City of Second Chances

by Jane Lacey-Crane

  ‘Really? It’s not that great. You should see some of the places the people I work with live. Now they’re amazing.’

  I couldn’t believe that it had only taken her three short years to become blind to everything she had here. She grabbed a pile of magazines and newspapers from the coffee table and dumped them in the bin in the corner.

  ‘If this is your idea of untidy, you’d hate my house,’ said Rachel, giving voice to my own thoughts. ‘Between a teenage son who thinks the bathroom floor is a handy extension of the toilet bowl and a husband who believes that his work shirts magically make their way from wherever he drops them to back on the rail in his wardrobe, my home constantly resembles a really grubby war zone.’ Rachel grimaced, and I laughed.

  ‘I know what you mean. It’s only since I’ve been by myself that I have a tidy house. I can put things away and they stay there until I get them out again. When the kids came back last weekend it was like a tornado had hit. This place is a palace by comparison,’ I said. ‘You always were a bit of a neat freak, though, Kate, you have to admit.’

  ‘Was I?’ she said.

  ‘Oh, Kate, you were the only kid I knew who colour coded the T-shirts hanging in her wardrobe and who never left the lid off a felt tip pen. Ever.’

  My sister looked a bit bashful. ‘They dry out if you don’t put the lids back on properly. You have to make sure you hear them click,’ she said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Rachel looked at me and then I looked at Kate.

  ‘Oh, sod off!’ she said, laughing. ‘Who wants a drink?’ She headed to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a very nice bottle of champagne.

  ‘We’ve only just got here,’ I said.

  ‘And?’ Kate looked at me like I’d just told her I was an alien from the planet teetotal.

  ‘Well, nothing, I suppose.’ Now that she put it like that, I couldn’t think of a single good reason not to crack open the fizz. I looked over to Rachel.

  ‘Sounds like a tremendous idea but before that I really need to know where your bathroom is.’

  Kate laughed. ‘It’s upstairs. Let’s all go up and I can show you where you’re sleeping.’

  Rachel and I followed my sister up the glass staircase and onto the next floor. Most of this floor was taken up with my sister’s bedroom and the bathroom, so I wasn’t sure exactly where Rachel and I were going to sleep. ‘Um, this is very nice,’ I said, ‘but I thought you had two bedrooms?’

  ‘I do. Although the second one is more of an alcove off the landing.’ We followed her around the corner next to the bathroom and, sure enough, there it was. The equivalent of Harry Potter’s little room under the stairs. ‘It doesn’t have a door, or a window, but it’s big enough for a double mattress on the floor. I’ve rigged up a little curtain to give you some privacy. I thought Rachel could sleep here and you could share with me,’ said Kate.

  ‘Sounds great,’ said Rachel, throwing her bags onto the mattress. ‘I don’t know about you, but I don’t intend spending much time sleeping whilst I’m here anyway.’ She gave me a sly wink and I shook my head.

  ‘Just behave yourself, missus. I don’t want a repeat of the last time we were here.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Kate. ‘What happened last time?’

  ‘Do you want to tell her about the barman or shall I?’ I said, referring to her passionate encounter with the hunky waiter on the night that Olivia disappeared.

  ‘Oooh, I’d forgotten about him. Yes, he was rather lush, wasn’t he? I wonder if he still works there.’

  ‘It’s been a long time, Rach – if he still works there then he might not be the man for you. You always go for the safe career types. Look at Martin, he’s an accountant. Don’t get much safer than that,’ said Kate. I watched Rachel’s face drop a little before she recovered herself.

  ‘Why don’t you ladies head downstairs and open that champagne whilst I use your facilities? The stuff they tried to pass off as bubbly on the plane was like cat’s wee, so I need a proper drink.’ She disappeared into the bathroom.

  ‘Just drop your bag in my room, Evie. You can unpack it later,’ said Kate.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘you go ahead. I’ll be down in a minute.’

  ‘Everything all right?’ my sister asked, touching my arm.

  ‘It’s fine, I just need a minute.’

  She nodded and left me to make my way into her bedroom. I didn’t want to put my bag on her immaculate bed, the white sheets just screamed expensive, so I put it over by the window. I stood there for a moment, looking out onto the busy street below and listening to the sounds of the city. In the distance I could hear cars honking and the whine of a fire truck.

  ‘I’m here, Tom, I made it.’

  Good for you, gorgeous, I knew you could do it.

  My husband’s voice was so clear, like he was in the room with me, it made my heart pound. Tom had always wanted to bring me back to New York, to try and erase the memories of that last time for me. He’d even gone so far as to plan an anniversary trip for us a few months before he died but I’d told him I couldn’t do it.

  ‘But I’ll be with you and the kids will love it. I promise it will be nothing like you imagine it,’ he’d said. We were sitting at the kitchen table sharing a bottle of wine, surrounded by brochures and flight information. I’d tried to be enthusiastic, I really had, but it obviously wasn’t working as Tom saw straight through me.

  ‘You really don’t want to go, do you?’

  I shook my head. ‘I just can’t, Tom. I’m sorry.’

  ‘But I don’t understand why – what’s stopping you? The rest of the world has forgotten about Olivia. I don’t see why you can’t.’

  I knew it was only his frustration talking, Tom was a kind man, but his easy dismissal of what had happened to Olivia, to me, really hurt; I dug my heels in and refused to carry on the conversation.

  ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you. I’m not going and nothing you can say or do will make me change my mind!’ I’d yelled, before storming out of the room and leaving him calling out his apologies from the kitchen table.

  The view from my sister’s apartment was confirmation that something had obviously changed in me; I was here, staring out at New York City once again.

  So, what changed, then? What convinced you to come back in a way I never could?

  Tom’s voice again; was I losing the plot? I didn’t think I was. I knew what that felt like, after all. I’d become very good at recognising the signs over the years. I’d learnt what triggered the dark days, the days when even lifting my head off the pillow took a supreme act of will. And for the most part now, I managed those feelings quite well. But if I wasn’t losing the plot then, why now? Why was his voice so clear in my head?

  Maybe you wanted to bring me with you when you came back here.

  Maybe, I thought, maybe that’s it. Guilt about the fact that I couldn’t manage to do this with him when he was still alive. I watched as a young couple stepped out of a yellow taxi down on the street below. As the car pulled away, the man leaned down and caught the young woman in a passionate kiss. She threw her arms around his neck in response and they stayed this way for several minutes, kissing tenderly, oblivious to the city passing by around them. I smiled; they looked so much in love.

  Tom’s voice came again. You could have that too.

  ‘Maybe one day,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe one day what?’ Rachel’s voice from behind me made me jump. ‘What are you doing up here? Kate will already have drunk half the champagne.’

  ‘Just having a look at the view. Nothing exciting.’ I walked over to Rachel and looped my arm through hers. ‘I need a drink.’

  Nine

  I leant on the doorframe of my sister’s bedroom, watching her as she grabbed underwear, a blouse and skirt from her wardrobe. I let out an enormous yawn.

  ‘Do you always go to work this early?’ I asked, glancing at the clock by her bed – it read 5 a.m. We’d stayed up late las
t night, talking and drinking wine. And my brain was screaming at me that it was the middle of the night and I ought to still be tucked up in bed.

  ‘I’ve got a breakfast meeting I can’t miss.’ Kate ran a brush through her hair, pulling it back into a neat, businesslike ponytail.

  ‘It’s five in the morning. What time do New Yorkers eat breakfast, for God’s sake?’

  ‘Early. Why don’t you go back to bed?’

  I shook my head. ‘Can’t. I’m awake now. Do you want me to make you some coffee?’

  ‘Nope. No time. I’ll just grab a green juice from the store on my way.’

  I grimaced. ‘Green juice? Sounds frighteningly healthy yet weirdly non-specific, all at the same time.’

  Kate gave me a despairing look. ‘It’s full of good things. Kale, spinach, Matcha Green Tea powder and avocado.’

  Just the description was enough to make me gag and I scrunched up my face in disgust. ‘I’ll stick to coffee, thanks. Then Rachel and I are going to find a diner and order a massive stack of pancakes with syrup and bacon.’ The thought made my mouth water and my stomach rumbled its agreement. Kate looked appalled.

  ‘You’ll end up the size of a house if you eat like that every day you’re here.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’ll get a good breakfast and then be set for the day. We plan on doing a lot of walking, so we’ll need the fuel.’

  ‘Any movement from Rachel?’

  ‘Nope. Nothing yet.’

  ‘Can’t say I’m surprised. She was definitely on a mission last night, wasn’t she?’ said Kate, as she hopped around the room with only one shoe on.

  I couldn’t argue; after we’d drunk the champagne, Rachel had moved on to red wine, drinking almost a whole bottle by herself. When that was gone she’d rummaged around in Kate’s kitchen until she’d located a long forgotten, half empty bottle of limoncello at the back of the freezer.

  ‘She’s going through a bit of a rough time, that’s all. She’ll be okay.’

  As if on cue, I heard the bathroom door being slammed shut and the lid of the toilet being flung open.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll be heading out for pancakes and bacon any time soon,’ said Kate. I had to admit she was probably right, but I was irritated nonetheless. I didn’t want to spend my first day in New York listening to Rachel throw up in the bathroom; I was itching to get out and about.

  ‘I’ll go on my own if she’s not up for it,’ I said. Kate gave me a cautious look.

  ‘I’m not sure how I feel about you wandering around a strange city by yourself.’

  ‘Oh, do leave off,’ I replied. ‘You moved here on your own and nothing’s happened to you in the last three years. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.’

  Kate pulled me into a hug and held me tight. Despite her being younger than me, I knew Kate still felt like she had to protect me. She’d seen me at my worst after Tom died, and I knew she still found it hard to let go of those memories. She always seemed to be able to sense the vulnerability beneath my attempts at bravado, but I needed to show her that I was better now; that she didn’t need to look after me any more. After all, I was the eldest.

  ‘Shit! Look at the time. I’ve got to go,’ said Kate, holding me at arm’s length. ‘Are you going to be all right?’

  I nodded. ‘Of course, I’ll be fine. I can’t wait to get out there and have a wander around. You go – I’ll catch up with you later.’

  Kate shrugged on her jacket and grabbed her briefcase. ‘I don’t know what time I’ll be home. I might be late, it depends.’

  ‘It’s fine. If I see you, I see you. Don’t worry about me.’

  She pecked me on the cheek and headed down the stairs.

  ‘Don’t forget you need to take the spare keys. Just in case I’m not here.’

  ‘Spare keys. Got it.’

  ‘And don’t worry about making the bed or tidying up. The cleaner is coming today. She should be here around nine.’

  I knew I was going to struggle with that one. I’d never had a cleaner, but I’d always imagined that if I did I’d be the type of person who’d have to clean the house before they came. The sound of Rachel coughing up a lung in the bathroom made me grimace.

  ‘I might just give the bathroom a quick wipe over,’ I called out to my sister, who by now was halfway out of the front door. I came down the stairs just as Kate’s phone started to ring in her bag. She rummaged around in its depths as she struggled to get out of the door. I gave her a little wave as she closed it behind her. I could still hear her barking into the phone as she made her way to the elevator.

  ‘What? I’m on my way. I told you I’d be there. You can handle Mr Meyers, he’s a big…’ The rest of the conversation was swallowed up by the elevator and I was left wondering; Mr Meyers was a big what, exactly?

  With my sister gone, and Rachel still head down in the bathroom, the apartment was quiet. Or as quiet as an apartment in New York could be. I went into the kitchen, hoping to be able to grab some coffee, but was instantly intimidated by my sister’s shiny coffee machine. It looked way too complicated for me; in fact, it looked as if it had never been used. Either that or Kate’s cleaner was a real whizz with the chrome polish. I looked around the apartment and I realised that there were a lot of things that looked virtually brand new, like props in a show home. I opened the big oven door and let out an appreciative whistle – it was spotless. I remembered the state I’d left my own oven in back home. It was so dirty that I couldn’t have it on without it setting off the smoke alarm as the leftover grease and food bits smoked away in the heat. I mentally added ‘Stop being such a lazy bitch’ to my list of things to do when I got back. With no chance of coffee, I settled on a teabag in a mug of hot water instead.

  I took my tea back over to the window and looked out across the city. It was only 5 a.m. but you’d never know it from the scene outside. Delivery trucks were parked across the street, unloading boxes onto the pavement. Three bike couriers pedalled past at top speed, none of them holding the handlebars of their bikes, I noticed. The mother in me shuddered; that was not a safe way to ride a bike on city streets. I turned my attention to the view between the buildings opposite. From here, if I craned my neck and put my head against the window frame, I thought I could just make out the Empire State Building, way up town. Maybe that’s where I should go today? I thought. Go and get lost in a sea of tourists, join the queue for the trip to the top? I shivered. Wherever I was going today I’d need to wrap up against the cold.

  ‘Morning,’ Rachel’s mumbled greeting came from the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Morning to you too,’ I said. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘My head hurts and the inside of my mouth feels like the bottom of a parrot cage.’

  ‘Urgh, sounds bloody awful. Do you want a cup of tea?’ I asked, heading towards the kitchen.

  ‘No. I just want a glass of water and some painkillers. And then I’m going back to bed.’ She headed into the kitchen and filled a glass under the tap.

  ‘Really? You don’t feel like getting some fresh air? We could go for a walk and find a diner somewhere.’

  Rachel looked up at me. The colour had drained from her face to the point where I couldn’t make out her lips; all her features were just a rather fetching shade of grey. She slapped her hand over her mouth and ran back up the stairs to the bathroom.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no to the diner idea, then,’ I called out after her. The sound of the bathroom door slamming shut was the only reply I got. This was not how I imagined my first day in New York would start.

  *

  I waited around for a while, hoping that Rachel would rouse herself and join me for breakfast, but it wasn’t to be. After she’d been sick that last time, she’d gone back to the curtained alcove that she was using as a bedroom and flung herself down onto the mattress. When I’d checked on her about ten minutes later, she’d been buried under the duvet and snoring lightly. I didn’t think she had anythin
g left in her system to throw up, but I propped some pillows behind her anyway, to stop her from rolling onto her back and choking on her own vomit. All very rock and roll.

  I dressed quickly, eager to be out of the apartment before the cleaner arrived; Rachel could deal with that. I left my sickly friend a note to say I’d gone out for breakfast and a bit of a wander and that I’d be back around lunchtime. As an afterthought, I also left one for the cleaning lady, warning her that there was a sleeping woman in the alcove upstairs, just in case she came upon Rachel unexpectedly. I didn’t want to risk giving the poor woman a heart attack. Satisfied I’d done my best to prepare them both, I wound my scarf around my neck, jammed on my favourite hat (bright red woolly number, complete with giant red furry pom-pom on the top) and I left the apartment.

  As I waited for the lift to arrive I took a minute to marvel at the transformation of the building, from schoolhouse to trendy New York apartment complex, and I reached the conclusion that it was all a bit depressing. I imagined all those poor kids being taken to other schools, maybe away from their friends, and dumped somewhere else; somewhere property wasn’t quite so desirable. I knew I was letting my imagination run away with me; in my version of this story the kids all looked like extras from Annie, pleading with the rich businessmen to save their school. The reality was undoubtedly a bit different. For all I knew, this building might have been falling apart and the kids were glad to see the back of it. It was probably riddled with asbestos or something; a fact only discovered when members of staff started dropping like flies. Staff and pupils alike were probably all now happily ensconced in a purpose built school, complete with a high tech computer department and the latest in state-of-the-art gym equipment.

  I couldn’t help it; I’d always had an overactive imagination. My teachers were all convinced that I would grow up to be a writer and I always had my head down, scribbling away in a notebook. Whilst my friends would be chasing boys or hanging out on street corners, I’d be indoors writing my latest story or poem. It occurred to me that I didn’t know where any of those notebooks were now. Other people’s parents would have treasured them, kept them in a box lined with tissue paper to make sure they were always safe. Not my parents though; mine were too busy waging war on one another to pay much attention to anything else. I decided that the first chance I got, I’d find a shop that sold notebooks and I’d treat myself to a brand new one. If there was ever a time to start writing again, it was whilst I was in one of the most exciting cities in the world. Who knew what adventures lay in wait for me? None that started with a vomiting best friend, that was for sure.