London from My Windows (10 page)

Ava put her hands on her hips. They needed to do something other than wrap around Jasper's neck and strangle him. “Where is this flatmate?”

“He agreed to give you a few days to settle in.”

Ava looked around. “Am I missing something? Is there another wing to this flat?”

Jasper threw open his arms. “Thai? Italian? Chinese?”

“Am I to guess my flatmate's ethnicity now?”

Jasper laughed. “Maybe you're the one who should do stand-up comedy. No. I was referring to the takeaway.”

“Well, take away this. I refuse to have a flatmate.”

Jasper strode into the living room. Ava followed. “Do you like to watch telly?” He pointed to the television as if she might not quite know what one looked like.

“Are you really a barrister?”

“Of course. Why?”

“You avoid conflict like the plague.”

“That explains why I settle out of court a lot.” He waited for her to laugh. She didn't. He gazed out the windows, his face rapturous. “Isn't this a stunning view?”

“Yes,” Ava said. She'd have to take his word for it. She couldn't look. She would hang her black sheets as soon as he left.

Jasper scanned the walls of pictures and theater posters. He lifted a small framed photograph off the wall. It was a picture of Beverly, Jasper, and another man standing in a field. A small airplane was in the background. Jasper pointed to the man. “This is Queenie. They were best friends.”

Ava studied the portly bald man with gray sideburns. He was grinning for the camera and had his arm around Beverly. He looked like a nice best friend. But a terrible flatmate. “And he lived here with Aunt Beverly?”

“No. But he's going to live here with you.”

“Wait. He didn't live here with Aunt Beverly?”

“No.”

“Then why in the world would he move in with me?”

“Because.” Jasper stopped. Ava could actually see beads of sweat form on his forehead. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at them.

“Jasper?”

“The flat isn't quite officially yours yet.”

Why not? He just meant she had to sign some papers first, right? Then why was he sweating? “What do you mean?”

Jasper swallowed. He looked at the view again as he spoke. “You and Queenie are competing for the apartment.”

“Come again?” Ava suddenly understood the urge to shoot the messenger.

“There is a list.” Jasper removed a piece of paper from the breast pocket of his suit and held it up. “Right here.”

“A list?” Ava said.

“Stipulations.”

“You had better start speaking the Queen's English.”

“Right. So. I explained to you on the video chat that one of the stipulations of ownership was that you must live in this flat for an entire year.”

Ava opened her hands. “And here I am.”

“What I didn't get a chance to tell you was that in addition . . . there is this list.” Once again Jasper held up the piece of paper. “You have ninety days from now to complete the items on the list. If you do not, then I'm afraid that Queenie will inherit the flat.”

“Oh my God.” For a second Ava was tempted to snatch the list out of his hands. She changed her mind. Whatever the stipulations were, this was not good. This was bait and switch. This was some kind of a game. What stipulations? Was her mother right? Was Beverly a master manipulator? This certainly didn't seem right. Or kind. What was on that list? Jasper wasn't saying, and there was no way Ava was going to validate it by asking. She ran to her suitcase and pulled out her black sheets. This was what she could count on in this world. Her black satin sheets. She didn't even care that he was watching as she held them up to her nose and inhaled. They smelled like Febreze dryer sheets. List. List, list, list. Ninety days or Queenie inherits the flat. What kind of cosmic joke was this?

Heart hammering, she strode toward the dome-shaped windows. All she had to do was raise her head and there was the heart of London sprawled out before her, in all its glory. She quickly draped the sheets over the windows. She would need to get out her hammer and nails to cover them completely, but this was a start. When she had used up all three sheets she turned back to Jasper. Just being that close to the windows had elevated her heart rate and made her perspire. She knew she looked like she had just jogged a few miles. She couldn't worry about that right now. She waited until Jasper made eye contact with her. One by one the sheets fell to the floor in a heap. She wouldn't look. She would have to nail them in the minute she got the chance. She didn't want to do it with him here. What kind of person packs a hammer and nails in her luggage? “What exactly is on the list?” He held it out to her. She shook her head. “No. I want you to tell me.”

“Wouldn't you like to order your dinner?”

“I've lost my appetite.” This was her flat. Wasn't it? She hadn't given up her entire life in America, risked death to fly here, just to end up living with some flatmate she never agreed to, competing for the flat. Stipulations? Why hadn't Jasper mentioned any of these things before she'd upended her life? Thank God she found this out now. Her stupid lust, her stupid crush.
God, Ava, you are so naïve.
She stormed back into the kitchen, yanked open the fridge, and removed the platter of turkey. Jasper entered the kitchen and stared at her. His eyes dropped to the platter of turkey. He looked terrified. She would have laughed except she was too angry with him. She left the fridge door wide-open, almost daring Jasper to reprimand her. This was her flat. Aunt Beverly's flat. Aunt Beverly wanted Ava to have it. She didn't care who these friends were. They weren't her family. Queenie's turkey was taking up her fridge. Well, not anymore. She ripped away the cellophane, grabbed a turkey leg, and pulled until it came off. Globs of fat dripped to the floor. Jasper looked positively rooted to the spot. She smiled. She was going to stand at this counter and eat whatever she wanted out of her fridge, flatmate be damned. She wasn't even hungry. But she would not be bullied. She would lick every single thing in this fridge, providing it didn't look like it had been licked already.

“That's really not the best way—”

Ava stuck out her tongue and slowly licked the turkey leg from top to bottom. She couldn't tell if Jasper was turned on, or horrified. Either way, he couldn't take his eyes off her. She stuck the turkey leg in her mouth and sucked on it.
Take that, Queenie.
She popped it out of her mouth long enough to speak. “Delish.” She held it out to Jasper. “Want some?”

Jasper shook his head. “Quite all right.”

“I want to be alone now,” Ava said.

“We've come this far. If you wish, I'll read you the list.”

“Oh, goodie,” Ava said. “I'll just suck on turkey while you talk.” Jasper sighed, made his way to the little kitchen table, and plopped down on one of the chairs. Ava needed a sheet for that window too. She'd take care of it the second he was gone. “Beverly left the flat to Queenie first,” Jasper said.

“Oh,” Ava said. Aunt Beverly didn't really want Ava to have the flat. And why should she? Ava wasn't really family, was she? Not in the way that Ava wanted a family. Not in the way they would have been a family if her father had lived. She didn't just lose her father that day; she lost everyone. Even her mother to an extent. Gretchen had been a happier person with Ava's father. “I see.” She didn't see. She didn't want to cry in front of Jasper.

“Please, Ava,” Jasper said. “Will you sit down?” He pulled out the other chair. Ava brought the turkey to the table and sat. “After Beverly jumped from the aeroplane she had an epiphany.”

“Me,” Ava said.

“You,” Jasper said.

Ava threw down the turkey leg, wiped her hands on her jeans, and folded her arms across her chest. “Go on.”

Jasper set the list on the table and kept his hands over it, as if protecting it. Then he began swirling the piece of paper around the tabletop. “It's quite simple, really. If you wanted you could probably get them done in a week.” His voice cracked at the end. Ava wondered what his ex-girlfriend was like. She probably didn't like nice guys. Jasper was definitely “a nice guy.” This time Ava was starting to see how annoying nice guys could be. Ava bet his ex had walked all over him. She had an urge to draw a cartoon of a woman doing just that—literally walking on Jasper Keyes.

Ava snatched the piece of paper from underneath his hands. She was going to get turkey grease all over it and she didn't care. She looked at the list.

 

See Big Ben
Walk along the Thames
Visit Buckingham Palace
Tour the Tower of London
Go to an English pub
Sit on a bench in Hyde Park
Go to a show in the West End
Go to a club in the West End
Navigate the London Underground (Tube/subway)
Ride the London Eye

CHAPTER 10

It was a list of normal, touristy things to see and do in London. Things most people would want to do. And Ava wouldn't be able to do a single one of them. It wasn't a fun list; it was a death march. “I have to do all these things if I want to keep the flat?”

“Yes. Once you've completed this list—”

“—ninety days from now—then you simply must continue living in this flat for one year. After that, it's yours to do with as you wish.”

Tears instantly filled her eyes.
Dammit.
She did not want to cry in front of Jasper. Or anyone. A flatmate. A list. This was an ambush. Aunt Beverly knew that Ava was a freak, and she had done this just to prove it. Ease her conscience that she hadn't lifted a finger for Ava ever since her father died. Maybe Beverly had been cruel to her father too. She remembered him crying over her that one day. She remembered knowing there was some reason Beverly wasn't visiting, but not knowing exactly what it was. Frankly, Ava always thought it was because Aunt Beverly didn't approve of her mother. Didn't approve of Americans. Ava hated this. She hated being angry at her father's only sibling, but really. How could she? Ava never would have imagined that Beverly could have been so cruel.

Ava couldn't do a single thing on this list in ninety days let alone all of them. It was impossible. The flight home felt equally impossible. She never wanted to see the inside of that airport again. Maybe they could knock her out entirely. Or Ava would have to simply lock herself in the flat, refuse to let Queenie inside, and force them to drag her out kicking and screaming. Ava wanted to pick up the turkey leg and throw it at Jasper's head. It was probably the kind of behavior they expected out of an American nutter anyway.

“You can go now,” she said. “I'm going to fight this.”

“Fight this?”

“Yes. Through the courts.”

“I see.” Jasper ran his hands through his hair again. “That is always an option. But it would take a lot of time, a lot of money.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, of course not. I'm giving you the facts. It's really quite simple—”

“For you maybe. And definitely Queenie. Does he have a list?” One look at Jasper and Ava knew he didn't. “I see. Get out.” Ava stood up. “I'm asking you to leave now.” Jasper nodded and rose from his chair. He looked like he wanted to say a million things to her, but Ava didn't want to hear them. She headed for the door. Jasper exited once more, but this time he lingered in the hall, and this time Ava waited.

“About Queenie.” Ava waited some more. “He can be a bit overly dramatic.”

Join the club.
“So can I.” She might have been an agoraphobic, but Ava was no pushover. She was highly functional. Just in a very small area.

“Look. I know you're upset. And I'm sorry. But your aunt Beverly wanted to help you.”

“Help me?”

“Of course. She wanted you to experience the world. Or at least this little corner of it.” Beverly had no clue what life was really like for Ava. Neither did Jasper. “And as far as Queenie is concerned, having a flatmate could actually be a good thing.”

Now he knew what was best for her? “How so?”

“London is expensive. There are building fees that I don't think you can afford unless you find a job.” He let the rest linger. He didn't add the obvious. It would be nearly impossible to get a job if she never left the flat.

“How much are the building fees?”

“I don't have the exact figure. But I believe all considered it's close to a thousand pounds per month.”

“That's insane!”

“That's London.”

“I can't face the airport. I can't.” Ava reached out. She didn't mean to, but the thought of the airport ignited a panic in her, and she reached out her hand to Jasper. He took it and held it. He looked her in the eye. She was back to liking the nice guys. He looked at her with compassion. Not pity, but genuine concern. How could this man she just met care about her so much?

“Ava, listen to me. You're not going anywhere.”

“But the list—”

“Forget about the list. I'm sorry. I'm a wanker. I should have let you settle in.”

“You should have told me before I left America.”

“Maybe. But God, I'm glad I didn't.” They held eye contact. He let go of her hand. Ava stepped back. “I mean, here you are, right? This isn't so bad.”

“Sure. Maybe they'll be the best ninety days of my life.”

“Forget about the ninety days. One thing at a time.” He glanced behind him as if he was worried someone might overhear. “It's to your advantage to get along with Queenie. Maybe he'll let you have the flat even if you don't complete everything on the list.”

“Or anything?”

Jasper looked away, then back at Ava. “Let's just take one step at a time,” he said again.

“Why? Why is she doing this to me?”

“Please believe me. Her heart was in the right place.”

“How? By luring me here under false pretenses? Then humiliating me with this impossible list?”

“Not to mention forcing you to live with an actor?” Jasper smiled. Ava did not. “Right,” he said. “It
is
all in the timing.”

“I think Beverly had you fooled,” Ava said.

“How do you mean?”

“I can tell you're convinced that she meant well. But maybe you just don't understand women.”
Maybe that's why you got dumped
.

“You're right about that. I don't understand women. But I think I understand you.”

“Good for you.” Ava slammed the door shut. She rested her forehead against it. She had the urge to bang her forehead against the door but not while Jasper was still there. And he was still there. She waited to hear his footsteps.

“Any questions before I leave?” Jasper said. Ava couldn't believe it. He just wouldn't go away. Why did that thrill her so?

“How will you know if I've really done any of the things on the list?”

“I'm to accompany you.”

Ava opened the door again. He looked at her with something akin to hope in his eyes. What did he want from her? “You're a nice guy, Jasper.”

“Thank you.”

“It's not a compliment. Women like bad boys, and comedians who are too nice just aren't funny.”

He took a step back. Ava hated herself. He was only trying to help. But he shouldn't be here, looking at her like that, making her light up inside. “I see. Thank you for the character assessment.” She was seeing him angry for the first time. He was sexy when he was angry. Ava left the door open, and walked away just to see what he would do.

Along the wall separating the living room from the kitchen was a little bar. It was stocked with liquor but not wine. Ava went over and picked up a bottle. “I wouldn't drink his Scotch if I were you,” Jasper called out.

“Aren't you lucky that you're not?” She put the bottle up to her mouth and drank. By the time she had swallowed, and wiped her lips, Jasper Keyes was gone. That flat was surprisingly empty without him. Ava retrieved the hammer and nails from her suitcase, picked the first sheet up off the floor, and went to work.

 

Three stiff Scotches later, Ava staggered over to the windows and stared at her silk sheets. Maybe she should take them off. She'd come this far. If she only had ninety days in London, she should at least look at it, shouldn't she? Could she do it? In Iowa she definitely needed sheets. She was on the ground level. Anyone could sneak up and look in. The outside was right there, pushing to get in. But here, she was up high. Removed. Maybe if she took the curtains off, she could get used to the idea of London. If she was only going to be here for ninety days she couldn't just hide. Slowly, she advanced, grabbed a corner of the first sheet, and tugged. Before she could change her mind, she whipped off the last two sheets. And then, she looked.

All of London stood at attention before her, slightly muted behind a pearl gray sky. The river Thames to the far left. The Houses of Parliament stretched out, regal and proud. A cathedral stretched into the air. The London Eye rotated in the distance. And just below, a busy street lined with shops, and trees, and pedestrians. Ava didn't need to go out to experience London; London had come to her.

She'd been reading up on London ever since she was a little girl. First, when her father was alive, so she could tell him all the places she wanted them to go, and then, especially after he died. It made her feel closer to him, knowing where he was from. So she read everything, imagined herself everywhere—and here all those magnificent places were at her fingertips, just outside her window. She was so close. Separated only by panes of glass.

Every single place she'd read about, searching between the pages for her father. Had he wandered the halls of St. Paul's Cathedral? Had he sat underneath a tree in Hyde Park? Had he watched the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace? Chased fat pigeons at Trafalgar Square? Had he stood by the Thames and wondered about his future wife, his daughter? Why couldn't he be here? She missed him just as much today as she did when she was ten. Her father. What would he think of her now? Surely he'd be so disappointed. Not his Ava. He would never have imagined his little girl was a freak.
Dance with me!

Now here she was. Nineteen years later. So many wasted years. The Ava her father knew was a vibrant little girl who had friends, and went to school, and took piano lessons every Tuesday. She raced her yellow bike up and down the street every evening before dinner, got scrapes on her knees from playing in the dirt, and the rain, and the snow. Even Ava couldn't believe it had all come to a crashing halt. At first everyone was so kind, so patient. Her two best friends, Andrea and Susan, visited her like clockwork. They didn't even make fun of her for staying in her room. “Take your time,” her teacher said, sending homework each week, checking in. And Ava did take her time. Boy, did she. She took the rest of the school year. After that came the heated meetings between the school and her mother, the yelling (her mother at Ava), the threats, the tears, the paperwork from the psychiatrists advocating homeschooling. For the time being, everyone said. For the time being.

But Ava got used to Greta, the in-home tutor, and so did her mother. Ava did her homework, got good grades. She fought with her mother less. Eventually everyone got used to it, and nobody pushed Ava anymore. After the first year Andrea and Susan visited less and less. Instead they talked on the phone. And then gradually the calls stopped too. Ava couldn't blame them, but it hurt. Greta was Ava's only friend, unless you counted the psychiatrists, which Ava certainly didn't, or the young girl across the street, a pretty woman named Heather who popped her head into Ava's room on holidays to say hello, or the series of goldfish that swam in and out of her life. Other than that there was the odd visitor now and then, a few family members on her mom's side, but no one substantial. Ava wanted to be saved, yet when anyone tried to do just that, to get her to go out, she fought tooth and nail. Secretly there were times she wanted to be outside so bad she physically ached. But the minute she touched the doorknob, her entire being revolted. She'd been at war with herself. She wanted to want to feel the sun on her face, the wind through her hair, taste the rain on her lips, or scoop snow into her hands. She kept waiting for a miracle. Her father to show up at her door and forgive her. Eventually she covered the windows with construction paper so she would forget. The few times a year she was forced outside she was so medicated it was like a queasy dream. So much waste. So much time to make up for. Could it even be done?

Ava inched closer to the window until she was looking down. She felt like a tightrope walker, on the night of her very first show. She was doing it. It was terrifying, but she was doing it. There were so many people on the streets. Living their lives. Walking, without a care, down the block. They were not afraid. Their palms were not sweaty, their hearts were not tripping, and little colored dots were not dancing in front of their eyes. They were just out and about, and had never known life any other way. Ava placed her hands on the window. She was leaving her prints. Was it enough? Compared to everyone out there, she really wasn't here. “I'm dead,” she said. She might as well have been.

The view, miraculous to anyone else's eyes, was a gun to the head. St. Paul's Cathedral, right outside her window. Built in the shape of a cross with a dome crown intersecting the arms. Filled with the Golden Gallery, the Stone Gallery, and the Whispering Gallery. All places Ava would never see, but she could close her eyes and imagine them. One of the largest domes in the world. Weighing in at sixty-five thousand tons. And it was right outside Ava's windows. The highest point in the city. A fourteen-hundred-year history.

The London Eye. She'd never ride a Ferris wheel, never, let alone one that was four hundred and some feet tall. Even if she did everything else on Aunt Bev's list, that one would be the one to take her down. There it was, her nemesis, rotating on the south bank of the Thames.
Look away!
Her eyes darted to Canary Wharf, one of London's two financial districts. What a beautiful skyline the buildings made. Finally she gazed back upon the Houses of Parliament—the Palace of Westminster. Now that looked British. Royal and elegant, its ancient stone façade and spikey bits running along the top like points in a crown.
Big Ben, you old clock tower, you. I feel as if we're old friends. I know you from children's books and movies, and photographs. I see you. Do you see me?