She loved true crime and mysteries, but she didn t have the constitution to be a detective, and even the thought of blood made her queasy.
When she found out about the study abroad program in London, it was the closest she had ever come to figuring out what she wanted as a career, because she wanted exactly that, to read Shakespeare and go to plays at the Globe Theatre, and take walking tours around beautiful, historic cities.
How did one turn that exact thing into a job that paid you money?
Finally, her chance had come, which was perhaps a testament to the power of perseverance, or even more likely it was proof of the power of begging.
The company where she d been sitting at her cubicle for years had given her a shot in their most low-stakes writing position, and now that the job was hers, she was working hard not to let Darcy s persistent negative attitude depress her.
In fact, as they sat in a dim restaurant that was going to get a tiny write-up in the book, Nora was beaming.
Why are you making that face? Darcy asked.
What face?
That face like a puppy and a unicorn just had a baby, and it s going to carry you around the Froufrou Forest and grant you three wishes.
I m not sure what that means, Nora said.
Stop smiling so damn much, Darcy barked.
This restaurant isn t even good.
It would get one out of five smile emojis in the book.
My soup isn t bad, Nora said.
Who orders soup when it s thirty degrees out?
Is that hot? I don t know how to convert the temperature to Fahrenheit.
Darcy shook her head, as if embarrassed by Nora s stupidity or perhaps by the stupidity of all of America.
Aren t you dying? My whole body is covered in a layer of sweat.
I look like a slimy sea lion.
Nora inspected Darcy for a moment, considering this comparison.
The only thing about you that reminds me of a sea lion, she said, is your big, dark eyes.
Darcy snorted.
You re forgetting about my whiskers.
Anyway, look at this chicken.
It looks like my nan made this in 1976, and they ve just defrosted it.
It s actually wrinkled.
Is that what you ll write in the review?
You re writing the review, Darcy said.
Though I don t really think this place deserves to take up space.
This is why you can t trust anything you read on the internet.
Now tell me the categories you need to cover in your 150 words.
Nora concentrated.
Year established.
Convenience of the location.
Atmosphere.
Nora didn t mention that she had no idea about the convenience of location for anything, since she didn t know where anything was and would almost certainly get lost on her way anywhere.
Yes, yes, Darcy said, but none of that matters when the food is such shite.
I m at least going to try the pie.
Excuse me! Darcy raised a hand to flag down the waiter.
As Darcy bit into a slice of chocolate pie that she absolutely despised, Nora decided to steer the conversation away from the lacking quality of the restaurant.
This training lunch was the perfect time to get to know Darcy a little better and to see if there was a way to break through to some kind of positive working relationship.
She could almost hear what her mother would say.
Kathleen always seemed to understand what was at the heart of people immediately.
She would recognize all of Darcy s little insecurities, the way she kept brushing her hair out of her face and gripping the table.
She would say it was all a mask, that Darcy was really just scared of something, and she would probably know exactly what that something was, even if Nora hadn t quite put her finger on it.
Her mother would know how to handle it too, how to talk to Darcy in a way that put her at ease or put her in her place, whatever was necessary in the moment.
Nora just knew how to be nosy.
So how long have you lived here? she asked.
Forever, Darcy said, shutting down any further inquiries.
Have you ever even been here before?
Nora smiled.
I studied abroad here, and I fell in love with it.
I took afternoon strolls through Regent s Park, I browsed record stores near Abbey Road, I went on the Eye at sunset.
It s my favorite city in the world.
The weather s terrible, Darcy said, but Nora could tell that she couldn t complain too much about her hometown.
This was where Darcy had grown up, and while she could dislike almost anything, Nora was sure her boss couldn t hate London.
People are idiots too.
Brexit? Come on.
Nora laughed.
The people I met here were wonderful.
Oh gross.
Darcy scrunched up her face.
What?
You met a guy here, I can tell.
What? How can you tell? Nora looked around the room furtively.
The people I met here were wonderful.
Sigh.
Wistful look.
Memories stirring behind your blue eyes.
I can read you like a book, Shrapsan.
You batted those long eyelashes all over town, and you fell in love.
Nora stared.
She must be so obvious, but she was also relieved.
She d been dying to talk to someone about Hugh, to say everything she d been thinking for the past seventy-two hours—or maybe the past seven years—out loud, but now that she had the floor, Nora wasn t sure Darcy was the right person to talk to, and she didn t know where to start.
It was so much more than a teenage romance to her, but how to explain it so that Darcy wouldn t think she was a dramatic weirdo? Maybe she shouldn t have decided to spill the beans to her boss in the first place.
He was my first love, Nora said.
She cleared her throat.
Scenes from the life of nineteen-year-old, losing-her-virginity Nora kept playing in her mind.
Make out sessions on Tower Bridge in the rain.
White teeth glowing in black lights while they danced at Ministry of Sound.
Steam wafting from hotel bathrooms, droplets of wine dotting the side of the bathtub.
Well, that is serious, Darcy said, and Nora blinked hard, forcing herself back into the present.
We met at the pub where he worked, and he was in a band.
It sounds silly now, doesn t it? She tried to shrug nonchalantly.
The first time he ever spoke to me, I could tell immediately there was just this something about him.
He told me I couldn t handle my liquor and I d be Oliver Twist in no time.
I didn t know what that meant, even though I love the musical.
You Americans always fall for that Cockney bullocks, Darcy said.
A couple of rhymes, Oliver Twist instead of pissed, and you re completely charmed.
Nora laughed.
I totally was.
I fell for it immediately.
Even when I thought logically this guy is just charismatic and I shouldn t be so smitten, I couldn t help it.
I was done for.
And he was right that I couldn t hold my liquor.
Wow, you re gullible.
Darcy shook her head.
Seriously.
How do you survive in this world?
Nora was on a roll, and she ignored Darcy s comment.
I liked him, but I didn t take him that seriously.
We always had an expiration date.
I knew it would just be a summer fling.
But then I got to know him… The band was actually amazing.
I think it clouded my judgment.
Nora looked off into the distance wistfully.
So he gave you the struggling musician bit, and you ate it right up.
You were probably throwing your panties on stage in no time.
Darcy laughed at her own joke.
What was the band?
Nora was still in another world, remembering all the things that Hugh had said to her, how much she d wanted to believe him.
When he d told her he loved her.
That had been real, right? That wasn t just some line to get in her pants.
Oh, it s not like you would have heard of them.
They were just—the Pet Rockers, she said finally, and Darcy actually did a spit take.
She had cider dribbling down her chin.
You re fucking with me, Darcy said, suddenly alert and completely invested in the conversation.
What?
You did not date a guy from the Pet Rockers.
You re good, Shrapsan.
I didn t think you had it in you to make up such a load.
Nora stared at her, eyebrows wrinkled.
What are you talking about? You know about a band called the Pet Rockers?
Darcy was shaking her head.
I don t know whether to believe you or not.
They are a relatively well-known local band, at least if you re into the music scene at all.
They do shows all over the city.
In fact, I have tickets to a special event they re doing just north of here.
That s crazy, Nora said.
There s no way it s the same band, right? I mean, literally no one knew who they were when they used to play at the Goose and Cobbler.
Darcy stared at her as if trying to solve a puzzle.
No, that s it.
You re not fooling me anymore.
What s this bit you re doing? I don t get it, Darcy grumbled.
What are you talking about? Nora suddenly felt sick, and she wasn t sure if it was from the soup or some other kind of nausea.
The show this weekend— this fucking weekend—is a special show at the Goose and Cobbler.
Darcy tossed down her fork as if the sheer ridiculousness of this situation wouldn t allow her to hold it a second longer.
Nora sat in stunned silence, but everything felt too loud.
Her head was cloudy, as if she was just waking from a strange dream.
Darcy was still saying something, but she couldn t quite make out the words.
The diary in the bottom of her bag still seemed to be beating, and Nora couldn t hear anything else.
You really aren t making this up, are you? Darcy said, her voice finally breaking through.
I was going to have my roommate go with me, but she doesn t care about it anyway.
I would much rather take you and see you reunite with your boyfriend.
Nora s mouth was hanging open.
She d been having the stupid debate in her head, ever since she found the diary, about whether or not to pop into the Goose and Cobbler for old-time s sake.
She never thought Hugh would still be there, behind the bar, waiting for her.
And she really never thought that his now semi-famous band would be playing a show in the very place where she had first laid eyes on him.
She was trying to convince herself that there was no way any of this was possible—there was no actual way that she could set foot in the pub and fall in love with Hugh Jeffries all over again after seven years.
But as Darcy sat there snapping her fingers in front of Nora s face to try to break her from her total state of shock, Nora realized the truth.
There was no way in hell she was missing that show.
* * *
Don t stop now.
Keep reading with your copy of ELEPHANT AND CASTLE .