Chapter 20 Christopher #2
“It might be crazy,” I say, looking at the suitcases before turning back to him. “But let me sleep on it, and then we can discuss it in the morning.”
My idea might be high risk, but then, if you don’t take a risk, you don’t get the reward.
Thursday
After trying three different suitcases, we finally landed on one that can fit Alexander’s broad frame. He contorts his body bringing his knees right up to his chest, to fit inside. For someone who is three inches shorter than me, he can certainly pack a suitcase.
“Right, have you got enough room in there?” I ask, my hand on the zip.
He nods back at me, his face wearing the same excited smile that was there when I told him the plan two hours ago.
Understandably, he had to tell Rob about the plan, and I thought he was going to pooh-pooh the idea.
But Rob actually chipped in, helping us find a suitcase big enough and promising to keep it secret from Paul, Connie, and Lucy.
All of this, of course, with the provision that I check in with him every hour.
I take one final look at Alexander, who looks strange wearing my clothes. My gray hoodie and black running shorts are almost too tight for him. Thankfully, we are at least the same size sneakers. But Rob had insisted that the less he looks like himself, the more likely he’ll go unnoticed.
“It’ll only be fifteen minutes, twenty tops,” I say, grabbing a bottle of water from the table and throwing it to him.
“I’d happily be stuck in here for an hour if it means I get to leave the hotel,” he says. I zip the suitcase closed as he opens the bottle.
I grab my backpack, filled with a change of clothes and toiletries, and wheel the suitcase to the door. We’ve timed our departure to coincide with the hotel’s check out time. Hopefully the busyness of the hotel will make it less conspicuous when I leave.
Concierge had offered to help me with the bags when they brought up the luggage trolley. I’d thought that getting their help made sense, but Rob didn’t trust any of them. He did, however, agree it would be weird for me to push the luggage trolley out to the taxi on my own.
Thankfully, Imani was still in the hotel, and agreed to help. She greets us at the door with a cheery smile.
“You should have seen what Princess Anne used to make us smuggle in and out of the hotel,” Imani says, laughing as Rob helps me to get the suitcase onto the trolley. The wheel of the metallic suitcase clips the gold bar as we finally wrestle it into position.
“I can only imagine,” I say, my eyebrows raising. As I chuck my backpack on top and wave goodbye, Rob whacks me on the back and reminds me to text. Imani and I work our way down the hallway and into the elevator.
“Hold the elevator!” Two women strolling down the corridor shout at me as the door opens. They’re the same two women from that I saw stop Alexander for a photo before we headed out to Abbey Road.
But this time they’ve swapped their cocktail dresses for sporting attire.
“Do you think he’ll already be in the gym?” one of them asks the other. She pulls a lip gloss from her shorts and leans into the elevator doors to apply it.
“Maybe,” the other says, without lifting her head from her phone. She’s scrolling through a load of social media posts, all of them with Alexander in them.
Talk about obsessed.
I shake my head when I catch Imani’s gaze. Imani rolls her eyes, forcing me to fight back a chuckle.
By the time we exit on the ground floor, the women have outlined their whole plan for how they’re going to approach Alexander. They bicker over which one they think he’ll prefer and how they’ll ultimately share him if need be.
“Are they always that crazy?” I ask, loud enough for Alexander to hear.
“That’s nothing,” Imani says as she pushes the trolley toward the exit. “You should have seen the lengths Michael Jackson’s fans used to go to. Makes those two look like amateurs.”
The mere thought sends a shiver down my spine.
Imani nods to the doorman and he opens the door, whistling for a taxi. There’s a sea of fans and paparazzi waiting outside. They slowly clear a pathway to allow us through.
“Have you seen Alexander?” one girl asks.
“Who?” I respond. I take my backpack and place it on my shoulders. My response is the easiest way I’ve found to deal with these fans.
“Alexander Morgan. You don’t know who he is?” Her face fills with disgust.
Finally, a taxi pulls up. The doorman opens the door, and I carefully slide the suitcase into the backseat, then climb in after it. I thank both Imani and the doorman, handing them each a twenty-pound note. The doorman graciously accepts, but Imani waves it away, telling me not to be so stupid.
The fan still eagerly waits by the taxi for an answer.
“I don’t know her,” I say to the girl, slamming the door behind me.
A smile rises on my face as Mariah Carey’s Obsessed plays out on the radio.
Mariah would be so proud.
“Where to, mate?” the taxi driver asks, looking at me over his shoulder.
“Hundred and forty-six, Tufnell Park Road,” I say. I sink back into the leather seat, my heart pounding against my rib cage, as the taxi pulls away.
We did it.
We did it.
Several road diversions and thirty minutes later, we pull up opposite my sister’s apartment. I tap the card reader with my phone before opening the door.
One last hurdle.
Getting out of the taxi is harder than expected. The suitcase is heavy and I’m trying to be as gentle as possible. Thankfully, it has four wheels, which makes it a little easier to move. I slip my backpack back on and close the door behind me.
“Almost there,” I say, tapping the suitcase as the taxi pulls away.
He taps back twice in acknowledgment, just as a hipster walks past, who cuts me a weird look. Ironic, given that his hair looks like his mum put a bowl round it and his cardigan lost a battle to a group of moths.
I do a quick scan of the road to ensure that I haven’t been followed before pushing the suitcase across. Adrenaline courses through my veins at lightning speed. I haven’t felt this pumped since the day Stephen and I bunked off school to go to Thorpe Park.
I reach the entrance and enter the code in the padlocked box outside my sister’s apartment. Her keys fall out and I unlock the door. With one final push of the suitcase over the skirting, we’re finally in the clear.
I let out a deep exhale and unzip the suitcase. Alexander almost falls out before getting to his feet and lunging toward me.
“That is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me,” he says. His arms are locked around my neck, and he leans in and kisses me passionately. Sweat drips from his forehead.
“God help you when you find out what I’ve got planned for you next then,” I say.
“What?” His face lights up as he grabs the suitcase and follows me up the stairs.
“A coffin box,” I say, craning my neck back when I get to Kelly’s door. His nostrils flare and his smile disappears as I slide the key in the door and open it.
Kelly’s studio apartment is small, but cozy. It’s enough space for Kelly and Daniel to live in, but just barely. The beiges, whites, and browns used for the walls and furniture give the place more of a beach vibe than a place in Central London.
It seems weird to have their bed in the same place as their couch, which I’ve spent more nights sleeping on than I’d like to remember.
But I guess you don’t get much bang for your buck in London these days.
Thankfully, they’ll be moving out into a two-bedroom house after their wedding and then I’ll have my own room to crash in.
I head into the kitchen, throwing the keys on the small round table, and grab two glasses, filling them with water. I hand one to Alexander, who chugs it in three gulps.
“The thirst is real,” I say with a smirk.
“You try being stuck in a suitcase for nearly forty minutes and see how you get on,” he fires back, placing his glass down on the table.
“Fair point,” I say, taking another gulp myself.
“Where are we going then?” Alexander asks, rubbing his hands together.
“All will be revealed in good time,” I say, taking one last gulp, grabbing his glass and placing both in the sink before heading back into the main room.
I grab the car keys off the bedside cabinet next to the alarm clock, and pick up a box, topped with a bow, that Kelly left lying against the couch for me this morning. Then I open the front door and motion him out.
We head out onto the main street, closing the building door tightly behind us, and across to where Daniel’s black Fiat Punto sits.
“Wrong side,” I say to Alexander, as he goes to open the door on the driver’s side.
He hits his head with the palm of his hand as he lets out a laugh and then runs around to the passenger side.
I chuck the box in the back and adjust the seat, strapping myself in, and slide the key in to start the engine. I curse under my breath that Daniel drives a manual rather than automatic before reminding myself that I should be grateful to even be able to do this.
“What’s that you’ve got?” Alexander asks, twisting backward to retrieve the box from the back. A little tug-of-war breaks out. I know he’s stronger than me and could easily pull it away, but he concedes.
“Patience, Alex. Patience.”
I’ve only seen a picture of what Kelly did to Daniel’s old skateboard, and though I think it looks great, I’m not sure if he’ll like it.
His puppy dog eyes stare at me, guilt-tripping me into relenting. “Okay fine,” I say, handing back the package to him. He tears off the bow and pulls open the box.
My heart races as he opens it.
What if he thinks it’s shit?
What if he doesn’t get the design?
I close my eyes as he lifts it out, unable to look at him.
“Do you like it?” I slowly open my eyes and watch him. His eyes are locked onto the skateboard, studying every detail Kelly painted onto it. They’re all references to the stories Carla had shared with me last night.
The palm trees that line their street. A man holding a surfboard. A half-pipe, and the expression emblazoned across the middle: You can call me Al.
“How did you…” The puzzlement in his eyes as he turns to me quickly gives way to realization. “My mum told you, didn’t she.”
“Yeah, how you were convinced a Paul Simon song was about you,” I say, and laugh.
“Well, I guess that makes you my Betty then,” he laughs back, and leans in to kiss me.
Betty?
Guess I should have listened to the song.
The skatepark seems relatively quiet for a Thursday afternoon.
There’s just a couple of guys in grunge-style clothing flipping their boards, skating and grinding on the pipes around the sides.
I imagine it will get busier when the kids get out of school, but it still gives us roughly an hour for Alexander to let loose on the skateboard.
“You want a go first?” he asks, waving the skateboard at me.
“I’m good being Avril Lavigne in this situation,” I say, making myself comfortable on top of a graffiti-covered wall. Alexander drops the skateboard and heads off, going up and down the ramps.
The look of sheer joy on his face as he works his way round the skatepark, completing tricks with relative ease, settles my stomach.
All the planning, all the hard work to get him out of the hotel, getting Kelly to design the skateboard and Daniel to let us borrow the car—it was all worth it to see him be free like this.
My heart skips a beat when I see one of the guys approach him. But then I hear them talk about some random skate terminology that I have no idea about, and my heart resumes beating once more. Alexander’s British accent is surprisingly convincing.
Maybe he should be the dialect coach.
It’s amazing how I take things like this for granted. I have the ability to do pretty much what I want, when I want. Yet for Alexander, it’s so rare that he gets to do things like this. With that perspective, I can now appreciate how fortunate I am. How life on the other side isn’t always greener.
My phone pings, and I retrieve it from my pocket. It’s an email from Pietro with the subject line: URGENT. I’m torn on whether to open the email or not, especially since I’ve put my Out of Office on and he knows I’m going to be in wedding mode, but curiosity gets the better of me.
I scan through the email. Pietro says the Brewed team wants to talk through my proposal ASAP, and would I be free at six my time to jump on a Zoom with them.
With what we’ve got planned for the day, I feel like I should just ignore it, but a read receipt notification pops up. Fuck. A flicker of irritation runs through me. Now Pietro will know I’ve read it, and I need to at least acknowledge it.
I guess I could do it in Kelly’s apartment when we get back, while they’re all out for the BBQ she has planned.
I draft a reply.
Hi Pietro.
Any chance we could make it after 7 p.m. UK time? I’m out with my family arranging the last few bits and won’t be available before then.
Best,
Christopher
Just as I hit send, I hear a loud thud, followed by a commotion.
“Bro! Are you okay?” one of the skater guys asks as I look up.
I look down into the half-pipe and my heart jumps up into my throat. Alexander’s eyes are panicked when they land on mine.
Shit.