“Good idea. It’s going to be great.”
Annie wasn’t so sure. Whenever she thought of what they were planning, she got the same feeling as when she’d climbed to the top of the biggest playground slide as a kid—that going back would be too embarrassing, but going ahead was absolutely terrifying, as well.
DAY 34
Let out your artistic side
“What’s that meant to be?”
“It’s a child. You know, like the ones we’re meant to be helping?”
Annie regarded the screen Polly was painting. “Looks like a bear to me.”
“A bear?”
“Yep. People will think we’re raising money for Paddington.”
“Okay, okay, I failed art at school, that’s why I ended up doing history of instead. At least I’m having a go.”
Annie patted her shoulder. Today Polly was wearing her dungarees again, the remnants of her hair tied back in a silk scarf. Annie had to hand it to her; there was nothing she didn’t know about dressing for an occasion. “That’s okay, we’ll tell people the kids painted it. Maybe you should get that white stick, after all?”
Polly pouted for a moment, then drew back her brush and flicked a dollop of blue paint at Annie. It landed on her jeans and for a moment Annie gaped, then she stuck her fingers in the pot and threw some back. It hit Polly square on the face, and Annie for a second was terrified she’d hurt her, and then Polly burst out laughing and flung some more.
“Och, for God’s sake,” tutted Dr. Max, who was passing. He was just passing a lot, it seemed, for someone so busy. “Are you two twelve or something?”
She felt it, Annie realized, around Polly. Like she was young, and she’d found a new best friend, and everything was ahead of them, exciting and fresh and new. Except, of course, it wasn’t. She passed a tissue to Polly. “Here. Sorry about that. Why don’t you let me finish this one, eh?”
“Okay,” Polly said, surprisingly acquiescent. “I might just...sit down over here for a minute.”
Annie watched her friend drag herself to a chair, her face set in pain, and a flicker of alarm came and went in her stomach.
DAY 35
Help someone
Annie stood outside Costas’s door, her hand hovering an inch away from it. Buster was snuffling around the edges of the door, unused to seeing it shut. She should knock. She knew that. But she’d never done it before, preferring to text him or leave passive-aggressive notes (actually, she wasn’t much better than Sharon in that respect). On the other side of the door, she heard another gulping sob. It was unavoidable—Costas was crying.
“Maybe we should give him some space,” she whispered to Buster. The little dog cocked his head at her and gave out a soft whine.
“Fine, fine, okay.” Sighing, she knocked gently. “Costas?”
Instantly he went quiet. After a moment he said, “Yes?”
“Um, are you okay?”
“Fine, fine!” It was like a parody of his usual chirpy tone.
“Listen, I heard you. I know you’re not.”
The door opened and there was Costas in his work T-shirt, his face red and swollen. “What happened?”
He wiped a hand over his face like a kid. “Is nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
Dejected, he said, “Is work. I was in kitchen, dancing to the—the Magic FM, you know. My favorite song.”
“And what was that?” As if she didn’t know.
“Mariah Carey, of course. And these men, the one who delivers the cups, they laugh at me—call me a bad word.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Fag.”
“That’s horrible. I’m sorry, but they’re just a bunch of bigots.”
“I did not think it would be like this here. I thought was okay to be gay, you know.” His face wrinkled up, his breath hitched, and she recognized the symptoms of someone on the verge of a full crying jag. “And all I do is make the coffee. I wanted to work in fashion, Annie. This is why I come to London, you know. We have no fashion in Athens. But instead I just learn to make the swirly patterns on the latte.”
“Well, that’s good, too.”
He snuffled some more, his gym-honed arms folded over his chest. “I miss home, Annie. I am missing my mother and my sisters. They are so far away. I come all this way away from them and I get nowhere in my life. Just the pictures in the coffee.” He sniffed. “I...I am sorry, Annie. I know this is a stupid thing, when your friend and your mama are sick, but... I am sad.”
And all this time he’d been on the other side of the wall, and Annie hadn’t been able to hear him over the sound of her own heart breaking. “I’m so sorry, Costas. That really sucks.”
He nodded, more tears coming up. “Is okay. I will be okay. Is just...a setback. At least we have the puppy. Come here, baby.” He lifted Buster in his arms, and the dog began to lick his tears, making Costas giggle. They’d have to get rid of the puppy soon; he couldn’t live in a flat forever. But how could she do that to Costas?
Annie looked at her watch—two o’clock. She’d been planning to spend the day in bed with her favorite fictional doctors (and not think about her favorite real-life one). “Listen, shall we go out? This flat is depressing enough to be in, no wonder we feel down. How about I treat you to the British tradition of Sunday lunch in the pub? We can even bring Buster if you like.”
DAY 36
Get your hair done
“Honestly, Annie, you need to say goodbye.”
“But I’m attached to it!”
“That’s the problem.” Polly leaned over and seized a hank of Annie’s lank brown hair. “Cutting your hair is symbolic. Letting go of the past, freeing yourself—think Rapunzel. Delilah. Britney Spears.”
“I’m not shaving it off.”
“Just get a few inches cut, for God’s sake. If you’re speaking in public you need to feel confident.”
Annie’s stomach lurched at the thought. Why had she agreed to this? “Oh, all right, then. Just a few inches.”
But as everyone knows, “just a few inches” is hairdresser code for “I want it all off, please,” and an hour later Annie was regarding herself in the mirror with her hair just below her ears, blow-dried into soft dark curls.
“We should have done a color too,” Polly said, running her fingers through it proprietorially. “Maybe we can—”
“Nope.” Annie pulled herself away. “Look at me! I look totally different!”
“I know!” Polly gave her the thumbs-up. “Goodbye negative energy hair, hello new bob! I wish I could do the same. One blast with a drier and mine would all fall out.”
“My hair didn’t have energy in it. It was just...hair.” And now it was on the floor.
Annie stared at herself, the way the bob curled below her ears, making her face looked heart-shaped. She was wearing one of the dresses Polly had forced her into, a green frock with little flowers on it, and Converses on her feet. She looked okay. She looked like a normal person. In the mirror she could see Polly smirking. “All right, all right, it’s just a haircut. Nothing’s changed.”
“You sure about that?” said Polly.
DAY 37
Give something back