9. Audrey
The train came to a stop, but the yellow London tube filled with gum and grime tried to keep me on. I shimmied past the crowd waiting by the doors that would swallow you whole and take you to the next station if you so much as dawdle for a second. And when I was finally out, a puff of second-hand smoke hit my face, somehow a nice distraction from the winter’s cruel chill. That’s right, as far as my hopes and dreams could throw me, and despite all the promises I made to myself, I’d found myself stuck in London.
I used to think Paris was only just a year off, but as each year passed—even if I was finally in the Northern Hemisphere—I was still just as far away from my goal of leaving everything behind for a thick hot chocolate and buttered pastry as I was when I was twenty-two, strapped for cash, and a full day’s flight away. Though now, money wasn’t the issue. Wasn’t it funny how our lives get busy just as we find the funds to do what we’ve always wanted? I felt like I was running out of time. My 8am-6pm job ate away at my soul from dawn to dusk, and my biggest achievement each day was getting off at the right stop on the tube.
The worst thing about London? It was the paranoia, that after every corner I turned, there was a chance I’d run into him. It was an unreasonable thought, I knew that. Though when you came from a small town, it was easy to think that everyone knew you, and that you wouldn’t be able to escape them, either. I shivered, this time not from the winter breeze, and instead from the utter disgust of ever seeing Theo’s face again. Not after the incident, as Lucy liked to call it. It was a subtle way of saying ‘the day you realised happily ever afters didn’t exist, and you haven’t been able to move on since’. And in all honesty, I liked being able to call it ‘the incident’. It made me feel like something actually did happen, and I wasn’t so completely heartbroken over nothing. I could rationalise my distaste for romance and love for years after, and I got to blame it on one person, even though I knew him for less than a month when he left. I grimaced, thinking about how he could put his talons into my heart so easily, and that I’d never be so stupid to make the same mistake again. Though it certainly did make maintaining a healthy dating life difficult, when each person who stopped to compliment me at the supermarket or work function would be greeted with an ego-shattering glare.
I breathed out condensation as if it were my own smoke, and trudged my way home—to a little townhouse that I was fortunate to board at, seeing as a rental in London had cost a literal arm and leg. But cheap rent wasn’t its only feature; this house was painted an almost pastel pink, as if it was built in Brighton instead—not the dreary, posh streets of London. As I made my way to the front door, my keys jingling upon entry, the soothing smell of a pot roast greeted me. Lucy was in her element, singing along to Christmas tunes from the ‘90s.
“You got home early,” I called out, taking a look through the serving hatch that opened out from the hallway to the kitchen. It was a feature Lucy and I laughed about a lot in our month of being here; a hatch made for the hallway was only good for those who ‘needed food and needed it now’, which honestly suited me on the way to work each morning.
“Or maybe you just got home late,” she replied, chopping up some onions to sauté in a pan. Cooking became her strong point over these past few years, and when I heard my marketing agency was going to relocate me for a project in London, it wasn’t long before Lucy sunk her teeth into a family begging for a home chef—a single dad with two kids, conveniently down the street. That’s why our place was discounted, since he’d subsidised our rent to ensure a quick commute. I haven’t met him yet, but safe to say, he must be loaded. “Did it happen?” she asked ominously.
“Nope, another day in the clear,” I answered. We, of course, were referring to my continued paranoia of one British heartbreaker.
“See? You’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides, he probably doesn’t even live here anymore. With how quickly he came and left Australia, I doubt he”d get tied down in his home city.” She set the stove’s heat to a simmer once she added stock to the pot. I wouldn’t normally be a fan of stew, but somehow Lucy perfected the recipe, and my mouth salivated, waiting anxiously for when I could taste a spoonful. My cold bones were pretty keen on it, too.
“True,” I lied. It irked me to say, but I’d tried to keep tabs on him. As much as I wished I had some level of self-control, I still frequented his social media. After seeing that first dreadful post of him back in England after our date, I couldn’t bring myself to unfollow him, and his semi-regular posts around London would grace my feed every once in a while. To rub salt in the wound, on the same weekend that Lucy and I started our life in London, he’d posted a picture of his Christmas-themed Starbucks coffee near Earl’s Court, revealing the horrendous way the barista managed to spell his name on it. I may have chuckled at them writing ‘Theohr’, but that was the only sense of joy it gave me. Despite Lucy’s assumption, his photo only proved his appetite for travel must’ve diminished as quickly as it ignited, because the location of his posts were never more than an hour’s drive out of the city.
I couldn’t help but decide that ever since he stood me up, he would become my mortal enemy. A cliche, I realised. But I was fully prepared to scurry away if I ever saw his wickedly handsomeface—with a certain emphasis on its wickedness.
“You really have changed these past five years, haven’t you?” Lucy came closer, and my face swirled around in confusion. She laughed at the sight of me. “You don’t agree?”
“No, I think I’ve changed an adequate amount for someone who was twenty-two, and has now turned twenty-seven. I’d hope I wasn’t the same person after all this time,” I explained, sitting on a barstool with my arms crossed defensively.
“I just never thought you’d become such a cynic,” Lucy deadpanned, a teasing smirk falling over her face. “Didn’t you once dream of love at first sight, and being swept away by a charming prince?”
“That was clearly before I realised how much heartbreak a charming prince could cause.” I huffed, trying to get the idea out of my mind. God, I was naive. “Besides, I’m happy where I am. Sure, I’m not in Paris yet, but after this work placement, I’ll be the closest I’ve ever been to making it happen.”
“Then you’re just going to scrap all the hard work you’ve done at work, all that effort and money spent on your marketing degree, to start from scratch again?”
“You know that’s always been the plan, Luce.” Her hesitance dropped from her face, and I realised she was done grilling me for the day. It had become a relatively common occurrence, whenever we got to the topic of leaving London. Still, she knew when to back down, and I was grateful for it. My placement here in London was only a two-and-a-half-month contract, and since we’ve been here for just over a month so far, the clock was ticking. Lucy knew I could choose to stick around, but that wasn’t the plan—I had to leave here, pack up all my belongings in Australia, and move to France once and for all.
“Please tell me you’ll at least consider going on a date when you get to Paris. You can’t be a cynic in the city of love,” she said, returning to the stove top. She held up the lid of her pot and the hearty aroma floated around the house, making my stomach grumble.
I laughed, trying hard not to roll my eyes at the idea. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to keep you posted on any or all of my shenanigans as soon as I get there.”
Lucy gave off her trademark, gorgeous smile. “I’d expect nothing less.”
By the time I’d ransacked Lucy’s lamb and vegetable stew, washed the smells of London out of my hair, and nestled myself under my warm duvet, an email popped up on my phone from Ava, my boss. ‘Meeting invite: 9am. Please find some time to chat with me before our gala project commences at 10am. I have a few details to discuss with you regarding your contract.’
I frowned; these last-minute emails always found a way to cause me anxiety. I’m sure it was nothing to worry about, and based on my last performance review, it certainly wouldn’t have been a point of me having to go home early. After all, I needed the high pay cheque this job offered, especially to get me ready for the big move. But with a new interest in stoicism, I decided that was tomorrow’s problem, and not something I needed to face tonight. As far as I knew, Ava loved me, but she would not appreciate a late-night call to calm my frantic nerves.
Out of sight, out of mind, I decided, throwing my phone away to the night stand beside me, and taking a facemask from the drawer in an effort of self care. I turned on my wall-mounted TV, choosing a comfort film from the ‘80s of which I knew the words by heart. Movie re-runs always helped me destress, since there was no requirement to pay full attention to what’s happening on screen. I wished life was like that too, where you’d be able to anticipate what was around every corner the longer you lived through it. It would make everything so much simpler, and you wouldn’t have to live through mistake after mistake to learn your lessons. And with that thought in mind, I fell asleep before the characters found their happily ever after. Just the way I liked it.