Page 43 of The Wedding Pact
Over the weeks, which rolled into a month, Flynn and August lived side by side, getting to know each other when they crossed paths at the start and end of their workdays and at weekends.
While Flynn worked late into some evenings, August came home from her day job and began to turn the little closet into a recording booth, tinkering nightly with some of her old, and some new, equipment until she thought the sound was just right, her voice crystal clear, the background noise non-existent, and calming. She’d hung spare blankets as soundproofing, and spent as much money as she could afford on a decent microphone and a popshield, plus an interface to connect the mic to her laptop. After much deliberation, she’d signed up to an annual subscription of the audio editing software Adobe Audition, but in monthly instalments, as it was a little more cost effective.
She put out small feelers to previous voice acting companies she’d worked with, and to authors she’d got to know, and added herself to freelance lists. It was exciting, and nerve-wracking, but moving into Elizabeth Street had started the ball rolling, and she was moving towards her dreams. It was like one win gave her the nudge to try and achieve the next one. And taking charge of her voice acting career again fuelled her motivation.
August reached out to her mum, inviting her to come over for a cup of tea at Elizabeth Street ‘sometime’, despite her mum always having something to complain about when it came to August’s life or her decisions. But as expected, the visit hadn’t materialised. Mrs Anderson had never visited August in her previous flat either, and certainly wasn’t the type to pop by unexpected, so August was just fine to keep to their usual arrangement whereby she visited her mum’s home, an hour’s drive away, once a month instead. Mrs Anderson had, however, ‘met’ Flynn. It had happened during an impromptu FaceTime call that August had arranged when she was feeling uncharacteristically sentimental towards her mum (Callie’s influence, no doubt). He’d walked past the screen without a shirt on, not realising she was on a call, until August’s mum shrieked out, ‘Who is that man?’
‘That’s Flynn, Mum, my flatmate.’
‘Why’s he naked?’
‘Hello, Mrs Anderson,’ Flynn waved, covering himself up. ‘Sorry, I was just coming back from the bathroom.’
‘August,’ her mum leant closer to the screen. ‘Is something going on between the two of you? That’s a very bad idea, you know.’
‘No, he’s my flatmate, we literally met a few weeks ago.’ August angled the laptop away from Flynn, who caught her eye as he went into his bedroom, and grinned. Her mum knew nothing of their ‘arrangement’, and August would keep it that way, thanks very much. Her mum just wouldn’t understand.
Over time, Flynn and August met their neighbours properly – Callie, of course, and her mum in the flat above, Maud and Allen, who lived in the flat below. And the basement flat seemed to be some kind of holiday let but mainly for the use of Mrs Haverley’s family, or if anybody else in the building had family to stay and needed some extra space.
Talking of Mrs Haverley’s family, August had noticed that Abe Haverley seemed to be visiting his mum often. Sometimes he’d appear and disappear like he’d just travelled over from London for the day, sometimes she’d see him heading into the building late on a Friday evening, and run into him in the hallways over the course of the whole weekend, as he brought up shopping, or helped his mother down the stairs. He was increasingly polite, like a layer of his initial gruffness peeled away with every meeting. It had come to the point that August felt a smile washing over her when he was near, and she had begun to hope they might become friends.
August and Flynn held hands when walking in and out of the building, and made a small show of standing with an arm around each other or glancing at one another with affection when they spoke to neighbours. The few times they’d been asked about their history or their wedding they smoothed over it with some loose details; white lies that drifted away on the breeze.
They were good flatmates to each other. A good team. Everything had worked out perfectly; everything about living together was easy. It was all fairly uncomplicated.
At least it was at first …
Chapter 29
August
‘Callie,’ August cried, answering the door. ‘What a nice surprise.’
‘Hi, love, just wanted to pop down and give you a tub of these brownies my mum’s been making upstairs. I always meant to give you a welcome-to-the-building pressie, so here it is.’
‘A welcome pressie? You didn’t need to do that!’ They’d lived there a month already, but those brownies looked damned good, so August accepted the box. ‘Thank you so much. These look like they’d go well with tea!’
‘They sure would!’ Callie replied.
Keeping her eyes on the brownies, and Callie, August gestured to Flynn to run and close the bedroom doors.
‘Would you like to come in?’ August asked, loud enough for Flynn to hear. ‘I’m sure you could manage one too?’
Flynn had leapt up from his seat on the sofa where he’d been doing a little evening work wearing his new PJ trousers and his work shirt. In his glasses and with a pen jammed behind his ear, he hot-footed from August’s room, to his, and into the kitchen like a parkour expert. When Callie entered the flat, she wasn’t faced with very obvious his and hers separate bedrooms, but instead with a serene scene of wedded bliss, topped off with Flynn, in the kitchen, holding the kettle, looking every bit the perfect husband.
‘Hi, Callie,’ he said smoothly. ‘I hear you brought some treats over; thank you. Can I make you a tea? Coffee?’
‘I’d love a tea.Loveone.’ She went to the sofa and pushed his paperwork to the side. ‘I like your glasses, Flynn, they suit you.’
‘Thanks. I like your … scrunchie.’
August gave him a look that said,nice try, Casanovaand joined him in the kitchen to get some plates. ‘I like your scrunchie,’ she whispered to him.
‘What?’ he whispered back, trying not to laugh. ‘I was just trying to be nice.’
‘Youarenice, you don’t need to try so hard.’
‘Right,’ said Callie when they joined her in the living room. ‘These are just normal brownies, I’m afraid, not funny ones with cannabis in. Sorry about that.’
