In Another Life

I have never been here while it’s been so empty.

The doors are all closed and the glass twinkles lightly in the early morning sun. I’m used to seeing these doors opened with numerous fingerprints and smudges decorating the surfaces. It’s so quiet that I can hear the comforting gurgle of the fountains outside. Normally the water is drowned out by the chatter and laughter from the museum’s visitors.

“I’m sorry, miss, but we’re not open until 10.”

I jump, startled by the sudden voice but then relax once I catch sight of the security guard seated behind the desk. I take a few steps forward and offer him a tiny smile. “Yes, I know. I’m here for an interview with Victoria Parks.”

He eyes me through the clear partition before he reaches for the desk phone and quickly punches in three numbers. His voice is low and quiet and I politely pretend to not listen to his conversation, even though I can hear him describing me to the person on the other end. Instead I readjust the strap of my bag and then fidget with the zipper, looking anywhere but at the desk and trying my best to appear cool, calm and collected.

“Miss Matthews, is it?” He stands up as he speaks and when I nod, he nods back. “Take those elevators over there to the basement. Mrs. Parks’ secretary will meet you there. You’ll need one of these,” He adds as he deposits a plastic badge that’s emblazoned with the words ‘museum visitor’ into the tray and sends it through the divider.

Meekly, I take the pass and whisper my thanks before I turn left and head towards the elevators. My pumps make quite a bit of noise as I walk and I’m internally cursing the echoing clack. I can practically feel the stare of the security guard on my back as I press the calling button for the elevator.

As I step into the elevator, I don’t have time to be nervous. I’m only going down one floor and my ride is over before I’m able to collect my scattered thoughts. It isn’t until the doors open with a quiet whoosh that I realize just how tense and anxious I’ve become in the last few moments.

The room beyond me is small and rather bare—a bit boring, if I can be quite honest. There are a few worn chairs along the walls, and a potted plant in the corner, but the dominating focal point is the large wooden desk that has a petite brunette perched behind it.

“Miss Matthews?” She questions, flashing me bright white teeth. When I nod mutely, her grin grows. “Excellent. Victoria will be with you momentarily; she’s just finishing up with a conference call. I’ll let her know that you’re here.”

Again I nod and settle myself down in a chair, prepared to wait for a while. It’s always been my experience that if an appointment is set for a certain time, that it will almost always run fifteen minutes late, no matter what precautions are taken.

Imagine my surprise when not five minutes later, a pleasant laugh floats into the room and I look up in time to see a small woman enter the room. She stops briefly at the desk and talks to the receptionist before she heads towards me, her hand outstretched.

“Hello! You must be Bryn Matthews,” She doesn’t wait for my response, though I nod anyway, trying my best not to appear as nervous as I feel. “It’s such a pleasure to be able to put a face with the name. You know, I was very impressed with your resume when it came in. You’ve come with such a glowing recommendation from Doctor Harris that I was most excited to meet you. Oh, I’m sorry, please forgive me. I talk entirely way too much. I’m Doctor Parks, but you may call me Victoria. Did you find the offices easily enough?”

“Yes,” I reply quietly. My voice sounds scratchy to my ears and I clear my throat before I continue speaking. “Yes, it wasn’t a problem at all. I’m a frequent visitor at the museum, so it was really only a matter of finding the office. The gentleman who sent me down here was very helpful,” I add on politely, feeling somewhat required to give the man some credit.

“I’m so glad to hear that you know the museum fairly well. I can’t tell you how much it bothers me when people try to place applications and they’ve not even had a chance to explore what we have to offer. Have you seen the latest gallery, the pieces that are on loan from Italy?” Victoria pushes open a door with her name mounted on a neat plaque.

“I’ve not had the chance unfortunately, but I’m dying to see it.” I find myself growing even more comfortable as our conversation continues. It seems to me that Victoria is more concerned with getting a personal idea of who I am rather than a professional view. “I confess that my friends are not nearly as enthusiastic as I am about the exhibits. I nearly always have to bribe them to come with me.”

Here Victoria laughs prettily, before she gestures for me to have a seat in a comfortable looking armchair. She settles herself into her desk chair and crosses her hands over the top neatly. “That’s such a shame. I truly believe that the museum has something to offer everyone, if they’d only take the time to find that one thing.”

One of the first things I notice is that my resume is on top of her pile of paperwork and my heart does an anxious summersault in my chest. There’s also another piece of paper next to my resume and I recognize the heading of my university. With a jolt, I realize that this must be the recommendation she was referring to earlier.

Blimey, it’s long. I wonder what he’s written about?

“Anyway, let’s get down to the unfortunate part of the interview. Company regulations state that I have to ask some questions pertaining to the offered position, but I find that to be horridly boring, so let’s get it over with as soon as possible, yeah?” She smiles kindly at me from across the desk and pushes a pair of glasses onto her nose before she continues. “Now what makes you think that you’d be a valuable asset to the museum? In other words, convince me that you are the student that I want to hire for this position, and not Joe So-and-so.”

I take a deep breath and then exhale (a bit shakily, if I’m being honest), before I begin to answer. “I’m sure this sounds a bit ridiculous, but I really do love this place.” I take in the sight of her encouraging smile and I plunge forward. “I know some of these exhibits as well as the museum curators. I’ve been intrigued enough to do some outside research on my own, just for my own personal knowledge. Art is…art is so important to me. It’s my life. Without it, I genuinely have no idea what I’d do and who I’d be without it. To be given the opportunity to work here and to surround myself with these gorgeous art, it’s amazing.” I trail off, not knowing how to finish my thought.

But it doesn’t seem to matter to Victoria. She makes a few short notes on her notepad before she moves on. “I know that the inquiry we sent out states that the position we’re offering is for that of a curator. That was just for lack of a better description. You are given the ability to move anywhere in the company that you’d like—now whether that would be as a touring guide, or working behind the scenes on restoration projects, or even running public workshops, I don’t know. It’s entirely up to you. Where do you see yourself fitting in here?”

“I don’t know,” I admit slowly, chewing on my bottom lip. “I really have no idea. Initially, my first thought is that it would be amazing to work on a restoration project, but that it would also be fantastic to lead a workshop session. I’d even be content with being a guide.”

“But if you had to pick one,” She makes a rolling motion with her hand, her pen poised above her notes.

Lowering my gaze to the floor, I take a few seconds to think. Where do I honestly see myself fitting in here? Eventually I shrug my shoulders and look back up at the desk. “I think working on a restoration project would be an amazing opportunity.”

“Okay,” Victoria elongates the word as she writes down my answer. I wait patiently in silence for her to move on to the next one. “So your availability?”

“It’s completely open—I do work in retail, but they’re very willing to work around my schedule to accommodate me. School, and school related things, come first for me.” The answer to that one is a no-brainer, and I’m thankful for the reprieve of not having to rack my brain for intelligent sounding answers.

“Alright, now tell me about your artwork. What kind of mediums do you work with, what’s your favorite, how would you describe your style? Basically I just want to get a feel for your likes and dislikes,” She crosses her legs neatly and then looks at me expectantly.

I shrug, casting about to decide how to answer. “I’m in a painting phase right now—I’m working on a watercolor that I’m anxious to finish. It’s very special to me,” I hesitate. How crazy would I sound if I stated that my inspiration for my portrait is a certain prince?

Immediately my thoughts drift towards Harry, and my heart begins to beat noticeably in my chest as I recall our kiss and the way he’d promised that we could get together again very soon. In fact, I’d received a text from him late last night, a short sweet few words that made the smile on my face explode into a brilliant beam.

‘Good night, and sweet dreams, you. X.’

“I draw inspiration from the world around me,” I finish up quietly, knowing now that my concentration is going to be pretty much shot for the rest of the interview. “And I paint whatever strikes me as beautiful, or if I have something important to say.”

Like I think I’m falling in love with a certain ginger-haired prince.



“Good lord, it is absolutely pissing buckets outside,” Jeanette remarks airily, pausing in her task of washing the dishes. She stares out the window for a moment before she continues speaking. “Is it supposed to rain long?”

I shrug before I resume folding my laundry. “I have no idea. I’ve not watched the weather in a while. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Jeanette replies, the gentle clinking of dishes filling the room. “It’s been ages since we’ve had a proper rain though. I can’t even remember…” She trails off, a thoughtful look coming across her face.

Raina speaks up from her perch on a barstool. “I’d take rain over this ridiculous heat any day. I think anyone would, to be honest. Do you have any idea where Amanda is?”

I glance up at the clock, a shirt tucked under my chin as I struggle to fold it. I’ll never quite get the knack of folding things properly. I have endless amounts of respect for the girls who stock merchandise at work. “When did you text her?”

“Nearly thirty minutes ago,” Raina taps her mobile and clicks into her inbox. “She said she’d stop at the store and then she’d be over. I didn’t think it took that long to pop in and out.”

My own mobile beeps and I give up on my shirt and hastily fold it in half before I drop it into my laundry hamper. “Maybe she got sidetracked by something.”

“Like an amazing sale on minty toothpaste,” Jeanette mumbles from the sink. She goes very still and then tips her head to one side. “Which reminds me, Bry. Your toothpaste is too bland.” I look up from my phone and give her a puzzled stare. “It’s a craving! I can’t get enough of this minty stuff.”

I shake my head and turn my attention back to my text message. It’s from Harry, and my heart skitters up into my throat as I hit the ‘view now’ button. His SMS message pops up quickly, and I delve into it happily.

‘Can I see you soon? X.’

My lower lip gets sucked up into my mouth and I bite down as I start to reply to his message, trying to sound both excited and flirty at the same time.

‘I’m free tomorrow- if you are, I mean. Xx.’

“Who are you texting, Princess?” Jeanette’s voice interrupts my thoughts and I jump, startled by the sudden change. “Is it your prince?”

I flush and drop my phone into my lap. “No,” I say, though I don’t sound nearly as convincing as I intended to. “Maybe. He just wants to see me again.”

“Oh, he just wants to see you,” Jeanette laughs, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the counter. “I wish you two would, like, make it official or something. The suspense is killing me!”

Raina snorts from where she’s busy rummaging through my pantry in search of a snack. Even though Amanda is bringing food whenever she decides to arrive. “Please Jeanette. Bry and Harry barely know each other. I somehow very much doubt that he’s going to ask her to be his girlfriend while they’re still in the getting-to-know-you stage. Don’t you think his security team would have heart attacks?”

“Thank you!” I shoot a relieved and thankful smile at my friend, which she waves away easily enough. “I’ve only been with him a handful of times, and we’re still getting a feel for each other—”

“There was loads more than just feeling each other in the living room that night,” Jeanette states, giving me a rather pointed look. She has to move quickly in order to dodge my swift swat at her arm. “I’m just saying! You two barely were able to keep your hands off of each other. It’s a good thing that I was there to chaperone. We could have had a national case on our hands.”

“You’re lucky you’re pregnant,” I narrow my eyes at my friend, even though we both know I’m not in earnest. “Or else I would be so much more violent towards you.”

My phone decides to beep again at this moment, which then sends Jeanette off into another elongated rant about how ridiculous and shy we were both being towards each other. Raina, thankfully sensing my annoyance, listens to Jeanette’s theories, and then politely tries to steer the conversation in another direction.

‘Lunch? I know a place in Covent Garden that’s brilliant. Say 1 o’clock? X.’

‘Can’t wait. Xx.’

I hit send and then place my phone away so that I can rejoin the conversation. But before I can catch up with Raina and Jeanette’s spirited debate on a new show on the telly, my front door opens and we hear Amanda enter my apartment.

“We’re in here,” I shout, smiling to myself as I hear Amanda cursing softly.

She appears presently in the kitchen, a plastic bag clutched in one hand and the other going over her hair. “Bloody rain has ruined my hair and I’ve just gotten it relaxed last weekend. I cannot stand this weather.” She sets the grocery bag on the counter and then pulls out a thick Hershey’s bar. “Who wanted the chocolate?”

“Me!” Jeanette shrieks, ripping the sweets out of Amanda’s hands and hurrying over to the refrigerator. “I saw the most glorious concoction on Friends this morning. They melt their chocolate and put it in their milk. It looks absolutely divine.”

“It sounds foul. Isn’t it just a milkshake then?” Raina queries, wrinkling her nose as Jeanette starts a burner up on the range. “I mean, chocolate mixed into milk?”

Amanda turns to me and gives me a small smile before she sits down next to me. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” I grin back at her, gesturing at my pile of unfolded laundry. “Being domestic and whatnot. You? You took ages getting here.”

“Well someone,” Here she throws a pointed look at Jeanette, who is happily melting the candy over an open flame. “Needed a Hershey’s bar specifically. A Mars Bar just wouldn’t do, and so I had to go to three shops before I found one without nuts and in dark chocolate.”

“And I love you for it!” Jeanette says over her shoulder, nearly upsetting her glass of milk with her elbow.

Amanda takes the time to roll her eyes at our friends before she turns back to me. “Have you spoken to Harry at all recently?”

Wanting to avoid another conversation about Harry, I stand up from the counter and take up my laundry basket. “Yeah, we’ve just been texting. Why?”

“No reason,” Amanda turns away from me, her cheeks turning a rosy red color. “I just… I wanted to know if you two were still talking.”

“Of course,” I’m unimpressed with her insinuation and the look in my eyes plainly says so. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

She has enough grace to flush again at my questions. “I saw something while I was in the market today, that’s all. It was about Harry, and I didn’t want you to see it and get upset over it.”

“What, a tabloid?” I stop and then turn to look at her. “Harry’s in a tabloid? What else is new? He’s in them all the time. Why should that bother me?”

“Holy shit,” Jeanette bursts out and I snap my head around to look at her. She’s holding the glossy pages of a tabloid and her eyes are wide and shocked in her face. “Is he kissing her?”

The laundry basket drops to the floor with a loud thud and in two steps I’m next to Jeanette and wrenching the magazine from her hands. There on the cover is a small photograph of Harry with his arms around a red-head and a caption stating that the full story is on page nine.

I’m painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on me as I leaf through the pages and I do my best to look as unaffected as possible. But I stop and tense noticeably when I view the centerfold photograph.

It’s of Harry with his arms around the girl, though this time she’s pressing her lips up against his cheek and he’s laughing, with one hand resting on her arse. The pictures next to it are of the two of them talking at the bar, the two of them seated at a table having a drink, the two of them dancing—no, grinding on each other, and then of Harry putting her in a taxi at the end of the night.

The first sensation that I’m aware of is the hurt. Of course these pictures hurt me. I mean, who wouldn’t be upset when the person that they—they like is entwined sensually with another girl? And then I’m filled with disbelief. Surely the sweet, adorable man who kissed me in my living room only days ago isn’t the same as this player in the magazine.

But then a tiny nagging thought creeps into my head and all I can think about is the fact that Harry has a reputation in the press as being a playboy, a player, a womanizer. And my disbelief melts away into anger.

I’d been at work two nights ago when this happened, and I’d sent him a flirty text about how I was thinking of him, and he’d responded with an equally flirty response. He’d been at the bloody club with this wench while we were texting, and he’d made no mention of it to me.

I feel a cold hand rest timidly on my arm and I turn to see Raina touching me with concern evident in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yep,” I state shortly, handing her the magazine and bending over to pick up my laundry. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not serious?” Amanda speaks up, sounding quite shocked. “How are you not absolutely livid over these? How are you not hurt over him being with another girl?”

I shrug my shoulders and pick up my mobile before I start towards my bedroom. I just need a few moments to gather myself together. I can fall apart when I’m alone later tonight.

“Bryn, how are you not upset?” Amanda repeats herself, making a move to stop me but then she shirks back at the look on my face.

I pause in the doorway, staring out into my living room. I can’t face my friends right now. I just want to be alone. “Because he’s not mine to be upset over. We’re just friends—he can dance with whomever he wants.”

I ignore her response and make my way into my bedroom. After shutting the door firmly behind me, I busy myself with putting away my clean clothes. I take my time with the task, trying to still my shaking hands and blink away the embarrassed and wounded tears that insist on lining my vision.

It’s nearly ten minutes later when I sink down onto my bed and open up a new SMS message. The words are brief and curt, and I hit send before I turn my phone off and toss it onto the duvet. I’m going to ignore it for the rest of the evening.

It’s only then that I stand and inhale deeply to calm my nerves before I physically shake my head, as if that would clear the unwanted thoughts and emotions from my mind completely. Then I open my bedroom door, prepared to rejoin my friends and pointedly ignore the message that will surely be waiting for me when I turn my phone on again.

‘Forgot I had plans. Can’t meet tomorrow. Apologies, see you around.’