Chapter 5
Once we’d passed through the lengthy and highly inefficient passport check system at JFK, which the presence of two airport employees somehow worsened rather than improved, we emerged into the arrivals area at about midnight, local time.
I was immediately overwhelmed. I pulled my headphones up and over my ears and activated the noise-cancelling mode, my muscles untensing slightly at the shred of sonic relief… which was immediately interrupted by Mum pulling them back down.
‘Flo, I need you to be present. We’ve got to find the taxi rank. Okay?’
I nodded and cast my eyes upwards, trying to ignore all the fluorescent lights and digital tablets displaying scrolling names that various drivers were brandishing about.
Anneka was busy taking selfies of herself in front of a giant poster that featured the Manhattan skyline, so it appeared to be down to me to extract us from these frankly ridiculous circumstances.
Eventually, I found the relevant sign. ‘Right, it’s this way. ’
‘Anneka, love! Taxis are out here!’ Mum called.
My sister pocketed her phone and the three of us pushed our overflowing luggage trolley out through the automatic doors.
The coldness felt delicious against my stress-flushed cheeks.
It was noticeably nippier here than it had been in the UK, and I even detected a few snowflakes in the air, although they weren’t sticking to the ground.
We quickly spotted the lengthy caterpillar of custard-yellow cars that formed the taxi rank.
‘I’ll handle this,’ Anneka stated confidently, as she strode up to the first vehicle.
‘Hey, we’re from England! And we’d like to go to a hotel called The Earle Inn next to Washington Square Park, please! What’s your best price?’
The driver replied monotonously, without eye contact. ‘Seventy. Plus tolls.’
‘Can you do a little better than that?’ Anneka asked.
‘Seventy. Fixed rate. You wanna ride a not?’
Anneka looked over at us, her brown eyes wide with uncertainty. My sister was the most confident human I knew, but even though she projected the image of worldly wisdom, the truth was she always relied on Mum – or me, if she was desperate enough – to bail her out.
I frantically Googled whether this was some kind of scam, deciding to ignore my rising panic about roaming charges, before giving Mum a quick nod.
‘All good, let’s go!’ said Mum, making her way towards the boot of the cab that the driver had popped open from his seat. He didn’t bother to help us load in the luggage. Anneka grabbed Mum’s bag before she had a chance to lift it in.
‘You rest now, Mum,’ she said. For once, Mum didn’t argue about the instruction.
The car journey to Manhattan was blissfully quiet, our energy levels having settled into a rare moment of harmony.
As we drove over what Google Maps informed me was the Williamsburg Bridge – the driver having mumbled something about a closed tunnel – the Manhattan skyline was suddenly there, unashamedly bright and beckoning.
Anneka stuck her head out of the window like an excitable dog, seemingly undeterred by the sensation of icy air cascading across her face.
My mouth couldn’t help but drop open as the skyscrapers swallowed us on the other side of the bridge. Twelve hours ago, I’d been happily unconscious in an English attic, yet now I was entering one of the most exhilarating cities on earth. I just wished I felt happier about it.
We pulled up in front of a handsome building that no doubt would once have been considered grand, but now looked relatively modest compared to the rest of Manhattan’s imposing structures.
That said, the hotel still looked fancier than I was expecting.
As if detecting my fear, Mum insisted that she’d got a good price on our room at the family-run Earle Inn and that I ‘wasn’t to worry’.
But that instruction was immediately counteracted by the revelation that Anneka wasn’t checking in with us.
‘We’re all staying here, right?’ I asked.
‘Of course! Just got something to sort out quickly. Take my luggage and I’ll see you there in about half an hour.’
I had no time to interrogate the situation further as Mum had already entered through the revolving doors. I sighed and followed her in, lugging Anneka’s bags as well as my own.
‘Good evening!’ Mum chirruped in way too loud a voice for this time of night – or morning; by this point I’d totally lost track of o’clocks.
A member of staff who I assumed must be the hotel’s night manager looked up wearily from the reception desk, plastering a smile on his face while stifling a yawn. ‘Welcome to The Earle Inn, how may I help you?’
‘We have a twin room booked under the name of Jennifer Bell.’
Huh, Anneka must have her own room. I knew better than to vocalise my thoughts at this moment in time.
‘I’m afraid I’m not seeing a booking, ma’am,’ the hotel employee said, after a few taps of his keyboard and clicks of his mouse.
‘Could you check again? The name’s Bell, as in… “oh look here, a bell!”’
Mum dinged the reception bell for emphasis, which the employee promptly silenced with his fingertips. His reflexes suggested that similar bell-related occurrences happened way more often than he’d like.
‘Sorry, I’m certain there’s no booking. Our next guests aren’t due until tomorrow.’
Now it was Mum’s turn to look at me wide-eyed.
I sighed. Here we go again. ‘Mum, how did you book the hotel?’
‘On . Or something like that.’
‘Right. And do you have the booking reference?’
‘Oh, I dunno! Here’s my phone; you have a look.’
She unlocked the battered handset and handed it over. I connected to the hotel Wi-Fi, navigated to her emails and searched for the name of the hotel. I found the booking confirmation and showed it to the receptionist.
He frowned, as he typed the digits into his system. ‘Okay, I can now see we tried to take payment three times yesterday, but it was declined each time. Which automatically cancelled the booking. You should have received a notification about it?’
Mum swallowed visibly, but kept smiling.
‘Please tell me you still have the room?’ Mum sounded uncharacteristically desperate.
He clicked his mouse a few times, no longer bothering to hide his yawns. ‘We have a room, but it’s a double, not a twin.’
‘We shall take it, good sir.’ Mum was now speaking in some weird, faux-posh English accent as if that would somehow endear her to New York’s sleepiest employee. He really must have seen it all.
The employee began inputting Mum’s details into the system.
In the meantime, I took a step back and looked around the lobby of The Earle Inn for the first time.
It was a little dated but… cute. The art deco interior looked original, rather than something that had been cynically retrofitted.
There was a modest but welcoming Christmas tree aglow at the foot of a curved staircase, which was practically screaming to be climbed while running your hand along the smooth, wooden banister.
Panelled walls, a gleaming black-and-white tiled floor and an array of doorways, corners and nooks filled with comfy-looking armchairs and original art all added to the welcoming, homely vibe.
In short, despite my deep reservations about being within the walls of this hotel at all, I couldn’t help but get a good feeling from the building, as if it had been waiting for me, somehow.
Stop making yourself the main character in a non-existent romance movie, Flora. You shouldn’t be here and you know it.
The night manager swivelling his screen around to show Mum the price of the room interrupted my thoughts.
My mouth dropped open at the figure: $2,450.
I swallowed my shock as Mum handed over her card.
She refused to meet my gaze as the payment went through, instead staring intently at the man behind the desk and grinning, fully committing to her matriarchal charm offensive.
Once the transaction was complete, he handed us a couple of keycards. ‘The elevator’s round the corner. You’re on the third floor.’
‘Thanks a squillion!’
‘What’s with the accent, Mum?’ I asked, as soon as the lift doors had closed. ‘You sound like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins – with added helium.’
‘It’s always good to make yourself memorable.’
I couldn’t have disagreed with her more. I had so many questions. But where to even start?
‘Mum, how on earth can you and Anneka afford—’
‘I don’t want you worrying about any of that,’ Mum said sternly. ‘I’ve been saving up for this trip for a long time, that’s all you need to know. I’m sorry about the payment situation just now, but I forgot I got a new debit card a couple of weeks ago. No more questions about money, Flo.’
‘But, Mum—’
‘No more questions. Please.’
We dragged our luggage along the corridor from the lift to our room, the retro swirly carpet and textured wallpaper creating an optical illusion of endlessness that reminded me of The Shining, to the extent that I half-expected a blonde boy on a trike to emerge at any moment.
But, yet again, despite my intellectual urge to be suspicious of this place, the overall effect was one of nostalgia and comfort as opposed to claustrophobia and imminent Daddy-stabby rampage.
We finally arrived at our door, the very last room along the hallway, and Mum beeped us in.
‘Ooh, cosy! Oh, come and look at the bathroom, Flo!’
‘Cosy’ was an understatement. Beyond a small desk, the world’s narrowest ‘wardrobe’ and a modest amount of floor space that would barely fit all our luggage closed, let alone open, the room was basically a double bed in a box.
I squeezed myself past the end of it and stuck my head into the bathroom, relieved that there was a bathtub as well as an overhead shower.
I much preferred to wash myself while reclined rather than upright.
Again, I noted the tiling and fixtures looked original, but clean and well-maintained.
If I was staying here alone – or with a partner – I’d probably be thrilled.
The sound of my mum’s fly unzipping shattered my fantastical thoughts.
‘Mum! Can’t you at least wait until I’ve left the bathroom?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, we’re fami—’
The soundwaves of her final syllable didn’t make it through the now-closed bathroom door. I lifted my suitcase onto the bed and unfastened it, keen to locate my pyjamas, climb under the covers and slip into sleep as soon as humanly possible.
‘Where the hell is Anneka?’ I called, as I rummaged through the most messily packed luggage I’d ever associated with my name. Will had introduced me to the concept of packing cubes on our first overseas holiday together and I’d never looked back.
‘We couldn’t all rock up together – they’d get suspicious. She’ll be here in a bit.’
‘Here? As in, in this room?’
I looked around me to confirm what I already knew: there was barely enough space for me and Mum, let alone for an additional taller-than-average adult woman.
‘Like I said: “cosy”!’ Mum shouted, followed by the sound of the toilet flushing.
My mouth dropped open in horror as I once again evaluated the minute footprint of the room, as if I was hoping to discover a secret door to another bedroom I’d somehow missed.
Sure, ‘there’s only one bed’ was one of my favourite romance tropes, but that involved simmering sexual tension between humans who weren’t related to each other.
‘I’m pretty sure this room can only legally sleep two people, Mum, and I reckon even that’s a push.’
Mum re-emerged from the bathroom and sat on the bed next to me. ‘Flo: you need to slow down that brain of yours. We’re in New York! Who’d have thought the three of us would have ended up here? Isn’t it wonderful?!’
‘Yeah, of course, and I really appreciate all the effort you’ve gone to, but—’
‘No “buts” allowed this week, Flora. Stop trying to foresee everything that might go wrong. Take a deep breath.’
I feigned one, my mind refusing to absorb her words. I’d been in so many questionable scenarios with Mum and Anneka over the years that it was practically impossible to expect this one to play out positively.
‘Did you just fake a deep breath?’
I nodded bashfully, and she chucked a pillow at me.
‘Right, let’s take this one step at a time. Firstly: what are you trying to find in your suitcase and how can I help?’
I took an actual deep breath and smiled. ‘My pyjamas.’
‘Ah.’
‘“Ah”? What does that mean?’
‘Well, I couldn’t find your pyjamas back at your flat, but I did find…’ She dug through the heap of my underwear and extracted the flimsy, silky nightdress I’d been saving for my wedding night. ‘…this.’
‘Mum!’
She fell onto the bed, laughing. And, despite everything, I couldn’t help but do the same.