Chapter 8
Just ten minutes left before Alyssa had to be out of the World’s Grottiest Flat, and the clock was ticking.
Reasons to be cheerful – her landlord had offered her a downgrade to the World’s Grottiest Basement, which was surely one up from living under a park bench in her wheelie suitcase?
She just wasn’t sure how she was going to fund it, what on earth her landlord meant by a ‘special arrangement’, or if she could live with ‘no windows and a slight issue with rising damp’.
She refolded her clothes for the eleventy-billionth time that morning, rearranging things in her case as though having her socks in colour order was going to vastly improve her messy life.
Since her chat with Rufus two days before, she’d been frantically trying to come up with other options, like her brain was on a treadmill.
Was accepting the offer to publicly road-test the ’Appy Together love match app the only way to get out of this musty armpit of a building and back to work?
Not to mention that if she didn’t take it, her agent had hinted he’d consider throwing her off his books. Dumped again was not a good look.
Despite her best efforts, she’d gained no new love coaching clients.
It was as though the harder she tried, the more people sensed her desperation.
She couldn’t run to her parents as her relationship with them was stunted, and they still lived in the one town she was determined to avoid.
There were no real-life friends to call on, because she’d obstinately avoided meaningful friendships since Sylvie.
Acquaintances came and went with boyfriends, and online friends could never know her real predicament. That was just too mortifying.
She held up a pink T-shirt. Could she sell some stuff?
But she only travelled light as she was often moving on, and most of her clothes looked good but were secretly bought from Vinted.
As for trying to get a simple bar job, she’d soon be spotted and snapped for social media, then everyone would know her love coach business was failing – and she’d never get another client.
She pushed the T-shirt back into her case and zipped it shut.
Coaching was all she knew, and she missed being good at it.
Whether she believed in love or not, fantastic results had brought her money and grateful praise.
Everybody needed to be needed. To have purpose.
Her logical brain told her this seven-love-tasks charade might give her some of that, even if it would mostly be for the cameras – and getting paid to be there might reduce some of the sting.
But her logical brain could just naff off.
‘I cannot go back there,’ she announced to the flat’s bare walls.
The lack of décor made her words bounce back at her.
She hadn’t returned to her hometown of Hartglove since she’d left it and there was nothing to go back for.
Going backwards was humiliating, especially when you weren’t in much of a better place than when you’d fled.
And then there was Devan. Her heart pounded every time she thought about bumping into him – and not in a good way.
If he was still there, there was surely no way she could dodge him forever, unless she could manage to hide behind her pink hair and new name.
Though if he was still happily married to Sylvie and they were bringing up their child – or perhaps children – maybe neither of them would care what superficial single loser shenanigans she was involved in.
She sighed and wheeled her suitcase to the front door, standing it next to her fake handbag.
When she’d lost Devan, she’d lost both of them, like the worst kind of two-for-one deal.
Sylvie had been her best friend since they could walk – like sisters.
They’d grown up sharing Furby toys, Britney CDs and secrets.
Their friendship had later become a three with Devan, but they were never meant to share him.
The betrayal had stung and had left her not trusting anyone.
Still. Boyfriends came and went, but Sylvie was meant to be her person.
Her phone screen flashed with a call. It was Rufus. Well, he’d have to wait, because there was somebody at the door.
‘Hurry up, Miss … whatever your name is,’ a voice bellowed. ‘It’s go time.’
Judging by the sound of jangling keys, it was Lennie the landlord. ‘The new people are waiting, and I hope you’ve cleaned. This penthouse is in high demand.’
Alyssa groaned. This guy had as much spin as her agent.
It was more like a jailhouse than a penthouse – though he couldn’t put that on the advert.
She just prayed the basement he was about to show her was liveable, because she couldn’t afford any of the options she’d investigated, and at least Lennie didn’t ask for references or care what her real name was.
And he’d offered her a deal, whatever that meant.
She hoped it would involve her paying some rent from her deposit money, as she didn’t have spare cash. She swung the door open.
Lennie was short and greying and carried an actual clipboard. He sniffed the air and pulled a face, which was a damned cheek. Alyssa pinched her mouth shut.
‘Greetings. I’ll give the place a once-over to see how much of your deposit I need to keep,’ said Lennie, tapping his clipboard.
Alyssa gulped.
‘Though if you take the basement flat, I’m sure we can overlook any minor issues.’
He winked at her, in a way that made her want to go and have a wash. What was all that about?
‘You’ve attracted those filthy mice back!’ Lennie pointed an angry arm at the skirting board.
Alyssa turned quickly and saw Pikachu scuttle across the floor. ‘It’s just the one mouse, and he’s actually not that bad.’ As sad as it was, the fluffy thing had kept her company.
‘I’m setting the traps.’ Lennie marched past her to the cleaning cupboard.
‘No!’
Pikachu was tiny, and no creature deserved to have its bones crushed. Before she could think better of it, she bent down and opened one of her shoeboxes, tipping in the remains of the packet of mini cookies she’d stashed in her handbag.
‘Psssst. Hop in.’ She slid the box across the floor.
The mouse froze, other than a twitch of his nose as he assessed the situation.
‘Look, I’m not one for trusting people either. But sometimes we’re all out of options.’
Then seeming to decide Alyssa was the lesser of two evils, the mouse scrambled up the side of the shoebox and jumped in.
‘In it together,’ Alyssa whispered as she hurriedly replaced the lid, not remembering when she’d last said anything quite so conspiratorial.
Maybe following the crumbs to stay alive was the only plan.