90 Days in London

Clarence flips through her Moleskine leather journal, pen in hand, jotting down all the upcoming concerts and performances. Five to ten tabs are open on her Mac as she juggles ticket prices, her iPad lighting up with the latest tweets for cheaper tickets. She bites the end of her pen thoughtfully, careful not to chew too hard—one dental replacement would set her back 70 euros, money she desperately needs for the Ed Sheeran concert. The chilly air in her Madrid apartment makes her hesitate to turn on the heater. The radiator coughs softly, like it’s about to give up. “Two hours standing?” she mutters, raising an eyebrow as she imagines her back aching from being on her feet for that long at a concert. It’s the weekend, and her colleagues at the Madrid Royal Conservatory asked about her plans. She’d declined, claiming she had “really important things to do.” Now, it’s 8 p.m., and she still hasn’t received confirmation for her tickets—except for the ones to Beethoven’s 9th Symphony. She jumped at the chance to snag those first, taking advantage of a discount for eager beavers, and probably scoring herself a bag of goodies to claim on the day of the performance. A music nerd. That’s what she’s been called all her life. But really, it’s just a fancy term for a starving artist. She’s never heard anyone refer to an “art nerd.” As November rolls in and the holidays approach, she’s managed to secure eight tickets by the end of 2023—all lined up. Clarence stands in line with her co-teacher Mabel, a charismatic conductor, at Papelaria, the cozy stationery store that smells of fresh paper and ink. Snowflakes swirl outside the window, delicate patterns dancing in the crisp air, like tiny ballerinas. “It’s snowing again,” Mabel says, rubbing her hands together and blowing warm air into her palms. Her breath puffs out in little clouds, and the cold air nips at their cheeks, giving them a rosy glow. “Rare occurrence,” Clarence replies, stepping inside and shaking off the chill, her boots crunching on the snowy pavement. “We’re in for some bad weather next year.” “You’ll have a rainy summer in London, I forgot,” Mabel comments as they wander through aisles of colorful wrapping paper and rows of glittering washi tape. With New Year’s just two days away, the store is buzzing with excitement and last-minute shoppers. “Pick red or pink leather—lucky colors for love,” Mabel suggests, her cheeks flushed like the soft pink leather that catches her eye, a stark contrast to her pale complexion. Clarence shoots her an annoyed look. She’s fully aware that matters of the heart are not on her priority list. “I’ll pick pink because it’s pretty, not because of your superstitions,” Clarence says, picking up a B4-sized journal adorned with intricate designs, its cover smooth and inviting. She imagines filling its pages with notes and ideas. “Are you meeting that London surfer dude?” Mabel asks, raising an eyebrow, teasing glimmer in her eyes. “Oh, Zachary? Nah, I haven’t messaged him since summer,” Clarence says, a hint of disappointment sneaking into her voice. “Maybe you’ll save on sublets if you hit him up,” Mabel teases, her playful grin spreading across her face. “I’m not flirting with a guy to save on rent,” Clarence shoots back, rolling her eyes. “It might be worth it,” Mabel jokes, nudging her. “Besides, the guy’s hot. Still dreaming about that hairy chest?” As they shuffle to the checkout, Clarence tunes out Mabel’s chatter, focusing on the long line ahead. The murmur of excited shoppers fills the air, mixing with the soft holiday music playing in the background. “He probably forgot about me and moved on,” Clarence says, stretching to see what’s causing the delay. The line inches forward like a snail. “You are so boring, Clar-clar,” Mabel says, shaking her head dramatically, her wavy hair bouncing with the movement. “Well, at least this year you left that rotting virginity of yours.” “Don’t start. I need an extra job, not a guy,” Clarence insists, crossing her arms, the pink journal tucked securely under one arm. “What do you mean? You just got a raise!” Mabel exclaims, her voice a mix of disbelief and concern. “London is expensive! All my savings went to concert tickets,” Clarence replies, a hint of frustration creeping into her tone as she thinks of her meticulously planned music excursions. “Yeah, I heard it’s cheaper to spend a month here than a day in London,” Mabel points out, a smirk dancing on her lips. “Exactly! This is a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Ninety days—that’s all I need to justify my struggles.” Clarence’s eyes sparkle with determination, her heart set on the upcoming adventure. Mabel opens her mouth to respond, but no words come out. She simply shuts her lips tight, a smile playing on her face as they finally approach the register, the warmth of the store enveloping them like a cozy blanket. The new year rolls in, and Clarence decides to stay in Madrid this time, choosing to save her money instead of flying back to the Philippines. She’s joined a potluck celebration with a group of young Asian expats she’s recently met. The apartment is buzzing with energy—laughter, chatter, and the clink of plates fill the air as people scurry around, balancing plates piled high with food. The smell of home-cooked dishes and spices drifts through the air, warming the chilly Madrid evening. Mabel, who’s ditched her family’s gathering to tag along, sticks close by Clarence’s side, a half-empty wine bottle “borrowed” from home tucked casually under her arm. “I’m turning 26 this year,” Clarence sighs, scooping fresh rolls of pork lumpia onto her plate, eyeing them with appreciation. Mabel, beside her, sips her purloined wine, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Me too!” a voice chimes in, and a woman with short, wavy hair and a tiny cat tattoo on her forearm slips into their conversation. She’s so slim, she could easily be mistaken for a teenager. Clarence raises her eyebrows and glances at Mabel, who’s looking at the woman with surprise. “You’re 26? No way,” Mabel says, giving the woman an up-and-down look, disbelief written all over her face. Clarence widens her eyes, silently signaling Mabel to tone it down. “Is it an Asian thing? Rice vapors on the face?” Mabel jokes, her grin unapologetic. “She’s just being an asshole,” Clarence says, rolling her eyes as she nudges Mabel. “I am not,” Mabel shoots back, pretending to be offended. “She’s really not,” the woman reassures them with a laugh, biting into a lumpia. “What’s your star sign?” “Uh, Scorpio,” Clarence replies, unsure where this conversation is headed. “Oh, Scorpio girls,” the woman says knowingly, “cold, mysterious, and definitely color-code their underwear.” Mabel bursts out laughing, nearly choking on her wine. Clarence mouths, “F you,” at her, but the annoyance is only half-feigned. “She can’t even say ‘f**k’—she has to spell it out,” Mabel adds, wiping a tear from her eye. “I’m Mabel; she’s Clarence.” “Susan,” the woman replies, setting down her plate and extending her hand for a handshake. “So, I don’t see you girls around here much,” Susan remarks, shaking their hands. “We just came for the food,” Clarence and Mabel reply in unison, then exchange a grin. Susan chuckles. “What did you bring?” Mabel lifts the half-finished wine bottle in response, while Clarence points to the tray of mac and cheese she picked up from a deli, carefully re-plated in an aluminum tray to make it look homemade. “Oh, fancy,” Susan says, forking up a bite of the mac and cheese. “So, what do you two do?” “We’re both teachers at the Madrid Music Conservatory,” Clarence says, trying to sound casual. “No s**t? That’s like Juilliard!” Susan exclaims, eyebrows raised in surprise. “What about you?” Mabel asks, still sipping her wine, clearly intrigued. “Take a guess,” Susan teases, her lips curling into a sly smile. “I’m too blitzed to guess, just tell us,” Mabel insists, leaning in conspiratorially. Susan laughs. “Alright, well, I used to work in London’s finance district. JP Morgan Chase. Now I just make jobless aesthetic videos.” “That’s actually cool,” Clarence says, intrigued. “Wait, you’re from London?” “Yeah, my family moved to London from Hong Kong back in ‘98,” Susan explains with a shrug, as if it’s just the most natural thing in the world. “I was born in London.” “Why Spain, then?” Mabel asks, eyebrows furrowed, genuinely curious. Susan grins. “The sun and the men. They think I’m wasting away here, but I don’t care. I make enough from my videos, and I still get allowances from my parents.” “Any single brother?” Mabel asks, her voice full of teasing mischief. “Mabel!” Clarence exclaims, nudging her again, but her tone is more playful this time. “It’s for you!” Mabel shoots back defensively, flashing a mischievous grin. Susan laughs along, clearly amused. “It’s alright. I am an only child,” Susan says. “But I’ve got an uncle—got divorced twice. No kids, but he’s not really into dating much these days.” Susan jabs her fork into the mac and cheese again, nodding approvingly. “This is good, by the way,” she says, looking pointedly at Clarence. “You’re pretty. Looking for a New Year’s kiss?” Clarence feels a slight blush creep onto her cheeks and shakes her head. “No, I’m good.” Susan’s eyebrows lift, and she turns her attention to Mabel. “I’ve got a roster if either of you is interested.” Turning back to Clarence, Susan leans in, her eyes lighting up with interest. “You have a nice voice. Not quite baritone, but really pleasant.” Clarence smiles, a little shy under the compliment. “I used to be in a choir,” she says casually, though a hint of nostalgia lingers in her tone. “Really?” Susan’s eyes widen, as if she’s just uncovered a hidden gem. Around 2 a.m., the energy starts to slow. The night’s buzz fades, replaced by the shared effort of cleaning up. Mabel heads back to her family’s place about half an hour after the fireworks fade. Clarence bags up some leftover food, including the remaining mac and cheese, already mentally patting herself on the back for the days of meals this will provide without having to spend a penny or cook. Susan watches her with an amused smile. “So, Mabel said you’re off to London next summer?” Susan asks, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Yeah, ninety days,” Clarence replies. “Mostly for concerts and music. It’s just something I’ve always wanted to do.” “That sounds amazing! Where will you be staying?” Susan asks, leaning against the counter. “Probably hotels, but I’m looking for sublet apartments too,” Clarence explains, shrugging. “But three months in hotels?” Susan raises an eyebrow. “Good grief, that’s a lot of cash.” Clarence sighs, nodding. “I’m saving up, but I’ll probably need another job to cover accommodation.” Susan squints thoughtfully, then grins. “I told you—you really do have a nice voice. Proper soothing.” Clarence shrugs. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. I could have been a ballad singer if I wanted to.” Susan’s eyes suddenly light up with a brilliant idea. “Oi, do you actually need a side gig?” Clarence looks at her, crossing her arms. “Depends. What kind of job?” Susan chuckles and holds up her hands, looking innocent. “It’s not dodgy, I swear! My uncle has insomnia, and he’s been hiring someone—sort of a ‘lullaby person.’ Basically, someone to read, talk, or sing to him until he falls asleep. I could suggest you to him.” “Not my thing, but I’ll think about it.” “It pays thirty quid an hour,” Susan adds casually. . “Okay, yeah, I’ll do it.” Susan grins, already pulling out her phone. “Brilliant!”