Take A Look At Me Now

by Miranda Dickinson

  Vicky clearly thought I was referring to the pub at the end of the street. ‘Don’t blame you. Call me tonight when you get home, OK?’

  I watched her slumping frame shuffle away and finally allowed myself to feel the excitement that had been steadily building within me. Taking a deep breath, I turned and walked purposefully down the street, my resolve building with each step.

  This is it, Nell Sullivan: this is your time.

  A few blocks down from the Council building, I stopped outside a small travel agency. Its windows were filled with cards promising exciting destinations and deals. It was as if I was staring at a gallery of possibilities, each smiling model asking me the same question:

  Where are you going, Nell Sullivan?

  A young male sales advisor with startlingly lustrous black hair smiled as I entered, his friendly expression flickering a little when I put my cardboard box on his desk. The bushy fronds of my desk plant spilled over the edge of the box, while my stolen office stapler – one final act of defiance against my now former employer – caught the light from his computer monitor.

  ‘How can I help?’ he managed, scrabbling to reconstruct his professionalism. His name badge read: Hi, I’m Josh.

  ‘I want to know where I can go for –’ I pulled the folded redundancy notice from my jacket pocket and handed it to him to show him the sum my former employer was willing to pay to be rid of me ‘– this much.’

  ‘Um, well, lots of places,’ Josh stammered, his travel agent training clearly not having covered crazy customers with pot plants and cardboard boxes. ‘Where would you like to go?’

  I hadn’t considered this far ahead in my plan. ‘I’m not sure. I want to do something exciting, something just for me. I’ve just been made redundant, you see.’

  ‘Wow. I’m sorry to hear that. When?’

  ‘About three hours ago.’

  ‘Heck, that’s awful. So you definitely deserve a treat.’ He smiled and heaved a huge stack of brochures onto his desk. ‘OK, let’s start with the kind of things you fancy doing on holiday. Beach?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I want to move about more, I think.’

  ‘No problem.’ He pulled out four brochures and dropped them onto the floor by the side of his desk. ‘Ski holiday? Watersports?’

  ‘No. I don’t mind activities but I don’t want to just focus on that.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Two more brochures were eliminated from the pile. ‘How about a trek? Some kind of adventure trip?’

  ‘Maybe.’ I tried to picture myself hiking across the Gobi Desert, or climbing the Great Wall of China. Even with the most optimistic version of myself this seemed a little extreme. ‘Actually, no.’

  Another brochure was dropped to the brown carpet. ‘Good. We’re making progress.’ After several more questions, Josh’s slightly russet features worked into a smile and he held up a thick brochure. ‘How about the USA?’

  On its cover were Rocky Mountains, Las Vegas signs, bustling cities, New England autumn trees and the majestic sweep of the Grand Canyon. ‘America – where anything can happen’ was emblazoned across the images and instantly I felt my heart racing.

  ‘Yes! That looks amazing.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Josh nodded and began to flick through the glossy pages. ‘So – America pretty much has something for everyone. What do you want to do? Cities? Beach? Fly-drive?’

  My mind was racing. ‘I – I don’t know. Where would you suggest?’

  ‘Personally, I love Vegas. But Florida is great if you want beaches and theme parks. If history’s your thing there’s New England or Philadelphia. Or how about one of the cities? New York? Chicago? San Francisco …?’

  ‘That’s it!’ I yelled, making Josh jump and a middle-aged female customer at the next desk frown at me. Giggling, I lowered my voice. ‘Sorry. My cousin Lizzie lives in San Francisco. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before. I could visit her.’

  ‘Well, it would certainly keep your costs down if you could arrange some of your accommodation.’

  ‘It would.’ A thought occurred to me. ‘Actually, would you mind if I just made a phone call?’

  ‘Um, sure. Be my guest.’ From Josh’s expression it was clear this latest development couldn’t make his current customer any odder in his eyes.

  I checked my watch, mentally calculating the current time in San Francisco. Seven hours behind GMT – so Lizzie would be just getting up. Or at least that was what I hoped. I dialled her number, willing her to pick up. After more rings than were comfortable, the call connected and a sleepy voice spoke.

  ‘Hello …?’

  ‘Lizzie, it’s Nell. Did I wake you?’

  ‘Who …? Oh Nellie! Hi! Sorry, I’ve not had my coffee yet. How are you? Why on earth are you calling me at seven fifteen in the morning? Is everything alright?’

  I giggled. ‘I’m fine. Well, apart from losing my job today. It’s so good to speak to you!’

  ‘You lost your job? Oh Nell, that’s terrible! I’m so sorry …’

  ‘It’s OK, honestly. But I have a bit of a favour to ask – and please say no if it’s going to be an imposition …’

  ‘Ask away.’ I could hear the whirr of a coffee machine in the background and tried to imagine my cousin’s apartment in the colourful Haight-Ashbury district of the city that I’d seen from the photos she’d sent with her annual Christmas letter to me.

  ‘I’m going to get some redundancy money and I’ve decided I want to do something different for a few weeks. How would you feel if I came to visit you?’

  The squeal from my cousin reverberated around the travel agency, eliciting another disdainful glance from the disgruntled customer next to me.

  ‘That would be amazing! How long do you want to come for?’

  Everything was progressing with such speed that I hadn’t even considered how long my adventure was going to last. Plucking a number from thin air, I replied, ‘Six weeks?’

  ‘Great. Or why not make it eight?’

  ‘Lizzie, would that be OK?’

  ‘Of course! It’ll give you a chance to sightsee and really get a feel for the place. And I can show you around – you can meet my friends and be an honorary San Franciscan!’

  Five minutes later, I ended the call. It was happening so fast, but it felt right. My mind was made up – there was no time to waste. ‘Right. I’d like to go to San Francisco next week. For two months, please!’

  Two months in a brand new city. Two months to experience everything San Francisco had to offer me. Two months to throw caution to the wind and be somebody different to dutiful Nell Sullivan, former Assistant Planning Officer. It was perfect …

  CHAPTER THREE

  Pack up your troubles

  ‘You’re doing what?’

  My housemates – Charlotte, Sarah and Tom – were staring at me as if I’d just dyed my hair green. Already suspicious when I’d called a house meeting, they were now sitting like the Three Wise (and Grumpy) Monkeys on the faded IKEA sofa in the living room of our shared house in Woodford. I couldn’t blame them for their suspicion: the last time we’d had a house meeting was six years ago to find out which of us knew the slightly odd man who had been sleeping on our sofa since a house party the week before. (It turned out, none of us did – and we had, in fact, been feeding and housing a random bloke who’d wandered in from the street while the party was in full flow …)

  ‘I lost my job yesterday. So I’m going to San Francisco for eight weeks,’ I repeated, hoping this time they would understand.

  They didn’t.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Sarah crossed her long legs and looked at me like the headmistress she was working hard to become. Her teacher’s tone, when inflicted, could reduce a grown man to tears. I had seen this happen on several occasions, more often than not the man in question being her boyfriend Tom, who now appeared to be cowering on my behalf. ‘Have you even thought this through? What are you going to do for money once your redundancy payment runs out?
And what about your room, Nell? We can’t afford to carry two people on the dole.’

  She shot an accusing look at Tom, who visibly winced. It was common knowledge that Sarah had been supporting him financially since he was laid off from a London advertising agency. Tom’s experience of unemployment was another reason why I didn’t want to stay in the UK wallowing. He might have been content to spend the last six months in his pyjamas playing X-Box and watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta, but it was my idea of hell.

  ‘I am trying to get a job,’ he protested, sounding more like a whining three-year-old than a tragic victim of the recession. ‘It’s tough out there. For what it’s worth, Nell, I think you’ve got the right idea. Get out while you can.’

  ‘Tom …’ Sarah growled through gritted teeth, ‘you’re not helping.’ She turned back to me. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Nell, I think you’re being completely irresponsible.’

  Charlotte, who up until now had remained silent, folded her arms and nodded in agreement. In all the time we’d shared a house, I hadn’t managed to click with her. My latest bombshell was unlikely to change this.

  ‘Well, that’s your opinion,’ I replied. They had never shown much interest in my life to this point, beyond when rent was due or if I’d been baking. I could hardly expect them to start now. ‘But I want to do this. And if it backfires horribly, I’m happy to bear the consequences.’

  As if I didn’t exist, Charlotte turned to Sarah, flicking her too-straight blonde hair – which, apart from her eyes that seemed to stare directly through your skull, was her only truly remarkable feature. ‘Dave could move in.’

  ‘Could he?’ Sarah’s mood lifted from annoyed to mildly ruffled.

  ‘I think so. He has a good job –’ she aimed the emphasis directly at me, but I was impervious to it ‘– he’s reliable and he’d make a great housemate.’

  ‘Um, Nell’s still here?’ Tom said, but Sarah wasn’t listening. Clearly Charlotte’s suggestion appealed to her. Knowing how much like immature schoolgirls they could be I guessed she was probably already imagining the two couples playing house and co-ordinating a double wedding …

  Sarah beamed. ‘It’s perfect. When are you moving out, Nell?’

  I didn’t mind her reaction, or the blatant glee with which Charlotte and Sarah helped me to clear out my room later that day. Of course, Charlotte and Sarah made polite small talk as we worked but I knew we wouldn’t miss each other. We had never really bonded anyway – the house-share was nothing more than a sensible choice until I could afford a place of my own. The fact was we only really interacted when we passed in the hallway or occasionally met up when bills needed paying. If we’d been close friends I imagined it could have been harder to leave: as it was, they were surprisingly easy to walk away from.

  ‘Will you miss Woodford?’ Dad asked as we drove his packed Volvo through London traffic towards my parents’ home in Richmond.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Don’t blame you, Nelliegirl. Bloody awful place. Besides, your great American adventure awaits!’

  I smiled back, loving my dad today even more than usual. When I had told him and Mum yesterday about my San Francisco plans, his first reaction was to congratulate me: ‘Splendid! Don’t let the Council scum grind you down, darling …’ Initially I’d wondered how they would take the news that their daughter who’d flown the nest was now creeping back into it, but neither of them batted an eyelid.

  Mum fussed around me for the next few days, insisting on washing all of the clothes I planned to take with me and cooking all my favourite meals. It felt good to be surrounded by my parents, even if the sudden lack of personal space was more than a little challenging at first.

  Aidan made repeated attempts to contact me, at first leaving voicemail messages, then switching to text messages and finally resorting to missed calls, all of which stacked up on my mobile screen – and all of which I resolutely ignored. I was still angry with him, not least for choosing the day I’d been made redundant to try to make a move on me. I was determined not to think about him while I was away. This was my chance to focus on myself and I wasn’t likely to waste it agonising over Aidan. He’d commandeered far too much of my time already.

  As the days passed, I allowed myself to be caught up in the practicalities of my planned trip, worried that if I paused for too long I might end up reconsidering. I was doing this for me, I reminded myself whenever butterflies appeared; this was a good thing.

  The day before I was due to leave, I arranged to meet Vicky. She was agog with the news of my sudden decision and concerned that this signalled the beginning of a nervous breakdown or onset of a very early mid-life crisis.

  ‘It can’t be a mid-life crisis,’ I laughed. ‘I’m only thirty-two.’

  ‘It’s possible, Nell,’ she insisted. ‘I was reading in Cosmo last week about women who reach thirty and completely change their lives. And there was that incident where you suddenly dyed your hair black last year, remember? Even you had to admit it was a daft decision. Now, I know we’ve had a setback with losing our jobs, but don’t you think this is a little – extreme – especially for you? I mean, you’re always the one I used to rely on to get us home after a wild night out. You are Ms Sensible. I’m a bit worried about this change of direction.’

  ‘I’m just going on holiday,’ I replied, handing her a fresh gin and tonic. ‘I’m not trying to “find myself” or anything contrived like that. But I’ve played it safe for six years and never really done anything just for me. I’m not running away. I’m just taking a break.’

  Vicky had been almost convinced by this, on one condition: ‘Promise you will email me, every week. I want to make sure you’re OK. More than that, I want to know that you’re not squandering this opportunity. So I expect you to squeeze every bit of joy out of the next two months. And I expect details, missy. As often as you can.’

  I happily agreed, yet again grateful that I had such an amazing support circle around me.

  As I lay in bed that night, too excited to sleep, I wondered what the next eight weeks might hold in store for me.

  This is it, Nell Sullivan, I told myself. Tomorrow my adventure begins.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Good morning, San Francisco

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be approaching San Francisco International airport. Local time is eleven thirty a.m. It’s sunny, with a light westerly breeze and the temperature on the ground is a very pleasant twenty-two degrees Celsius. Please fasten your seat belts and place your seats and trays in the upright position …’

  ‘Almost home,’ smiled the tanned woman in the seat beside me. During the eleven-hour flight from my connection at Paris Charles de Gaulle airport, I had learned that her name was Patti, she was returning to San Francisco after a business trip to Paris and was something big in electronic security systems. When she discovered this was my first time in her city, she had launched into an enthusiastic commentary on all the places I simply had to visit: from Alcatraz to the Museum of Modern Art, Macy’s to a particular Latino-jazz bar she often frequented in the Mission District. After several waking hours of her tour suggestions, part of me felt as if I knew the city already. ‘You’re going to have the best time, honey. There’s nowhere on earth like it.’

  I gazed out of the window as the aircraft began a slow, stomach-flipping descent through the white, wispy cloudbank. The week since my momentous decision in the small Islington travel agency had passed in a blur: giving notice to my startled housemates, moving back in with my even more startled parents, applying for a visa, buying a new suitcase and clothes for my two-month American adventure and avoiding calls from Aidan, who didn’t seem to have received the message that I wanted nothing more to do with him. When I’d checked my mobile in Paris waiting for my connecting flight, the number of missed calls from him had been heading towards twenty. I had no intention of speaking to him yet. The next eight weeks of my life were a clean sheet, a chance to start afresh. O
nce this time was over I would start to think of what was next for me. But right now, Nell Sullivan was about to arrive in San Francisco with no agenda, no plan and no restrictions.

  I had been so engrossed in the details and logistics of my brilliant plan that it was only when the plane landed at San Francisco International airport that reality actually hit me. As the plane made its slow taxi along the runways towards the terminals, the sensible side of me (which had been so noticeably absent in my decision-making over the last seven days) made a magnificent return with a hissy fit to end them all.

  What am I doing? Why am I blowing all my money on this?

  I was going to a place I’d never visited before, to spend eight weeks with a cousin I hadn’t seen for years. Yes, we had been virtually inseparable during our teens, but that was a long time ago. Lizzie had undoubtedly changed and so had I. I hadn’t given her much option, calling from the travel agency and more or less holding a gun to her head. What if she had only suggested eight weeks because she felt it was the right thing to do? One thing I knew about my cousin was that she was officially the sweetest being on the planet. Growing up, she would always tie herself in knots rather than offend someone.

  In the stuffy confines of the pressurised air cabin, my nerves tipped further on edge as I lurched towards a full-blown panic attack. After we’d brought each other up to speed on our respective lives, what would we talk about then? I realised that for the last couple of years my life had more or less revolved around my job and whether Aidan and I were together or not. Even my beloved baking had taken a back seat, especially given the dubious state of the kitchen in my former house-share. Not only was I leaving all of that behind, but I also had to figure out what would fit in their place. Questions about my future waited at home to be dealt with later, but questions of the next two months of my life lay in wait for me in San Francisco. What if Lizzie wasn’t ready to welcome someone who knew so little about herself?

  Once my nerves had run themselves sufficiently ragged and we were nearing the terminal building, I began to feel decidedly more positive. Everything would be fine, I reassured myself. There was nothing I could do about any of this now – I would have to discover the answers in San Francisco.