Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
When I crawl out of bed again around noon, I decide some retail therapy is in order, and I dress for the Brick Lane Market on Sunday.
I wear a pale blue wool hat and black sunglasses against the unexpected bright and the off chance I’m recognized, piling on a thick wool coat and the fluffiest oversized mohair scarf in blue, white, and yellow color blocking. Thank you, Loewe.
At the market, famous for its antiques, crowds gather despite the chill to the air, even with spring only days away.
Bundled up, it’s refreshing to walk amid the anonymity of the crowd, watching people haggle over prices or fall in love with old things, bringing them new life as they take them home.
Somewhere nearby, Miles trails me as my bodyguard, just in case I’m recognized and some issue arises.
And I start to feel a little better, out doing normal things, on my own.
There’re no king-shaped thoughts this afternoon by design.
I get a tea to warm up, my fingers wrapped around the paper cup, finding a spot to stand out in the sun.
I end up buying a silk scarf and another chest of drawers that could use some attention to refinish it.
After an Uber back home and help from the porter to get the drawers up to my entry, I sag against the wall.
My phone buzzes. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if it’s Stefanos calling, and then I tell myself not to be foolish. Why would he call me? He’s probably off living his best life somewhere between Europe and America. I pull off my leather gloves.
When I fish my phone out of my pocket, there’s a message from James.
You alright? X
What did Aidan do now? X
Nothing new in the scandal sheets, just practicing being considerate and thought to check in on you and your feeling
Shocking behavior. My one feeling is officially dead to me. What about your reputation?
What about yours?
Don’t even start
I slide down to the floor with a groan, pressing my back against the wall and a hand on my knee as I text back.
All you need is a strategy, old thing, take it from me
A strategy? Like getting laid?
Positive spin. Go shake some hands and kiss some babies
I’ll make babies cry
Kiss some guys then
I don’t think a public mating ritual is going to give me the sort of PR I need sorry
What you need is a reputation makeover
I groan again. Trust James of all people to tell me I need a reputation makeover. If I didn’t know it was bad before now, he’s confirmed I’m about as popular as a gutter rat. Which, to be fair to rats, they’re smart and have friends to help them out.
All very well and good, but impossible and it’s about to get worse
How can it possibly get worse?
I can’t tell you over the phone
I’m coming over
Ethan’s coming over later with Sacha
Excellent, I’ll bring wine, two bottles even, we’ll come up with a plan
So much for dissuading him. I eye the drawers in the middle of the entry, with a bad paint job over a great structure. Maybe there’s hope for a transformation for both of us. Or maybe I’m deluded.
The next couple of hours pass by with me doing some essential things like moving the chest of drawers from obstructing the entry hall to a more out-of-the-way spot in my bedroom, which is a generous double room, especially for London.
I put the wooden drawers on a drop cloth and go out to buy some paint stripper, sandpaper, and rags in preparation.
I have just enough self-restraint to keep from going full-bore into DIY before I have company come over.
Barely. What I’ll need to do is see if I can hold out long enough for Ethan to give me a hand to get the drawers to the studio to take advantage of the workshop space.
Sitting on the cushioned bench at the foot of my bed, I stare at the drawers, deep in thought.
I’ve been working hard today, at least so far, to keep from thinking about Aidan’s bullshit and my tattered reputation.
Instead, with James and company coming over, I think about the last time I saw James, when he brought Stefanos.
Who I keep thinking about flattening in the pub, and if I need any sort of reminder, I can just go on socials and check out the public side of the debacle from that night.
Call it impulsive, but I pull out my phone from my jeans pocket and type out a message to Stefanos. After a moment’s hesitation, I hit Send on my message, because I have nothing to lose right now by sending it.
I failed to test your number to see if it was legit or a pizza delivery place instead or otherwise proved faux x
Reasonably, there’s no answer for some time while I sort out some laundry in my room and tidy the living room. When my phone buzzes on the dining table, I rush over to see who it is and crow in delight when Stefanos’ name pops up on my notifications.
Obviously it’s fake. Like I give out my number to strange princes
You have no idea how strange to be honest. Maybe you should find out when you’re next in London
No plans for London soon, I’m afraid
Where are you now?
Made it to NY. When I’m next in the UK it’s back to Edinburgh, but it might be Barcelona
Where I would always look for Greek princes
You’d be surprised, we can show up anywhere, maybe even Athens soon
I consider my phone in my hand as I try to decide how to respond. Something unfamiliar lately is happening to my mouth, and then I realize I’m grinning.
Well lucky New York. And Edinburgh and Barcelona
Do the Danes usually stash their princes in London?
Yes when it’s me, for the greater public good, takes a few million people to dilute my nonsense and even then it’s not enough sometimes
It’s been a while since I’ve enjoyed some phone flirting.
In hindsight, with Aidan, everything lately was very utilitarian.
Messages such as I’ll see you at 7pm or running late or on my way were commonplace the last couple of months.
No shenanigans, no fun. I should have clued in a lot sooner something was up.
You must have fans wherever you go
I actually laugh out loud and pace the length of my living room, running a hand through my hair. Little does Stefanos know, obviously.
Hilarious content, A++ and I thought you were following the press scandal
I was but I like to hear things from the source for accuracy
Top points for your journalism
I try
Well Mr. Journalist I hate to run but I’ve got company coming over soon, including James and I need to James-proof my flat
Wish I was there
My grin returns as I reread his message at least three times before getting it together to respond.
He wishes he was here. I mean, obviously, James is his friend too, I tell myself.
James is friends with everyone. But then Stefanos says something specifically about me, and something inside my chest flails in a good way.
I had fun meeting you
Same, heaps of fun meeting you, catch up soon xx
And I go do a final tidy around the flat to get ready for tonight’s visit, feeling a whole lot more cheered than I have lately, unable to keep from smiling.