Moving away turned out to be a good idea. For one month.
A month was just enough to keep Frank's mind busy with adapting to the new country – and there was a lot of adaptation to do.
One thing he hadn't expected at all was language difficulties. He had grown up in English – okay, American English, but still – surroundings and believed he was fluent at it. Yet, he sometimes failed to understand some people with their crazy accents. There was a particularly embarrassing moment in the University when after a short conversation with a fellow-student he decided to complement the guy on good English and asked what part of the world he was originally from. That part of the world was just two hours away from London – Manchester, England.
Another shock came with the first bills. The last time he saw those envelopes was when he still lived in Bayport, where he just collected them and let his parents take care of those. Living on campus at NYU meant no bills as well. When transferring to London, he considered campus, but postponed the idea until later – for now he wanted to be alone, even if it meant expenses on renting a flat in London. The numbers were so shockingly huge that he cut on taking long showers and considered getting candles to save on electricity. His notebook and other electronic devices didn't work on candles, though, and he had to give up on the idea.
As long as he could remember himself, the only public transport he ever used were school busses and airplanes. In other cases, there were always cars to take him wherever – either his parents rode him or he drove himself when he was old enough to get the licence. But not in the UK. Frank didn't even bother to understand the rules of their driving on the correct side of the road and didn't consider getting a car in the foreseeable future. He was reminded to "look right" at every intersection and that one of just two things he needed to know about the British roads. The other thing was to remember to top up the balance of his Oyster card occasionally.
Despite the difficulties, he enjoyed being in the country. He even loved the weather which seemed to change every half an hour. Frank got used to always carrying an umbrella even if the morning was cloudless. He loved the quietness of the neighbourhood, peaceful and quiet. The biggest mystery he knew of was the missing cat of the O'Briens. If he wanted to get crazy – as some fellow-students advised, but he never got to it – there were Saturday nights in Piccadilly Circus, where cocktails flew faster than the Thames, girls wore skirts no wider than waist belts and guys could attack if someone looked like they supported another football club.
Frank used to think that the first month would be the most difficult, but surprisingly, it went quite smoothly. He kept himself busy with getting used to his new life and the terrible feeling of loss seemed to ease a little.
It was week six when the so familiar grief returned, worse than before. Adaptation was over and his mind finally realised he was not there for vacation. Real life came back – one where Joe was no longer alive and he was totally alone in a foreign country, his mind his only companion.
Having Joe in his life was both his blessing and his curse. Joe was the only person to know the way to the depths of Frank's soul, he knew when to talk and when to stay away. He was the sociable and easy-going part of their team, and in his company the usually reserved Frank had no other choice but open up to public, too. If it weren't Joe, Frank would have probably never become close friends with their circle – Tony, Biff, Phil, Chet. Joe was his connection to other people. When he died, the connection went away with him. He didn't know how to act around people anymore. He wasn't even sure he'd ever made a friend without Joe's help.
There were nights when he would stare at his phone and look through the contact list. Deep down he knew he could dial any number and there's be an answer from his Bayport and New York friends. But he would always come across the only number he knew would never ever answer and it twisted a knife in his heart.
He remembered having a conversation with Joe, half a year after Iola's death. In the dead of night, Frank heard the keyboard clicking in his brother's room. Curiosity took the best of him and he knocked on the door.
"You know the thing that still hurts the most?" Joe asked quietly, his face white and blue in the light of his laptop screen. "There are some things that look like she's still here. Like, facebook accounts," he nodded at the screen where the picture of Iola was forever frozen as she'd left it. Forever seventeen, forever living in Bayport, Massachusetts, forever in relationship with Joseph Hardy and forever a student of Bayport High School. "People write on her wall occasionally. And seeing something happening on her page…it's tough…. Not as tough as not seeing her make changes to it, however."
Frank could not resist checking his brother's own account now, few times a week actually. Forever eighteen, forever living in Bayport, forever having 143 friends, forever a freshman in NYU (he had changed the status right after the graduation party), forever liking U2 for music and forever having "Fortune favors the bold" quote by Alexander the Great as his favourite. And forever "going to the city that never sleeps" in his status, updated in the morning of the fateful Friday.
By the fourth month of living in London, Frank was numb again. Life became a sleep-and-study routine with occasional exceptions when he'd go for a thoughtful stroll in Regents Park. He used to enjoy going there to read a book and feed fat and fluffy squirrels with almonds, but as winter approached, the days grew shorter and the weather got wetter, he had to find other activities. Like staring at Joe's phone number and checking his facebook page more often.