Chapter 31 NANCY
EVAN CHECKED THE REAR VIEW MIRROR several times on the drive back to the apartment. He’d been keeping a close eye since my panic attack, asking how I was each time he saw me and outlining any security procedures I needed to be aware of. His concern made me smile.
I’d apologised for the misunderstanding over the locked door, but he’d brushed it aside.
“I’m just glad you’re well, Ms Cooper. You gave me quite the scare, but I’ve faced scarier.
” I could well believe it. Despite his unassuming nature, regular stature, indeterminate middle age, and soft Welsh accent, Evan’s intense focus and dark, owl-like gaze made me think of an everyday hero from a detective show.
The car pulled up at the front of the apartment, and I waited for him to help me navigate the crowd of reporters. When the door opened, flashes, clicks, and questions erupted. I kept my head low and my hood up while he guided me toward the concierge.
“Nancy! Can you confirm if you’re a prostitute? What’s your financial situation? Have you been bribed by the couple? Does Alex have a fetish, Nancy? Are you a dominatrix? Have you had a boob job? Did your dad abandon you? Nancy! Were you ever abused?”
I never said a word to the endless, cruel questions, yet somehow, the press continued to weave barbed wire from thin air. “I’m so sorry you have to deal with this, Nathan. You’re only doing your job,” I said, ducking under the concierge’s arm into the safety of the lobby.
“It’s not a problem, Ms Cooper. I’m used to handling the press for number eight.”
I looked up in surprise. “Was the previous resident famous then?”
“A little.” Nathan looked away and busied himself. I hit the call button for the lift and studied him curiously.
The vast living area was low-lit and eerily still when I entered the apartment, like a museum after hours.
The triple-glazed windows blocked all sound from the street below, and I found the lack of London ambience unnerving.
I turned on the TV to fill the room with conversation, and considered dinner, but I had little appetite after the carb-fuelled lunch and the stress on the street.
Instead, I took a long shower, then put on some baggy joggers and Alex’s Chelsea Rowers hoodie he’d worn after training the previous day.
I pulled up the hood, his smell hugging me as I sat on the couch and tried to watch TV.
But after ten minutes, I was still aimlessly channel-hopping.
I turned to my phone, hoping Alex would’ve messaged, but the screen was blank.
God, I’m sad. I’d only been away from him for an hour, and I was already at a loss.
When did I become so dependent? I got up and paced around the room.
It was only just seven, which gave me two hours until Alex was due back.
I didn’t get why he needed me to stay here tonight.
I may have agreed on a trial run living here, but I wanted to come and go as I pleased, something that’d been impossible this last week.
But with two hours to play with, I could easily check out the refurbished flat and chat with Mum before meeting him back here after dinner.
Then, I remembered the mass of photographers out front.
Maybe it’s best to stay and wait for Alex.
The thought bristled me. Was I really that weak?
I stood conflicted, looking out the window at the cars making slow progress along Sloane Street, when an idea came to me.
I went to the monitor and rang through to the front desk. “Hi, Nathan, are there still a lot of photographers around?”
“Unfortunately, yes, Ms Cooper, there look to be about ten waiting near the front. They’re a tenacious bunch.”
Not as tenacious as me, I thought, and called Evan.
“Ms Cooper, how can I help?”
“Sorry, Evan. I forgot some paperwork I need. Would you be free to drive me back to the office?”
“Certainly. I’m just around the corner.”
“Great. I’ll come down in ten minutes.” I ended the call feeling guilty for using him, but with the press behaving as they were, surely he’d understand.
I shrugged into my leather jacket, grabbed my phone and keys, and snuck down the fire escape to the rear exit.
Spying through the side window, I saw a couple of paparazzi smoking against the wall opposite—their cameras ready for me.
I checked my phone and estimated Evan was due out front at any moment. After a minute, one of the photographers answered a call. They stubbed out their cigarettes and ran through the archway.
No one noticed me riding out the side street on the Ninja.
It was the first time I’d dared take the bike out this last week, and the feeling was incredible.
My muscle memory kicked in, and I quickly flicked between the gears, navigating traffic.
Once past the lights, I squeezed the throttle and let the evening air rush through my visor as I picked up pace away from Knightsbridge. I didn’t even try to hold back a grin.
Ten minutes later, I parked outside my block without a photographer in sight. Pushing through the door, I found the lifts not only working but brand new. I hit fourteen and watched the fresh display count up as the well-lit car zoomed through the floors.
I rounded the corner, pulling out my keys, but came face to face with a door I didn’t recognise. Gone was the shabby, burgundy-painted front door, and in its place was a fancy grey-tone UPVC door.
What the hell? I can’t get in!
Why hadn’t anyone told me the door would be changing too? I needed new keys, but Alex hadn’t given me any. Why? This was my home and had been for the last eight years. I rang the doorbell and heard a strange chime rather than the usual buzzer.
After a minute, a safety chain was slotted on, and Mum peeked through the crack in the door. “Nancy! I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Evidently. It seems I wasn’t expected to come home again as I no longer have a key.”
She pushed the door closed and undid the chain to open it fully. “Sorry, love. Monsieur DuPont left all the keys here. I was gonna give you yours when I saw you, but you’ve not been back all week.”
A ripple of guilt ran through me. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a nightmare with the press. I’ve felt a bit trapped, to be honest. But I’m here now. Why are we still chatting on the doorstep?”
“That’s the thing. I wish you’d let me know you were coming by. I’ve got a guest over—”
“Is that Nancy?” Winston’s friendly tone piped in as he joined Mum at the door.
I took in how different he looked. His long salt-and-pepper locs were neatly tied back, and his beard freshly barbered.
The usual oil-coated overalls were gone, and in their place, he wore an ironed pastel orange shirt with navy chinos, which sat snug over his slight pot belly.
“Hi, Winston,” I said, noticing Mum was wearing her best dress—shimmering black-gold sateen—alongside Gran’s pearls. The smell of long-marinated jerk chicken with extra citrus wafted out the door. “Are you guys on a date?”
Mum looked sheepish while Winston smiled broadly. “Your mama invited me over for dinner.”
My irritation melted away. “That’s lovely, Winston. Sorry, Mum, I should’ve called beforehand.”
“No bother. I’ve made more than enough to go around. Come in! You haven’t properly seen the place.”
“That’s okay. I don’t want to crash your dinner. I’ll see if Kim’s in. I can always pop back later…unless—”
“No, of course! It’s just dinner,” Mum brushed off. Winston continued to grin. “Let me get the keys, but if your mates aren’t about, just come back, okay? I wanna catch up after this mental week.”
“Yeah, me too. You’ve not had any trouble, have you? What they’ve written about us is awful.”
“A couple of reporters came by, but I told them they could stick their gossip where the sun don’t shine. They haven’t been back since.”
I looked at her adoringly. How did she always manage to be so tough yet so caring? “I love you, you know?”
She brought me in for a hug, and I held her for a little longer than the moment required. “I love you, too. Now, here are the keys. Well, it’s just the one key, actually, but apparently, the door has some extra security or something.”
“Thanks, I’ll see you in a bit. Enjoy your meal.” I grinned at the pair.
“Catch yah later, gyal,” Winston sang back.
Kim’s parents’ flat was on the other side of World’s End, where Mum and I used to live.
I took the stairs to the street to walk the well-trod route through the figure-of-eight housing complex.
A settled feeling encircled me as I zigzagged past the communal gardens, benches, and play parks dotted around the crisscrossing walkways.
In the distance, sirens called out in a habitual whine.
I passed my old primary school and the community centre, where Mum helped out at the weekly coffee morning.
The familiar sounds, shapes, and smells helped to soothe my anxious mind.
A few minutes later, I rang Kim’s doorbell.
As usual for an evening, her dad answered.
Dave was a teacher at a local academy, while Kim’s mum, Trisha, worked for Transport for London.
They were ships in the night, one working through the day, the other in the evening, yet they were as solid a couple as I could imagine, always making time to be together.
“’Ello, Nancy. Long time no see. How’s it going?” Dave asked, undoing his apron, splotched with an abstract canvas of food stains.
“I’m okay. You?”
“Can’t complain, summer holidays are close. Only six weeks now.” He stepped back inside. “I’m just making dinner. Come in.”
I followed him into the modern-looking lounge they’d done up the previous year. “I thought it was meant to be the kids who got excited about the holidays.”
“The staff will be down the pub by three-thirty, then Trish and I are off to Majorca for a week. Believe me, I’m counting the days.” He flashed me the usual caustic smile reserved for exhausted teachers, and I chuckled.
“Is Kim in her room?”