5th October 2020
The alarm on my phone went off for the third time that morning and I finally cracked an eye open to check the time. I groaned as I realised that I had half an hour to get ready and run for the bus.
I yawned and blinked wearily, willing myself to wake up just a little more. I reluctantly hauled myself upright and wrapped the fluffy blanket which usually sat at the bottom of the bed, around my shoulders. Cocooning in the blanket helped further my beautiful butterfly metaphor and honestly, that was the only thing getting me out of bed most days.
I grabbed the makeup bag which I liked to leave on the floor (for convenience reasons) and set about making myself look a little more presentable. Soon enough, the makeup portion of our show was over, and I was forced to crawl out from under the blankets and get dressed. I pulled on the cleanest, most office appropriate outfit that I could find and finished my morning rituals with a quick trip to the bathroom.
Faster than I would have liked, I was out in the cold light of morning. The October wind was surprisingly harsh on my face and whipped my hair around as I ran for the bus. By the time I climbed aboard, my fingers were numb, and I regretted forgetting my scarf. It was a relief to settle down in my seat, put in my Airpods and blast a bit of Taylor Swift to get amped for the day.
A chilly 40 minutes later, I was strolling through the doors of my office building and signing in at reception.
"Morning Carol," I smiled. The receptionist behind the counter flicked to the next page of her book airily, instead of answering. From the look of the front cover, she was knee deep in some Mills & Boon smut, and it brightened my mood considerably.
"Morning," Jenny grunted at me, as I rounded the corner into the cosy little office that I shared with 25 other people.
I felt validated that I had finally received a greeting and rewarded her with a snort, directed at her completely dishevelled state. Jenny was slumped over her desk with her head buried in her hands.
"Good weekend?" I teased, and she groaned into the desk.
"My friend's cat died so we had to like, commemorate it's life or something," she replied miserably.
I set my bag down at my own desk and picked up my mug, gingerly swirling the three-day old contents around, and wondering vaguely if I could get away with a quick rinse as opposed to a complete Code 2319 situation.
"So, you had an Irish wake for a cat?"
"Maybe it was a wake, maybe it was a birthday, I can't remember. Either way, I made a speech, and it was very well received."
I laughed and quirked my mug at her to indicate I was headed back out on a caffeine pilgrimage. She shot me a thumbs up and buried her face in her hands again. I weaved back through the office and out towards the kitchen, entirely focussed on making it to the kettle. It was hard to have much of a personality this early in the morning, without coffee.
"Alright Mick?" I nodded to one of the graphic designers who sat near my desk and was evidently on his own journey to the promise land.
"I wish I had died in my sleep," he muttered. I grimaced in reply and made a mental note to stop greeting people who wouldn't also be friends with me on Facebook.
I pressed on, made my coffee with my sachet of instant cappuccino and headed back to the office, where the rest of my team had assembled (like the Lidl version of the Avengers).
"Right, team debrief," Nick said, those two words absolutely soaked in his delusions of grandeur. Nick was the most boring man on the planet. He was so boring in fact, that Mick the graphic designer and I, had spent many an afternoon trying to find the perfect Pantone shade of beige to compliment his personality. Nick was the longest serving member of the team and somewhere along the line (no-one was really sure when), he had appointed himself Team Supervisor. None of us cared enough to challenge him about it at the time and that proved to be a big mistake when the power went to his head and he started to parade around the office like a 20th century dictator.
Jenny and I side-eyed each other and I tried to breathe through the laughter bubbling in my throat. It was too early to mock Nick, I repeated to myself, it was too early to mock Nick.
"Jenny, how are the emails looking today?" Nick asked, fixing his vanilla stare on Jen. She smiled dutifully, not a hint of the disdain I knew she was feeling on her porcelain features.
"Super-duper, Nick."
"Stellar. And Marlowe, how's the new product copy coming along?"
My time to shine.
"Well Nick," I began. "The copy is coming along beautifully. I just have uh, one tiny- miniscule concern really -"
"Look Marlowe, we've talked about this. If it's about the deadline, then I'm sorry but senior management are pretty set on it."
I held my hands up, to show that I was coming in peace. "I get that Nick, I really do. I just think that an entire new range in three days might be overshooting it a little. If Will could just have a word-"
"Yeah, where is Will?" Terence interjected (the ad man of the group), amusement and despair etched into every word.
Will was the shining star of the Mistletoe Kiss Cosmetics Web team. He was six months in to the role of Web team Manager and had already caused ripples throughout the company grapevine, with his slightly unorthodox methods of management. What really seemed to cause the most conversation was the fact that he rarely ever made it into the office (despite living 11 minutes away) and when he did, he was suited up in a tracksuit and stinking of weed. Now, I wasn't normally one to judge what someone did outside of working hours (namely because I did not care about the majority of the people I worked with) and we had all engaged in a bit of the good kush at some time or another. However, my man Will would rock up so blazed, that he would spend the entire day dragging on his vape and using the online "try me on" tool to test out looks using his mates' pictures. The laughter that always ensued afterwards was so obnoxious (as were the gay jokes) and I loathed him.
Unfortunately, he was my manager. And therefore, my last line of defence against the evil senior management lot. Unfortunately, times two, he was never fucking here.
"Oh, uh…" Nick trailed off, looking surprised at the mild questioning of his authority. "He had a thing this morning. Like a personal thing. He'll be in later."
Jenny and I sniggered, and Terence looked like he was holding back the world's most derisive snort. Nick classily ignored the implication and ploughed on ahead, like the power-hungry trooper he was.
"Anyway, I'm sure you'll figure it out Marlowe." He gave me a tight-lipped smile and I nodded cheerily. That was that conversation over. Guess I would just figure it out or figure it out.
"Terence, how's the ads coming for the new line?"
"Yeah, they're all on track," Terence answered. "Mick is just working on some of the graphics and then I'd say we're good to go…"
I tuned out and thought instead about the sheer volume of work I had to do before my Thursday deadline. Copy was blessedly easy for me to write; I had been writing in some capacity or another since I was six. Finally getting paid for it should have been so exciting (and it was, at first) but working in such a tumultuous environment (Will's vicinity) had the tendency to suck all of the fun out of my passion. As did the subject matter.
Mistletoe Kiss Cosmetics was a brand which sold exclusively Christmas themed makeup. All year round. Somehow, (I liked to think it was down to the fantastic web team and it's work) we managed to keep up a steady enough stream of sales to keep us going through the non-festive parts of the year, but October was when we really came into our own. As anyone in retail would testify to, the ramp up to Christmas was a horrifically drawn-out process anyway. But when your entire product range completely revolved around the festive season, it turned the last three months of the year into a peppermint coated nightmare.
It was my first actual Christmas at MKC, and I was already burnt out. We had just entered October and the pressure was mounting. Apparently normal procedure was that Christmas seemed to come as a complete shock to everyone at the company and no one seemed able to remember that it was one of those annual things, so we were already in absolute chaos.
I was currently the only one working on copy for an entire range of brand-new products which were due to go live in a week. They were our Christmas appetisers, to get the crowds warmed up for the holidays and according to absolutely everyone, they were essential to the marketing plans. Of course, it was a surprise launch and that meant apparently, keeping it a surprise from fucking everyone (including half of the company) and I was really enjoying the stroke at 22 that I was going to end up with once this was all said and done.
"Right, I say let's just crack on then," Nick announced, cutting through my heated inner monologue. I caught Jenny's glazed over eyes just as she also mentally checked back into the conversation and we shared a look of pain.
The morning crawled by after we returned to our desks and I was rapidly running out of creative ways of saying Christmas. I had burned through the obvious 'festive season' and 'holiday period' and was having to reluctantly reach into my reserves.
"Is Winter solstice mainstream enough to fly?" I mused out loud.
"I dunno," Jenny answered thoughtfully. "What about Yule?"
"Is that English enough?" I asked. "Witchy I could get away with but foreign? Don't know if it will fly with the Tesco Karens."
"Ah, our whole customer base you mean?"
"Is it time for a cig break yet?" Terence yawned, stretching his arms up high and grimacing at the cracks which echoed from his joints.
I checked the time on my computer and breathed a sigh of relief. "3pm baby, I'd say that qualifies for our third break of the day."
We coated up and ignored the passive aggressive looks emanating from Nick's desk. He was so resentful that we would sneak out a couple of times a day to shorten our lifespans. I mean, the obvious solution there was to just join us but apparently some people were too good for a smoky death.
We braced ourselves against the bitter wind as we left the building and quickly trotted over to the smoking shelter. To my complete and utter surprise, Will was leaning his gangly body up against the shelter, sucking on a cigarette in one hand and fiddling with his vape in the other.
"Oh no, you just missed the morning briefing. Do you want to glance over my notes?" I offered, trying and failing to keep the sarcasm to a minimum, as I lit my cigarette.
Jenny and Terence chuckled, and Will smiled along, looking completely nonplussed.
"Yeah, sorry about this morning guys. You know how it is," he said, as if that was any kind of answer. I wished desperately that I were a character on The Office so I would have a camera to stare beseechingly into, whenever Will spoke.
Instead, I opted for blinking at the ground and taking a deep drag of my cigarette.
The last two hours of the day flew by once Will had deigned to grace us with his presence and in no time at all, I was back on the bus, headed home. By the time I got to my front door, my next-door neighbour, Melody, was loitering outside.
"Can I help you?" I asked with a grin. She pulled two bottles of wine out from under her thick coat and grinned devilishly at me in return.
"On a school night?" I teased.
"It's what we deserve," she replied confidently. I laughed as I squeezed past her and let us both in, relishing as the warm air enveloped us.
"Hello?" I called out.
"Living room," my housemate Wendy, replied.
Melody disappeared into the front room and I dumped my bag in the hallway and then grabbed some glasses from the kitchen. We lived in a row of terrace houses and had become very in tune with the normal noises emanating from each other's houses. However, as I closed the cupboard door, I could hear a crazy amount of banging from the other side of the wall.
"Mel, do you know what Steve is up to tonight?" I asked nosily, setting the glasses down by each girl and then collapsing happily onto the sofa. Wendy moved her legs out of the way for me and then crossed them over my lap once I had settled. Melody began pouring very generous glasses of wine.
"Why, fancy inviting him over for girls night?" she snickered, handing me a glass, which I passed to Wendy.
I was too tired for a snappy comeback so settled for a nice eye roll instead. Steve was a short, bald man who lived on the other side of us. He had been a security guard for the last twenty years and was actually pretty terrifying, for someone who so closely resembled a garden gnome. We had only ever had two interactions in the six months Wendy, and I had been renting this place, and they both consisted of Steve posting passive aggressive notes through our letter box about the state of the leaves in front of our house.
I took my glass of wine from Melody and took a long sip; partly to keep it from spilling but mostly because my God, did I need it. We were one day in to the week and I had already redrafted my resignation email three times in my head.
Another loud bang interrupted my train of thought and we all turned in the direction of his house.
"Seriously, is he having a rave in there?" I asked, more curious than annoyed.
"Maybe he is," Wendy mused. "Old people like to party too."
"Okay, he's like 45 tops," Melody said, looking like she had taken the 'old people' comment to heart. She was 25 and elbow deep in her quarter life crisis. One mention of anything remotely elderly and she would become inconsolable about her own mortality. I caught her crying over a rerun of Antiques Roadshow the other day.
"Wait, what if he's hurt? Maybe he's trying to call for help?" Melody said, looking completely stricken at the idea. "45-year-olds can still put their hips out."
As much as I doubted that Steve the leaf terrorist (and security guard) was lying somewhere, crying out for help, I felt iffy about leaving it to chance.
With wine glass in hand, I climbed off of the couch and stood in front of the big bay window, peering through the curtains. Wendy and Mel followed my lead, and we craned our necks round the heavy drapes to see if we could spot any drama from the comfort of the house.
Sometime between strolling through the front door and arguing about whether 45 was considered a frail age, a large white van had parked outside the house. Two big guys were hauling furniture out and two more loitered on the pavement.
"Oh my god, are they moving in to Steve's place?" Melody asked, surprise etched into every word.
That was too strange. Just the other day, I had had one of those awkward over the fence conversations with him- you know, when you both head into your garden at the same time and your fence is too low to pretend not to see each other. We talked about bin collection times for a bit and how the neighbourhood just wasn't the same anymore (I had lived here for five minutes but I wasn't about to disagree with him) and then found ourselves on the topic of moving. Steve had sworn on his mother's grave (completely unprovoked, I might add), that he would never leave his house, in the very secure way which crotchety older men are wont to do.
I repeated our conversation to the other two and they both echoed my sentiments. This complete 180 was more than a little weird. It felt downright bizarre.
Just as we were discussing whether something completely tragic (and dramatic) had happened to Steve or not, one of the boys turned, and made direct eye contact with me. It was so sudden, that in complete shock, we all launched ourselves away from the window and I managed to tip half of my wine down myself. Melody squealed as some of it splashed down her leg and Wendy wet herself laughing at how awkward we had just managed to make things.
"Shit," I mumbled, trying to rub the white wine into my dress to make it look less obvious. "I suppose, we better go introduce ourselves to the new neighbours."
"Ooh yes please!" Mel squealed.
"Wen-," I said. "Do we have a bottle of something we haven't opened yet? Like birthday prosecco or something?"
Every English person over the age of 18 had a bottle of birthday prosecco kicking about somewhere- usually gathering dust on a shelf or stowed away in a cupboard. Prosecco was like Marmite, you either loved it or hated it. And if you hated it, you were completely resigned to a life of faking smiles when co-workers or family friends bought you a bottle for a birthday and then re-joining the endless prosecco cycle by passing it off to someone else for the next celebration.
Wendy and I hadn't had birthdays since the beginning of the year but what we had done, was-
"Yep, we've got a bottle of moving prosecco from the landlord, in the under stairs cupboard. I'll grab it," Wendy said, her curly dark hair swishing out behind her as she left the room.
"What do you reckon they're like?" I asked Mel, as if they were friends of hers or something.
"Fit as," Melody snorted and swigged down the last of her wine. "That's all I need to know."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't disagree. Although I'd only seen most of them from behind, the guy who turned to look at us had been gorgeous in a kind of quiet and sombre way. His maroon knitted cardigan had hidden broad shoulders and he was quite a bit taller than the other guys. I couldn't pin an age on him (mostly because I was hopeless at guessing people's ages) but he'd looked young. Maybe our age.
I realised I had been gazing at the closed curtains for too long and Melody had been expecting a reply. I met her gaze and blushed, as she grinned at me knowingly.
"God, I wish I wasn't married right now," she said, semi-seriously and I couldn't help but laugh. Although the circumstances were a bit suspicious, I was completely willing to give the fit neighbours the benefit of the doubt that they hadn't stuffed Steve in a box and shipped him to Timbuktu.
Wendy came back into the front room, bottle of prosecco in hand and sporting significantly sleeker looking hair.
"What?" she said defensively as we looked at her with identical grins. "First impressions are important." I snorted, but absolutely checked myself over in our big mirror before following them out.
If possible, it was even colder outside than it had been earlier today, and I wrapped my arms around myself as we strolled down the path and onto the pavement. The two-rugby player looking lads had disappeared into the back of the van and the other two were still loitering off to the side. They looked like they were doing what Wendy would call, 'supervising'.
I cleared my throat awkwardly and the pavement boys turned around in surprise. I managed to catch the lightning-fast way that their easy grins turned into guarded looks and wondered if Wendy and Melody had seen it too. To make my nervousness even worse (because I was a God's clown) they were undoubtedly, even more gorgeous close up. The taller boy had a head of thick, wavy brown hair, which lay across his forehead and brushed against his eyes when he moved. From what I could see in the low light, he had dark eyes, and I wished I could get closer to see what kind of flecks swirled within them. His face was all angles, with defined cheekbones and a jawline which could cut glass. On anyone else it would have looked severe but on him, it felt romantic.
I couldn't bring myself to tear my eyes aware from him for more than a few seconds at a time, but from what I could see from my peripheral vision- the other guy was our height, with sandy blonde hair and a great pair of houndstooth patterned trousers.
I felt the butterflies start up in the pit of my stomach and grimaced inwardly, realising that I was completely besotted at first sight with this beautiful dark-haired boy.
"Uh, hi," I said and attempted a warm and welcoming smile. "We saw you through the window and wanted to come introduce ourselves, like the good adults we definitely are," I joked lamely and quickly cringed when their faces didn't change.
Nevertheless, I somehow found the strength to plough on. "I'm Wright. Marlowe Wright," (I prayed to God that they didn't pick up on the fact that I had just introduced myself like James fucking Bond). "This is Wendy, my housemate. And this is Melody, she lives on the other side of us."
Melody and Wendy echoed quiet hellos and then we came to a standstill, the conversation ball in their court. The taller one, shifted from one foot to the other and looked like he was weighing up his next move. It was awkward, looking expectantly at someone who was so obviously calculating whether they were going to respond.
And then to my great relief, he opened his mouth and introduced himself.
"Hi, it's nice to meet you all. I'm Remus, this is Peter and the two in the van are James and Sirius. We've uh, just moved here." His voice was smooth, like water, and he enunciated every word clearly. I couldn't place his accent, but I thought maybe London. A posh part for sure. He sounded like he had been educated well but his tone wasn't dripping in the quiet condescension which often came with growing up with copious amounts of money. Instead of rubbing me the wrong way (like most posh accents normally did), I decided that I could have listened to him talk all evening.
I couldn't help myself. "Yes, hence the moving van," I replied with a smile. Remus snorted at my sarcasm, but then seemed to catch himself and quickly rearranged his features into something far less readable.
"Are you guys local?" Melody asked.
"No," Remus replied smoothly. "We're new to the area."
"Oh, where are you guys from?" I asked, trying to keep the incredibly awkward conversation going. They were going to be living next door to us after all, I had to know what kind of people they were. Or so I told myself.
"London," Peter answered vaguely. He spoke a little higher than Remus did and with less confidence, like he wasn't used to commanding attention.
"Cool. What made you choose Baywick?" I asked, referring to our tiny seaside town.
Although we weren't far from London on the map, it felt like a completely different universe. Whoever said sea air was good for you, certainly didn't know about the sewage which had "accidentally" spilled onto our beaches more times this year alone than I'd had dates.
Growing up around here meant that our coming-of-age pilgrimages were often to London for university, and if people could help it, they never came back. Moving here deliberately felt like an alien concept.
"You guys ask a lot of questions, huh?" Either James or Sirius (one of the guys from the van) swaggered over and slung his arms lazily around Remus and Peter's shoulders. He was even broader than Remus and shorter too. He was also devastatingly handsome, like he had been plucked right out of a fantasy novel. Everything from the over emphasis on his t's to his effortlessly casual but obviously expensive jeans and shirt combo, reeked of generational wealth. Confidence oozed out of him and I immediately liked him less than Remus and Peter. Evidently, the feeling was mutual as he fixed us with a suspicious look.
The obvious distrust which glittered in his grey eyes, immediately made me defensive and I felt Wendy tense beside me.
"Just trying to be neighbourly." My smile was strained this time. I took the bottle of prosecco from Wendy and offered it to Remus, in an attempt to bridge the distance Sirius/James had brought with his annoying swagger.
"Welcome to Baywick," I said, like the saddest fucking Welcome Wagon known to man. "It's mostly old people around here and there's really not a lot to do, so it's nice to know we've got some young people next door. If you guys ever get stuck for activities, we'd be happy to show you like, all two of our pubs."
Remus took the proffered bottle and gave me the most luminous smile. I felt my chest tighten immediately and I hoped like hell, they would take us up on my offer.
"Thanks," said James/Sirius said airily before Remus could answer. "But you won't be seeing much of us around. We're pretty busy people and you know, stranger danger and all that." He turned his head over his shoulder as my mouth fell open. "James mate," he called. "Let's finish this tomorrow, come on."
James appeared from the back of the van and jumped out, heading over to us. Without so much as a nod of acknowledgement, James walked straight past and into the house, like one of those wind-up soldiers. I barely got a glimpse at a bespectacled, raven-haired man before he was gone. Remus and Peter looked uncomfortable but allowed themselves to be led away by Sirius as well. Then they were gone, and we were left standing outside with what looked like a sideboard and a coffee table.
The door shut behind them with a devastating click. We stood in silence for a full minute, trying to process the incredible snub.
"I'm sorry," I said, turning to Melody and Wendy slowly. "But what the fuck was that?"
They both looked just as incredulous as I felt.
"Did he say stranger danger?" Melody asked, her voice dangerously low. "Stranger danger? I'm the tallest of us and I'm 5 ft fucking 6! What exactly screams intimidating here?"
My heart was thumping in my chest and I could feel the hot blush on my neck and cheeks, despite the cold wind. The embarrassment of the last five minutes burned through me.
They couldn't be serious?
"Are they coming back out?" Wendy asked. "Otherwise, they're getting fucking robbed."
"I hope they do," I muttered angrily. "I didn't even get to tell them about the bin collection dates, or the guy who keeps his Christmas lights up all year round."
Wendy shrugged. "Jokes on them," she said, leading us back into the house. "They're not collecting recycling for another two weeks; they'll never get rid of all of those moving boxes."
For some reason, that didn't feel particularly satisfying.
"And what the hell was with the whole, 'you ask a lot of questions'?" I pressed on. "I think I asked a perfectly appropriate amount of questions!" I slammed the front door behind me.
"You asked great questions!" Mel replied, gassing me up the way only great friends could. "Are you new in town? That's a pretty standard fucking question."
"God, that was just so rude!" I vented, throwing myself onto the sofa. "I don't care how good looking they are, cheekbones do not excuse shitty manners."
"Amen," Mel toasted, having managed to find a glass with some wine left in it. Wendy was already turning the TV on, evidently she had gotten over the burning humiliation quite fast. I couldn't understand how, it still lit me up inside.
It would be with great regret, that I declared my romance with Remus the hot neighbour, dead before it ever even started.
I reached for the wine bottle, with a heavy sigh.