14 London in a heatwavethe inside of an industrial oven?
14
London in a heatwave or the inside of an industrial oven?
Ava
I’ve wedged open the front door of the coffee shop in the vain hope that the weather gods will take pity on us with a breeze to cut through the stagnant air, but it’s not enough. I wipe the back of my hand across my sweaty forehead, profoundly regretting my decision to have a fringe.
‘Iced latte with oat milk, just needs a shot,’ I say to Mateo, handing him a cup of ice and clumsily filling it with milk before bringing my attention back to the till, where a queue of customers snakes along one edge of the counter. In typical British fashion, it’s a great queue; not blocking the front door, strategically placed spaces for people to pass through once they’ve got their drinks, but it is nonetheless filled with grumpy, sweaty people in search of some respite from the heat. I turn my attention to the next customer and try to ignore the single droplet of sweat trickling down my back. ‘What can I get you?’
We course through customers at military-level efficiency, the perfect assembly line churning out cold drink after cold drink.
‘Fucking lazy man,’ Mateo mutters under his breath at regular intervals, hurling poisonous looks at Carl, who gets up every few minutes to straighten the displays but never actually comes behind the counter to help us, or even clear the ever-growing piles of empty cups from the tables.
As the queue begins to wane, I spot Finn, who must’ve come in during the height of the rush. He’s inexplicably tidying the tables, collecting plates and cups and stacking them neatly on trays. I step away from the till for a moment to prep the ingredients for my millionth frappé of the day, and as soon he’s in earshot, I get his attention. ‘Psst. Stop that.’
He brings a tray piled with plates to the end of the counter and tucks it as far out of the way as he can. ‘Stop what?’
‘Clearing stuff away! You’re not allowed.’
‘I’m not allowed to move some tableware?’
‘No!’ I press the button on the blender and set up the customer’s payment on the till before wiping up the milk spill I just made. ‘It’s not your job. You’re not being paid.’
He picks up another tray that he appears to have dedicated to wrappers and dirty napkins. ‘I’m just clearing the table so that I have space to sit.’
‘You need to clear every table?’
‘I’m considering my options. Lots of good choices.’ He tips the contents of the tray into the bin. ‘You know, most people would just say thank you.’
The blender’s beep lets me know it’s finished.
‘Iced Americano for Stephen!’ Mateo yells over the din. ‘Stephen?’ He inspects the tiny woman who’s expectantly hovering nearby, before glancing back at the cup. ‘Stephanie!’
I reach behind Mateo to grab a lid for my customer’s drink and catch Finn’s eye as I do. ‘Thank you.’
‘Here. A gift for you, to say thanks.’ I place a cup on Finn’s table, where he must’ve been waiting for the queue to die down before ordering. His gaze lifts to me and I feel it radiate across my whole body. Probably just the heat.
He takes a sip and his eyes close briefly in satisfaction. ‘No one makes iced lattes quite like you, Ava Monroe.’
‘I’ve made enough of them today to last a lifetime.’ I slide on to the spare seat at his table, my first moment off my feet in hours, and slug my own coffee noisily through a straw.
‘This weather is divine,’ Finn says with a sigh, not a hair out of place on his head, not even a hint of sweat anywhere on his short-sleeved ivory shirt. He doesn’t have his laptop with him, so I assume he just dropped in for a drink.
‘I feel like I’m wading through one of the putrid cesspits of hell.’ I blow air upwards, but my fringe is too slicked to my forehead to move. ‘I can’t wait to get out of here.’
It’s cooled down a bit now the sun’s not directly shining into the shop, but the air is still far more syrupy than I’d like.
‘Well, on that note, I’d like to take you out.’ He takes another sip of his coffee as he gauges my reaction.
‘Take me out, as in, kill me? Join the back of the line. There’s a bouncer with a clipboard and everything.’ I lower my voice as I lean closer and gesture to one corner of the shop. ‘That man over there has first dibs, though. I apparently put “too much ice” in his drink. He was livid.’
‘Ha, no. Like, take you out after work. A bucket list item of my choice this time. You, me, somewhere that’s not the dullest area of London.’
I sweep my arm towards the windows. ‘I, for one, love the soulless skyscrapers and post-apocalyptic ambience of the City.’
‘You’re avoiding my request.’ There’s a smile in his voice and I act like I can’t hear it.
‘Have you tried the chocolate wafers yet, by the way? They taste like someone whispered the word “chocolate” over them during the manufacturing process.’
‘Gripping. Is that a no? My ego can take it.’
‘I doubt it can, actually. But okay, listen, I have an amazing idea.’ He nods at me to continue. ‘At the end of my shift, I will get changed out of my uniform, because frankly, I’m sweating. And then—’
‘And then?’
‘I’ll get the Tube all the way down to South London and will remain in my flat until Monday, save for a snack run to the corner shop probably sometime between eight and nine this evening.’
He leans forward, dropping his chin on to his fist, and the movement pushes his bottom lip into a pout. ‘Do I feature in this plan at any point?’
‘I would rather spend the rest of my life shining every single pair of Carl’s shoes than be around people for any longer this afternoon.’
‘Is that code for “It’s not you, it’s me”?’
‘Oh no, it’s definitely you.’
He grins. ‘I have somewhere in mind and I think you’ll like it too. It’ll be quiet. Serene. I’ll be quiet.’ When I don’t reply, he takes it as an invitation to continue, echoing the question I asked him a couple of weeks ago. ‘Do you trust me?’
‘Not even a little.’
I find myself stepping into the Barbican Conservatory with Finn less than an hour later. When we got lost trying to find the entrance, it occurred to me that if I were alone, I would’ve just left at that point. It took Finn asking multiple members of staff for help, but we made it.
‘Welcome,’ he says, ‘to London’s second- biggest botanical garden.’
The Barbican complex itself is all grey concrete slabs and hard edges, but here in the Conservatory, we’ve stepped into another world. A greenhouse seemingly dropped upon this building at random, it’s packed with dense foliage across multiple levels. I imagine this is what the city would look like after a major catastrophe; nature reclaiming her home with frond curtains and grass carpeting, blankets of greenery draped over the back of a concrete sofa.
Tiny plants line the walkways, and endless multistorey palm trees fill the space between the floor and the steel-beamed glass ceiling. We follow the gentle sound of trickling water to a pond filled with koi fish. It is, annoyingly, as serene as Finn promised it would be. And, for his part, he peruses a leaflet he picked up and stays quiet as we meander along the pathways, letting the stress of the day lift from my body and float away.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch his lips parting to say something, before he presses them back together. After a while, I put him out of his misery. ‘Come on, hit me with a fact. I know you have one.’
He adjusts his glasses, no further instruction required. ‘Okay. Did you know the Barbican has won the Ugliest Building in London award?’
‘I did not.’ I think of the stark lines, blocky shapes and dreary tones. ‘But I can see why it would. Feels a bit, you know . . . Communist.’
‘Well, I think it’s misunderstood. It’s kind of intimidating, but when you get to know it, there’s something special beneath all the harshness.’ His eyes flick over to me and then straight ahead as he continues, ‘Anyway, in an attempt to make it seem less bleak, they started planting stuff here. A couple of plants became ten plants, which became a hundred plants, and now there are thousands of species from all over the world. Right here, in this tiny pocket of London. A mini rainforest.’
‘I think I like the mini rainforest. Thanks for bringing me.’ The corners of his eyes wrinkle behind his glasses at my admission. ‘Another thing I can experience without even having to leave London.’
We walk to a bridge crossing another pond, this one filled with terrapins. A not-insignificant part of me wishes I were a terrapin lazily floating around a pond right about now.
‘Do you not like to travel?’ Finn asks, as both of us lean over the railing to get a better view of the animals.
‘Not really.’ I have some money saved that most twenty-somethings would spend on a flight or two, but I can’t bring myself to use it. I don’t want to be thousands of miles away if someone needs me. ‘I like it here. I know what to expect.’
He turns to face me, head tilted. ‘You should try it. It’s fun to see new things.’
‘You sound like my brother. And Josie. But I’m seeing new things today, aren’t I?’ I watch a terrapin climb out of the pond. ‘It’s easy for you to say, anyway. You probably came out of the womb a frequent flyer.’
‘I was almost born on a plane.’
My head snaps around. ‘What?’
He lets out a low chuckle. ‘Honestly. My mum flew a bit later than she should’ve and I ended up arriving way earlier than my due date. I was born nine hours after she stepped on solid ground.’
I consider this information. ‘You showed up a few weeks early because you were just so excited to be here. I came out hungry and dragging my feet.’
‘Start as you mean to go on, I guess.’
I let out a laugh and he bites down a smile. As we make our way across the bridge, Finn touches the plants we cross like he’s in a clothes shop feeling every item on the rails. We pass through an archway into a secluded area of the garden, beneath a trailing plant that sheds tiny white flowers that I have to brush from my shoulders. Taller plants encircle us and the sunlight filters through palm leaves, light and shadows trapped here with us. It is, by all accounts, the perfect spot for a date, which is probably why the only two other people in the vicinity look so sickeningly in love, whispering to each other and giggling.
‘What’s that expression?’ Finn asks, apparently noticing my wrinkled nose and grimace as we sit on a bench. ‘You look nauseous.’
‘I think that’s just my face.’
‘Hm, no. Your face is usually sullen. Disdainful, maybe. Not nauseous.’ I smooth my features as the couple wanders closer to us, though they’re so caught up in each other they hardly notice we’re there. He barely holds back his smirk. ‘You don’t like PDA.’
It’s a statement, not a question, but I confirm it anyway. ‘Feels gratuitous. You’re already together at home, I don’t need to see you mounting each other in public too.’
‘I feel there’s a happy medium between public fornication and only going near each other when you’re alone,’ he points out, lightly fanning himself with his leaflet as I lift my ponytail away from my neck and twist it up into a bun.
‘They’re one and the same to me.’
Finn lets out a quiet laugh at my reaction, and it wraps around me like cool silk. I like how it feels. Jesus, this heat is getting to me.
I shake my head to clear the thought away and eye his leaflet. ‘Fan me?’
He turns it on me and the breeze is sweet against my skin. After a minute or so he frowns and stops fanning, looking at me in confusion as if he’s only just realised what he’s doing. He blinks and fans himself instead, and I mourn the loss of my personal air con.
With no warning, he launches out a non sequitur that throws me completely off balance. ‘Do you believe in love?’
‘Of course.’ His eyes widen like he’s surprised, but the truth is, my parents have been married for decades, and I see Josie and Alina’s quiet, considerate love play out on a regular basis. I clear my throat and add, ‘Just not for me. It’s too messy.’
‘And you don’t like anything to upset your equilibrium.’ I shrug and he halts his fanning, eyes fixed on me. My breath stutters at the depth of his gaze. ‘You’ve never felt that spark with anyone?’
‘Why would I want to?’ I hope he doesn’t notice I’ve answered his question with a question. ‘Sparks grow into flames. And nothing good can come of fire.’
As much as I try to keep my life level and calm, sometimes I’ll laugh too loud or dream too vividly and it feels like I’m flirting with chaos. Like I’m dry brush in the desert just one spark away from an inferno. I don’t want to know what would be left after it’s burnt down to ashes.
Finn nods slowly, leaning one elbow on the back of the bench. ‘I get it. My last relationship started with a spark and ended like a fucking firework. Went out with a bang.’ He clicks his tongue. ‘In more ways than one.’
‘What happened?’ I have a hunch, but I hope I’m wrong.
He rubs his hand along his jaw and my eyes are drawn to the dark stubble there. After a while he says, ‘Her name was Léa. She’s French, but we met in Singapore when I was there after uni and were together for a while. When she moved home, I was adamant we’d be fine, even on opposite sides of the world. But she needed me and I wasn’t there. So I guess,’ his knee starts to bob as his words speed up, ‘she found someone else who could be there for her. By the time I moved to Paris, the damage had been done.’ His face crumples into a grimace as he adds, ‘Didn’t love walking in on them, I’m not gonna lie. Not one of my favourite memories.’
‘She cheated?’ He winces at the word. The faintest wisp of anger curls up the inside of my chest on his behalf.
‘It was for the best, in the end. She was amazing, but I was too swept up in her. It wasn’t healthy.’ He looks ahead and squints at nothing in particular, pulling at the hem of his sleeve. ‘Long-distance is rough at the best of times, and I move around too much to have a stable relationship. It’s not fair on anyone. So, right now, experiencing new places, progressing in my career, those are my goals. Nothing else.’
‘I could never do long-distance either.’ I replay my own words and realise I need to elaborate. ‘Just to be clear, I also couldn’t do short-distance. Any distance, really.’
He laughs to himself, and I don’t know if it’s because in this moment I’m so sweaty that I can’t imagine a fire ever being able to do damage here, but the smallest part of me wonders if I should rethink my stance on sparks. Because crackling in the space between us on this bench, something smoulders.
I swallow and say, ‘Here’s to not getting involved with anyone, ever.’
He reaches his hand out so we can shake on it, and I hate that I notice the muscles in his forearm, hate that his grip somehow squeezes my stomach, too.
‘I’m so sorry to interrupt, but could you take a photo of us?’ A woman’s voice cuts through the heavy air and Finn releases my hand immediately. She gestures towards the archway we entered through and Finn leaps to his feet, taking her phone and barking out directions while making sure to get every angle; at one point squatting almost completely to the ground. I don’t not look at his ass when he does this. I am but a hot-blooded woman, after all.
‘Let me know if you want any more,’ he says as he hands the phone back. ‘Sorry, I might’ve gone a bit overboard.’ He looks back at me with a grin, entirely unaware of the strange intensity generated within my brain during the last two minutes.
‘They’re fab, thank you so much.’ The woman scrolls through the photos, her eyes alight. ‘Do you want pictures too?’
I say, ‘No thanks,’ at the precise moment Finn’s much louder voice says, ‘Absolutely,’ so I begrudgingly walk over to the arch to stand next to him, as close as I can get without touching.
‘You have petals in your hair, by the way,’ the lady says to Finn as she takes his phone from him.
‘Yep. You do,’ I confirm with a glance, arms settling by my sides.
‘Could you perhaps,’ he speaks with the easy patience of someone teaching a preschooler two plus two, ‘take them out, please?’
I sigh and he dips his head for me. The humidity’s defined his curls and I reluctantly pick out the white flowers from the soft mass of hair, streaked with shades of auburn and gold amidst the brown, willing myself not to give in to the overwhelming urge to run my fingers through it.
Unwelcome foliage removed, he stands up straight. He turns to me, our eyes level, and asks, ‘Can I?’
I nod and he rests a tentative arm around my shoulder like we’re just two platonic buds hanging out on our platonic afternoon in a platonic date spot. Because that’s what we are. But still, my brain spins with confusing thoughts at his proximity.
‘Wiggle a bit closer together.’ The lady motions with her hand, evidently taking her photographer duties extremely seriously.
I shift into him and delicately place my hand on his back, feeling the soft linen of his shirt. A waft of musky cologne washes over me as he shifts position, and I tighten my hold on the fabric. I’m keenly aware of the moment his hand drifts down to my waist and he pulls me infinitesimally closer, long fingers searing through my T-shirt as they splay across my ribcage.
‘Oh you guys are so cute!’ I have no idea what’s going on with my face, but the lady seems to approve, so I pull the same expression the whole time, my mind in hazy disarray behind the eyes. ‘Okay, done. Incredible work, if I say so myself.’
We thank her and I head through the arch first, eager to escape the confined space and re-enter the real world, where I can collect my thoughts.
‘Do you want to see the photos?’ Finn asks as we walk back across the bridge over the koi pond.
‘I’m good. I’m sure they’re great.’ I wonder how to put some distance between us. We get stuck behind a group of school kids and Finn takes the moment of pause to step in front of me, eyebrows raised, an infuriating smirk pulling at one side of his mouth.
‘You okay there? You seem a bit, I dunno. Weird.’
‘I’m fine.’ The heat is doing something to my brain. I need to remember why I keep people at arm’s length. Why I’m not allowed to lean into volatile things like sparks and potential. And while we’re at it, I need to remember how to not act like a teenager who’s never so much as held hands with a boy before. I didn’t spend countless nights with men from dating apps to fall at the barest touch from a Finn-shaped hurdle. It’s embarrassing. What I need is to spend another uncomplicated night on an insignificant date to get this energy out. While my thoughts whirl, Finn waits, so I add, ‘Just a bit thirsty.’
Immediately his eyebrows draw together. ‘Want me to fill up your bottle?’
As he hunts for a fountain, I watch one of the gardeners. He sweeps fallen foliage to the edge of the path, only for more leaves to fall in its place the second he’s finished. As hard as he tries to keep everything contained, there’s always mess to clean up.