London from My Windows by Mary Carter

lied, have you? What about—‘Oh, and my mum isn’t allowed to live with me’?”
    â€œThat is a lie that will save lives. Definitely mine and quite possibly hers.”
    â€œYou assumed I was a driver.”
    â€œYou were wearing a driver’s cap and holding a sign with my name on it.”
    â€œI just explained all that. A spot of fun, research—”
    â€œFun at my expense. When I thought you were somebody else.” Somebody she’d never see again.
    â€œIf this is about the rubbish bag, or the wheelchair, I won’t say a word to anyone. I’ll keep my gob shut and Bob’s your uncle.”
    â€œWho’s Bob?”
    â€œSorry. Lost in translation. I only meant—I won’t say a word to anyone.”
    â€œI don’t care about anyone. But if you never say another word to me it will suit me just fine,” Ava said.

CHAPTER 8
    It was a stately five-story redbrick apartment building adorned with black trim around the doors and windows. The massive front door had brass lion door knockers. It looked like a place Sherlock Holmes would live. The recent lashing of rain made everything smell fresh and tart. Just like the new me, Ava joked with herself. Because this was a new Ava. She actually had her feet on the ground in London, England. The thought almost lifted her like a balloon. Steady. You might start to panic. Do not have a panic attack. Do not think about having a panic attack. Think about something else, anything else—
    This was Aunt Beverly’s home. Ava would give anything if she were here to see that Ava had made it. The rest of the street was probably just as quaint, but Ava couldn’t bear to look anywhere but straight ahead as if she were a horse with blinders on. Jasper had recovered from their row and was rattling on about a food market across the street. And the wine store and dry cleaner and some famous pub within walking distance. He had done his job, he had driven her safely to her location; shouldn’t he just be off now?
    There were people everywhere. Like roaches. Her stomach churned. She could be hungry, but she’d never be able to keep anything down if she ate. Fire, fire, fire. She was breathing too shallowly to add the word “extinguisher.” “Top floor,” Jasper said as he opened the door and waited for her to pass. He reached for her suitcase. “I’ll get that.”
    â€œAre you the bellboy now?” Ava would carry her own suitcase. She didn’t care what he did with Diana’s. She didn’t want to haul it up four flights, but she didn’t want to owe him any favors.
    With each flight, the thudding in Ava’s heart eased slightly. By the time she reached the fifth floor she was breathing harder but sweating less. She reached for the door. Keys. Right. She didn’t have them. What was taking Jasper so long? His voice rose up the stairwell. He was talking. Either on the phone or to a neighbor. So chatty. And loud. And peppy. She’d been hard on him back there. He was a friend of Aunt Beverly’s. He was a barrister. He was the executor of Aunt Beverly’s will. She would have to be nicer. She wanted to yell down the stairs, Hurry up! Laughter rang out. He was happy. He was standing somewhere between the first and fifth floor, just shooting the breeze, and laughing. It wasn’t fair. Ava wanted to feel like that. She flung herself at the door. The doorknob jammed into her hip. She cried out.
    â€œHello?” Jasper yelled up the steps. He heard her. Soon his footsteps came pounding toward her. It wasn’t logical, but she just couldn’t stand there, so she flung herself at the door again. “Are you trying to break into your own flat?” Jasper sounded incredulous.
    â€œI have to use the restroom,” Ava said. “Loo,” she added.
    â€œPerhaps we should try these.” Keys dangled from his fingertips. She wanted to tell him to