Page 55 of Pervade London
“Do you want to open an account?”
“I have one.”
“Then it must be under another name.”
“I need my card back, please.”
“The manager will be here at ten. She’ll have you fill out a form.”
“I can’t wait ‘til then.”
“We don’t have access to the ATM. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other customers waiting.”
I hoisted my bag of cash. “I’d like to open a safety deposit box.”
She studied the bag. “You need at least two hundred pounds to reserve a small box, and five hundred for a large.”
“So half a million pounds will cut it, then?”
She swallowed hard, her arrogance dissolving.
I forced a smile. “Let’s do it.”
After opening a large safety deposit box and stashing the money in it, I tucked the key into my purse and headed out. With Ballad circling my universe, there was a fifty-fifty chance the money would still be there when I came back.
The only man who knew what to do in a situation like this, other than Xander, was Harold. He’d been there for me when I’d hit rock bottom. I didn’t want to put him in danger, but I couldn’t face this alone. At least he’d believe me.
Harold’s motto was “every problem has a solution,” and it was this attitude that had dragged me out of a slump when the flat I was renting had been bought out by contractors. My eviction had threatened to leave me homeless until he’d offered me a place to stay for a reasonable rent.
And I was due a visit.
As I set out on the Tube, everything began to blur together in my mind—all the weirdness, all the lies, all the deceit.
What the hell was Xander’s real name? This deception hurt the most. Didn’t legal names come up when you went to sign a contract like a marriage certificate?
Ballad had wiped out all trace of our finances. The man I’d let touch me yesterday in an intimate way, whipping me into a frenzy, had destroyed the last fragment of proof that Xander and I ever existed. He’d arrogantly gone down on me knowing he’d just closed this account, too.
Before I could squelch it, I felt a vague sense of gratitude towards him for getting me all relaxed for that second chance audition.But still.
It was good to be back on Gloucester Street. I needed the familiarity of my old home, where I’d lived for three years. I needed a friend.
Being back in this neighborhood brought me comfort. I’d visited Harold less and less as my relationship with Xander had grown more serious. There was guilt over that, but Harold had a busy life, too, working in the accessories department at Liberty London, and spending time with his close-knit family.
Life had been harder back then and yet so simple.
The gate squeaked when I nudged it open and it was nice to have this moment of normality.
I remembered finding Xander sitting on the stone steps waiting for me after I’d rescued him at Piccadilly. I wouldn’t take back our time together for anything.
What the hell?
A SOLD sign stood in the center of the garden.
Harold hadn’t mentioned he was selling his house. There had been no email from him with a forwarding address or even a phone call. This home had been his mum’s once, and that was why he’d never wanted to leave—there were too many memories.
Peering through the front window into the living room, I couldn’t help but cringe when I saw that all of the furniture was gone. The carpet had been ripped up, exposing the century old flooring. The walls were bare. No trace of Harold remained.
And there’d be no trace of me here, either.
