LEAH
Alright, Williamson, you can do this - you're just going back to school, no big deal, I try to convince myself, out of breath: my throat was so narrow that I could barely breathe, while panic attacks were lurking, only seconds away.
Deciding to go back to London after whatever happened, only to take two years off in order to travel the world and make my peace with it, might as well has been simultaneously the best and worst idea I ever had. The University of Cambridge does hold many renowned masters programs, including in psychology, so the choice was actually never hard - but at this exact moment, as I am standing right in front of the main entrance, I have never been so anxious in my entire life - what if I can't do this at all ?
Little did I know that somebody was right behind me, and when that person speaks, I jump a little, turning around, surprised:
"That school ain't gonna eat you girl" a tall blonde says, smirking. Openly making fun of me for being so dramatic, the girl adds: "If you're also following the masters in psychology, then my name's Jill, I'm Dutch, and, as you can see, I never take anything seriously."
This actually makes me smile a little.
"Leah" I concede, shaking her hand dramatically, as we both laugh. Feeling like she would be the kind of person I could very easily be friends with, I add: "Will you be my emotional support dog? 'Cause I'm having anxiety attacks."
"Ugh, sure - but you're paying coffee then."
Nodding my head, I follow Jill inside the building, as we eventually find the right room where our first class was taking place in.
The next following hours - aka, the rest of the day - Jill proved to be beyond helpful: other than showing me around and making me laugh the whole time, she also introduced me to her best friend, a French girl named Kadidiatou Diana, but who prefers to just be called 'Kady'. The three of us would then go on talking about our lives - or at least the part I could talk to them about, of course - and getting to know each other. When classes are finally over, Kady offers to serve us free drinks in the bar in which she has been working since she came to England - and, not knowing many people here in London, I gladly accepted.
When we are sitting at the bar with Jill, facing Kady, the latter shamelessly asks:
"So, Williamson, how come we've never seen you around if you've been living for years in our beautiful city, uh?"
Taking a deep breath, I quickly answer:
"I've been travelling the past two years, that might explain why"
They both nod.
"Makes sense" Jill confirms, before raising her glass and adding: "cheers to new encounters then, and to the best year of our lives yet!"
I drink mine bottoms up, knowing very well that coming back to England was never going to be easy - there were too many traumas that even therapy would never be able to erase. Sighing, I just try to enjoy the rest of the night, but as soon as I come back home to my spacious apartment with a magnificent view on Big Ben and its wheel, I burst into tears.
You're gonna be okay - everything's gonna be okay..., I think to myself, very well knowing that I couldn't believe any of those words...
***
Jill Roord
Kady Diani
***
INGRID
The offices of The Time were almost empty, as my boss ended up leaving as well - it wasn't far from 10 PM, and only my two colleagues and I were still there, working on an ambiguous issue meant to be in tomorrow's newspapers all around the country.
Ever since I moved to London after High School, three years ago, I had made my place from junior journalist to one of the key figures of The Times London. Being an Orphan, I was brought to England into an already distraught family when I was three years old, probably because my mother gave birth to me here, and left them as soon as I turned 18. It was never easy, but now I know I never could've gotten here without that, and also what my time in Saint Ives has brought to me in terms of experience and survival. Either way, I don't think about those dark times of my life anymore, and the life I now have built in the capital is constructed on strong foundations.
As I hear the bell ring 10:30 PM, Sakina Karchaoui and Jordyn Huitema, my two younger colleagues, enter my office, visibly worried.
"Boss" the French youngster starts, visibly afraid of my reaction.
"Mh-uh?"
"Um... there's been a slight problem..." the dark-haired continues, but the Canadian next to her cut her off to say:
"The evil chick from The Guardian is there, and she's not happy."
Obviously, a smirk appears on my face.
To say that, since I arrived at The Times, Fridolina "Frida" Roflö, - editor in chief in the enemy journal The Guardian - has been my nemesis is an understatement: ever since I was named at my actual position, the both of us has been going head-to-head for more than two years, battling for the freshest news, each of us winning rounds from time to time.
As soon as I enter the room, I see her: her blonde hair were tied in an elegant bun, while she as dressed in a black suit that would highlights the lengths of her legs and her flawless body. Her blue eyes immediately stare at me, and something both murderous and angry shines inside of them: it's game on, and we both know it.
Smirking in advance, I just slowly advance toward her, before saying in an arrogant tone:
"Rolfö, what do I owe the pleasure?"
Of course, the Swedish woman isn't impressed - probably because she has gotten to know how annoying I was when I didn't like someone during the past years. Rolling her eyes, she just stares at me before answering in a colder voice than usual:
"You're in my way again, Engen: the issue on the Queen is mine to publish tomorrow according to the deal between our two employers."
"How come?" I ask, not impressed.
Setting her jaw, the blonde just says:
"It is called due procedure - something you're not familiar with given your sense of overstepping boundaries and rules"
"Well, you might as well be right."
She knows what I am about to do: she watches as I take my phone out and press "publish" on the article my team and I just finished. As Frida puts her fists on her waist, we both remain silent while my notification bar goes off - a healthy sign that I am creating once again some buzz in the capital city and whole country.
Nodding her head slowly, she just starts smiling viciously, before conceding:
"That you will regret."
"Sure, you know the way out, right?" I ask with an arrogance I never use but with that annoying piece of crap in front of me.
Sending me murderous looks, the woman turns around and leaves, the noise of her high heels being heard for several more seconds before silence takes over again. When I turn around, I realize Jordyn and Sakina are standing near the entrance of my office, their eyes wide open with respect.
The young Canadian is the one who says:
"Well, you sure know how to piss the Guardian's chick off, boss"
Nodding my head, I just free them for the evening, quite content with my coup of poker: the notifications continued ringing as I reached my apartment door, and when I turn my phone off, I know tomorrow will be yet another day where I'll have to defend myself in front of my director and those of The Guardian.
But I did not give a single shit.
***
Sakina Karchaoui
Jordyn Huitema
Frida Rolfö
***
ALEXIA
This morning, when I make it to London with my car full of luggage and stuff that I could take from Spain - where I spent the last two years to resolve my twin sister's murder - after a many-hours drive, I barely was standing on my feet. But I knew I couldn't let it shown: I enter the police station with confidence and a sense of arrogance, and when people stop talking and recognize me, they start whispering.
Indeed, being the main police officer that managed to avenge their sister's murder by finding and jailing its assaulter kind of makes you famous, especially when the guy in question is a renowned drug lord in the whole of Europe. My name was well-known amongst the police stations throughout the continent, but especially in London since my sister's murderer was actively undergoing an MI6 investigation.
After a while just standing there being whispered about, I see a tall brunette slowly advancing toward me, before calling:
"Putellas?"
"This is her in the flesh" I answer coldly, my Spanish accent showing slightly.
The girl smirking.
"Dani Van de Donk, Section 17" she quickly introduces herself, speaking in a rather Germanic-like accent... maybe Dutch? She then makes a quick sign that I follow her, before she addresses the whole room by exclaiming: "What is it? Y'all never seen a woman before?"
As everybody return to their prior conversations and activities, I follow the smaller girl through the long corridors of London P.D., until we reach for a door with a special identification login consisting in a eye recognition with the symbol '17' written on it. Dani urges me to look through the identification, and when it scans my eyes and that my name and picture appear at the screen, the door unlocks itself, as we walk right through it.
The offices set on the other side of the door were those right out of a James Bond movie or something: four desks with three computer screens each, a room with huge processor and a wide screen showing the whole continent with connections between random people. Dani walks right toward the last room, where a small cafeteria and couches are being utilized by two other girls, who immediately stop talking when I get there.
The girl named Dani points them one after the other, briefly presenting them:
"Viv Miedema, absolute tech genius, and Ana Maria Crnogorcevic, former pro in all martial arts, now become super cop: welcome to Section 17, Putellas."
I nod my head, while the girl named Ana gets up - she, too, was pretty tall and impressive - stretching her hand toward me to shake.
When I do, she only says:
"It's nice to have fresh blood around - I sure hope you'll pass the tests"
"The tests?" I ask, frowning.
Dani smirks.
"She's messing with you - you better rest 'cause our next mission starts in three hours." she indicates, beyond serious.
When I lie down on one of the couches, I get a shy smile from Viv - obviously not a talker - before falling asleep, only to be woken up two hours later by an alarm announcing Section 17's newest mission.
Smirking when she sees my tired face, Ana just says:
"Yup, you'll have to say bye-bye to your precious hours of sleep, Putellas: welcome to the heart of London criminality."
I sigh, before following my new colleagues (especially Dani and Ana, since Viv remains in the office and does her tech genius thing) onto the field.
***
Danielle Van de Donk
Vivianne Miedema
Ana-Maria Crnogorcevic
at that exact moment, little did the three former childhood friends knew they were about to run into each other and their common past very soon, putting their secret at risk...