The Truce (London Suits 1)

“I’ll take that.” I swiped it from her before she could try to touch me with it and cause even more damage.

“You’re welcome,” she muttered, clearly fishing for a thank you, which she wasn’t going to get from me. Ever.

I stalked back to my desk and spent the rest of the day with a banging headache.

Taking deep lungfuls of air, I strode along the street, allowing the day’s stress to bleed out of me. Hurrying through the throngs of people, I turned down a familiar side road and the street noises faded away into the distance.

“Hi, Luke,” the young receptionist greeted me as I entered the foyer of the retirement complex.

“Hey, Molly.” I grinned.

She blushed, batting her eyelashes and twirling a strand of red hair around her fingers. “Martha’s in the garden.”

Thanking her, I strode down the corridor and out through the sliding doors that led to the garden area. Surrounded on three sides by the main retirement building and two apartment blocks, the large grassy area was interspersed with trees and shrubbery, with wide, smooth paths that made it easy to manoeuvre wheelchairs around. I cast my eye around the quiet area, spotting Martha’s silvery head over by the water feature. This was her favourite spot—under a large shady tree, with the soothing sound of the water bubbling and birds singing.

“Hey, Martha,” I said softly, sinking down onto the wooden bench next to her wheelchair.

She turned to face me, her lined face crinkling into a smile when she saw me.

“Luke. What a pleasant surprise.” Her wavery voice soothed me like no other.

She studied me, her wise eyes knowing.

“What’s the matter, my darling boy?” Reaching out a shaking hand, she clasped mine, her papery skin fragile against my own rough fingers.

Sighing heavily, I leaned back, closing my eyes.

“Just a bad day at work. Nothing major.” I rubbed the sore spot on my head, wincing.

Martha was the closest thing I had to a grandmother, my own passing away before I was born. She’d been my neighbour when I’d moved to London with my dad at fourteen, a sullen teenage boy, angry at the world and blaming my dad for my mum leaving us. Martha had taken me under her wing, and I’d spent as much time in her house as my own. My dad and I weren’t getting along, and Martha had sensed that in her perceptiveness. As time went on, our roles reversed and I began to look after her, running errands and doing her weekly online food shop. When I’d turned eighteen and accepted a place at university, my dad informed me that he was moving to Cambridge with his latest girlfriend, and I’d had no choice but to move into university residences as our house was being sold. I’d met Ethan and Alex on my first day, and we’d clicked straight away. Although we’d ended up sharing a house after our first year of university, once we’d moved out of our halls of residence, I’d still made an effort to visit Martha as often as I could. Her son lived in Dubai, and she didn’t have anyone else looking out for her.

Six months into my university degree, her son had called me to say that Martha was unable to manage at home alone and was being moved into assisted-living accommodation. Truthfully, it had been the best thing for her. Martha had thrived, making new friends, and she had twenty-four-hour care and meals delivered to her three times a day.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it, Luke. I want you to remember this, though. Holding on to anger hurts you in the long run. Let it go, otherwise it’ll consume you.”

My body tensed. Martha always had a knack for seeing right through me. She knew exactly how much anger and resentment I harboured inside me. I pushed it down, deep down, but there were times it bubbled up to the surface. Every time I tried to reach out to my dad and he rejected me, it was another blow, another stab in the gut. I could admit that there were times I unfairly took out my frustrations on other people.

Olivia’s face appeared in my mind. No, she’s as much to blame as me.

6

Olivia

“Avery,” I called, waving madly from the low-slung sofa I’d miraculously managed to snag in the back corner of the pub. A huge smile broke across my best friend’s face when she saw me, and she hurried over. Jumping to my feet, I threw my arms around her, and we danced around overexcitedly.

“Ugh, your hair’s in my mouth,” I mumbled, using my hand to brush the soft dark strands from my face.

“Oops, sorry.” She laughed, her blue eyes sparkling at me. She pulled back and held my arms. “Let me look at you. I haven’t seen you for ages. I’ve missed you, doll.”

“I missed you, too.” I collapsed back onto the sofa, pushing a glass of pink gin and tonic towards her, ice cubes clinking, and she beamed at me, taking a graceful sip.

“It’s not the same at work without you there; I don’t have a Luke buffer anymore.” I made a sad face, and Avery laughed.

I’d met Avery eight months earlier on my very first day at Barrett London, scared, alone, new to the city. She’d taken me under her wing, and we’d bonded almost instantly. Avery had worked at Barrett London as an accountant, right up until a couple of months prior, when she’d applied for an accounting job in a theatre box office on a whim and had sailed through the interview. Despite her new working hours being erratic on occasion, the job was perfect for her. She was a huge theatre buff, and the discounts on theatre tickets were incredibly generous—she got to see almost every play that hit the West End.

“I thought you two would be over this animosity by now.” She shook her head at me, a mock-stern expression on her face.

“Not even close.” I sighed. “It’s like I revert to a child in his presence.”