Find Me Alastar(7)

Oh, it’s my new flatmate. “Hi. Please, come in.”

She slinks around the door and smiles. “I’m Vanessa.”

Vanessa is young, much younger than me, and she’s skinny with black grungy hair with a thick fringe. She’s dressed in a black dress with thick black tights and knee high punk leather boots. “I’m Emerson. Sorry, I must have fallen asleep last night. I did plan on waiting up to meet you.” I smile nervously.

She smiles back and flops onto the end of my bed. “That’s cool. Hank.” She calls.

I frown. Who is Hank? A nerdy looking guy pokes his head around the door. “Hello.” He smiles, he has a very strong English accent.

“Hi.”

“Hank lives with us.” Vanessa smiles. “He’s studying biochemistry and doesn’t really do anything else so you have to boss him around.”

I grin as my eyes flicker back to Hank. He smirks mischievously and holds his hand up in defeat. “Guilty.”

He walks in and flops down on my bed, next to Vanessa. He’s wearing an old ripped t-shirt and only his boxer shorts.

“Thanks for having me, guys.” I say nervously. “I really appreciate it.”

“That’s alright.” Vanessa stands. “Do you want some breakfast?” She puts her hands on her hips. “Hanks making eggs, aren’t you Hank?”

He looks at me and rolls his eyes. “Hank is another word in the English dictionary for slave,” he says dryly.

“Oh.” I chuckle. “It’s okay. I haven’t gotten any groceries yet. I will get breakfast out.” I frown.

“No, it’s cool. We share food and just go shopping once a week, splitting the cost,” Vanessa calls as she walks to the lounge room. “We shop on Tuesdays.”

Hank turns to me. “What do you think of London?” he asks.

I shrug. “It’s great… so far.”

He stands and heads back out to the lounge room. “Breakfast in ten,” he calls.

I flop back down to my pillows as relief fills me.

Thank God.

They’re normal.



* * *



At 9:00 a.m, Mark knocks on the door and I answer excitedly. I’m thinking that perhaps I was just tired last night and today he’ll be much more attractive and won’t grate on me.

“Ready to sight see, Miss Mathews?” he asks cheekily.

I smile broadly. “I am.” I stand back and he waltzes past me and into the apartment.

“Thank you for having the day off to show me around. It’s very nice of you.”

His eyes hold mine.

I swallow and grab my coat and bag. The thing is, I know I liked Mark from all the texting, and we did have a long distance chat thing going on, but the insta-love isn’t happening for me just yet. I need a bit of time, and Brielle is right, I’m not here to fall in love. I’m here to have fun with good friends but I know from when he tried to kiss me last night that he has other ideas. I kind of hope he grows on me.



* * *



The day has been action packed, we have been to Big Ben, The Library and Westminster Abby. We’ve driven past Buckingham Palace and Mark has promised to take me back there. We have just arrived at a pub for lunch.

“This way.” The waitress shows us to our seats.

“Thank you.” I smile as she pulls my chair out for me and hands us both menus. The pub is old and rustic with an open fire burning in the corner. It is so good to finally be here.

“What would you like to drink?” Mark asks as he peruses the food choices.

I would kill for a wine. No, I have stuff to do this afternoon, wait until tonight, I remind myself. “I will just have a diet coke, please.”

“I will have a lager, thanks,” he replies.

The waitress nods and disappears to the bar.

Marks eyes drop to my hands and I quickly pick up my menu, my heart sinking at the same time. I have been doing this all day, making sure my hands are full so he doesn’t try and hold my hand. What’s wrong with me? He’s nice and we have been chatting online for over a year and gotten on famously. I’m just not feeling it in the flesh. Damn it.

“Have you been here before?” I ask.

“Yeah, I come here often.”

“What are you having?” I ask.

He narrows his eyes as his eyes stay fixed on the menu. “Spaghetti marinara.”

I nod. “Good choice. Hmm, I’m going for the chicken schnitzel.”

The waitress comes back with our drinks.

“We are ready to order,” he tells her abruptly.

I drop my head. Jeez, he doesn’t have to snap at her.

“I will have the spaghetti marinara. But I would like my prawns double deveined.”

She looks up from her pad. “All of our prawns are deveined.”

“Well, I want mine double deveined, and I would like extra chili and half the garlic. I don’t want any muscles, but put in extra calamari,” he instructs sternly. “But make sure the calamari is not overcooked.”

The waitress looks at him blankly. “Yes, sir.”

“I don’t want any onion at all,” he adds.

“The onion is in the sauce already, sir, you know this.” She scribbles on her order pad, and I swear she’s writing the words pain in my f*cking ass.