“Well, as you know, I’m from Sydney–” I begin.
He cuts me off. “Oh, I nearly booked a trip there once, but then I decided to go to Canada instead. Yes, trip of a lifetime that was. Went with my university buddies and got shit faced in every state of the USA. He goes on… and on… and on… and on.
My meal arrives and I sit in silence, eating away as Mark continues to ask me questions then cutting me off every time I try to answer, choosing instead to talk about himself. By the end of lunch, I don’t even have anything to say. I watch him talk to himself as I run through my internal assessment. He’s rude. Is he rude or is this restaurant just bringing out the worst in him? Maybe I’m being rude? Maybe he’s not so bad? Maybe he’s just different to what I expected, that’s all. My inner voice is telling me he’s a twat… but she’s been known to be an over-dramatic bitch, too.
I come to the conclusion that I can be sure of. I have absolutely no idea what is going on here.
* * *
An hour later and the day grinds to an annoying halt. I’m trying to get my phone sorted and it is driving me crazy.
Why are all phone stores so slow? What do they do on their computers and what are they looking at? I sit at the desk and glance at my watch for the tenth time while I get my mobile phone switched over to a UK company. I know for certain that I’m probably getting the worse deal in history, but I couldn’t be bothered shopping around, and even this apparent shortcut has taken over an hour. I’m worried about Brelly. What if her boss is really mean and she can’t contact me? What the hell have I gotten her into? My eyes flicker out to Mark who is waiting patiently outside on his phone.
I am distracted from my thoughts by the lady behind the desk. “So, you have the same number, now all you have to do is just switch your phone off and back on again.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you here for long?”
“Twelve months or so.” “I love your accent.” I smile because almost everyone has said that this morning. “Thank you so much.”
“Just call this number here...” she points to her phone number on the brochure, “if you need any help.”
I smile gratefully and rise from my seat. “Thank you, goodbye.” I head out the door. “All done.” I say to Mark.
“They took their time, didn’t they?”
“Oh, I know. I’m sorry,” I wince.
“No, it’s fine. What do you want to do now?” he asks.
I shrug in excitement. “Can we just look around the shops for a while?”
“Sure, I have a hundred messages to reply to, so shop away and I will wait outside for you.”
I quickly get my phone out of my bag and text Brielle.
Phone fixed, are you okay?
I watch my phone. Hmm, no reply. I continue walking down the cobblestone street with Mark by my side. Where exactly are we? I start to look around for a street sign or some indication of my coordinates.
“Over here.” I direct Mark and he follows silently.
I smile broadly and feeling rather proud of myself, stuff my phone back into my bag as I prance up the street. The streets are old and rustic with cobblestones and London is everything I expected and then so much more. Finally, I locate a street sign and break into a beaming grin. I researched this place when I was back home and recall seeing this street name, I walk next to Mark down the street enjoying the ambience.
My phone beeps, receiving a text from Brielle.
Oh my God. The kids hate me.
I hate them more!
I have gone to Hell with the devil himself.
I giggle and put my hand over my mouth in shock. Oh shit, what’s happened? I immediately text her back.
Can you talk if I ring you?
My phone rings a few seconds later
“What happened?” I stammer as I hold my finger up to Mark to signify one minute.
I walk away from him so he can’t hear our conversation.
“Oh my God. I can’t talk long. The house is ridiculous,” she whispers.
I frown. “Ridiculous? What do you mean?”
“He’s rich… like, mega rich.”
Relief hits me. “That’s good. It’s better than crappy living arrangements, right?” “Yeah.”
“What about the kids?” I ask.
“Teenage daughter who constantly rolls her eyes and won’t talk to me, and the eight-year-old boy is killing me with kindness.”
I smile. “How’s Julian Masters?”
She blows out a breath. “I don’t know. Cranky?” she whispers. “He showed me my room last night, all the way from the door.” I frown. “What do you mean?”
“He wouldn’t come into my room. He literally showed me the room from the door. He pointed where everything was.”
“What?”
“I know, right? He’s a weirdo.” “Oh, jeez, Brielle. Are you safe?” This could be a disaster.
“He’s not scary, he’s just… different.”
“You mean he’s different because he’s male.”
“Exactly,” she whispers. “How is your apartment?”
“So much nicer than I expected. I met my roommates and they seem nice.”