we should clean up and eat since it’s well after six. We have another episode of Bridgerton to consume after dinner!”
I growl out my frustration. “Why are we only watching one episode at a time again? Netflix has groomed us to be binge-watchers, so this is complete torture.”
“I know, but I burned through all fourteen seasons of Heartland at an embarrassingly fast rate. Taking our time means prolonging our enjoyment. I don’t want to finish all of Netflix during this bed rest. That would be horrifying.”
I lift my brows as an idea hits me. “But maybe since Mac and I will be gone to the charity gala tomorrow night, we should watch two episodes tonight. I mean, we’ve earned it today, don’t you think?”
“Very well then.” Freya giggles. “I just can’t say no to you!”
Laughing, I rise from the sofa to begin tidying up our piles of options into a particular order so we can pick up where we left off tomorrow.
“Tilly should be Smarty Spice,” Mac bellows out from the kitchen around a mouth full of food.
Freya frowns toward the door. “Sorry?”
After a short pause, Mac shouts back more clearly. “Tilly could be Smarty Spice and Freya, you can be Stylish Spice. It makes the most sense based on both of your talents, and well…you two fancy the Spice Girls, right? Aren’t they kind of all about girl power?”
Freya’s and my face light up.
“That’s perfect, darling!” Freya exclaims jovially. “Alexa, play ‘Wannabe’ by the Spice Girls.”
I squeal excitedly as the song plays over the sound system, then hear Mac chastise, “Freya, you’d better be sofa-dancing, or I will be calling Belle whether you like it or not.”
“Oh, I am, darling,” she says, rocking her pointer fingers up and down by her face. “I’m practicing my mummy-to-be dance moves. I’ll leave the sexy gyrating to the single lady in the room.”
I hear Mac grumble something along the lines of “barf”, which makes me laugh out loud as I dance my computer up to my room, still reveling in the fact I’m going to have my first proper night out in London very soon.
I feel like Daphne Bridgerton at her coming out event. If only the queen could be there, touch my chin with her gloved hand, and say, “Flawless, my dear”, then I’d feel like maybe…just maybe…everything might finally be turning around for me.
As I turn to leave my room, I nearly trip over a box I shoved off to the side that arrived earlier today. I’d planned to leave this particular package at my parents’ in Dundonald, but they must have thought I’d forgotten it, so they sent it in the post.
I kneel to look inside because it’s been years since I’ve cracked this open. It’s chock-full of scrapbooks featuring small photos I took of various street art that I’d seen during my time in London. Large murals, small bits of graffiti, even silly sayings scrawled onto toilet cubicle doors. If it intrigued me, I snapped a photo and scrapbooked it. I even made a tradition of matting and framing my favourite piece every single year. I’ve created quite a collection over time, but I haven’t taken any new photos in years.
As I glance through the framed pieces, I can’t help but notice that it’s like looking at a roadmap of my life. They start off with colourful, carefree pieces that I captured in my university days and shift to anxious, grittier, and more troubled art. These are dated in the years following school, when I’d started working in the real world and feeling like a proper grown-up for the first time. It’s interesting to see what drew my eye in those days.
As I thumb through loose photos at the bottom of the box, I stumble upon a small print that I never framed, and it makes me smile. It’s a dingy alleyway featuring a white stucco building. In the centre of the dirty wall is a painted-on window with blue shutters and a giant orange cat peering out. It’s the spitting image of Hercules, judgmental eyes and all. I decide instantly I should definitely give this to Freya.
Smiling, I close the box and shove it into my wardrobe. There is no sense in rehashing memories from the past when I have a new, bright future to focus on.
My mobile chimes with a notification as the cab drops me off at tonight’s charity location. I pause outside of The Shard when I see the text from Shawn, the American