London from My Windows Read Online Free PDF Page A

at them as they made their way to the plane. I’ll leave you my flat . Tears came to his eyes. It was like accepting an Academy Award.
    Thank you, Beverly, thank you. Dear, sweet Beverly . The flat was in the West End of London. Beverly’s family had owned it going back several generations. When her parents passed and her brother moved to America, it was all hers, although legally it was in both siblings’ names. But then the brother passed. Beverly had been utterly heartbroken. Worse still, in her time of grief her brother’s wife still couldn’t let go of their petty grievances and wouldn’t even let Beverly see or talk to her own niece. He used to rail against that woman every time he saw Beverly crying over a picture of the girl. Years passed with no contact. Beverly sent letters, cards, postcards, gifts. She didn’t get a single thank-you in reply. “Gretchen isn’t giving them to her,” Beverly would say. “I just know it.” The few times Gretchen returned Beverly’s calls she hinted that Ava wasn’t well. Ever since Bertrand’s death, she’d— how did Beverly put it? Recoiled from the world. Queenie didn’t know exactly what that meant except it sounded absolutely horrific. By the time Ava was grown up, Beverly was tired of trying, and too afraid to try to connect anymore. Surely the mother had poisoned Ava against her, and she didn’t want to face that kind of rejection twice. Lucky for Queenie though, it meant the flat was his.
    That was a terrible thought, but it’s not like he said it out loud. If Queenie could perform magic he’d wave his wand and give Beverly a relationship with her niece. But he wasn’t magic, and it certainly wasn’t his fault. Queenie couldn’t take on the weight of the world. He couldn’t change his past, let alone anyone else’s. And he had a right to be happy about his good fortune. Beverly wanted to give him the flat and he was going to humbly accept it.
    Oh, wait until the lads heard about this. He’d be popular again, that’s for sure. They’d probably want him to reprise his Streisand act. He’d finally be the one hosting the after-party after-party. Oh yes, fabulous after-after parties. The view of London from Beverly’s flat was a showstopper. No more living with his brother in a tiny, smelly hovel. He would cherish it, he would! He wouldn’t change a thing. He wouldn’t even rearrange the collection of theater posters on her wall. Even though he thought it was absolutely hideous to hang Pippin next to Cats . It was all going to be his. But Beverly would be dead.
    It was unfathomable. He would put it out of his mind straightaway.
    Perhaps there were a few minor décor changes he would make. Nothing major. The lampshades with the pink tassels. Not even a drag queen could appreciate them. There was no other way around it. They would be the first to go.
    Â 
    Beverly stood at the opening of the plane. She was supposed to jump. Queenie was right. It was not normal to jump out of a perfectly good airplane and into the sky. They were so high. Nothing but clouds. She gripped the doorframe with both hands, and clung to life. Her instructor uncurled her fingers. “No turning back now, luv.” He pushed them out.
    Air screamed into Beverly’s ears. Pain roared through her head. Her face flattened from the wind. She imagined she looked like one of those flying squirrels. But a few seconds later, the pain ceased, and the tunnel of air lessened. She remembered to arch her back and legs and throw out her arms like the instructor taught her. And then, she was flying.
    Soaring, floating, cascading, gliding in the wind. She was like a bird. Everyone should feel this sensation once in his or her life. Everyone should feel this alive, this free. Her younger brother’s face suddenly appeared before her. “Bertie!” Oh, how she missed him. She would