I bowed in response. ‘Then my work here is done. Go forth into the world, my children, and be brilliant, as always,’ I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster. They both grinned and then pulled me into a group hug that threatened to suffocate me.
It was only later, after they’d both gone and the house was quiet again, I realised I was going to be spending Christmas alone for the first time in decades.
*
Without Sam and Grace there to fuss over, the rest of Sunday just flew by, hurtling headlong into another depressing Monday at work. I arrived to find my desk strewn with piles of paperwork and Trish, my boss, screeching something about needing coffee. I poked my head around her office door and gave her my best attempt at a cheery, ‘Good Morning.’
‘You’re late,’ she said.
I wasn’t but I couldn’t be arsed to argue. My impending ‘Christmas for One’ had put me in a bad mood. I knew it was stupid; my children were grown up and had their own lives to live. I couldn’t expect them to come home for every Christmas, but it still made me sad to think I was going to be all by myself. I could feel the dark clouds threatening, building on the edges of my mind. I had to make sure I didn’t let them in, so I spent the day focussed on my work. I filed, I typed, I made coffee, all in an effort to control my blackening mood. For once Trish’s fondness for giving me all her work to do, as well as my own, was a blessing. By the time it came to the end of the day I’d hardly had a minute to think about anything other than work.
But now the day was almost finished, and I was ready to get away before my boss had time to think up another list of things for me to do. The woman was relentless; her favourite phrase was, ‘Ooh, Evie, just one more thing…’ I’d lost count of the amount of times I’d had to stay late to finish the many and varied lists of ‘one more thing’s that Trish always found for me to do. However, today I was in luck. Trish had just joined a conference call and had given me strict instructions not to disturb her. Fine by me, I thought, turning off the computer and switching on my voicemail; all I want now is a big glass of wine, a bath and a good book in bed. I grabbed my coat from the back of my chair and hastily shoved my arms into it. I wound my scarf around my neck and hoisted my bag onto my shoulder, all the while watching Trish’s closed door and praying it stayed that way until I reached the exit.
‘Goodnight, Laura, see you tomorrow,’ I said to the receptionist as I hurried past her desk. The young girl looked up from her phone just long enough to give me a small nod of recognition before returning her attention to the little screen. Not for the first time, I wondered about the youth of today and the state of their spines; with their necks bent over their smartphones, I was convinced that they would all gradually evolve with a permanent curvature of the spine and the inability to raise their eyeline above ground level. God, I sound like an old woman. What is the matter with me?
I pushed through the glass doors of the building and out onto a cold London street. This part of Soho, packed with little restaurants, bars and shops, was my favourite part of London. It wasn’t too overcrowded with tourists, who all seemed to stick to Carnaby Street or the hallowed halls of Liberty, and I didn’t have to endure too much pushing and shoving on my walk to Oxford Circus Underground. As it was early December, it was always dark by the time I left the office, but I didn’t mind. I liked the way the lights from shop windows glittered onto the pavements in front of me, lighting a path along uneven concrete and around piles of rubbish bags. I sidestepped a pile of soggy cardboard, dropping down off the kerb as a bike messenger whizzed past me. I jumped back just in time to avoid being knocked flying and the messenger flipped me the finger as he rode away. ‘Charming,’ I muttered, straightening my coat and carrying on along the pavement.
I turned the corner into Marshall Street, feeling guilty once again about the gym membership I’d paid for as I made my way past the entrance to Marshall Street’s fabulously restored pool. It had been a momentary lapse of good sense; one too many glasses of wine at lunch one day with Tracey in Accounting. I was ashamed to say I’d visited the pool only twice in the last three months. And one of those times had only been because my boiler had broken down, so I’d had no hot water at home for a shower. My enthusiasm for exercise had deserted me completely in recent months. I blamed the winter weather: far too cold to be jogging around the park or venturing out to an exercise class. I knew I needed to do something though; exercise kept my mind healthy just as much as it did my body. After Tom was killed, I’d used running as a way to let off some steam and release some feel-good endorphins; that was probably what had kept me sane, for most of that time at least. There were still some thoughts that haunted me in my quietest moments though, memories of things I’d done, things that only Rachel and my sister, Kate, knew about. I pulled my coat closer around me, feeling the familiar chill that came with those thoughts, and I quickened my pace.
As I neared Oxford Circus, the crowds started to get thicker. By the time I’d reached the entrance to the station it had started to rain, and I’d almost lost an eye half a dozen times as people popped open their umbrellas with no thought for anyone around them. A small group of tourists stood at the top of the station stairs, blocking the entrance, checking something on their phones. I waited patiently for a few seconds, until eventually they moved to one side to let me pass. Nodding a polite thank you, I hadn’t taken more than a step before someone barged into me from behind and almost knocked me flying down the stairs. The person in question, a middle aged man in a trench coat, mumbled something that sounded like, ‘Fucking tourists,’ as he pushed past me. I wanted to shout that I wasn’t a tourist, fucking or otherwise, and how dared he shove me like that, but I didn’t. All I could manage was an ineffectual hard stare at the back of his head as he strode away. My need for a glass of wine had now turned into a need for a bottle. Just get home, Evie, ignore the fact that the world is full of arseholes, and get yourself home.
I crossed the ticket hall and tapped my Oyster card on the barrier – nothing happened. What the hell? I heard murmurs and tutting from the queue that had started to build behind me.
‘It’s got plenty of credit on it. I can’t understand why it’s not working,’ I said to a particularly angry looking young man standing behind me. He just stared.
‘Look, if it’s not working could you move out of the way, please? Some of us want to get home.’ The voice belonged to a woman, about my age, sporting a neat bob and a serious superiority complex. I wanted to shout back ‘I’d like to bloody well get home too. Standing at a ticket barrier isn’t my idea of fun either, you know!’ But I didn’t get the chance. A station employee came across and used his pass to open the barrier.
‘You need to take that to the ticket window and get it checked if it ain’t working.’ He gestured to the small window that already had a queue of about a dozen disgruntled looking passengers standing beside it. No way am I standing in that, I thought. I’m going home. I muttered my thanks to the man and then scuttled swiftly over to the escalator. All the way down, past the adverts for dating websites and theatre shows I’d always meant to see but never got around to, I berated myself for my lack of character; why hadn’t I just told them all to bugger off? Why hadn’t I shouted at the man who’d almost knocked me flying down the stairs or the snotty cow at the ticket barrier? The simple answer was that I couldn’t be arsed. What was the point? People were just rude and inconsiderate – simple as that.
I got off the escalator and trudged over to my platform. The sign above my head told me I had two minutes to wait until the next train, so I walked along to the far end of the platform; more chance of getting a seat, I hoped. I weaved my way through the small crowd and then leant against the wall and closed my eyes. I wished I had the power to click my heels like Dorothy and be home instantly. No such luck. A rush of warm, stale air told me that the train was coming, so I pushed away from the wall and moved nearer to the edge of the platform. I watched a tiny mouse scurry along under the rail and d
isappear into the tunnel. Standing there, on the edge of the platform, I felt a familiar urge come over me. Is it just me, I thought, or does everyone get the urge to leap onto the tracks when they hear a train coming? I took a step or two back, away from the edge, and then almost cried out loud when the train stopped and I saw that it was already full. With no chance of getting a seat, I toyed with the idea of waiting for the next train, but I knew that it would just be the same again. I squeezed my way onto the carriage, finding a space that happened to be located under the unwashed armpit of a fellow passenger. Lucky me.
*
By the time I made it home, having stood all the way and then walked to my house from the station in the pouring rain, I was more than a little pissed off. I shrugged off my now soaking wet coat and threw it over the radiator in the downstairs loo. I looked at my reflection in the mirror that hung above the washbasin in there; my mascara was currently streaking its way ‘Alice Cooper’ style down my cheeks and my nose was a very fetching shade of bright red. I grabbed a handful of toilet paper and blew it loudly, throwing the soggy tissue into the toilet and flushing, before grabbing the hand towel from the rail to try and dry my soggy hair. I kicked off my shoes as I made my way down the hall and into the kitchen.
The sound of the raindrops tapping on the skylights in the ceiling sounded so peaceful; nothing like the way they’d felt just now when I’d been caught up in the howling storm outside. It was all about your perspective. From inside looking out, the rain was beautiful, the way it painted the world with a clean brush and left everything looking shiny and new; but outside, it was cold and wet and depressing in its relentlessness. The same could be said of almost any situation, I guessed; one man’s trash was another man’s treasure and all that. So, one woman’s lonely Christmas was another woman’s chance to do something different for a change.
Don’t look at being on your own as a bad thing, I told myself, look at it as an opportunity. An opportunity to skip the mad rush to buy enough food to last for a fortnight, even though the shops will all open again on Boxing Day. A chance to avoid being trampled underfoot by shoppers eager to grab the last net of tangerines or bag of mixed nuts. I can go anywhere I want to, I thought to myself. As long as I can get the time off work, obviously.
Maybe Rachel’s idea about a trip to New York wasn’t so unrealistic after all. I poured myself a glass of wine, a big one, and sat at the kitchen table with my laptop open. I did a quick search for ‘Cheap Last-Minute Flights to New York’, only to discover that they weren’t as cheap as I thought they’d be. I scrolled though the results, feeling more disheartened with each click of the mouse. I couldn’t justify spending that much money on something just for me, could I?
I sent Rachel a quick text to this effect and she responded almost instantly.
Yes you bloody well can!
It was followed by lots of emoji faces and thumbs-up symbols that I took to mean she was all for this insane plan. I messaged her back, saying I was still thinking about it and that I would talk to Trish in the morning and get back to her. I needed more convincing however, so I clicked on the video messaging app and called the one person I knew would be 100 per cent behind my last minute travel plans – my baby sister, Kate. As I was waiting for the call to connect I pictured my sister’s face when I told her what I was considering.
You’re not just considering it, said a little voice in the back of my mind, you’ve already decided you’re going to do it. You’re only calling Kate for reassurance that you’re not completely nuts for even thinking about it. Be honest with yourself, for once.
The call connected, putting paid to any more of my inner ramblings, and my sister’s face appeared. I could tell straight away that she was at her desk in her office. Through the large window behind her I saw a beautiful view of New York’s Financial District.
‘Hello, little sister. Everything okay?’ I said.
‘Mmmm… yes… sorry.’
She was just finishing a mouthful of something.
‘What are you eating? Looks very green and far too healthy.’
Kate picked up the plastic container in front of her and held it close to the screen. ‘Kale salad with sprouted grains and vegan cheese. It’s yummy.’
I doubted that was true. Vegan cheese – of all the pointless wastes of culinary time.
‘Yes, lovely. So, how’s tricks? Made another million this week?’ I asked.
‘Ha! Almost but not quite. How’s things with you?’ Kate forked another helping of what looked like grass clippings into her mouth.
‘You’ll get indigestion, you keep scarfing it down like that. Eating at your desk isn’t good for you, you know?’
‘Yes, Mum. Can’t be helped. I’m swamped with work.’ Kate held up a handful of manila folders to illustrate her point. ‘And don’t change the subject.’
‘I’m not. There isn’t much to tell. Work’s still horrendous. Trish is as lazy as ever. But it’s a job. Pays the bills.’
‘I wish you’d let me help you out. You should quit and do something more fulfilling. Write that novel you’re always saying you want to.’
‘Nice idea but not very practical, I’m afraid,’ I said. ‘It’s all right for you, you found a career you enjoy and you’re making a bloody fortune doing it. We can’t all be that lucky.’
‘Luck has nothing to do with it. I always knew what I wanted to do, and I went for it.’
This was very true; Kate had always been very single minded when it came to her career. She’d worked her way up from the financial trading floor at the Stock Exchange in London, to become one of her company’s most successful hedge fund managers. She’d made the move to New York almost three years ago, when the offer of her dream job had come in, and I hadn’t seen her in the flesh since she left. Thank God for the Internet; that was how we’d kept in regular touch when a combination of circumstances and lack of funds had kept me here in London. I was desperate for the chance to see her again.
‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, then?’ asked Kate.
‘Can’t I just call my little sister because I feel like it? Why does there have to be a reason?’
Kate raised a single eyebrow in reply.
‘Fine. There is something.’
Kate waved her plastic fork triumphantly. ‘I knew it! What is it? No, don’t tell me. You’ve finally given up being lonely and celibate and you’re getting married again?’
‘Fuck off. Don’t be so ridiculous.’
‘Why is that ridiculous? Don’t tell me you never think about it.’
‘I don’t think about it,’ I said, matter-of-factly. This was the truth however strange people might find it. I’d never thought about being in the position where I’d meet someone I’d want to share my life with again. The idea of starting over with someone new, having to do the whole dating thing, was just too awful to contemplate. I shuddered at the thought of ‘first dates’ and having to make small talk with a virtual stranger; telling all your stories, trying to make yourself sound interesting. No, thanks.
‘Okay, no need to bite my head off. What’s up, then?’ asked Kate, shovelling another mouthful of green stuff into her mouth.
‘I’m thinking of coming to visit you. If I can swing it with work, that is. The kids are busy with their own lives so I thought it would be a perfect time. Rachel might come with me too. Not sure about that yet. What do you think?’
My sister looked up from her lunch. ‘Sorry, I think the vegan cheese has addled my brain,’ she said, flinging the remains of her lunch into the bin under her desk. ‘I could have sworn you just said you were coming to New York.’
‘I did. If I can get the time off, that is. It’s not definite yet.’
‘Oh, my God! It would be so amazing to see you. What can I do? Can I help? Shall I pay for your flight?’ She opened her desk drawer and pulled out her purse, poised to hand over her credit card details.
‘No. You don’t need to do that. I might want some recommend
ations for places to stay. Nothing too expensive but nothing too crappy either,’ I said. Kate looked surprised.
‘You can stay with me. You don’t need a hotel.’
‘Are you sure? Rachel too? Have you got room?’ My sister might be making a fortune at work, but I didn’t know if her apartment was big enough for all of us. Despite what the makers of Friends had led us to believe, where a chef and a shop worker could afford a two bedroom apartment with open plan living space and a balcony, real estate in New York was expensive and hard to come by.
‘I’ll figure something out, don’t worry. It’ll be fun.’
My better judgement told me that it had the potential to be a disaster, three grown women in a cramped apartment, but my bank balance begged to differ. If we stayed with Kate, then I could afford to go – just about. I wouldn’t have much cash to spare but I could just about make it work.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ I asked.
Kate didn’t even hesitate. ‘No! It will be awesome. Oh, God, this is going to be so great!’ Kate bounced up and down in her chair, clapping her hands together with excitement. ‘We can go out, have dinner, go clubbing, you can meet all the people I work with.’
‘Hold on, hold on. Calm down a bit. I’m too old for clubbing and too boring to meet all your glamorous New York buddies.’
‘Rubbish,’ exclaimed Kate. ‘They’ll all love you. When are you coming? Are you sure you won’t let me book your flight for you? We can call it an early Christmas present.’
‘You don’t need to do that. I can buy my own ticket. I’ll send you an email with all my flight info as soon as I’ve booked.’
Kate looked up from the screen and then at her watch. ‘Bloody hell, is that the time? Evie, I’ve got to get to a meeting. Message me when you have everything sorted. All right? I love you, can’t believe I’m going to be seeing you soon!’ Kate’s face froze and then disappeared from the screen and I was left wondering what the hell I’d just let myself in for.
City of Second Chances Page 5
