Chapter Two
Bex looked up at me from her downward dog position and grinned. “Dirty stop-out.”
I threw my handbag on the kitchen table and glared. “If only.”
“It’s nearly midday!” Bex declared. “Tinder guy must have been sensational.”
I couldn’t hold back the satisfied smirk. Last night hadn’t been a total waste of time at least. “Sensational-ish.”
Bex cackled. “Go on.”
I kicked my heels off. “Did you know there was a difference between Rugby League and Rugby Union?”
Bex straightened, cricking her back. “One’s less posh than the other?” Realization dawned across her face. “Finance bro?”
“Finance bro.” I seemed to have a knack for picking up men who’d enjoyed an expensive education.
“Babe, I’ve told you about this.” Bex leveled me with a serious stare. “Get off the dating apps, no self-respecting person uses them any more anyway. They’re full of—”
“Finance bros?”
“Well, yes. But I was going to say full of people not looking for something real.”
“And I’ve told you – I don’t need ‘real,’” I said. “Every once in a while, I just need a hot man with a few free hours to spare. Is that too much to ask?”
“Fine.” Bex sighed. “So how was he?”
I considered. “Minus the attitude, I’d give the evening a solid seven and a half.”
“Why not a full score?”
“I had to leave at like 6 a.m. and he was not impressed.”
“What happened?”
“The same thing that usually happens,” I said, stomping over to the fridge. “Work.”
“Oh.” Bex barked a laugh – but not a real one.
It always felt like a gift when I made Bex laugh properly.
We’d met in the early days of university when we both auditioned for the theater club, although I’d immediately assumed Bex was too cool to want to be part of my social circle.
She was all long limbs and ice-blonde hair, with bright eyes and a perfect smattering of freckles.
I in contrast was shorter and stubbier, with an unruly mop of brown hair that could never look as elegant as Bex’s in a million years.
But when we were paired up to do an improv challenge, I had made what I’d considered to be a lame joke, yet Bex had guffawed so hard at it that heads had turned.
From then, we’d been inseparable and Bex’s laughter remained one of my favorite sounds to this day.
Like me, Bex was also from a small working-class town in Yorkshire, and adjusting to the pace of London had bonded us completely.
After graduation, moving in together wasn’t even a question, it was a given.
Our rented flat in Archway was tiny but chic, thanks to Bex’s skills as an interior designer. “What was it this time?”
“Honestly, I can’t even talk about it,” I groaned.
“Let me guess, Lin forced you into hand-holding some precious darling director through some basic life tasks that they couldn’t be bothered to do?”
I shut the fridge door, milk in hand. “Yup.”
“Mate, when are you going to get promoted?” Bex said, rolling up her yoga mat. “Lin working you into the ground was bad enough but she’s now actively cock-blocking you.”
“I know, I know,” I said. “Although being called away for work is actually the best way to make a swift exit from a one-night stand, FYI.”
“He wasn’t a keeper then?”
“Nah.” I flicked the kettle on. “He tried to get me to stay for a coffee—”
“The BASTARD!” Bex declared, brandishing a fist in mock outrage.
“Hah. It’d never have worked,” I said. “My rugby knowledge, or lack of, would never have been up to scratch.”
“Shame,” Bex remarked.
“I wouldn’t say that,” I said. “And it’s for the best anyway.”
“I know, I know. I’m too busy for love, blah blah blah. It’s just …” She sighed again. “Are you not worried about missing out on stuff like relationships and, I dunno, life?”
I shrugged. “There’s plenty of time for all that.”
“There is until there isn’t,” she said. “There’s more to life than work. I worry you don’t have that balance.”
“I’ll work on it,” I said idly. “But what would make me feel more balanced is a pay rise.” I waved my pack of cheap teabags, discounted due to a tear in the box.
“For God’s sake, we can share tea,” Bex said. “I keep telling you. Still no new job prospects?”
I shook my head. I was subscribed to every job alert possible, but the right sort of jobs that paid a living wage were rarely available and hotly contested.
One time I’d got through to the final round of interviews for an exciting development assistant role at Working Title, only for the daughter of an award-winning cinematographer to swoop in out of nowhere to get the job.
Last time I saw her she was on stage collecting a BAFTA. “The search continues.”
“I find it staggering with all your experience,” she said. “You’ve worked on actual film sets and survived six years with Lin – who, by the way, would probably be out of business in seconds without you. That should see you walk into a better job.”
“It’s not how the industry works,” I said. “I’m a nobody until somebody says I’m not.”
“That’s fucking bleak,” Bex said. “You’re brilliant and Lin is holding you back.”
“Okay, but Lin knows everyone worth knowing,” I said. “When I interviewed for the role—”
“A few years with me, you’ll know all the key players in the industry,” Bex parroted gently.
“She’s gatekeeping. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.
You’re so good at your job, she can’t let you leave.
She breadcrumbs all these promises but doesn’t follow through.
” She furrowed her eyebrows. “Tell me I’m wrong. ”
“You’re not wrong,” I muttered. On my worst days, leaving Temper Media was all I could think about.
But then it would take just a little bit of enlightening conversation with one of the directors Lin looked after and I’d remember why I had the ambition I did and park the idea of quitting, holding on to the sliver of hope that Lin might advance me, offer me more responsibility.
It was a relentless cycle. As I waited for my tea to mash, I watched Bex pull a bottle of water out of the fridge, nibbling her lip.
She caught my gaze and averted her eyes quickly. Too quickly.
“Anyway, what’s with you – everything all right?” I asked.
“Fine!” She fiddled with the bottle lid. “Just looking out for my bestie, as usual.”
“You sure?”
“What do you mean?” She turned away with a huff and my tummy vaulted. Bex was rarely ruffled. There was nothing we couldn’t say to each other, so whatever this was must be bad.
“Oh, God, what?”
Bex turned, drank deeply from her bottle, then took a big breath. “Dan and I have been talking.”
“And?” I sensed I should sit, so I finished making my tea then sat at the table. Dan was Bex’s long-time boyfriend and possibly the only human being good enough for Bex in my opinion. “You guys are okay?”
“We’re fine.” Bex joined me at the table. “More than. We’re talking about moving in together.”
I thudded my mug on the table so hard tea slopped onto the surface. “Really? Are you serious?”
The sweetest of smiles blossomed across her face. “Yep.”
“As in, here? Or … somewhere else?” Without me? I pushed that negative thought aside and threw my arms around her narrow shoulders. “That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you! God, you had me worrying that you were splitting up or something.”
“As if.” Bex squeezed me tight. “We’re looking at Hertford. It’s not too far from his family and the commute is perfect for both of us. There’s this house—”
I whistled, pulling back. “A house?”
“Yeah,” Bex said, blushing. “A whole house. Fixer-upper. He does the construction stuff; I make it fabulous.”
“You – you’re buying?” This was big-time adulting, a financial commitment I couldn’t even begin to imagine making.
But Bex’s eyes were shining with excitement.
“Mate, I’m thrilled for you, really.” Even as the words left my mouth, my genuine happiness was replaced by foreboding.
There was no way I could afford to stay in this flat alone, not on my salary, and finding anywhere else decent on my budget would be nigh on impossible.
“Thanks,” Bex said, with obvious relief. “The lease is up in six months on this place, and it’ll take at least that long for the sale to go through, if it does at all. So you’ve got plenty of time to figure out your situation.”
“Totally.” I found myself nodding furiously. “Don’t you worry about me; I’ll work it out.”
Bex frowned. “You sure? I’ll help you as much as possible. I can come on viewings with you, and it goes without saying that I can sort you out with some deals on new furniture, if you need any.”
I swallowed a wave of panic. Most of the furniture in this place belonged to Bex, so if I couldn’t find a furnished apartment, there would be the added burden of paying for new stuff. “Great.”
“Hey.” Bex grabbed my hand. “You’re having thoughts. I see them.”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“Nope, don’t do that,” Bex said. “Don’t keep your worries locked up in there because you think no one can help.”
“Bex, I’ll work it out.” I had to. Unless Bex was magically able to produce a winning lottery ticket or find me a job that paid double, my living situation was about to get much less comfortable.
Bex sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I’ll sort it, somehow.” I replied feebly, then fought off a yawn. “Damn, I’m knackered.”
“Then you’d best add a shot of espresso to that tea because we have a date this afternoon!” Bex jumped to her feet.
I looked at her blankly and she tutted. “We have tickets to some film thing you said I had to come to for my own personal advancement.”
My exhausted mind raced for a few seconds, then it hit me. Back to the Future marathon at the Prince Charles cinema. Bex was only going because I’d promised the cinema served alcohol. “Oh yeah.”
“Where is it we’re going again?” she asked.
I punched the air. “Somewhere we don’t need roads.”
Now it was Bex’s turn to look at me blankly.
“That would have been fucking hilarious if you’d watched these films when you were supposed to.”
“Namaste, bitch.” Bex stuck her tongue out.
“They’re classics, you’ll see.” I glanced at the clock over the kitchen sink and groaned. “We have ninety minutes to get to Leicester Square, so get a move on.”
“No problem,” Bex said. “Oh, before you sort out that bedhead, I was thinking of having a little gathering for my birthday next Friday. Sergio’s?”
I grinned. “Definitely. Thought you were going to act as if turning thirty-one wasn’t happening?”
“It’s not happening,” Bex said firmly. “Officially, I’m staying put at thirty, thank you.
But Dan is insisting he wants to do something for me so I’m like, fine, you can pay for a little dinner party with my squad.
You, me, Dan, Tiff – not Tiff’s kids,” she qualified with a shudder.
Tiff was a university friend who’d married straight after graduation and her children were possibly the loudest human beings to walk the planet. “Plus Roz and Dean from work.”
“Count me in”. Sergio’s was a restaurant two minutes’ walk from our flat and Archway’s best-kept secret. The fresh pasta was arguably the finest in London and as for the limoncello, well, it was bottled in-house and served very generously.
“Great.” Bex clapped her hands. “Remember, Dan’s paying, so show up hungry.”
“But of course,” I agreed. “Right, give me ten minutes to wash and change into something that doesn’t smell like finance bro aftershave.”
I trudged to the bathroom and powered up the shower.
I loved this shower. The jets were strong, and the water always came out at exactly the right temperature.
As I coated myself in a thick layer of citrussy shower gel it hit me that my days using the shower of dreams were numbered; Bex was on track to move into, no, own, a proper grown-up house in a town I’d never even heard her mention until now.
And what of me? Unless something drastic happened with my salary, I was facing – shudder – a house-share with strangers or some kind of rancid bedsit situation.
It seemed like every time I opened social media there was a story about evil landlords exploiting tenants with limited financial means.
I’d seen the horrifying videos with creeping black mold and caved-in ceilings.
I turned off the water and swaddled myself in an enormous, fluffy bath sheet Bex had scored from some impossibly hoity-toity brand for next to nothing.
From behind the bathroom door Bex was tunelessly belting out her favorite Chappell Roan song and I was hit with another pang of realization: a day was soon coming where I wouldn’t have to endure her awful singing.
I missed it already. I sat down on the toilet seat, fighting back a mounting wave of panic. What was I going to do?