WUTHERING BITES

Chapter Twenty: London (Three Years Later)

Chapter Twenty

London

Three Years Later

Heath was walking home from work after he'd been photographed for the cover of New Business Magazine. The journalist was writing about Financial Whizz Kids – the title chosen for the article. Heath tried to remain himself but the art director had insisted on having his hair messed, his tie skewed and his jacket open, giving him the appearance of a rock star and making him more famous amongst his colleagues in a week than he had been in a year. Women he'd never met messaged him. Heath told them he was married and most of them stopped. He was too young to be married but then he explained he'd met his wife when they were teenagers and they just raised their eyebrows.

Soho on Friday night was lit up with music and lights, like a buzzing carnival act. The West End was busy every night of the week. Heath had been working in the City making more money in his first year as a stock trader than he'd dreamt possible. Through extreme luck and, some might say, mathematical genius, financial fortune came his way. He was a mystery to his co-workers, but Heath knew the truth; that he never slept, that he was able to do in one day what took others a week; he could stay awake and trade in every time zone.

After trawling the usual after-work bars with work colleagues (referred to euphemistically as "friends"), Heath often ended up near his home in Chelsea at a small cafe, drinking elixir from a flask and checking the Asian markets as he waited for his supper of rare roasted lamb, occasionally fish, sometimes chicken – always protein. He usually arrived at his house in the early hours of the morning and was up again and seated at his desk by six in the morning.

He was aware that more than a decade of living this lifestyle would take its toll on his family, yet he existed in the moment. Money markets and stockbroking firms were where traders like him could make a huge profit and get out by the time they hit thirty, which gave him about nine years until burn out. And then some, because he'd been warned now, he wouldn't appear to age more than twenty-six years. He had made a full transition, immortality beckoned. He loved the feeling money and this new vampirical power gave him. It had taken him less than a year to turn his life around and he couldn't help but congratulate himself on his good fortune. He never had any doubt that he was as good as anyone else, as capable as any person.

Heath stayed out late to avoid going home. It was true their house was envied in a street full of beautiful homes and families, but it was all surface. To the outside world, they seemed so perfect. Still, he knew he'd made this "fast money" by doing things he never dreamt he'd do – marrying into wealth, identifying the weaknesses of other men and preying on them. As he made money, others lost it.

When the waiter brought the tall, striking young man in the dark suit another coffee as he'd requested, Heath remembered the request from his wife. She had asked him to bring groceries home - milk, bread, mundane things, nothing special. The message had been given to him in his office six hours ago. She's added love and kisses as she always did, revealing her true self with each forgotten word. It had all become a bit old to Heath. He flinched when he recalled the embarrassing note.

Familiar music played in the café; a beautiful song, sung by a band Kate had liked, all about the perfection of a day. For evening, it couldn't have been a more inappropriate song. Nevertheless, the music played as Heath drank his coffee and went over the business transactions on his laptop as the wait staff began to clear up and wonder when the last customer would leave.

The words of the song played over and over in his mind.

Heath sighed, wondering why Kate always came back to him when he was alone. He wished she could be erased from his memory, forever. Any good psychologist would tell him he was better off without her. Heath finished his drink, and then went to the street to hail a cab. Of course, he wasn't far from the bedsit they'd shared briefly after they'd married. The West End was filled with his memory of her.