Page 47 of Pretty Mess

seven

A Few Days Later

The afternoon is sunny but cool when I leave Julian’s apartment building and I shiver a little and huddle into my thin jacket. I’ve got a warmer one but I left it back at the house so I presume it’s on a skip somewhere.

Mac sent me the postcode of my new place this morning. I meant to look it up online, but I got busy packing and forgot all about it. I look around for a cab, squinting at the sun. I lost my sunglasses during the upheaval. I suppose I could buy a new fancy designer pair with all the money I have sitting in the bank, but frugality is hardwired into me after a lifetime of teetering on the edge of being poor. I’m painfully aware of how one wrong move can send you toppling over the edge, so I’ve vowed to sit on my nest egg like a very protective chicken.

I start to walk away, pulling Julian’s fancy suitcase after me. When he saw the old, battered case on my bed, he’d given me one of his, claiming he was throwing it away anyway, but I know better. He’d protested the hug I gave him, but I’d still held on tight until eventually he’d relented and hugged me back, but notwithout huffing and rolling his eyes more than a host onLoose Women.

“Mr Archer?”

I turn at the sound of my name and watch as a dark-haired man climbs out of a gunmetal-grey SUV. “Yes?” I say warily.

“I work for Mr Reilly.”

My heart starts to beat fast. “Is he here?” I ask, looking around as if he’s going to pop up from behind a bush.

“No.”

I sag in disappointment.

The man continues quickly, “But he sent me to facilitate your move.”

“Eh?” It’s not my best comeback.

His eyes twinkle. “I’m to drive you to your new home and ensure you’ve settled in well.” He opens the door of the SUV and gestures. “After you, Mr Archer.”

I trundle the case towards him, and he takes it from me, stowing it neatly in the boot. I climb into the back seat to find a luxurious space pleasantly warmed by the heater. The radio plays low, and I’m sure I can smell Cormac’s fresh, citrussy aftershave.

Last week, I went with Julian to Harvey Nicks, where his bloke had set him up with an account. Growing bored with the endless clothing changes, I’d wandered off and found myself in the perfume department. It had taken me a while, but eventually I’d found Cormac’s aftershave. It’s called Rue de Furstenberg by Durand, and I’d spent a little too long huffing the bottle like it was glue, and eventually, the salesman had taken the bottle off me and insisted that I try another counter.

The dark-haired man climbs into the driver’s seat. “Everything okay?” he asks.

I nod, fastening my seat belt. “Thanks for driving me. What’s your name?”

“Robert, Mr Archer.”

I wave my hand. “Oh no. Please call me Wes. Mr Archer sounds like I’m up on a charge.”

He makes a soft sound like concealed laughter before inclining his head gravely. “As you wish, Wes.” He pulls the car away from the curb smoothly, and silence falls as he navigates the busy traffic.

I pull out my phone and check my messages. The one from Tyler this morning is still up.

I’m fine. Stop ringing Ben.

I huff. I’d been frantic with relief when I saw the message but it’s fading into irritation very quickly. I tap on my phone.

I wouldn’t imagine it’s annoyed your friend that much seeing as he didn’t answer the phone once. Anyway, I wouldn’t have to ring him if you’d done as you promised and sent me a text every night.

I wait but the message stays unread. Eventually, I stir. “So, where is this flat, Robert?”

He doesn’t display any curiosity about my question. He’s well-trained. “Knightsbridge.”

“Oh. That’s fancy.”

I tap my fingers on the window, watching London slide by. Old buildings jostle with modern tower blocks, and the streets are a sea of people. We stop at some traffic lights, and I see a man about my age greeting two friends. They’re all wearing backpacks, and I peg them as students immediately. That was me a few weeks ago, I muse. Laughing and chatting with mates with no idea what was around the corner.

I’m immediately reminded that finals are approaching, and I need to get back to concentrating on my studies. My head reels. So much has changed that I feel like a different person than the student I was last term, back when I was so fiercely attached tomy coursework and feeling like it was the only way to build a future.