Chapter 7

Kaira had met Henri at a small café in Manchester, Le Chien Marbre, while completing her PhD. She had quite a different lifestyle then, much more solitary and filled with self-doubt than her carefree undergraduate years. The initial excitement of being in a new place had faded, many of her friends from university had moved on, and Kaira often longed to be a part of something bigger than herself. She found an outlet in music. Her mother had started teaching her to play the violin when she was five years old, and after many years of keeping that part of her life in the shadows, she decided to join the university’s string orchestra. It was a way of feeling home, and she no longer felt embarrased about it. This is also what drew her to Le Chien Marbre, which hosted musical performers every Tuesday night. Kaira loved planting herself in the back and taking in everything around her; it was one of the only times that she truly felt at peace.

Henri, too, was a regular patron at the café. He had known the French owners for many years, bonding over their shared expatriate status. Always clad in an immaculate jacket, with silver-flecked hair and deep crow’s feet extending from his eyes whenever he smiled, Henri had an elegant, convivial demeanour. When he first invited Kaira to join him at his table, she was uneasy and suspicious of his intentions. However, his gentle and respectful way of speaking, both with her and with everyone around him, immediately won her over. Despite their age difference – he was probably her father’s age – Henri became one of her closest friends. He told her that he had been very depressed when he first moved to England as a young student and that he identified with something in her face. Delighted by their shared interests, he wanted to take her under his wing. She remembered how surprised he was when she told him her career plans. “But you are a thinker! And a musician!” he protested, “Why would you give that up?” She never wanted to admit her disillusionment with academia, or the fact that she wasn’t really sure how she ended up doing a PhD anyway. Over time, her admiration for Henri grew heavy. It weighed on her whenever she was with him, and even more when she was apart from him. Kaira wrestled with her growing infatuation, made all the more potent by Henri’s lack of awareness.

Two years ago, he hosted a birthday dinner for her at his home and invited all of his friends to make up for the lack of numbers among her own.  They were musicians and filmmakers, professors and poets, burlesque dancers and gourmet chefs. One had baked an enormous cake and another group, a brass quartet, played while the whole room sang to her in candlelit darkness. At the end of the night, the party had whittled down to a group of four and Kaira decided it was time to leave. Henri had offered to drive her home, but she had been adamant that a taxi would be fine. She could not take him away from the remaining guests and they did not seem ready to leave. As he walked her to the door, her whole body felt heavy. Her head was swimming from a combination of nervousness, champagne, and disappointment that the night had come to an end. While Henri called for a taxi, Kaira fished in her bag for the letter that she had written the day before. The envelope felt too light for the words contained within it, she thought. She had rewritten it many times, trying to find the perfect language to convey the depth of her feelings.

“What’s this?” he asked brightly, taking it from her extended hand.

“For you,” she blurted, “Just some things I’ve been meaning to say for a while.”

He had placed his hand over his heart. “Merci beaucoup, Kaira. How very kind of you.”

Kind. Henri really had no idea, she thought to herself, suddenly panicking. Or if he did, he wasn’t about to let it show. She started finding it difficult to breathe. Part of her wanted to reach out and snatch the letter back, but the taxi had arrived and Henri was already moving towards it. Kaira did not hear from him for two days. It was a long, anxiety-ridden weekend that she spent wrapped in a quilt in front of her TV; it was the only thing that provided her with sufficient distraction and she did not dare turn it off.  When Henri finally called, it was a Sunday night and she was in the kitchen, making her twelfth cup of tea that day.

“I wanted you to know that I read your letter,” he paused, “I’m very flattered.”

She remembers how her cheeks had burned as she listened to Henri explain, softly, calmly, that he could not reciprocate her feelings, but that he cared about her, profondément, that he wanted the best for her, and that her friendship was very important to him. Kaira had said she understood, forcibly disguising the sickness and hurt that she felt by talking louder than usual and awkwardly citing the whistling kettle as the reason why she had to hang up. 

*

They had spoken only a few times since that conversation. Kaira had been racked with shame and repeatedly dodged Henri’s efforts to maintain contact. Moving to London had always been her long-term plan, and she pursued it with a new urgency over the following months, desperate to leave Manchester and start fresh. Henri eventually stopped calling and their communication became limited to short emails exchanged only on special occasions. Nevertheless, as they spoke now, she felt as if all the distance had evaporated. Perhaps this is how Lex had felt upon seeing her?

“Je suis désolée, Henri. It’s unfair of me to impose on you like this, out of the blue. I know I’ve been terribly rude. I just… I didn’t know who else to call.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Kaira. C’est pas grave. I’m happy to hear from you, and I’m glad you called.”

She had decided not to tell him about Lex and Paul, or any of her suspicions. No, it had become clear to her as soon as she heard Henri’s voice; she had been waiting for a reason to reach out to him, to reconnect, and the break-in had provided her with just the cover she needed. Not that Kaira hoped for anything more than forgiveness from Henri – she knew that ship had sailed, and it had taken her a long time to move on – but she had always regretted, ironically, the loss of his friendship. 

“Kaira, you must report it to the police. Even if nothing was taken. I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do, but for your safety, you must. I'll check on you tomorrow.” 

"You really don't have to do that. I mean it, I'll be fine. I'm just in shock, that's all."

"It's no trouble for me. Otherwise I will worry about you. I'll call tomorrow - I promise."

His continued concern for her well-being comforted her immensely. Kaira smiled to herself as she realized how the breaking of a long silence by one lost friend had led her to repeat the same with another. She knew what she had to do next. She walked back to her bedroom and picked up Paul’s letter, the envelope now rippled but fully dry, to scan it one more time. Then she made a second phonecall.

“Lex? Yes, I told you I would call. Listen, can we have dinner tonight? At my place. There’s something I need to show you.”

Chapter 6

by Luciana Akerlund


She stood at the gate, hesitating for a moment, and drew a deep breath before taking the five steps to her front door. She lived on the upper floor of a terraced house along a quiet, residential street in southwest London. The house had two front doors, 27A and 27B, the latter being hers and leading directly to a set of a stairs that took her to the landingof her flat. This set-up had been the dealmaker when she had seen the property. She had liked the isolated nature of the apartment, where she didn’t run the risk of having to socialize with other residents, but still had neighbours close enough for her to feel some sense of security. The middle-aged professional couple that lived below her in 27A, appeared to spend most of their time at work and also liked to keep to themselves. The occasional instances when they had bumped into each other outside the house, had simply resulted in a quick ‘Alright?’ with the respective parties rushing to get into their individual flats. It suited Kaira perfectly.

She pushed open the slightly ajar door and peered up the carpeted stairs to the upper level of the house. She stood there for a moment, barely breathing, to see if she could hear any movement upstairs. It appeared as if she was alone so she stepped in through the doorway and closed the door behind her. She sat on the bottom step and unzipped her boots, placing them on the shoe-rack by the front door, before climbing the stairs. It did occur to her that most people who found their front door open would probably have run up the stairs with their shoes on and not cared about dirtying their carpets. But then again she wasn’t like most people because she had already made up her mind that she was not going to involve the police even if something was missing. She had always been this way, isolating herself from others, resolving her own problems, and not liking to draw attention to herself.

When she reached the landing she turned left and went into the living room, scanning the room and registering that everything was there. Her flatscreen TV still hung on the wall and her mac book was on the table where she had left it last night. Although, if she was really anal, perhaps the laptop had moved a couple of centimetres to the left, but then she couldn’t be completely sure. She popped her head into the bathroom, just incase, but the coast was clear. The kitchen too was as it had been this morning, work surfaces bare and chairs tucked into the table. Although, hold on, there was a strange coffee ring on the wooden surface of the table, surely she hadn’t done that? She always used a coaster with all drinks, it was one of her many OCD habits, but perhaps she had been in too much of a rush this morning and hadn’t realized what she was doing?

Feeling slightly unsettled she walked the short distance to her bedroom located at the back of the flat. Again, everything appeared to be in order and as she had left it in her hurried state this morning. She walked over to her chair where she remembered throwing the letter this morning when suddenly her blood ran cold. She thought perhaps she had imagined it from the corner of her eye so she turned her full gaze in the direction of her bed. The letter was back on her bedside table. She was militant about bed making, even to the point of making her own hotel bed in the mornings and always ensured she left her duvet tightly tucked in and her pillows fluffed. And yet there it was as clear as day… The impression left from somebody lying on her bed. The hairs rose on the back of her neck, and before she could register what she was doing, she had walked to the edge of her bed and placed her hand in the crevice in her pillow. It was still warm.

*

She was sat at her kitchen table, cradling a cup of tea, and trying to come up with a logical explanation for what she had found. No one had a key to her flat and she always made sure to use both locks on the door when she was leaving for work. It was unlikely the wind could have blown the door open, and even more unlikely that her flat had been broken into by burglars as all her valuables had been left untouched. She felt confused, scared and very alone. Putting her mug back on the coaster, she reached for her mobile phone. Scrolling through her contacts, she took a deep breath and dialed the number.

Three rings and still no answer. Maybe this was a silly idea. Just as she was pulling the phone away from her ear, she hears the click of the call getting answered followed by a voice she has truly missed uttering her name in disbelief.

‘Kaira?!’

‘Oui, Henri. C’est moi.’

Chapter 5

by Meg V

Lex and Kaira, inseparable little things. They had once even had matching outfits, for special occasions, Mrs. Martin-Kobayashi would say. They would hang on to each other’s words, complete each other’s sentences. But today, in the loud buzzing of the café, Lex’s animated chatter soon became white noise. Curiousity had gotten the better of Kaira – she wondered why Lex was back in her world again. Was it really fate like she had said on the tube? When she had left Switzerland, she had hoped this day would never come. She had been careful, changing her email, her online social profiles left non-existent.

Kaira watched as a drop of creamy brown latte travelled slowly down her mug onto the table, her mind blank. She didn’t understand all that about Afghanistan, about Paul. Her first reaction had been shock, her eyes had even watered. It was truly horrifying, but not for the reason people would think. She shifted in her seat to study Lex’s face better. Lex had aged, but in a way only a lucky few can. Perhaps it was in her great genes - she was a carbon-copy of her mother. There was the tiniest hint of wrinkles around her eyes, her face framed by her layered bob of purple-red, straight as spaghetti. It was a wonder she conformed appearance-wise, she was so different in every other way. It surprised her sometimes how well they used to get along; opposites really did attract.

Lex didn’t seem bothered by her now silent companion. That’s what she was like, one moment serious, the next cuckoo, carefree; she used to envy her so. Her life must look effortless to those that don’t really know her, but Kaira had been around long enough to see her as the remorseless ‘Mr. Hyde’, or in this case, 'Ms. Hyde'.

Kaira just caught snippets of Lex’s monologue – mundane gossip, basics about her life in France, a stint in Sweden where she was on a magazine cover (how Lex!), a lazy Indian summer, then back to Switzerland. As she stirred her coffee and glanced at the clock, 9.50 am (oh dear, she hadn’t even called work), something occurred to her - the country names – she wondered where she had seen them listed, in that very order.

Blocking out Lex’s voice again, her thoughts shifted to the letter – when she found it on the carpet by the door, she had noticed the lack of postage stamps. That same moment, she had recognised the hand-writing and the stamps had been forgotten. Paul was here in London, still alive. France, Sweden, India, it was all in there, unmistakably in Paul’s tiny scrawl. Of course she remembered it well. But she couldn’t fit the jigsaw together, what was Lex’s role? Was Lex lying to her? She wouldn’t put it past her, after all, it’s not like they had even been on speaking terms for years. But here they were at Prèt a Manger, catching up. Perversion or desperation, she wondered… she couldn’t comprehend what would compel any person to tell such a fib. Paul’s letter had no mention of Lex. If there were no stamps, she could assume that Paul hand-delivered it; did he know where she lived? Her heart began to race, her mind a flurry of over-activity. The main question dawned on her – why did Lex say he was dead… she hadn’t quite seen the big picture yet.

Suddenly, she felt a strong urge to leave. She needed to get home. Where had she even put the letter? On the chair? She hadn’t left it in the sun, that much she was sure about. She didn’t give a damn about Jenna’s chihuahua, or Fen’s divorce. Why did Lex care anyway, she never used to gossip so much. Apart from countries, she hadn’t really gone into detail about her actual life. So what if Lex was popular in Sweden, with her exotic looks, and her French accent; it didn’t matter to her. She’d gotten past the envy; she was a different Karia Marie.

“Lex, hun, I have to go now. I can’t be too late to work, they already hate me for it!” she abruptly announced. She hoped Lex hadn’t noticed her inner turmoil.

Lex stopped mid-sip and stared at her, pouting. She didn’t like being interrupted, especially for something as trivial as work. “K! No, not fair! Come on, it’s been years! I told you to call them!”

“I’m sorry, but I really have to get going. This was great, really, really great! Look, give me your number, and I’ll ring you once I’m home alright? Maybe you can come over?” She paused, handed over her phone, and stood up to collect her things. “Lex... I can’t believe you’re here again. I promise I’ll call.”

Lex watched her, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she frantically put her coat back on. She doesn’t reciprocate as Kaira bends over to kiss her cheek goodbye. She continues to sit there, quite still, no sign of emotion on her face as she hands Kaira her phone back.

“Later then”, she states plainly, as Kaira disappears through the swinging doors.

*

Kaira smiled weakly at a few familiar faces as she got off the bus, making no effort to connect with small talk. Changing her slow pace to a more central London brisk-walk, she kept her head down deep in thought and sped home past the newsagents and row houses. It had started to spit again, but it was still warm. She should be home before she gets too damp. Just when she couldn’t fit another thought in her head, her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“K! Where the hell are you! This is getting ridiculous! I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” Arlo’s voice boomed into her ear, anger in every syllable. Steady, reliable Arlo, whom she had hurt many a time unintentionally.

“Yeah I can explain… I… I’ll be there. It’s only at 2, there’s plenty of time yet. I just have this thing... I have to do this thing.” She was distracted, she could see her front door a few houses away, but something was different.

“Bullshit Kaira.” He had put up with this long enough. “You know, this time, I can’t… I just don’t believe…”

“Arlo I have to go.” She said it so fast - it was like one long word. She hung up, slowly slipping her phone into her bag as she edged towards her gate, her eyes wide with worry.

The door to her house was open.

Chapter 4

by Nidha

The smell of freshly brewing coffee brought her back to the present. Once again her mind had wandered to the past, and then skipped two steps into some fantasy future she had created. Almost bypassing the present entirely.  Why did she allow her mind to travel so recklessly? Why couldn't she just focus and be in the present?  Thus relieving her mind from the 'what if' scenarios she pondered over time and time again. It was exhausting.

She needed an 'off' switch. She needed to become Nietzsche’s cow, the one that grazed the fields with no concept or illusions of its past or future.

"So, what would you like?" asked the barista.

"Medium iced cappuccino and an almond croissant, please", she replied without a thought. Her regular. The soft, buttery croissant dough melting in her mouth, only to be interrupted by the crunchy, lightly toasted almond slithers. It always put her in a good mood.

Whilst she was waiting for her cold cappuccino she couldn't help but anxiously glance at the door, almost expecting her boss to walk in and catch her skiving off work. She never took a day off work, even if she was ill. She always feared that if she did take a day off for herself she would fall behind, both in work and life. She still had to figure out what spot she placed in this rat-race-of-a-life. Or was this race circuit just another illusion her mind created so it could continue travelling both to the past and future?

Shaking her head and smiling to herself, she carefully carried the tray back to the table where Lex was waiting for her. She was amused by her own childishness. She was still that school girl who wanted perfect attendance and to avoid detention.

Before she could even sit down, Lex had started telling her about her latest escapades and travels. Having not conversed in French for awhile she was struggling to keep up with the finer details of the story. Her mind wandered to an image of 15 year old Lex. Even back then Lex was so confident, unique and sure of herself. She made no apologies for her strong personality. If she wanted something, she got it. If she wanted to say something, she said it. It was as if the future didn't matter. Lex truly lived in the moment. That's why she always liked Lex, even if they didn't always see eye to eye on everything.

Lex eyed her tray and commented, "Iced cappuccino and almond croissant, like always huh?  Don't you tire of the same?"

"I like my regular order. It took me awhile to figure out what I like, and now that I know I'm going to stick to it."

"How boring. I can't live like that!" Lex replied

"Well I can. Cheers!" she said with a grin.

They both laughed. Cheers.   The word they whispered before their first drink and smoke, 15 years ago. Away from the prying adults and hiding in a tree house. A decade and half ago. Long time. So much had changed, but at the same time the bonds of the past had tied them to this present situation. Two friends, catching up on lost time at their favourite cafe.  Life was a twisted circle almost.

They both then began reminiscing about old times, and started to bring up old friend’s names. Lex remembered a lot, it was as if she memorized and kept up with everyone on the senior school year book. Some names she remembered, whilst other just seemed like the faceless mannequins she passed by on her way to work everyday.

Some classmates were successful in their careers, some were married, others divorced, some had children, others were still not yet done being children themselves! All in all it was amusing and Lex's eyes were sparkling, both from the tears of laughter and because of the genuine joy she felt when speaking about the people she cared about.

"What about Paul? How come he's not here holding your bag, and filling our conversations with random anecdotes and facts that we would never dream of knowing?" She asked jokingly. Paul was Lex's boyfriend. They were inseparable since the age of 14, when she had beaten him in a game of arm wrestling on the playground.

"....umm....he's not here." Lex mumbled inaudibly and her pupils darkened

"Where did he go? Don't tell me he actually trekked Mount Kilimanjaro, and is living there now? That loving nut was always the adventurous, brave one"

Lex remained silent. She was staring into the distance, with dark, cold eyes she had never seen on her before. Instinctively she touched Lex's hand. It was cold. Lex flinched and retracted her hand.

'He died whilst serving in Afghanistan' Lex said bluntly and without any emotion.

The mask had fallen, and for the first time in their friendship she saw Lex being vulnerable and hurting. Shocked, she shivered and was rendered speechless. She had read, heard and saw images of the war on the news everyday, but never had she emotionally felt the consequences of it. It was another continent. She knew it was terrible time and she felt sorry for them truly, but it was out of her control. She felt helpless. So she never let it get to her. But now with Paul, it suddenly became personal. It became a part of her, even though she knew she would never have to see bloodshed here at home. She was safe here.

With tears in her own eyes she continued to stare at Lex, waiting for some indication on how she should react. A hug? Words? All felt meaningless.  She didn't know what to say or do to make Lex's cold eyes alive again. So she just stared, not entirely believing what she had just heard.

Lex closed her eyes.  And when she opened them again the darkness was gone.

'So Judy got preggers and she might be having twins. She might be carrying a kid from two different blokes. How mental is that?' - Lex asked half amused, slowly sipping on her latte.

And just like that, Lex's mask was back up.

Chapter 3

by NC

“Excuse me!”

It was a lilting, gravelly sort of voice; the kind that would have belonged to the new girl at school, the one who was instantly both admired and feared, the one who offered you your first cigarette (she had been stealing them from her mother since she was twelve) while you lay side-by-side on the carpet, singing along to her Green Day and Alanis Morissette tapes. It was the voice of a girl who would make your high school math teacher sweat around the collar, who was constantly being mistaken for older than she actually was, whose hair you would have held back as she cried her eyes out on her seventeenth birthday. The kind of girl who always picked dares over truths, who your parents wished you would spend less time with, who copied your homework before class, and who would pick fights with anyone who said anything negative about you. A girl with an androgynous name, a name like Mika or Jordan, Cheyenne or Lex.

She felt a hand softly touch the back of her arm and spun around to meet the voice. As the woman’s features came together before her, she blinked. And then blinked again.

“Lex?”

The woman’s jaw dropped for a second. Then she started nodding vigorously, her hair falling forward into her eyes and her mouth spreading into a broad, beaming smile.

“Je savais que c’est toi. Oh my God.” Lex grabbed her shoulders, smacked kisses on either cheek and pulled her into a hug. “I knew it. I saw you from across the carriage.”

She was painfully aware of the crowd swirling around them, of the aggravated expressions of people trying to dodge them. Lex, of course, did not seem to care.

“Here, let’s just move to the side.”

Lex continued, undeterred. “When did you leave Switzerland? Et depuis quand habites-tu à Londres?”

“Well, I moved to the UK - to Manchester - for uni. And London, well, it’ll be a year tomorrow. I moved down here on my 25th birthday.” She tried edging sideways, hoping that Lex would follow her lead.

“Ah oui, it’s your birthday tomorrow! You know all these years...I’ve been meaning to call you. It’s just… I lost your number…your email address had changed… you know? I even thought about getting in touch with Sacré Coeur to see if they had contact information for you, and you know how much I hated that school! They hated me too, I suppose…” Lex took a breath. “I think this is fate bringing us back together. We have to celebrate! Do you have plans?”

She paused. How could she act as if nothing had happened? They hadn’t spoken since leaving Sacré Coeur, and the last time they did speak – she remembers, it was at Behati’s party, right after their school graduation – Lex had called her “a liar and a coward”, and she had called Lex “a selfish, cold-hearted bitch”. It was just too strange. All these figures from her past, reappearing, demanding her time and attention, and stirring up conflicted feelings. First there was that letter, and now here she was facing Alexa Martin-Kobayashi for the first time in almost a decade. A few minutes ago, she was invisible; now, suddenly, her anonymity had been ripped away from her, and she missed it.

“Lex, it’s great seeing you and I’d love to catch up… but I’m late for work. I’m sorry, I have to go.”

Lex held her eyes in a steady gaze, the corners of her mouth twitching, and very calmly said: “Call off. Call them, and tell them you're sick.”

It was a command that brought back a rush of adolescent half-memories and mixed feelings. She had to stop herself from reflexively reaching for her phone. She couldn't call off from work. Could she? Even if she could, why would she? Because Lex told her so?  They were no longer teenagers. They hardly knew each other any more. They hardly knew the person that they each had become.

“I’ll do it too,” Lex said, her eyes flashing, “and we can find somewhere cozy with good coffee and breakfast pastries!” She winked. “Go on, girl. Vas-y, attaque!”

Chapter 2

by Luciana Akerlund

London at rush hour. Most people’s nightmare and yet this was the time of day that she looked forward to the most. When she had first moved to the city, she had made a point of only travelling on buses. Not only was this form of transport cheaper, but it gave her the chance of seeing the capital and learning the relationship between the different locations she was travelling between. Her very first trip on the London underground had come two months after her arrival in the ‘Big Smoke’. She had been running late for work, as usual, and had decided to brave the crowds and her claustrophobic fears in order to venture down into the rat-infested belly of the city. The escalators had felt as if they were never-ending and she had been quickly swallowed into the rushing crowd, soon finding herself packed in like a sardine into one of the overfilled carriages.

Her nostrils had been overcome with the smell of coffee, toothpaste and cologne that was emanating from her fellow travellers. Unlike the outside views she was used to from her bus trips, the windows in the underground carriage only gave way to dark tunnels and she had been forced to acknowledge the unfamiliar faces, pressing bodies, and unsolicited contact that made up her surroundings. Her American colleagues had often remarked on the unfriendliness of Londoners on the tube, where the norm was to ignore your fellow passengers and avoid eye contact like the plague. This behaviour exacerbated the surrealness of the moment and intensified the feeling that one was merely like an ant in a city of bustling workers.

Loneliness, the most terrible of human emotions, suddenly overwhelmed her. All the walls she had built over the last few months swiftly crumbled, and she silently began to cry. Being surrounded by countless strangers who routinely ignored one another made her realise how isolated she really was, and not only in the faceless mass of people in her carriage, but in this city as a whole.

Abruptly, in the midst of her sadness, she had become acutely aware of her physical body and as quickly as they had appeared, her tears had suddenly stopped. For there was something unexpectedly comforting about the tactile contact she was sharing with the people around her. She had welcomed the warmth and softness of a woman’s arm to her left and felt safe in the crook of a businessman’s back to her right. She had closed her eyes and savoured what she now referred to as ‘armless hugs’, and when she finally reached her stop she had found it hard to leave behind the coziness of the crowded carriage.

Flash forward 11 months and she is now probably the most content rush hour passenger to ever grace the London underground. There was nothing sexual about her craving for contact with strangers, but rather a naïve need for a familial replacement. The last traces of her hangover disappear as she arrives the entrance of the tube station. She straightens her skirt, takes out her Oyster and scans in through the barriers, the faint hint of a smile playing on her lips as she is engulfed by the rushing crowd.