Chapter 8
‘Twenty thousand steps! And the day isn’t even over!
’ As ever, Mum’s ancient pedometer – that she kept on a shoelace tied around her neck – had been tracking our progress via the medium of paces.
Twenty thousand steps was probably more than I usually walked in a week, let alone in a few hours.
That’s correct: it was two hours later and we were still bloody walking.
The search for ‘hot food’ had ended when we’d encountered a hot-dog stand at the nearest park exit – somehow only a few blocks south from where we’d entered Central Park what felt like days ago.
We’d devoured a couple each, along with a few bottles of Mountain Dew between us.
As far as Mum and Anneka had been concerned, this was sufficient sustenance for their next adventure: their hunt for a ‘proper American bar’.
‘I saw a promising one back near our hotel,’ Anneka had recalled.
‘Great, let’s get a cab there,’ I’d said, resigning myself to the fact that, for the time being, a soft-ish seat in the back of a moving vehicle was my best chance of physical and mental recovery.
‘No! Let’s walk!’ I should have expected this response from Mum, but it’d still felt as if someone had pelted me with a soggy sponge. Once more, I’d wished I’d been born with even a tenth of the energy that they both possessed. Whoever my dad was, he had a lot to answer for.
‘Are you sure?’ Anneka had asked Mum, her forehead creasing ever so slightly.
‘Of course! We might even find somewhere better on the way!’
‘Don’t either of you need a wee?’ I’d said, my own bladder throbbing.
‘Not me,’ Mum had replied. ‘I went back there in the bushes while we were hunting for those pods.’
‘Mum!’
‘What?! It was my first wild wee in New York; can’t you just be happy for me for once?’ Mum had snorted, causing her and Anneka to double over with laughter. My own mouth hadn’t been able to resist a few twitches.
‘We’ll find a loo on the way, promise,’ Anneka had said to me quietly, as Mum had strolled on, still using her fallen branch as a makeshift hiking pole, which now looked extremely out of place on the streets of the city.
And now, here we were, having finally reached the bar Anneka had spotted this morning on her breakfast mission – with no toilet en route, of course. Or, at least, not one that I had been willing to beg to use.
Once I’d used the restroom, I found Mum and Anneka in a cosy booth opposite the bar, Mum’s branch leaning up against the table like some kind of territory marker.
To be fair to Anneka, her ‘classic American drinking hole’ radar had been on point earlier.
‘It’s like the bar from Cheers!’ Mum had cried as we’d stepped inside, sparkling Christmas decorations adorning every single corner, rail and surface.
To me, the place looked just like the one from How I Met Your Mother.
Either way, it had felt like stepping into a TV screen.
‘You know, I think I might just head back to the hotel for a nap,’ I said, knowing full well that, as soon as I sat down in the booth, I wouldn’t want to get out of it for many, many hours; the shiny red banquette looked very much like a mattress to me right now.
‘Flo, c’mon! Just one drink. Let’s make the most of it – we’re in blimmin’ New York!’ Mum cried.
‘Yeah, I’m very much aware of that,’ I mumbled as I slid into the booth and shrugged off my coat. I immediately felt the urge to lie down. I settled for resting my head on Anneka’s shoulder instead while Mum fetched some menus from the bar.
Mum returned with three menus, each of which was practically the surface area of the entire table, and began scouring her copy with her reading glasses – attached to the same shoelace as her pedometer – as if it were a map to buried treasure.
‘Oh – my – God,’ Mum said loudly, causing me to sit bolt upright, on alert. Had she spotted a celebrity? Or had the Central Park rangers tracked us down to arrest us for the illegal removal of Kentucky coffeetree pods?
‘What? What is it, Mum?’
‘It’s happy hour!’
‘No way?!’ Anneka replied, grabbing at her own menu to confirm Mum’s declaration. ‘She’s right! Buy one get one free on cocktails until seven. Whoop! I’ll have a Manhattan – when in Rome and all that.’
‘Ooh, me too,’ Mum said.
‘I’ll get them,’ I said, now slurring through exhaustion.
I figured they could repay me with permission to leave sooner rather than later.
I hoisted myself up on to a barstool and mindlessly watched a game of hockey on one of the many TV screens displayed alongside gleaming displays of liquor, until it was my turn to be served.
‘Hello, please could I order three – so I guess that works out as six – Manhattans, please?’
‘Six Manhattans coming right up for the ladies in the booth. Let me guess – a British bachelorette party?’ he asked, while inputting the order into the till.
‘Huh?’ I asked, confused.
‘The matching T-shirts. Someone getting married?’
‘Oh, right. No.’
The very opposite, in fact.
‘And will you be eating with us today?’
‘Maybe – we’re still looking at the menus.’
‘Great, I’ll start a tab for you.’
I didn’t have the energy to push back – so much for my plan to get this round in to buy me an early exit.
‘Um, I don’t suppose you have a phone charger for an Android phone?’ I asked.
‘Sure do.’ The bartender handed me a charger. ‘There’s a socket in your booth. Take a seat and we’ll bring your drinks right over.’
Mum was now in the loo, having decided not to wee in the nearest alleyway instead.
I plugged in my phone and rested it on the table as it booted back up. Anneka had already managed to connect to the Wi-Fi and was engrossed in tapping out a message.
‘Let me guess: Marcie?’ I asked.
‘Bingo.’ Anneka glanced up with a wink.
‘Are there any updates on Jason at all, or are the messages 100 per cent filth?’
‘Oh, mainly filth, but…’ She scrolled for a few seconds before turning her phone to face me: Jason’s orange face filled the screen. I could just about make out the blue IKEA bag in the background, which reassured me that he hadn’t escaped the confines of Tabbi’s flat, at least.
She typed out one final message before placing her phone face down and leaning back into the booth, arms outstretched. ‘Having fun, then, Flo?’
I was well aware that this was the first moment Anneka and I had had to ourselves on this trip. I needed to interrogate her while I had the chance.
‘Yeah, of course. It’s just…’ I peered around the booth to check Mum wasn’t heading our way already. ‘How can you and Mum afford all of this? I saw how much the hotel is costing you when we checked in. And return flights to New York at this time of year can’t be cheap. Should I be worried?’
Anneka threw back her head and cackled once, loudly. ‘As if you’ve ever needed permission to worry!’
‘Fair point.’
Anneka placed a hand on my forearm and squeezed it gently. ‘Seriously, Flo, you don’t need to stress. My business is doing well and Mum’s been saving up for a while. What with… everything that’s happened this year, we figured now was a good time to splash out. While we can, y’know?’
I frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Hmm? Oh, I just meant that, while me and you are both single and you’re not tied to an office job, we’re a bit more flexible than we otherwise might be. The timing just felt right.’
Nothing about this trip felt right to me. But who was I to question how Mum and Anneka spent their own money? I felt my shoulders relax a little, as if they’d been glued to my jaw ever since they’d rung my doorbell goodness knows how many days – or hours – ago.
Mum arrived back at the table at the same time as the bartender, who was carrying a ridiculous number of identical cocktails on a tray.
‘Please tell me that’s not all for us?’ I said, although my soul already knew the answer.
‘You ordered six Manhattans, right? Well, it’s happy hour so that means you get twelve!’
I put my forehead on the table and groaned while Mum and Anneka squealed with excitement.
‘Is everything okay?’ the bartender asked, as he began placing the drinks down. How could he even carry so many drinks at once? I envied his wrist strength.
I lifted my head up a couple of inches, squinting with tiredness as I spoke. ‘It’s just that… I only ordered three. Why would I order twelve? There are only three of us!’
‘You ordered six, ma’am! I repeated it back to you!’
‘I… oh, never mind. Thank you.’
Bloody tourist trap – this ‘misunderstanding’ was probably their entire business model.
The bartender placed the twelve glasses on the table, each of which was decorated with a mini USA flag and a mini flag bearing the name of the bar, which meant we were now the proud owners of twenty-four miniature flags.
Mum and Anneka immediately started decorating themselves with them, seemingly not minding the sticky remnants on each of the cocktail sticks. Anneka wiped a couple clean on a napkin, tucking one behind each of my ears gently, knowing I wouldn’t want to handle them myself.
‘Selfie time!’ Anneka said, once they were in place.
I leaned in for the photo, taking a fake slurp of drink, which fast turned into a real slurp. It was extremely strong but deliciously smooth and warming.
‘Looks like we’re here for the long haul!’ Mum said, as she practically downed her first cocktail. ‘Here’s to the Bells of New York City!’
We clinked glasses and took more sips, at which point I noticed that my phone was now switched on.
I shimmied into the corner of the booth and read a message from Laurie asking for updates and sent a quick reply.
I then opened Instagram to share some Central Park photos I’d taken before my battery had run out, but got distracted by a notification:
CarmichaelCartoons started following you.
I sat upright. He must have looked me up based on my email address.
I navigated to my Instagram profile to remind myself what would greet him.
Given that I’d cleansed my grid of anything Will-related before I’d moved to Bath, it was mainly images of coffee, sunsets and Jason the cat.
All suitably neutral and in keeping with what little he knew about me.
As I re-inspected his grid, a couple of notifications informed me that he had checked out my profile, liking a couple of images of Jason contorting himself into un-cat-like sleeping positions from the last few weeks.
And then I spotted the DM:
Ethan:
I recognize your username! You submit captions to the contest, right?
Flora:
Hello. I didn’t know this was you! As you may have deduced, I already follow you. You’re cartoons are so good. And yes, I enter every week!
Urgh, a typo in your first DM. Call yourself a professional writer, Bell?
Flora:
*your
Ethan:
Love to see it. Still on for tomorrow at 9 a.m.?
Flora:
Yep, see you—
‘Why is your face all red?’ Anneka’s question interrupted my tapping.
‘Oh! Umm, just had some good feedback on a speech I submitted to a client a few days ago.’
I finished the message, pressed send and shut down the app.
‘Your clients send you feedback via Instagram DMs, eh?’
‘You’re so fucking nosy, Anneka!’
‘What?! You’re sitting right there!’
‘Even so. And, yes. This particular client happens to follow me on Instagram, if you must know.’
Which, strictly speaking, was the truth.
Anneka raised her hands in defence and pulled a random glass towards her. ‘Okay, okay, forgive me for showing an interest in my sister’s life. Are they hot, at least?’
I opened my mouth, and closed it again, suddenly noticing – and enjoying – the sensation of alcohol whizzing through my bloodstream.
Oh, fuck it.
‘Yeah, he really is.’