Chapter Text
Chapter 1.
Robin’s heels were clopping quickly on the pavement as she strode down Charing Cross Road, her heart drumming with a mixture of anguish, sadness, and profound stress.
There was only a twenty minute stroll from the office to the Ritz, which she had calculated she could do calmly in half an hour or forty minutes, considering the added difficulty of walking on high heels, to which she wasn’t used, but in her haste, she hadn’t taken into account how many people she’d have to fight for room to walk, on a busy Friday night. The entire route to the Ritz was through some of the most touristy, busiest streets in London, the kind where she had to fight crowds even on Monday mornings, let alone Friday evenings. The Palace Theatre, in the corner with Shaftesbury Avenue, was such a popular destination that its wide pavement was already almost-entirely occupied by a long, zigzagging queue, and the vehicles on the road were hardly moving, forcing Robin to find her way between an unmoving cab and a Fiat to cross the road, narrowly avoiding being run over by bicycles, which in London she had discovered could be almost as dangerous as a lorry.
It had rained at some point, and the city lights were bouncing off every wet surface, adding a halo of colour to the otherwise dark Shaftesbury Avenue, where the presence of theatres was specially abundant, specially those devoted to musicals. Excited crowds queued-up at every door, and to that buzz there was the addition of the countless Asians coming in and out of Chinatown’s north side, and about as many tourists randomly stopping to look at a shop’s window, or at a restaurant’s door menu, without contemplating who might be rushing behind them, testing Robin’s patience every time she almost crashed into somebody’s back. She remembered when she had been new in London, and she had been like that, walking aimlessly, looking around with eyes full of wonder and her jaw dropped, not knowing where to look, but that Robin, twenty-five and still full of innocence and excitement, was long gone as if dead and buried by the tremendous weight of the highs and lows she’d experienced first. She no longer walked around mesmerised and full of excitement, but like all Londoners who had, like her, arrived one day, jittery and full of smiles like children on Christmas Day, and lost that part of themselves ever since; fast, like on a never-ending hurry, with the eyes moving rapidly from one corner to the next, quickly calculating the shortest, fastest route in her mind, not caring about anything she was walking past, no matter of exciting or beautiful it might be.
But as she passed Chinatown, Robin couldn’t help glancing towards the large, impressive Chinese Arch of Wardour Street, and as she looked over, she experienced a sudden shiver at the memory of Rupert Court, the Waces and Chapman Farm. Having been avoiding Chinatown for now seven months, the traumatic memories rushed back to the forefront of her mind, and the metaphorical crash of thoughts and emotions was quickly mirrored by a literal crash, when in her distraction, her heel slipped on the wet pavement, her ankle twisted, and she fell, colliding with a passer-by only to end up on her side, on the pavement.
Around her, people gasped and turned, quickly trying to help her, muttering exclamations of surprise in various languages. The words “Are you all right?”arrived in a variety of accents, as Robin, her eyes full of unshed tears (although whether this was due to her fall, or due to her storming heart, she didn’t know) struggled to her feet. Her coat had offered her arms and knees some protection, but her ankle hurt, and so did her shoulder, which she’d hit in a weird angle.
‘You OK?’ a short girl asked, trying to see her face properly in spite of the poor illumination, and grabbing her arm to offer her some support.
Robin looked down at herself. One side of her coat was wet and a little dirty, but luckily, the rain seemed to have done an almost good job of cleaning the pavement a bit, so she was still presentable.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she managed to say, although she felt like she might burst into tears any second. ‘Thank you,’ she added, as others continued to fawn over her.
Suddenly wishing to get as fast as she could, Robin hurried down the street, now limping, and in her haste, she had reached Piccadilly Circus by the time she realised her heel had broken, which was part of the reason why she was limping so much, the other being that her ankle had twisted and was swelling, although not broken. Taking both shoes off, Robin pushed through more crowds to find room on a step beneath the statue of Eros, and there, without really knowing why or how, she burst into tears.
This time, the people around her seemed divided between ignoring her, and worrying. It was probably the fact that she was a young woman, with her shoes in one hand and another wrapped around a bare ankle, dressed beautifully, that in the end inclined the balance towards being offered help.
‘Hey,’ a woman sat beside her. ‘D’you need a hand?’
Robin shook her head and rubbed her eyes with her hand, forgetting her make-up. A hand with meticulously painted long nails produced a tissue in front of her eyes, and she grabbed it and dabbed her eyes.
‘Thank you,’ Robin muttered, sniffling.
‘Is it some guy? It’s always some guy.’
Robin turned and saw three young, black women, all of them a little chubby, all of them beautifully dressed and with colourful make-up on, and all of them with long, colourful nails. Not understanding why, Robin let out a chuckle, and looked around. She suddenly saw Matthew on his knees, a ring in his hand, and saw herself, gasping, chuckling and crying, exclaiming something and jumping into his arms. The memory yanked her heart and gave her a violent feeling of vertigo. If she could only be that 25-year-old girl once more, maybe she would’ve made some different choices…
Her eyes full of tears once again, she shrugged.
‘Hey,’ the woman next to her spoke again, and placed a hand on her knee, ‘whatever it is, there’s always a choice, you know? If this day sucks, you can choose to end it early and try again tomorrow. Get a cab. Go home, or wherever you can go, a friend’s, a hotel… get a nice hot bath. Start over tomorrow.’
‘We can give you some money for a cab,’ said another of the women, already opening her black purse.
‘It’s OK,’ said Robin, and she blew her nose in her tissue. ‘Thank you, really, that’s very kind… I’ve got money, I’m OK. It’s just… I fell and broke my heel, and I think I twisted my ankle as well.’
‘Oh shit… Where were you trying to get to?’ one of them asked.
‘The Ritz. My boyfriend’s waiting for me there. I’d call him to pick me up, but with this traffic, I doubt he even used his car, he wouldn’t have found where to park. I’ve just had a bit of a shit day,’ said Robin, finding it strangely easier to talk to strangers, than the prospect of calling Murphy. She rubbed her ankle. ‘This is a bit of the last straw.’
‘Well, you’re a grown up,’ said the woman beside her. ‘You can get a cab to take you to the Ritz, it’s not too far, but like you said, with this traffic… Even so, I bet your boyfriend will get you a nice dinner as a consolation prize. Or… call him to come and help you? Maybe he can take you home, and you can order in, and turn this day around at the last second.’
‘Or,’ one of the women sat on the other side of Robin, ‘you can say fuck everything and go home, if tonight is just not the night for everything. You don’t have to feel pressured to try and have a good night, if you’ve had a rough day, you’re tired and you just want a break.’
‘Yes, you’re an adult, if you just want to go and eat a whole bowl of ice-cream, you can,’ said the other woman, who had squatted down in front of her.
Robin pondered the options, and let out a small chuckle, rubbing her eyes. She had a worsening headache, and as her adrenaline lowered, she was beginning to feel pain in various body parts. They were right. She was a grown up woman, she could make her own decisions. Fuck men, all of them.
‘What are you ladies up to?’ she asked them.
‘Oh we just came out of the theatre,’ said one of the woman. ‘D’you know good dinner places other than the Ritz, by any chance?’
‘There’s a pub in the corner of Charing Cross Road with Tottenham Court Road,’ said Robin without thinking. ‘It’s called The Flying Horse. It’s fairly popular. It’s not like, proper dinner, but they’ve got some things, and the wine is nice, and it’s certainly more affordable than the Ritz. Oh and there’s a Wetherspoons up Charing Cross Road, plenty of food as well.’
‘Cheers gurl,’ said one of the women beside her, smiling warmly. ‘So what about you? Are you going to sit here crying or are you turning your day around?’
‘You can come with us,’ said one of the other women. ‘Although your ankle seems to be getting bigger…’
Robin looked down at her ankle. It was, indeed, swelling rapidly.
‘Well,’ she took a deep breath, trying to think like an adult. She found it easier to decide if she put men’s hurt feelings and money aside. ‘I have no shoes, and with my foot like this, I couldn’t really walk even if I had them, besides, the ground is wet, I could slip and fall again. I’m not even hungry, I’m exhausted, and everything’s starting to hurt, and I just want a hot soup and my bed, not some… overpriced miniature dish with some fancy name. And if my boyfriend loves me, he’ll have to understand, right?’
‘And if he doesn’t, what good is he for?’ another of the women said.
‘I’ll hail you a cab,’ said another of them, and she rushed to the curb.
Robin breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t have to go to the Ritz. She could go home. The thought gave her inexplicable relief.
Fifteen minutes later, she was in a cab, slowly moving back towards Charing Cross Road, having thanked the three women profusely. Her shoes were on the floor, and she had folded out the seat opposite hers and put her injured foot up. Now, she only had to figure out what to tell Ryan. He would, of course, want to rush to her apartment to be with her, but Robin desperately wanted to be alone. But to do that, she was afraid she’d have to lie, which she was truly trying not to do any more, not to Murphy. However, before she could make a decision, her phone started ringing, and it was his name on the screen.
‘Hi,’ she answered, pressing the phone to her ear.
The cab was barely moving, but Robin didn’t care, even if it cost her a lot of money. So long as the journey ended on her doorstep, she’d live.
‘Hi,’ said Ryan. ‘I just arrived to the restaurant, are you close? Should I wait for you out in the street?’
‘No. Ryan, I slipped on the wet pavement while on my way to you, and fell over,’ said Robin sincerely. ‘I broke my shoe, and my ankle’s twice its size. Some ladies helped me hail a cab, because I can’t walk, but I’m so sorry, it really hurts and I hurt my shoulder too when I fell…’
‘Shit, how bad is it? Did you hit your head?’
‘Luckily it’s so crowded out here that my head hit somebody’s shoulder instead,’ she tried to sound a little humorous. ‘But my side hit the pavement pretty hard. I don’t think I’ve broken anything though, maybe twisted my ankle and got some bruises, but nothing too serious. I just… The shoe’s broken and everything hurts, and truthfully, I just want to go home. But I also want to celebrate your birthday and make you happy, I want to celebrate with you, to have a good time with you after all the shit we’ve had…’
‘But you’re not coming,’ said Ryan. ‘The cab’s to go home.’
‘Unless you’d rather I told the driver to turn around,’ said Robin cautiously. ‘And I will, Ryan, if—for you. It’s your birthday. I understand tonight’s special, you wouldn’t have booked the Ritz of all places otherwise. But I will have to be barefoot, and I don’t know if the restaurant will be OK with that, they’re strict on dress codes, and I won’t really be able to walk much.’
‘No, obviously I’m not going to make you come here, I’m not that much of a prick,’ said Ryan a little harshly. ‘No, of course not. You better go home.’
‘Tell you what… I’ll pay for the booking expenses,’ said Robin. ‘And as soon as my ankle gets better, I will throw you one hell of a belated birthday celebration, OK?’
‘Robin, you don’t have to…’
‘Please,’ said Robin, desperate to try to play her role of girlfriend better than she had for months, ‘I do feel really bad about this, let me make it up to you. Why don’t I tell the driver to go and pick you up? And we can go to my place,’ she said, even though she really wanted to be alone, and she knew with the bad traffic, getting to the Ritz could easily take an hour, ‘and order in, have a bath together, yeah? Eat in bed, watch a movie… It can be romantic, right? A night where everything is going bad, but we turn it around, just the two of us.’
There was a long pause, but then, sounded both surprised and more cheerful, Ryan said,
‘Actually, that could work. Don’t worry about the cab, it’ll be hell for you to turn around… I’ll get to the underground, I’ll probably get to your place before you anyway. We’ll meet there, I’ll order and pick something on the way. You find us a film in the laptop, yeah? And we’ll make our own party. Don’t worry about the Ritz, it’s not your fault.’
Robin took a deep breath and nodded. She was relieved by the sound of his voice being cheerful and not full of resentment. Perhaps it could work out, after all.
‘OK, perfect. Order anything you want, you’re the birthday boy,’ said Robin. ‘I’ll see you soon, yeah?’
‘Yeah. I love you.’
‘You too,’ said Robin with a pang of guilt. ‘See you soon.’
She hung up and took another deep breath. The cab had finally made it to Charing Cross Road, and was moving north a little faster. As it passed Denmark Street, she experienced another pang of guilt, and took a shaky breath. She was reminded of a very similar Friday night seven months previously.
“—She knew I was in love with you.”