London from My Windows (15 page)

“Ava, put that computer down or I'm going to hurl.”

“Sorry.” Ava set the laptop down but remained standing. “It's four flights—sixty-two steps—up to the flat, but the view from the windows is so worth it. You can see all of London—”

“Ava, oy. Please sit down.” Diana slapped her hand over her forehead. Ava took a deep breath and plunked down on the seat. She looked out the window but could feel Diana staring at her. “What's going on, Ava?”

Ava turned to the screen, her damn eyes still overflowing with tears. She was tired. Seeing a friendly face, even if it was grouchy, was overwhelming. “How could you not come with me? And what about all those turtlenecks? You don't need them?”

“I have more. But I'd appreciate it if you'd like to mail the suitcase back to me; I would appreciate that.”

“No.”

“You don't have to do it right away. Spend a few days imagining yourself going to the post office. Baby steps, visualization. Just like we talked about.”

“Maybe you should have spent a few days visualizing yourself staying on the plane with me. Are you afraid to fly?”

“I'm too tired for this. What's really going on? You look like you're about to cry.”

“I'm going to lose the flat.”

“Lose it how?”

“Aunt Beverly knew about my condition. I only get to keep the flat if I go out and do certain things within the first ninety days.”
Eighty days now.

“What sort of things?”

“Touristy things. See Big Ben. Not the porno, the real thing.” Diana arched an eyebrow. Ava plowed on. “Tour the Tower of London. Ride the Tube. Ride the London Eye. Sit on a bench in Hyde Park. Go to an English pub. All lovely, lovely, impossible things to do. Can you believe her?”

“How does it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“To meet yet another person who doesn't understand your condition?”

“I think she was trying to help.”

“That's not what I asked.”

“It sucks, okay? The whole world thinks I'm a joke!”

“I don't think you're a joke.”

“You're paid too well.”

“Ava.”

“I'm kidding. Maybe they're right. Maybe I should just get over myself.”

“We've been through this. It's not in your head.”

“I know.” Ava knew what Diana was waiting for her to say. They'd talked about this ad nauseam. “My body reacts to everyday errands like anyone else's would in times of crisis.”

“Fight-or-flight response,” Diana added.

“I'm just going to the market, but my body thinks I'm being chased by a wild boar.” Ava laughed. You had to laugh. Otherwise it would just kill you. It sounded funny. It just didn't feel funny at the time.

“Your panic attacks are not in your head.”

“I know. I step outside and I truly feel like I'm about to die.”

“What your aunt Beverly is asking you to do is unreasonable for someone with your condition.”

“So I'm going to lose this flat.”

“Maybe you should speak to an attorney.”

“The executor of the estate is an attorney.” Jasper's smiling face appeared before Ava. “He's rather good-looking.”

“Is he now?”

“And funny. He's actually pretty funny.” Ava didn't want to tell her about the taxi ride. She wanted to keep this memory for herself. It had been so long since Ava had actual stories of her own to tell. She was afraid if she told it she'd lose it. She wanted to hold it close a little longer. Secrets were delicious. Keeping it almost made her feel high. Or was it just thinking of Jasper that made her feel that way?

“Is he your age?”

“Yes.”

“Married?”

“No. But he's pining over his ex-girlfriend.” Hillary. High-society wench. Jasper seemed too down to earth to fall for that.

“Well, you know what they say.”

“I never know what they say. I don't even know who they are.”

“The best way to get over an old love is to get under a new one.”

“Brilliant advice. I'll just straddle him and that will be that.”

“But you may need to get another attorney.”

“I don't have the money to fight this. Queenie is going to get the flat.”

“Who is Queenie?”

“One of Aunt Beverly's best friends. He's an actor too. We're sharing the flat.”

“You have a roommate?”

“Yes. Doesn't that suck?”

“I rather like the fact that you won't be alone.”

“Oh yes, he'll be the first to discover my body.”

“Your sarcasm is a little heavier than normal. I'm fine with it. As long as you recognize you're doing it.”

“I recognize.”

“Could he be your safe person?”

“Not a chance. He's my archenemy.”

“He's your archenemy?”

“If I don't complete the list in eighty days now, then the flat is his.”

“I'm beginning to think your aunt was quite the manipulator.”

“Jasper says she had already promised the flat to Queenie when she felt bad about me.”

“Is that why you think she wanted you in London? Because she felt bad?”

“I don't know. I'm trying to learn about her. Through her things. Through Queenie. And Jasper.”

“You're mentioning this Jasper a lot.”

“Am I?”

“Maybe he could be your safe person.”

No. She couldn't get too close to Jasper. What kind of a girlfriend would Ava be? Jasper was an adventurer. A bloke who liked jumping out of airplanes. She wasn't going to hold anyone back. “You were right the first time. Definite conflict of interest.”

“You haven't left the apartment since you arrived?” Ava shook her head. “You've made progress. Just going to London is huge.”

“I hid out in a janitor's closet in Heathrow Airport.”
Damn.
Ava never could keep a secret.

“You made it from your house in Iowa all the way to London, England. I don't care if you spent the night in the janitor's closet. That's huge.”

“I was on a lot of Xanax.”

“You are refusing to recognize your accomplishments.”

“I don't think throwing a fit, hiding in a closet, and wearing a rubbish bag over my head is much of an accomplishment.”

“That's a lot to throw at me at this hour. Do you need to discuss any of those incidents?”

“No.”

“Does the list require you to enjoy doing these things?”

“No.”

“Then I'll help you. If you can make the trip from America to England, you can tackle this list one by one.”

“Have you ever looked at the map of the London Underground? Lines going every which way? I still can't get the image out of my mind.” Choking her, that's how it felt, like the lines were choking her.

“Let's start small. Is there anything near your flat of interest to you?”

“There's a grocery store right across the street. If I held up the laptop to the window you could see it.”

“That's a fabulous start.”

Ava reached for the laptop.

Diana threw her hands up like she was protecting herself from a blow. “Not literally!”

“Sorry.” Ava's knee started to bounce. She had energy now. God, Diana was a good therapist.

“Are you taking your medication?”

“Yes. But I'm going to run out soon.” The bottle was half-gone. Ava was going through them too fast. She kept this to herself.

“I'll see if I can get any referrals in London. In the meantime why don't you start with the market? Use the technique we used to get you to work. One step at a time. You can turn back at any given moment. Are you sure your roommate can't be your safe person?”

“I'm sure. He's my pain-in-the-ass person. He hates me.”

“I wish you had someone there.”

“Like Cliff?” Did he feel at all guilty for what he'd done? Did her mother?

“He did serve a purpose.”

Or two.
“Jasper wants to be a stand-up comedian. But he's not funny. Should I laugh at his jokes anyway?”

“And now we're back to Jasper.”

“I'm not interested in Jasper.”

“You seem sexually aroused.”

“I hate it when you say things like that.”

“Your pupils are enlarged and you're smiling more than usual.”

“He's cute, that's all. And funny. And aggravating. And his ex-girlfriend who he's still pining for is high society, and according to Queenie she'd unleash the seven circles of Hades on me if she knew I liked Jasper, and they all caught me watching British porn. Are you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Our time is up. Go to the market.”

“What am I, a Little Piggy?”

“Yes. But we've had enough of the one who stays home.” Diana wiggled her fingers and then bowed her head. She was hunting for the correct button to end the session. Seconds later the screen went black.
Great.
Now Ava would wonder until their next appointment if Diana thought she was a pervert.

CHAPTER 15

Ava stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom while she put on a pink dress Beverly had hanging in her wardrobe. It looked as if it was from the fifties. Ava slipped it on and looked in the mirror. She grabbed a hat from its hook. A little white number with some netting hanging down. Ava was somebody else. An actress herself perhaps. If not a member of high society, then perhaps at least somewhere in the middle. She slipped on a pair of Aunt Beverly's flats. Ava and her aunt had worn the exact same size. Ava would literally get to walk in Beverly's shoes. Not a mile, that would be pushing it. But across the street, to Sainsbury's.
It's never as bad as you think it's going to be.

Ava spent thirty minutes visualizing herself successfully going to the market. She sat on the emerald stool and imagined herself gliding down the stairs, floating almost, then easily, happily, normally crossing the street, entering the market, and buying a few bits and bobs.
Piece of cake.
Maybe she'd get that too. Cake or death? Wasn't that what Eddie Izzard always said?
Would you like cake or death? Cake, please.

Here's hoping.
It was time. It was now or never. Today the market, tomorrow something from the list maybe. She could do this!

Just before she reached the door she stopped to remove Queenie's lucky charm. Then again, maybe it would work for her too. She left it on.
That's it.
With Beverly's dress and Queenie's lucky charm, she could do this.

One step at a time.
Ava opened the main door to the flat.
Oh, God.
The floor beneath her began to sway. This wasn't fair. This wasn't what other people had to deal with. She gripped the keys in her hand along with her purse. Should she write some kind of a good-bye note, just in case? She slammed the door behind her. That felt good. If only she had something to slam all the way there. Just go down the first three steps. That was all she had to do. One step. Two step. Three steps.

One more step.

Four steps.
Creak.

Ava tripped on the next step and then she was tumbling.
Oh God. Protect your head!
She grabbed for the rail, but she was going too fast skidding down the stairs on her bum—that's how the Brits would put it—and it really hurt. She came to a stop at the landing of the first set of steps. She grabbed a rail and hugged it for dear life. Her heart was thudding in her chest. If she opened the buttons on her dress her heart would probably leap out. That would show them. All of them. She'd love to see their reaction if her heart was out of her chest, flopping on the floor like a fish.
Take that, assholes.
Now she was stuck. It was either back up the stairs or down three more flights. This really sucked. So far this was way worse than she'd imagined it.

She heard the main door to the building open. Was it Queenie? Jasper? A neighbor? If it was Queenie or Jasper, how would she explain the fact that she was sitting on the stairs, shaking? Her flat was the only one on the fifth floor, but there were two on the fourth, where she was sitting. She heard a door open and close. It was a neighbor on a lower floor.
Just get to the main door of the apartment building, Ava. If you want to turn around from there, you'll turn around.
She closed her eyes, held the rail, and continued down the stairs. There were only three flights left.

Run, Ava, run! The building is on fire, the building is on fire, the building is on fire.
She ran down the stairs, flames licking at her heels.
Go, go, go.
What a racket she made,
clunk, clunk, clunk
in Beverly's flats.
Fire, fire, fire, fire.
By the time she reached the main door to the building she had to stop, bend over, and gasp for air. She did it. She made it down four flights of stairs. How was that for a little cardio? She wished there were a water fountain nearby. Why hadn't she thought of bringing bottled water? Because she was going across the street, not to the Sahara Desert.

She pushed open the main door as if it were a perfectly normal thing for her to do. She pushed through a roar that was sounding in her head. Outside; she was outside. The ground swayed again. She grabbed on to the rail. Five steps here. Then she'd be on the sidewalk. Five steps. She was outside. She brought out Aunt Beverly's note, the one she found in the sofa cushion.
BREATHE.
She did. She focused on the word as she inhaled. Then exhaled. She was sweating. How did people remain pretty while outside? She realized her eyes were closed. She forced them open, but stared at her feet.
One thing at a time.

There was no official crosswalk in front of her building; it was just a little side street. She would have to walk almost half a block farther to cross at a light.
Don't think; just move.
She darted across the street. Cars, it was jammed with cars.
Shit.
She wasn't thinking about the cars at all. She watched in horror as a black sedan barreled toward her. She squeezed her eyes shut. She heard tires squeal, and horns blare. She opened one eye. The black sedan had stopped barely an inch from her. Other cars were jammed up next to it. The drivers were all laying on their horns. Ava's heart beat so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it. She couldn't believe what she'd done. To her, the outside was so terrifying that truly dangerous things—like running out into traffic—hardly seemed frightening at all. That's what was going to get her killed.
Move, Ava; you have to get out of the street. Move.
But she couldn't. It was as if she were paralyzed.

“Bloody hell. Are you trying to get fucking killed?”
No. I'm just no longer in control of my body. I'm trapped. Maybe my body is trying to get me killed. What in the world did one do about that?

“Get out of the fucking way!” Horns kept blaring and the threats kept coming. She still couldn't move. People were stopped on either side of the street, staring, and trying to figure out why someone would stand in the middle of traffic. The man she sketched, the Middle Eastern or Indian one, was leaning against his building, smoking his cigarette. He moved toward her as angry horns continued to beep. Ava watched as he walked out into the street and held up his hands to the cars. He came right up to Ava, took her by the elbow, and began to pull her across the street. She let him. When they reached the curb, he helped her up, and then walked away. She froze again. She wanted to call after him. Thank him. She couldn't speak. A mute, standing on the sidewalk in London. But she had made it down four flights of steps and across the street to the grocery store. She was pathetic. Because the thought of crossing the street again was swallowing her whole. The man she sketched was watching her. He came toward her again while others brushed past. One man hit her with his briefcase. They looked much nicer when she was sketching them from above.

“Are you all right?” He had an Indian accent, so she was wrong about him being Middle Eastern. His accent was light, mixed with a bit of a British accent. Maybe he had lived here most of his life. Ava pointed to the market like the Grim Reaper, hoping he'd understand. She couldn't speak. “Sainsbury's?” he said. “You want to go to market?” She nodded. He held out his arm and she took it. Together they walked the few steps to the market. The moment they were inside Ava felt a rush of cool air. There. She was here.

It was huge. So big. Open and wide. Not too busy, but it didn't look this big on the outside. This was a huge mistake. The young man looked at her. Was he waiting for a tip? She should give him one, but she only had twenty pounds.

“Thank you.” It came out like a whisper.

“Right then,” he said. He was gone. She missed him. The lights were so bright. So painful. She put her hands over her eyes and bent over. Two Xanax hadn't been enough; she should have brought the bottle with her. All the things ignorant people always said to her bombarded her:

Yes. It freaking can. Screw them. Screw all of them.
This wasn't for attention. Ava wanted to die.

“Hallo?”

Ava removed her hands, stood up, and opened her eyes. A few feet away a girl with short spikey blond hair was openly watching her. She had on a Sainsbury's apron. She had tattoos up and down her arm and a nose ring. She was stocking shelves. Ava wondered if they let her behind the counter looking like that. Not that there was anything wrong with the way she looked, but Ava figured most places in England would be a bit . . . proper about their staff. She glanced at the people behind the registers. It was hard to tell what they looked like because the colored dots had arrived.

“You all right, luv?” The girl was in front of Ava holding a can of Heinz beans. “You look like you're going to do a header.”

“I have twenty pounds,” Ava said. “You can have half of it if you just get me something to eat, anything, and then”—Ava pointed behind her—“help me back into that building across the street.”

“You're the girl who just stopped traffic,” she said. “Almost got yourself killed, did you?”

“I didn't mean to.”

“What's wrong with you? Are you mental?”

“I'm dizzy. I might, as you say, do a header.”

“What do you want to eat?”

“Bread. Butter.”
Like prison
. “Lunch meat. Fruit?” Ava didn't know if she had enough for all that. “Espresso,” Ava said to the girl's back.

The girl picked up a basket as Ava stood still. Her pink dress was getting soaked in sweat. She hated herself. This wasn't worth it. She'd rather starve inside her flat. So much for walking in Beverly's shoes. She was still Ava. She closed her eyes.

“Miss?” Someone touched her on the elbow. She jumped. “Why don't you just come over here.” She let the person move her. She didn't open her eyes. Soon she was leaning against a counter. “Victoria will come get you when she rings out. Did you bring bags?”

Ava opened one eye. “Bags?”

“Most people care for the environment. So they bring bags. They care about the seals and the birds, they do.”

“I didn't bring bags.”

“Right then.”

“But I do care. I care about the birds, and other sea creatures, all of them. I care about all of them and I don't want them getting caught in my plastic.”

“Right, so,” the clerk said. “You didn't care this morning though, did you?”

This was even more humiliating than she'd ever imagined. Why didn't she just order in? “Do you have delivery? Can I order online?” He just stared at her. “You could come get bags from me first, and then you could deliver.”

“You want us to come get bags from you, then bring them back here, just so we can deliver them to you all over again?”

“Pretty much. But. You know. Filled with food the second time.”

“That's outrageous.”

“Not if you care about the environment.”

“You're a cheeky one, aren't you?”

“Do you deliver?”

“We deliver after two from Monday to Thursday. Do you live far?”

“Across the street.”

“Across the street.” He pointed. She nodded. “And you want us to deliver?” He said it like he was disgusted with her. Like he thought she was rich and lazy. Like she didn't give a shit about poor sea creatures. Why didn't she bring bags?

“I have a disability.”

“What is it?”

He wasn't going to believe her. She could see it in his eyes. He would think she was a nutter. She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Actually, I'm conducting an experiment.”

The clerk looked around. “Am I on a hidden camera show? A practical joke, like?”

“I'm an actress,” Ava said. “Researching a role.”

“What sort of role?”

“I play a lazy, septic American woman who loves plastic bags despite the fact that they clog up the oceans and kill innocent sea creatures. It's a terrible role, about a terrible woman, living an awful life. But it's union work. Pays pretty good.”

The clerk nodded. “Would I have seen you in anything?”

“Do you watch American television?”

“I watch loads of it.”

“I'm only on Canadian television,” Ava said.

“Oh, right, so.”

This was torture. Where was Victoria? Finally Ava saw her spikey blond hair.

“Vic,” the man talking to Ava said. “She's an actress. Canadian television.”

“Right,” Vic said. “No wonder I don't recognize her.”

“Why don't you help our actress home with her plastic bags?”

“You didn't bring bags?” Vic said.

“Sue me,” Ava said.

“Right,” Vic said. She turned to the male clerk. “Then a smoke break?”

“I thought you were going to quit that filthy habit.”

“I thought you were going to lose two stone.”