Page 38 of Love ad Lib
Summer: I was thinking of coming up to town this weekend. Want to meet up?
Henry: Sorry, just about to sign a big deal so have to work both days. I’ll see you back in Foxbrooke for the party?
By the time he’d reached work, he was still waiting for a reply. He messaged again.
Henry: You okay?
He was pretty certain now that Summer wanted more money.
‘Foxy! Where you been?’ Carl was exiting the glass doors, an unlit cigarette between his lips.
Henry pocketed his phone. ‘I was checking out a possible place to take clients.’
Carl lit the cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling the smoke into the street. ‘Henry…’
‘Yeah?’
Carl looked down, scuffing at the pavement with the tip of a shiny shoe.
Henry wasn’t quite sure what to do. ‘You alright?’ he asked.
Carl barked out a laugh and raised his head. ‘I’m golden, mate.’ He took another drag. ‘Look, just keep an eye on Jamesy-boy, okay? I think he’s up to something.’
‘Isn’t he always?’
‘True. I just—’ He flicked ash to the ground. ‘I dunno, something just doesn’t feel right.’
‘Something doesn’tfeelright?’
Carl shrugged and grinned at him. ‘I think it was that workshop. It’s changed me. I’ve now got feelings and everything.’
Henry smiled. ‘Thanks, Carl. I’ll keep my eye on him. He won’t get anything past me.’
It wasfive p.m. on Saturday, and Henry’s clients weren’t returning his calls. Keeping clients happy was a big deal in brokering. A few decades ago this would have involved a swanky dinner or the best drugs and women London had to offer. Times had changed, but the principle remained. After missing his table at Imperium earlier in the week, Henry had to wait before trying to cadge a favour there again. Now he’d secured entry to another restaurant with a nightclub, but by eight, he knew he’d been professionally ghosted. He sent a text to Summer.
Henry: I know it’s last minute, but I’m free now if you are? Client cancelled on me.
There was no reply from her either.
* * *
Whilst Henry was sitting alonein his office, Libby was in her flat, pummelling Serafina into submission. India was out, Claire was too exhausted to receive visitors, and Lucas had just stood her up. She knew he was on a deadline with his show being on Monday night, but she needed to see him. She wanted to make sure things were okay between them and, more importantly, try and unpick her feelings towards him.
The meeting with Henry had not gone how she’d imagined. Henry had been so earnest and sweet, and Lucas had been… She didn’t want to put words to how he’d been, but seeing the two men together had highlighted how very different they were. She’d been in love with Lucas for so long that nothing could taint the pretty picture she’d painted. However, Henry had accidentally brushed against it, knocking it to the ground and revealing the mouldy wall behind.
I love Lucas, she repeated in her mind. Once his show was out of the way, things would be better. He’d have the money to pay her back and she wouldn’t have to contemplate Henry’s job offer. She was at the limit of her overdraft and a month behind on her rent. Fortunately she’d found someone to do the improv night with her on Tuesday, but they didn’t have time to rehearse so the two of them would be flying by the seat of their pants and hoping the other was carrying a spare parachute. And anyway, the small cash injection from the gig wouldn’t solve her financial problems.
‘Fuck!’ She pounded the dough with her fists. She hadn’t said anything to Lucas about him inviting Henry and his family to the show, but the anger was eating at her stomach like an ulcer. Maybe it was simply because Henry’s family were rich and well connected, whereas hers… Whatever way she looked at it, she couldn’t let it go.
Later,asleep in bed, Libby’s subconscious continued to taunt her. She was at Lucas’s opening night, handing out drinks to women who all looked like Elizabeth—taller, thinner, richer, and more beautiful than she was. Lucas was the centre of their world, shining brighter than the sun, and she couldn’t get past the wall of Prada and perfume to reach him. One of the women gesticulated with her glass and champagne splattered over Libby’s dress. She staggered backwards into another woman, who spilled her glass onto her face.
Libby wiped her eyes but the liquid kept splashing. Tossing in bed, she dragged herself awake. Fumbling for the light, she turned it on and sat up in bed, blinking as her eyes adjusted.
What the fuck?
Water was dripping from the ceiling in multiple places. She leapt out of bed and ran to India’s room.
‘India, wake up! There’s water pouring through the ceiling.’
