11 London is just sky rats and living statues
11
London is just sky rats and living statues
Ava
I don’t bother waiting for Finn to arrive to find out what drink he wants, instead making him an iced latte and assuming that’ll be fine. He steps into the shop at three o’clock on the dot, and I wonder if he’s been hovering outside. Excitement rolls over him, brightening his eyes, loosening his smile, sending his hands fidgeting inside his pockets. You’d think I was taking him to Disneyland.
I hand one of the cups over to him and, impossibly, he lights up even more. ‘For me? For free?’
‘I’ve started a tab,’ I tell him blandly, before letting Mateo know how I’ve left things and heading towards the door. Finn holds it open and I step outside, squinting in the light.
‘So. What’s the plan?’ he asks from behind me.
I turn and have to cup my eyes to look at him. ‘I’ve only got about an hour before I have to leave you. But do you trust me?’
‘Absolutely.’ I hunt for any sarcasm in the word, but it’s pure, easy acquiescence.
‘Then follow me,’ I reply, about to step off the kerb.
In a flash, a linen-sleeved arm flings out across my front, milliseconds before a motorbike whizzes past.
‘If that’s how you move around, I’d rather not,’ he says with a sharp exhale, looking me up and down to check I’m unharmed.
‘Thanks,’ I mumble, adrenaline coursing through me as we wait for the light. We step on to the road, safe from rogue motorbikes and death sentences this time. ‘But you shouldn’t have saved me. That was intentional, actually. I just really, really didn’t want to hang out with you this afternoon.’
‘There are less messy ways to do it. You’d have got blood all over my favourite shirt.’ I glance at the shirt in question. It’s sage green, one button too many open at the neck for my liking. He catches me looking at his chest and beams, mistaking my distaste for something else. I snap my eyes away, but it’s too late. He steps in front of me as we cross the street, walking backwards so we won’t bump into each other. ‘It matches my eyes.’
I frown. ‘But your eyes are brown.’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve been looking into my eyes already, buddy. This is a business arrangement, remember?’
I let out a sigh to end all sighs in response. I’m not even going to entertain the idea of there being anything else with this walking, talking (really, so, so much talking) nuisance of a man.
It’s not quite a summer’s day just yet, but there’s more blue sky than cloud, and finally I remember to take my sunglasses out of my bag. Right on schedule, a red bus pulls up to the stop we’ve walked to, and Finn dutifully follows me up the stairs to the top deck.
‘Where are we going?’ he asks, as we settle into seats at the front.
Take a tour of London was one of the first items on his list.
‘I’m not paying for an official London tour,’ I reply. ‘We have buses and feet.’
‘You’ve completely hijacked my list,’ he says half-heartedly, watching Fleet Street pass us at a snail’s pace through the window. ‘I’ll be honest, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind for that item.’
‘I’m sitting at the front of the bus with you, which is against my personal code of conduct. The least you can do is say thank you.’
‘Thank you.’ He offers a saccharine smile that I return with vigour.
‘Think of it as a private tour. I’ll give you all my fun facts.’
Appeased, he leans forward. If the barrier weren’t blocking the way, he’d have his face pressed up against the glass. ‘Fine. But only if it’s the funnest facts.’
We’re close to the Tesco Express we visited the other day, but I already used up my fact quota when he asked about the dragon statue. ‘Uh, Fleet Street has been around since the Roman era.’
‘Not fun enough.’ He shakes his head, though is still interested enough to take a photo through the window. ‘I’ve never been here before. Give me drama.’
I look around before pointing to the left. ‘I tripped on a loose paving slab over there once and had the most horrifically slow-motion fall known to man.’
‘Injured?’
‘In mind and spirit only.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘No you’re not.’ I tighten my ponytail and ask, ‘Have you really never come down here?’
‘Honestly, I’ve been terrible at doing the touristy stuff. Hence,’ he waves his phone in the air, ‘the bucket list.’
As the bus makes its slow procession along the Strand, I give Finn factoids from my life, pointing out anything I remember. ‘Saw Mamma Mia! with my parents and brother there a few years ago and my mum cried during “Dancing Queen”.’
‘It’s an emotional song,’ he says with a lift of his shoulder.
‘Oh, and I got very drunk on a date in a cocktail bar up there,’ I point up a side street, ‘and went home with a man called Harold.’
His head swivels towards me, that single untameable curl flopping on to his forehead. ‘ Harold? Was he on day release from an old people’s home?’
‘It was his retirement party,’ I retort. ‘God, you should’ve seen the way he moved those hips. Must’ve been a real hit with the ladies in the sixties.’
‘Interesting. Is that your usual type? Geriatric?’
‘Upset you wouldn’t fit the bill?’
‘I guess if the only reason you’d reject me is because I’m still paying into my pension, I can handle that.’ His eyes meet mine as he sips his coffee.
‘I love that you think that’s the only reason I’d reject you,’ I say, breaking eye contact to look out the windscreen, which is when I notice where we are. ‘Shit, we need to get off.’ I scramble to my feet and inconsiderately hit the stop button a couple of times in a row, silently apologising to the driver for it. Luckily, he must be in a good mood, because he’s willing to open the doors just after he closed them for the last passengers, and we spill out of the bus on to the pavement.
We cross the road, and Finn’s tone is playful when he restarts our conversation from the bus. ‘If it’s not my pension, why else would you reject me? Humble me, please. I’ll relish it.’ He almost bumps into someone as we hit the pavement on the other side and apologises about eight times more than necessary.
I don’t think he needs to know the full truth here. ‘Because,’ I say, motioning my hand in his direction, ‘you are entirely incapable of walking a single metre without engaging in intense conversation with someone.’
‘You think I’m engaging?’ He looks across at me with a grin so incandescent I almost want to squint.
‘I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I typically function at a lower level of enthusiasm than you do.’
‘And here I thought your deadpan delivery and stony exterior were just an act.’
‘You’re the human embodiment of pep.’
The gleam in his eyes makes it look like he’s perpetually about three seconds away from either divulging a secret or breaking into song. ‘You may be surprised to hear this is not the first time I have been described as “peppy”.’ His arms swing by his sides as he walks, like they have to experience as much of the environment as possible. ‘I also get “spirited” a lot. Sometimes “vivacious”.’ He’s distracted by a red telephone box and points at it, expression hopeful. ‘Should I get in?’
‘Sure,’ I suggest. ‘If you’re in the mood to contract every disease this city has ever known, all while inhaling the pungent odour of stale piss, by all means, step inside the phone box, Finn.’
‘If it was fresh piss, I’d do it,’ he says in a low voice as we pass, thankfully without opening the box and unleashing the horrors within. ‘But what about you, what do people call you?’
‘An ogre, probably?’
‘I’ve always had a thing for Shrek,’ he says absent-mindedly. Before I can process what he said, I realise we’re at our destination.
Climb on the Trafalgar Square lions was on Finn’s list, and I figure we’ll have just enough time to do it today before I have to leave.
‘The lions. At your service.’
We squeeze through hordes of tourists down to where four bronze lions rest on massive stone plinths, a few metres above the ground.
‘I have another fun fact for you,’ I say, and Finn’s attention pulls back to me. ‘Legend says these lions will wake when Big Ben chimes thirteen times.’
‘That’s more like it. Fun facts.’ He gestures towards the lion closest to us, where two kids are posing for a photo for their mum, who’s standing with a baby in a buggy.
While we wait for them to finish, I’m reminded of a photo of Max and me on these lions as children, where he’s dangerously close to falling off and I’m gripping him with all my tiny might. It was from those halcyon days of the summer holidays, when the moment you open your eyes all you feel is the unfurling of possibility, soaked in sunshine and warmth and magic. Back when happiness came so easily it felt like a given.
The laughs of the two children jolt me out of my reverie; squeals in high-pitched French as they try to clamber off the lion. The older sister slides off effortlessly and runs back towards their mother, but the younger boy freezes, unsure where to put his hands and feet as he realises how high up he is. Before his mother even notices he’s in distress, Finn approaches him.
‘ Tu veux un coup de main ?’ he asks softly, offering his arm and shoulder for the boy to hold on to as he climbs off.
Once the boy’s reunited with his family, I ask, ‘How many languages do you speak?’
‘A few,’ he says non-committally, heading towards the back of the lion. Somehow detecting my dissatisfaction with his answer even with his back to me, he turns around and continues, ‘I usually just say four. But I don’t really know how many. My dad spoke Greek to me growing up, and Danish was one of my first languages but I’m not sure how much of it I remember. And then I lived in a few French-speaking countries, and other languages I sort of picked up over the years, mostly just from stuff I learned at school, but I dunno if those count either. Some of them are still in my brain somewhere and come out occasionally. Depends where I am. It’s usually when I’m drunk. I speak, like, ten languages when I’m drunk.’
I mull this over. I can’t fathom the idea of speaking so many fragments of languages that you aren’t sure how many of them there are.
He approaches the statue from behind, using its tail as support before pulling himself up with far more grace than you’d expect from someone scaling a giant brass lion. He settles into place and sits there for a few moments, swinging his legs and looking across Trafalgar Square at the people milling about by the fountains and beyond.
‘You know you’re a child, right?’ I call up to him.
‘Men have two main passions in life: digging holes and climbing things. Don’t take this one away from me.’
I move closer. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Regal,’ he replies, looking down at me with an imperious nod before elegantly sliding off.
‘And was it worth its spot on the bucket list?’
He adjusts his sleeves and brushes down his trousers like he didn’t just mount a statue. ‘Absolutely.’ He raises his eyebrows and points a thumb behind him. ‘You getting up?’
‘Good joke.’ I step away from the lion, which is immediately overrun by a family that has been patiently waiting for our departure. Finn shrugs and falls into step beside me as we walk across the square, overconfident pigeons flying far too close to our heads, before perching on the stone wall encircling one of the fountains. I wouldn’t like to know who or what has been in the water, but Finn bravely (or stupidly) dips his hand in regardless.
I watch his gaze glue to a mother and son as they walk past, both laughing hysterically. ‘Are you close with your mum?’
‘I try to be. But the fact we live on different continents means it’s difficult to organise calls and visits. She’s so busy all the time.’ He pulls his eyes from the pair and clears his throat before adding, ‘Always has been.’
‘Does it bother you?’ I prod.
‘I’m used to it,’ he says. He blinks a couple of times like he’s surprised he said it, and his leg starts to bounce.
‘And your dad?’
‘I don’t get to talk to him as often as I’d like either. But he’s a really busy man too. He sold his first company and is now high up in this organisation that focuses on sustainability in tech.’ His words spill out when he talks about his dad, like he’s trying to convince me of something. ‘Both my parents spent a lot of time on their careers. It’s healthy, I think, for parents to live their own lives, without being around their children too much.’
‘Yeah.’ I don’t really know why I lie, but it feels like that’s what he wants to hear.
I have distinct memories of my dad coming into my and Max’s room late at night after a twelve-hour shift at the hospital while I was half asleep on the bottom bunk, brushing my hair from my face and whispering that he’d missed us. Or, years later, when I was at uni, FaceTiming me while I was mid-movie marathon with Josie just because he wanted to tell me about a band he thought I’d like on his way to a night shift. He’s always made the effort.
‘I’ve started looking for new jobs for when my contract ends here, and there’s one in San Francisco that I’m considering. The role seems like it’d fit my skill set perfectly. If I get it, I might end up seeing my dad more often.’
‘That’d be nice,’ I say, though I have no idea if it would be. I barely know Finn, but a part of me feels like I should be careful with how I respond. It seems to be the right answer though, because his face lights up.
‘He’s really cool. Like, we’re probably more like friends than father and son. He just doesn’t give a fuck.’ He tilts his head, the sun reflecting a few strands of red in his hair, and says, ‘Maybe a little like you.’
I think he means it as a compliment, but something about it niggles at me. Both his knees are bouncing now, so I stand up, knowing he’ll follow and can start walking off some of his restless energy.
‘You’re not like him?’ I figure the more I ask him, the less likely he is to ask me questions.
He inhales deeply and releases it even slower. ‘In the way we live our lives, I am. But when he moved away, he really found who he was meant to be. Where he was meant to be.’ I don’t think he knows I can hear the unspoken words. And it was away from me . ‘I want that too. I want to find the thing that really speaks to me, you know?’
‘That’s why you move around so much,’ I discern. ‘To find it.’
‘I suppose,’ he says, shooting me a rueful smile as we amble around the fountain.
I can’t quite figure this man out. I’d expected him to be an entirely open book, but apparently there are some pages he’s not willing to share. Maybe he doesn’t even want to read them himself.
‘Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for.’ I’m surprised by the earnestness and immediately feel the urge to lighten the mood. ‘Because when you do, you might actually leave me alone.’
He laughs and the sound hits somewhere deep inside me, but I’m soon distracted trying to dodge a loud group of neon-orange-clad summer school kids that runs across our path just before the stone steps.
‘I’ll be gone before you know it, and all you’ll have to remember me by will be the cavernous hole in your heart where I used to live.’
‘I think you’ll need a full-blown military strategy to get anywhere close to my heart, but please, try your best.’
As we hit the top of the staircase, we’re greeted by various performers and artists – a man painted silver pretending to be a statue, another drawing a portrait in chalk on the paving slabs, and one of those levitating Yodas that always give me the creeps.
‘Those are my least favourite things about London,’ Finn says abruptly, glancing back at the floating Yoda, whose eyes have been following us as we pass.
‘Don’t get used to hearing this,’ I grumble, ‘but you’re actually so right.’
The way his mouth drops open in shock forces a laugh to tumble out of me before I can remember to keep it contained, which in turn generates yet another smile on his face that psychiatrists could probably bottle up as a cure for SAD. I walk in front of him so I don’t have to look at it.
Past the main crowd at the foot of the National Gallery, it eases up a bit, and we join a semicircle of people watching a young busker play a cover of ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody’. Finn darts forward to drop a note in her open guitar case, before positioning us right at the front. The French family from earlier is on the other side of the semicircle, and because the crowd is almost entirely made up of tourists, everyone’s really into it. Too into it.
‘Don’t you dare,’ I say under my breath, when Finn starts wiggling his shoulders to the beat. He says nothing, just launches a dangerous half-smile in my direction. ‘Finn, I swear to god, our “friendship” is hanging on by a thread.’ He takes a tiny step forward into the circle and I hiss, ‘I am this close to breaking our agreement and telling Josie all about this stupid mess I’ve found myself in. At this stage, I will take barrels of her pity and figure out how to deal with it.’
‘But you won’t tell her, because you know she’s right.’ Still facing the performer, I hear the smugness in his voice. ‘That you do need, and, dare I say, want to get out more, and I come as a convenient, pre-packaged, limited-time-only summer activity provider.’
One of the French kids steps forward to dance, and that’s all it takes. Finn shoots me another grin over his shoulder, and in a moment of what I can only describe as abject terror, he moves into the open space in the middle of the circle too .
And right there, at the foot of the National Gallery, Finn dances.
He’s not good by any means, and I hope he’s self-aware enough to know it, but his unbridled enthusiasm is infectious enough to convince a few more people to join. All the while, I’m rooted to the spot, morbidly fascinated by the way this alternate London is unravelling in front of my eyes.
Finn cheers for the kids, belts out the words with far too much gusto, and dances with an old man hovering at the edge of the crowd, and everything inside me wants to sink into the ground. But the moment my horror-struck eyes lock with his, he winks, and I feel a smile threaten to unfurl. I still have a shred of dignity, so instead of allowing that to happen, I mouth, I hate this .
He gives a one-shouldered shrug as if to say, I know.
The flash-mob gods must be sprinkling some of their coercive magic on me, because for the briefest moment, I consider stepping forward to join him. Would it be so bad?
In the distance I spot Big Ben, and that’s when reality hits. The clock face is too far away for me to read, so I pull out my phone to check the time. Shit. I peel away from the crowd and fire off two texts.
ava: omg I’m actually the worst I’m so sorry
ava: I’ll be there in 10 mins
I get Finn’s attention and gesture behind me, trying to tell him I’m leaving. His smile drops a little and he wriggles his way through the crowd.
‘What’s up?’
‘I completely lost track of time and just realised I was meant to leave twenty minutes ago.’
‘Oh, right, yeah, no problem.’ He shakes his head like he’s coming out of a dream, and he’s tentative for once when he asks, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’
‘Yep,’ I reply, already moving towards the Tube, too preoccupied to give him a longer goodbye, too worried about wasting another second.