Chapter 17
We’re back in New York and on the Staten Island ferry to see the Statue of Liberty.
‘You can do a boat trip to Liberty Island but the Staten Island ferry is free and goes right past it,’ Sean says.
It’s windy, and we’re standing at the back, watching Manhattan drift further and further away. Sean’s taking photographs. He’s already said he’ll share them with us after the trip so Dot and I don’t need to worry about taking any. Dot smiles at me.
‘You look totally awed,’ she says.
‘That’s because I am.’ New York’s not like other places, is it?
There’s something a bit magical about it.
I think it’s because it’s so famous, depicted in so many films and TV shows.
I didn’t think that travel was for me, and I don’t even know why.
This huge, incredible world we live in – it’s for everyone, isn’t it?
You don’t have to stick with what you know, with where you’ve come from.
I’m late to learn this lesson, but it’s better to learn it when I’m an old woman than not learn it at all.
‘Where else shall we go?’ Dot asks.
‘Italy,’ I say, without hesitation. I’ve read novels set in Florence and Venice and Rome and I’d love to see the art and the ancient ruins, drink a cup of coffee – or tea – in a cobbled square.
Dot laughs. ‘I meant today! But I’m definitely on board for Italy another time, Mabel.’
I drag my mind back to the present. I know Dot wants to go to the Empire State Building, and I know we’ll both need a good sit down at some point, so I think about what we can do that’s a bit restful.
‘I’d like to go for a very fancy cocktail at a very fancy cocktail bar,’ I say.
Sean turns to us. ‘That sounds like a fabulous idea. I’ll do some googling, unless you have somewhere in mind?’
I laugh. ‘No, you google away.’
We’re quite close to the Statue of Liberty now, and we all fall silent for a moment, just taking it in.
‘If you were on a proper boat tour,’ Sean says, ‘they’d probably tell you that she was a gift from France and she’s made of copper.’
‘Who needs a tour guide?’ Dot asks.
Not me. I don’t need to know facts and history.
It’s enough to see this enormous statue I never dreamed I would see.
I put my elbows on the railings, my chin in my hands.
It’s a bright day, but it’s breezy on the ferry, and we’ve all pulled on an extra layer.
I think about this boat going back and forth.
It runs twenty-four hours a day, Sean says.
Manhattan to Staten Island and back again.
Over and over. I think about all the people who’ve stood where I’m standing.
Children and lovers and friends and families.
People heading to work and tourists ticking off a list of things to see.
I feel like I’m a part of something. Something big.
‘What is it?’ Dot asks, bending to lean over beside me. ‘Are you feeling unwell?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘No, not at all. I’m just overwhelmed, I think. I still can’t really believe I’m here.’
Dot looks at me and frowns a little. ‘There’s still a part of you that thinks you only deserve a small life,’ she says.
It isn’t a question, so I don’t answer, though I think she’s right.
‘I remember you being that way when we were younger. I think you thought that Bill and Arthur and a life in Broughton were all we might expect. I never understood it, really. I hadn’t made my mind up and thought there were a thousand ways my life might go.
I wonder why we were so different in that way? ’
My elbows are starting to go numb so I stand up and Dot follows suit, and I link an arm through hers before speaking.
‘I’m working on it,’ I say. ‘Better late than never. I think my parents were that way, and it never occurred to me to seek out more. And then when I lost Bill, and then you, I just settled for my lot. Arthur and Broughton. But it could have been a lot worse, Dot. He was a good man.’
I know we’re both thinking about what she told me, about Peter’s father. It occurs to me that I still don’t know his name. I don’t want to, I think. He’s not a part of our story. Peter is, but his father is nothing.
‘I’m glad you had him,’ Dot says. ‘But there’s another part of me that wishes you’d had someone who pushed you to try new things a bit more.’
‘I have that now,’ I say. ‘And there’s no pushing required, now I’ve realised what it’s like to open the door a bit to the world.’
The ferry is slowing, getting ready to dock, and people are starting to move towards the exit, ready to leave for Staten Island or wait to go back, like we will.
‘Let’s push it wide open,’ Dot says, a smile filling her face and a sparkle in her eyes.
I give her a little nod.
‘Come on then, ladies,’ Sean says. ‘Back to Manhattan for cocktails.’
On the journey back across the water, we see the Statue of Liberty from a different angle and it seems like she’s shimmering in the sunlight.
‘Always worth taking another look, to get a different perspective,’ Dot says, and I was thinking something similar and get that rush of excitement I always feel when our thoughts take similar paths. Sean’s fiddling with his mobile telephone, taking photos, and I lean in close to Dot and kiss her.
‘What was that for?’
What can I say to that? ‘Everything.’
By the time we’ve filed off the ferry, I’m ready for a bit of a rest, and Dot’s the same, so Sean hails a taxi and asks the driver to take us to a rooftop cocktail bar he’s found that’s ‘practically next door’ to the Empire State Building.
I’m glad he’s not dragging us here, there and everywhere, that he’s thinking about our limitations as well as our wishes.
The bar is inside a hotel and we’re ushered into a lift and we shoot up thirty floors in a matter of seconds.
When we get out, there’s an impeccably dressed woman waiting to show us out onto the rooftop.
I look down at my clothes, which were chosen for comfort rather than glamour.
Everyone sitting at the tables looks like they belong here.
But the woman smiles at us and shows us to a table close to the edge, and I feel a rush of fear but concentrate on the sturdy railing.
It can’t be dangerous to be up here, or it wouldn’t be allowed, would it?
The woman hands us leather-bound menus and leaves.
‘What’s it going to be?’ Sean asks.
There’s too much choice, so I just pick one from the first page, barely noticing what’s in it.
Sean orders for all of us, and the waitress comes carrying a tray with three glasses and a bowl of olives.
My cocktail is a deep green and served in a tall, thin glass.
It tastes incredible. Sean’s is bright pink and in a champagne coupe and Dot’s is in a glass like mine but it has some sort of firework in it.
Sean snaps a few ‘selfies’ and we wait for Dot’s firework to stop sparking.
‘Good choice, Mabel,’ Sean says.
‘My drink?’
‘No, coming to a cocktail bar. I’ve only been out drinking in New York by night but this feels very civilised.’
I like how he makes it seem like it’s all down to me, when he was the one who found the bar and navigated us here. He’s the kindest soul. I wish he lived closer to Broughton, so we could see more of him.
We haven’t eaten since a light breakfast and we have two cocktails each and feel quite giddy. Sean asks if we can order some bread but the waitress says only if we’re going to the restaurant and we think the prices might be a bit beyond us.
‘We could buy those enormous pretzels they sell on street corners,’ Dot says. ‘That will soak this alcohol right up. And then we’re going to the Empire State Building, yes?’
‘Absolutely,’ Sean says.
In the lift on the way down, we pull silly faces in the mirrored walls and Dot only just gets her eyes uncrossed in time for the doorman to usher us back out onto the street.
It feels too bright, like when you come out of the cinema in daylight.
We’re at the Empire State Building in no time, and Sean finds us a bench to sit on while he goes to buy the tickets.
True to her word, Dot’s bought three pretzels and we dig in while we wait.
When Sean comes to find us, he hands two tickets to Dot.
‘Are you not coming with us?’ I ask.
‘I’m going to go for a wander. Thought you two could do with a bit of time to yourselves.’
A smile passes between him and Dot, and I see that this has been pre-planned, but I don’t ask any questions because I don’t want to spoil it.
Dot gives Sean his pretzel and we wave him off, and he promises to meet us back here in about an hour.
Inside, there’s a queue of people waiting to go up.
We join it and shuffle along until it’s our turn to get in the lift.
We’re packed in like sardines in a tin and when I put my hand on Dot’s arm, I can feel that she’s shaking.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask.
She gives me a quick nod. We go up more than eighty floors so fast I feel a bit dizzy getting out, but Dot takes my hand and leads me away from the crowds to a quiet spot.
We look out over Manhattan, and I feel like pinching myself.
Ferries and cocktails and incredible views. It’s almost too much for one day.
‘Mabel,’ Dot says, ‘I wanted to bring you here because I stood on this same spot many years ago and the view was breathtaking, and the only person I wanted to share it with was you. I didn’t know I’d ever get the chance, but now we’re here, side by side, and I don’t care about the view any more because everything looks spectacular when I’m with you. ’
I open my mouth to speak and she puts a finger on my lips.
‘A few weeks ago, you asked me to marry you, and I said we didn’t know each other well enough. I was scared, Mabel. I’ve never felt like this before. And I knew there were things you didn’t know about me and that they might make you change your mind.’
‘Never,’ I say.
‘Well, now you know it all, and you’ve been so supportive and so brilliantly Mabel about everything. And I wondered whether you might ask again.’
Her voice is shaking and I know mine will be too, when I speak. I face her, hold both of her hands in mine, feel the spark of electricity I feel every single time we touch.
‘Dot, will you marry me?’
‘Yes, Mabel. I will.’