“I think you’re wrong,” Evelyn said confidently. “I bet he has something to do with it.”
Evelyn spent most of the day trying to cheer me up. During her appointment with Alba, she pulled the most ridiculous faces she could muster. Alba commented it was the best mood she’d seen Evelyn in since her injury. While that was good to hear, I couldn’t shake the glum mood of last night’s dream. Nor could I stop thinking about it.
Evelyn dragged me through the shops, determined to buy me heavier clothing as autumn progressed and the temperatures dropped. I went along with her, trying on whatever sweaters and pants she picked out for me without complaint. She made a game of guessing my sizes, almost always choosing things that were too big. Around lunchtime, she draped a motorcycle jacket over my shoulders and grinned triumphantly.
“Finally,” she said. “It fits you perfectly!”
I checked the price tag. “It’s two hundred pounds, and I don’t own a motorcycle.”
“You don’t have to own a motorcycle to wear the jacket,” she replied. “Don’t worry about the price. It’s on me.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her the jacket was more her style than mine. She could pull off the dark colors and brooding styles. If I wore the same things, I looked like a mouse dressed up as a lion. The effect wasn’t quite as striking.
Evelyn paid for the jacket and a bag full of other items she’d picked out. In the streets, an unexpected chill ruffled the neck of my shirt. I shivered, and Evelyn pulled the motorcycle jacket out of the bag with a flourish, ripped off the tags, and helped me put my arms through it.
Though I would have been happy with Nandos again for lunch, she dragged me all the way to the Walkie Talkie and sweet-talked the blushing hostess for a table at the Fenchurch Restaurant. Our table looked down on the SkyGarden, a beautiful collection of plants and flowers that in turn looked out on the entire city of London.
A server, dressed all in black, approached our table. He smiled at us, but his eyes lingered a moment too long on my new jacket. “Afternoon, ladies. I’m Archie, and I’ll be taking care of you today. Something to drink?”
“Champagne,” Evelyn said. “We’re celebrating.”
“Ah, what’s the occasion?” Archie asked.
She lifted her injured shoulder as high as it would go, which was about the level of her chest. The simple sling kept her from moving it any farther. “I couldn’t do that a few weeks ago,” she told Archie, beaming.
“Congratulations!” Archie clapped lightly. “Your first glass is on the house.”
As he went to fetch the champagne, I said to Evelyn, “I thought you couldn’t drink with the painkillers.”
“I’m not taking them anymore,” she said proudly. “Don’t need them.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I slumped in my seat. “Guess you won’t be needing me around much longer, then, either.”
The idea of leaving London hit me harder than I thought it would. I wasn’t ready to go back to San Diego. There was nothing there for me. I hadn’t realized how lonely I was until I’d reunited with Evelyn. All this time, I’d been avoiding the memories in England, and while it was difficult to cope with the circumstances of my mother’s death, I didn’t want to run away from my past anymore.
“Relax,” Evelyn said. “My shoulder’s nowhere near back to normal. How long can you be away from home?”
I thought of my expensive studio apartment and the month-to-month lease. If I told the landlord I was staying in London and hired movers to box up my stuff for storage, I wouldn’t have to go back at all.
“I’m happy to stay for as long as you want.”
“Another month?”
Secretly, my heart leapt for joy. “Absolutely.”
“That’s settled, then.”
Archie returned, poured two glasses of champagne, and took our appetizer order. Once again, he glanced at my jacket.
“I’m not dressed for this place,” I hissed at Evelyn. “He keeps staring at this ridiculous jacket.”
“Probably because it looks so great on you.” She leaned back and stretched her good arm over her head, comfortable regardless of her casual clothing. “You know what the key is to convincing people you belong somewhere? Act like you belong there.”
I did my best to mimic her, but the back of my chair was too high for me to rest my arms on it without hiking my shoulders up. Evelyn raised an eyebrow.
“Forget about it,” she said. “Sit normally.”
Archie returned with a tray of escargot. As he set it down, the scent of garlic and butter wafting across the table, he turned to me. “I’m sorry, but can I ask you where you got your jacket? My girlfriend would love something like that.”
Evelyn winked at me.
Before I could reply, another server—a woman—sidled up behind Archie and asked in a whisper, “Are you coming tonight?”
“Sorry, Ellen. I can’t. Working a double.”
Ellen pouted. “No fun. Ask Sherry to let you leave early.”
“I would,” Archie said, “but I really need the money. Rent went up.”
“Wuss,” she hissed and then stalked off.
“Sorry about that,” Archie said. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Why’d she call you a wuss?” I heard myself asking.
Archie rolled his eyes. “It’s stupid. Have you heard about the Ripper parties?”
I straightened up in my seat. “No, what’s that?”
“Mostly, it’s a reason for bars and clubs to capitalize on the recent murders,” he answered. “There are a bunch of themed parties going on all around the city. One of the big ones is tonight. Everyone’s talking about it.”
“Where is it?”
“The Lazy Licker.”
“Come again?”
Archie laughed. “It’s a club down the street from here. Look it up. They have a huge Instagram following.”
