‘Shall I help you write an email?’ I ask, looking at my watch. ‘I can stay a while, I don’t have any plans. No plans at all.’
‘No plans at all? On a Friday night? Jeez, Olive.’ Birdie shakes her head in exasperation.
‘Shuddup,’ I say. ‘I like a good Friday night in!’
‘And Saturdays and Sundays and Mondays and all of the days… Oh Brewster, what am I gonna do with you?’
‘We’re not talking about me,’ I grumble. ‘What I’m saying is that I’d be happy to stay and write an email with you. Even if I did have plans, I’d cancel them.’
‘Well, the thing is,’ Birdie says, pulling a face, ‘I don’t have Chuck’s email address. Or his phone number. No contact details at all.’
‘Did you check Facebook? Google him? He must be on Twitter or Instagram.’
Birdie nods. ‘Yeah I checked, but there’s nothing on there. He doesn’t have any social media accounts. It’s weird. It’s like… he’s vanished.’
‘No online footprint? That is weird,’ I agree, my imagination immediately going into overdrive as it tends to do. ‘Hmmm. Maybe he’s in prison now? Or maybe he’s in witness protection and had to change his name? Maybe he lives in the jungle as a nomad with no contact to the outside world?’
Birdie shushes me before my ideas about Chuck’s potential demise become more and more outlandish. ‘I couldn’t find anything about him online,’ she says. ‘But I do have his parents’ last known address. That’s where Chuck lived when we were dating. And… I was hoping you’d do me a huge favour.’
‘Anything!’ I say at once. ‘Whatever you need, I’m your girl. Ya grrrrl.’
With a small smile Birdie gets up from her chair and, pulling her IV bag with her, strolls over to the little cabinet at the side of the bed. She opens it up and pulls out a thick, creamy white envelope.
‘I wrote Chuck a letter.’
‘Great! Okay, I’ll go and post it, of course. I’ll do it now, shall I?’
I reach to take the letter from her.
‘No… I… I need you to take it to Chuck. In person.’
I blink, what is she on about?
‘To America,’ she says. ‘To New York. And… I need you to leave tomorrow.’
Chapter Four
Text from Donna Pickering: What time will you be back, Olive? You never mentioned and it would be super appreciated to know when exactly you’ll be returning to the house! Alex and I are watching a movie and don’t want to be interrupted if poss. Thanks!
Frowning, I shake my head at Birdie. ‘Actual America? The… country America? New York, America?’
I feel the blood drain from my face. I’ve never even left the north-west of England, let alone been on a plane. Planes go in the sky and my fear of heights is legendary. I won’t even sit on the top deck of the bus! And planes fly across the sea and since the time I almost drowned in a community centre pool when I was fourteen, I have a fear of water too! I can’t go on a plane! Across an ocean! To a foreign country! On my own! Without prior notice! That’s not a thing a person like me does!
‘You don’t know that Chuck’s even there in New York, though,’ I say quickly. ‘And if you have his parents’ address can’t we just post the letter there? That seems like a less… bonkers plan?’
Birdie grimaces. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but I wouldn’t if it weren’t truly important. I just really feel like I need Chuck to get this letter. I can’t stop thinking about it and I don’t want any regrets.’ She buries her head in her hands. ‘I feel like a real shit for asking. But if we post the letter it could get lost. And his relationship with his parents was always rocky. Even if they still live at that address – I think they probably do, but I don’t know for sure because its unlisted and I can’t call – they might not give it to him. And… it’s not like I have a great deal of time left to wait around.’
My heart drops.
‘You might?’ I say weakly.
Birdie shakes her head no. ‘I was thinking that if you go in person you could start at his parents’ house. Or their old house. Whatever it turns out to be. And go from there. Chuck loved New York City. I can’t imagine him being anywhere else. We have to at least try! You’re the only person I trust to get my letter into his hands. You’re my best chance. My only chance, really. And I know you’re scared. I know you hate the thought of international travel. But… I need this. I really do. I’ve got my surgery in two weeks and… I’m scared. What if it doesn’t go well? What if I don’t have all my affairs sorted and…?’
Fuck. Fuck.
I think… I think Birdie’s giving me a last request.
Shit. This is crazy! This is a horrible, crazy conversation that two twenty-something best friends should never have.
Tears spring to my eyes. I wipe them away before they can splodge onto my face and clear my throat.
‘What about work? And where will I stay?’ I ask, starting to pace the floor around the small room.
Birdie sits up straighter in her chair, her eyes shining. ‘You’re not saying no…? Okay. Gosh. Okay. Well, you never take time off. Joan and Joan will let you go if you tell them why. And an old high-school acquaintance is letting me use her Airbnb rental. I will pay. I’ll pay for everything, your food and drink, your taxi fares, everything.’
When she’s not in hospital, Birdie works as a freelance digital artist. She doesn’t make a lot of new stuff these days but her huge colourful prints sell pretty well online. But this sounds expensive…
‘I promise I can afford it,’ she says. ‘My friend is giving me an amazing deal on her studio apartment and the last-minute flights are really quite cheap.’
My insides wobble. She really means this. She’s properly thought about it. She’s planned it, even.
I can’t say no.
What kind of person says no to a dying wish?
I look at her looking at me desperately and feel a swell of love and sadness for my dear friend.
‘I’ll do it,’ I say, much to my own surprise.
Birdie exhales with relief, clapping her hands and pulling me into a hug, her skinny arms squeezing me tight. ‘Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,’ she whispers, leaning her head onto my shoulder. ‘Hey, you never know, you might like it.’
A massive busy city in a country that I don’t know? Strangers? Planes? Someone else’s bed? Trying to find a man called Chuck with no solid knowledge of where he might be?
‘Yeah, you never know!’ I say brightly, hugging her back, the pair of us getting tangled in her IV wire.
But I seriously doubt it.
It’s late afternoon when I leave the hospital. I walk out into the cold, cloudy spring air, gulping it in as I head towards the bus stop into town. Joan and Joan work the stall on Fridays so I agreed with Birdie that I’d pay them a visit and ask to take some days off. I think they’re going to be pretty peeved with me. I’m usually so reliable. Taller Joan once told me that I was as regular as clockwork, which I took as a great compliment.
Once I’d said yes to going to New York to deliver her letter, Birdie swung into action, her energy and excitement doing little to quell the swirling nerves in my stomach. She got out her laptop and in less than half an hour she’d booked the flights, arranged the Airbnb and bought my insurance all while I watched, still stunned that this was even happening.
I get on the bus, clutching the jigsaw puzzle to my chest. After Birdie said she didn’t want it, I tried to give it to one of the geriatric wards. They didn’t want it either, though, on account that it was ‘so very eerie-looking’. I suppose I’ll just keep it for myself.
When I reach the market, I pass the stalls I’ve been passing for the last nine years, waving to the friendly faces of the stallholders I see each day. There’s Old Bob with his fabric stall, Mr Rishi who sells shoes and trainers. And there’s Camembert Cath, shouting out to all potential customers nearby that she has the most reasonably priced cheese in town and that they should come check out her
Sussex Slipcote, taste a bit of her old Gallybagger, sample her glorious Balcombe Brown Ring.
The fish stall is pretty quiet for a Friday afternoon and I spot Joan and Joan leaning against the wall, sipping paper cups of tea and nattering intently.
‘Ladies… do you sell goldfish?’ I ask when I reach the counter, putting on a daft deep voice.
‘Look who it is!’ Taller Joan trills when she sees me, her tanned, wrinkled face breaking into a warm smile.
‘Hiya love! What the bloody hell are you doing here on your day off?’ Tall Joan mock-scolds me.
My cheeks get all warm and I bite my lip nervously. ‘I… Well… I’m here because… I was actually wondering if I could… take a few days off?’ I say, shoving my hands into the pocket of my coat. ‘Five days to be exact.’
The Joans look at each other in surprise. ‘Of course love!’ Tallest Joan says right away. ‘Absolutely.’
Shit. I think a part of me was hoping she’d refuse. Or at least make it seem like me going would be a hardship, rather than sounding as if she’ll pack my cases herself!
‘Is everything okay, flower?’ Tall Joan asks.
I nod and explain about Birdie’s request that I go to New York, find her ex-boyfriend and give him her letter.
‘I wouldn’t ask, but she’s getting sicker every month and she really wants me to do this,’ I finish.
‘What is it that’s wrong with her again?’ Tallest Joan asks, putting her hands into the front pocket of her apron.
‘Lupus,’ I say. ‘It’s an autoimmune disease.’
Tall Joan shakes her head. ‘My friend Margie has that. And she’s all right most of the time! I didn’t think it was serious!’
‘It’s manageable in most people,’ I explain. ‘But Birdie already had heart issues and now the lupus is affecting her kidneys pretty badly. She’s had a gazillion treatments over the years, but things are getting worse.’
‘How terrible.’ Taller Joan shakes her head sadly. ‘Well you must go and find this Chunk.’
‘Chuck.’
‘Right, yes. It all sounds very urgent.’
I step to the side as a customer approaches the counter and orders some scallops.
I nod. ‘I suppose it is,’ I say with a grimace. I hate urgency. Urgent is never a good state to be in. ‘My flight is at 6 a.m. in the morning,’ I add, thinking about how little time I have to prepare. At the hospital Birdie stressed how little time she had to waste, that of course the Joans would say yes and that she got a much better deal on a last minute flight booking.
‘You take as much time off as you need,’ Tall Joan says as she puts the scallops into a tray. ‘It’ll be good for you to experience a new place.’
I like this place just fine!
‘Yeah…’ I say faintly.
‘Here,’ Taller Joan smiles, pressing the till so that the money tray shoots open with a lovely round ringing sound. She pulls out three twenty-pound notes. ‘Call it a bonus.’ She holds out the cash in my direction.
‘I can’t take that!’ I wave her away. ‘I haven’t earned it.’
‘You bloody have,’ Tall Joan says firmly. ‘You work so hard here. And you’re never sick. You’re going to need some spends for the airport. Get yourself a new perfume from duty-free. Or a nice book to read on the plane.’
I do love perfume. And books. But not airports. I mean, I’ve never been to one, but I’m pretty certain I do not like them. They’re full of strangers for a start.
‘Take it, you daft sod, before someone runs past and nicks it.’
Heartened by her generosity, I take the money from Taller Joan and tuck it carefully into my satchel.
They’re being really nice about this. Like they really want me to go.
‘Will you even manage without me?’ I ask. ‘I don’t want to inconvenience you!’
‘We’ll manage fine, won’t we, Joan!’
‘Of course we will, Joan.’
‘We’ll keep this place ticking over!’
‘Right! Um. Okay.’ I look at each of them suspiciously. They seem very, very keen for me to go. Almost too keen.
‘You best get packing,’ Tall Joan says with a bright, innocent smile. ‘See you when you get back.’
‘Bye now, Olive!’ Taller Joan adds before turning to serve a new customer.
Okay.
I guess that’s sorted.
I give the Joans a goodbye wave and shuffle off back through the market to the tram stop.
Right then.
I’m really doing this.
I’m going to New York City.
On my own.
Shit!
Chapter Five
Olive’s recent search history:
Packing for America + tips??
Chances of 27-year-old getting deep-vein thrombosis on long-haul flight
Plane crash statistics
Final Destination plane crash scene
What is Jack out of Dawson’s Creek up to now?
Airbnb safe?
Airbnb murders
(incognito search) Atonement library sex scene
The last time I went away for any length of time was in 2013. Birdie bought me a spa trip to Cheshire in an effort to get me to ‘unclench my uptight butt’. And that was only two days away from home in a nearby county, so hardly an epic voyage. I found the whole thing pretty stressful, to be honest. The duvet at the spa was different to my duvet and I couldn’t get to sleep. And there was a big open fire in one of the communal areas that I dreamt was going to somehow catch onto the curtains and set the whole place aflame, chargrilling us all to our untimely deaths. That was two days in a place less than an hour away from my house. This? This is a whole different story.
I try to distract myself from the nerves swishing in my belly, by applying myself wholeheartedly to the task of packing. I glance across my bed. I can no longer see the crisp white duvet cover because it is absolutely crowded with stuff. Clothes for every occasion, toiletries for every occasion, reading glasses, books for every mood, my favourite Miller Harris perfume for when I need to feel confident and my old faithful Avon perfume for when I need comfort, my entire skin care regimen, a mini first aid kit, big coat, little coat, shoes for walking slowly, shoes for running, shoes for casual dinner, shoes for fancy dinner, slippers, slipper socks, all kinds of footwear. In a neat pile next to it I have my selection of bras. Comfy bra, sleep bra, strapless bra, padded bra, bra that makes my boobs look very pointy but goes well underneath my red tea dress, bra that doesn’t really do anything at all and went pinky grey in the wash but I am immovably attached to.
I glance down at my average-sized suitcase and bury my head into my hands. How do people do this? I need more time to figure this out! How on earth am I going to get this all done by 3 a.m. when I need to set off to the airport?
For the gazillionth time since I left the hospital, I pick up my phone and open up my texts to Birdie. And then for the gazillionth time I close it seconds later. What am I going to do? Cancel? I can’t! I won’t. Birdie is relying on me and there’s no way I’m going to let her down, not now, not when it matters so much.
While I’m staring at the pile of gloves I have managed to accumulate into the mix, there’s a light knock on my door.
‘You may enter,’ I call out.
Alex pops his head round the door, his soft round face grimacing as he sees the state of my room. There was a time when he wouldn’t even knock, just burst in and plonk himself down onto my bed for a natter. But since he’s been with Donna we seem to have settled into a polite awkwardness.
‘Oh dear,’ he says, wandering in, eyes searching for a place to sit and unable to find one.
‘I know.’ I gesture around the room, shaking my head. ‘I’ve been trying to reduce the piles for the past hour but I’m finding it… tricky.’
Alex picks up a pile of scarves from where they’re laid out over my easy chair.
‘Well you can start here. Nobody needs to take ten scarve
s anywhere.’
‘An attendee of a scarf festival would,’ I say reasonably.
‘There’s no such thing as a scarf festival.’
‘Actually yeah, there is! Where else would folk gather to celebrate the beauty of a well-woven chunky knit?’
Alex shakes his head, but I’m actually telling the truth. There is such a festival and if it wasn’t held in some remote Scottish village with a history of terrible stormy weather then I would definitely be going.
I gather the scarves to my chest. I cannot choose between them. It took me thirty minutes to choose these final ten that were still in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Scarf For My Neck. ‘I have scarves for all occasions here, every type of weather, every type of outfit. What if I leave the wrong ones behind?’
‘You’re going to New York, not Easter Island. If you find yourself in need of a different scarf you will be able to buy one. If you find yourself in need of a different hat, or coat or pair of shoes, they have shops! They have lots of shops in New York! It’s all shops, pretty much. And you’re only there for five days!’
‘Yeah,’ I say. Of course he’s right. I am being daft. I just don’t want to come unstuck when I’m there.
Alex puts his hand on my arm. ‘You know you don’t have to go, right?’
I frown. ‘I’m helping Birdie! I have to!’
Donna pops her head around the door. ‘You don’t actually, Olive,’ she says, casually joining in the conversation as if she’s been listening behind the door.
‘Of course I do! She’s my best friend. She’s…’ I swallow hard. ‘She’s dying. She’s requested this of me.’
Donna nods. ‘It’s terrible, truly terrible that she’s so unwell.’
‘Dying.’
‘Yes. Of course, Olive. But a true friend wouldn’t ask you to just up and leave your life, to go to America of all places to look for a complete stranger! It’s dangerous there. Guns, mobsters, super-sized portions.’
Big Sexy Love: The laugh out loud romantic comedy that everyone's raving about! Page 3
