Meet Me In Manhattan

by Claudia Carroll

  He shoots a tiny glance up to Mike and I read the look between them. So Harry’s told him about our little talk in the kitchen yesterday, where we hammered out some kind of peace deal. I’m touched though, because for the first time, I’m actually starting to believe that the kid really has learned his lesson.

  ‘You’re welcome, Harry,’ I say. ‘And it’s lovely of you both to include me in your snow day.’

  ‘So Mike thought it was high time we taught you how to use a sled,’ he says, back to his old cheeky self again, and I find myself playfully pitching a snowball at him, which he immediately ducks, then expertly sends one that lands splat on me.

  The next few hours are just the best fun imaginable. I’m initially petrified on the sled, as these bloody things just move so fast, but Harry and Mike are having none of my nonsense. Time and again I plead that three-year-olds are confidently overtaking me on the run down Pilgrim Hill, but the pair of them barely even listen to me.

  ‘Only way to learn is to keep practising,’ Mike says encouragingly, as well he might; but then he proves himself to be an out and out expert when it comes to sledding. He stays right by my side all afternoon, guiding me onto the sled like I’m a kid learning to ride a bike without stabilizers, arms on my shoulders to hold me steady and always ready with a big whoop on the rare occasions when I manage not to fall off.

  Mind you, I think the chief reason I’m doing so badly at this is because I’m so distracted by Mike. Even under about twenty layers of clothes and a highly unflattering giant Puffa jacket, the guy still manages to look sexy. And I swear to God, I can just sense those black eyes dancing at me behind his aviator shades on the rare occasions when I actually manage to get it right.

  It’s just the best laugh though and almost enough to make you forget about the icy, unforgiving cold. All around us, the Park is filled with bona fide New Yorkers, building snowmen with their kids, having full-on snow fights; I even spot a skating rink below us in the distance where there’s a huge queue of skating fans with blades tied around their necks, patiently waiting their turn. It’s like the whole city has decided just to take a day off and enjoy the snow while it lasts and it’s impossible not to get swept up in the happy holiday atmosphere.

  Next thing, without so much as a word, Mike overhears a family sledding happily away beside us mention something about a tavern; I’m not certain what exactly. All I know is that his eyes just light up at this for some unknown reason. He politely excuses himself then ambles off in the direction of the skating rink, saying, ‘I’m just going out and I may be away for some time,’ doing his best Scott of the Antarctic impression. Meanwhile Harry, who’s proving himself a wannabe Olympic expert on a sled, continues to coach me in not falling splat on my arse, with middling degrees of success.

  Mike is gone for ages though, and I’m starting to feel a familiar, slightly sickening tug of worry when next thing, through the white-out I can just about make out his familiar tall, lean, dark-haired silhouette striding purposefully through the snow and waving excitedly over at Harry and I.

  ‘You two snow bunnies getting bored yet?’ he grins, cheeks ruddy and well freshened from all this outdoorsy-ness. Mother of God, I think, suddenly dying for a mirror. If that’s what the weather has done to him, then I must look like a red-faced, thread-veined bleeding alcoholic at this stage.

  ‘You can’t get bored when you’re sledding!’ Harry yells back at him. ‘And don’t think you can drag me back home yet, ’cos I’m telling you, not a chance … this is awesome!’

  ‘Pity,’ says Mike, faux-disappointed. ‘Because I just took a walk over towards Central Park West and you’re not going to believe this. Whatever hardy soul owns Tavern on the Green deserves a medal, because today they’ve actually managed to open up. Can you believe it?’

  This all sounds Greek to me, though I’m guessing it’s a pretty big deal by the way Harry hops off the sled and immediately says, ‘The Tavern’s open now? So come on, bro! What are we waiting for?’

  ‘Holly, trust me,’ Mike smiles. ‘After a few hours in the snow, there’s no New York institution you’re going to love more than this one. Particularly after, well let’s just say, a pretty late night last night.’

  Takes us all of a good half hour to kick our way through the snow to get there, and when we do, I’ve no idea what to expect. Some kind of bar maybe? A hotel? For the hair of the dog? But it turns out Tavern on the Green is an NYC landmark, ‘used right at the end of every single New York City marathon, year in, year out’, as Mike proudly tells me.

  It’s shaped like one of those old Victorian boating houses, but completely renovated inside, with a giant conservatory stuffed full with tables and chairs. Given the day that’s in it and, as you’d expect, the place is packed out with a lot of frozen faces just like ours, all dying to thaw out and kick the snow from ice-cold feet. We have to queue for a table, but eventually manage to score one right by a window, with a stunning view over the rolling white winter wonderland right outside.

  Just allowing central heating to flood right through me is fabulous though and I can’t stop myself beaming happily as Mike pulls out a chair for me and helps me peel off all the layers I’m wearing.

  ‘Another New York haunt of ours for you to check out, Holly Johnson,’ he says jokingly. ‘I’m guessing you must be hungry after all that larking about in the snow? Plus you know a sugar hit will definitely drive out the last dregs of a heavy head.’

  I nod back and there it is again, that gorgeous crinkly-eyed smile. I’m almost getting quite used to it by now.

  ‘Don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who looks quite this chirpy about the small matter of a cancelled flight before,’ Harry chips in and suddenly I get an instant flash of exactly what our little table must look like from the outside. The way the three of us are all flushed and laughing after a fantastic afternoon, red-faced and happy as we josh and laugh along with each other.

  Feck’s sake, I think, we must look like something out of an ad for vitamin supplements. If anyone looking at us now even had a glimmer of the real reason why I came to this city in the first place, either they’d guffaw laughing or else fall over in complete shock.

  And yet this weird magic spell that’s going on between the whole McGillis family and me continues unbroken. First we order from the teashop menu, with Mike insisting on red velvet cupcakes for all of us, with three giant hot chocolates on the side for good measure. Utter bliss to wrap my freezing fingers round a steaming hot mug and thaw myself out.

  Then just as an exhausted silence settles between us, my eye falls on a young girl just outside the window, knee-deep in snow. She looks about Harry’s age and is dressed head to toe in pink ski gear with a long, blonde ponytail just visible under all the furry headgear she’s wearing. She’s fresh-faced and pretty and I can sense Harry scouting her out too.

  What caught my eye about this girl though was that she looks like she’s being completely persecuted by a bunch of teenage guys (friends? brothers? Hard to tell … ) who are all pelting her with snowballs and having a right laugh about it in the process. It looks like one of those harmless larks that started out as a bit of light-hearted fun, but has somehow spilled over into something else. She’s squealing, but it’s beginning to sound like she’s borderline screaming and could actually do with help.

  ‘Excuse me one second,’ Mike says, following my worried eyes, taking in exactly what’s going on and immediately making a move to head back outside.

  ‘No,’ I tell him firmly, grabbing the sleeve of his jumper. ‘I think Harry should take this one, don’t you?’

  I look hopefully over at Harry, telegraphing, This is it, kiddo. You said you wanted to impress women? Golden opportunity just waiting for you right outside.

  And nor does he let me down, fair dues to him.

  ‘I got it,’ he says in that man’s voice, so at odds with the boyish face and the fact that in many ways he’s fifteen going on about thirty. I swear I can almost feel w
orry-waves pinging off Mike as Harry abandons his half-eaten cupcake, pulls his Puffa jacket on and heads back outside into the freezing cold.

  ‘He needs to do this,’ I tell Mike. ‘Trust me, he’ll be fine.’

  ‘But … there’s three of those guys and only one of him …’ says Mike worriedly, as we both look out onto the tableau vivant that’s playing right outside our window.

  In the end though, there’s absolutely nothing for us to worry about. Harry sidles up to pink ponytail girl and we see him helping her back up onto her feet again, from where a particularly well-aimed snowball had knocked her sideways. Then, of course, the lads turn on him and a whole barrage of snowballs start pelting over his way.

  So with almost superhuman strength, suddenly Harry’s pelting back snowballs for all he’s worth. He’s a pretty good shot too and it doesn’t take long for the other kids to cop on that they’re up against a fairly formidable opponent. It’s full-on out there for a few minutes, with snowballs being pelted viciously from every direction all under the guise of ‘harmless fun’, and then, in the way of teenagers, suddenly it’s all over and they all seem to decide it’s far cooler to hang out instead. So the thunderstorm just blows over, like it never happened.

  ‘Jeez, the kid’s not too bad, is he?’ says Mike, genuinely impressed.

  ‘Harry needed this,’ I nod back sagely.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he told me he wanted to get confident around girls and that’s the only reason why he even bothered going onto all those dating sites in the first place. And I’ve never yet met a teenage girl who didn’t have a White Knight rescue fantasy. So let’s just see how this one plays out, shall we?’

  ‘Listen to you, the relationship expert,’ he teases.

  ‘I work on a magazine radio show. You pick up stuff,’ I say in what I hope is an enigmatic way. Truth is, we did once run an entire episode of Afternoon Delight to tie in with the whole teen vampire craze, all about rescue fantasies and do we ever really grow out of them. Very popular all round, not just with our regular listeners, but with their teenage daughters too.

  The gamble Harry took seems to pay off, because just a few minutes later, he’s ambling back inside with Blonde Ponytail Gal beside him and blushingly introduces her as Eva. She’s lovely and a bit shy, and Mike immediately starts looking proprietorial in that older brother/parental figure way that he has, but I just shake Eva’s hand and start asking her about how she’s enjoying the holidays.

  She doesn’t stay long though, as her gang outside start hammering on the window for her to get going along with the rest of them, but long enough for me to surreptitiously nudge Harry under the table, which he takes as his cue. And sure enough, just as the four of us are making to leave, I spot Harry gently steering Eva aside, iPhones being whipped out and Instagram handles being swapped. Which I figure is to his generation what scribbling out your phone number on a raggedy scrap of paper was to ours.

  ‘Gotta hand it to him, that kid is one fast mover,’ says Mike, shaking his head. ‘I’m gonna have to keep a close eye on him when he’s older. And I’m holding you firmly responsible you know. Turns out you’re a bad influence, Ms Johnson.’

  I grin back at him as we pile on all our layers of coats, hats and scarves again. Just in time to hear a song coming over Tavern on the Green’s PA system. ‘Perfect Day’ by Lou Reed. And that just about sums up the last twenty-four hours for me, a walloping head this morning notwithstanding. It’s all been just one absolutely perfect day, cancelled flight home or not.

  Suddenly I feel an overwhelming rush of gratitude to the McGillis family, not only for their kindness to me, but for so unquestioningly including me in their whole holiday plans.

  Did I ever, in a million years, think that C-Day and the 26th could possibly end up going so well for someone like me? Just at that thought, I automatically smile a bit. Not just that this whole Christmas has been so unexpectedly wonderful, but that the wild goose chase that had me haring across the Atlantic could have turned out so astonishingly well.

  Nor is it even over yet, it seems. Pretty soon, Mike, Harry and I are back outside in the biting cold. The sky is darkening over now, and as soon as I mutter something lame about how I probably should get back to my hotel, I’m immediately overrun by the lads.

  ‘Leave you all alone in your hotel on St Stephen’s night?’

  ‘In the middle of a snowstorm?’

  ‘That would be, like, seriously lame! You’re coming home for dinner with us, whether you like it or not …’

  ‘Because if you didn’t, Mom would bang our two heads together and never speak to us again! She really likes you!’

  I think that’s why I say yes. It stems from this feeling that everything is going so wonderfully well that nothing could possibly happen to ruin all this for me.

  Worse eejit me. Didn’t I know any better? Didn’t I realize it’s just when things appear at their best, the greatest disasters are lurking offstage, waiting to make their entrance?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  And I wouldn’t mind, but it all starts off as such innocent fun too. Ably steered by Mike, Harry and I kick and stumble our way out through the 65th Street exit from Central Park. But fresh snow has only just started to fall again, so it takes us almost a full hour to negotiate a path back to the McGillis’ apartment on the Upper West Side, a walk that normally should take twenty minutes max, according to Mike.

  Dorothy is there waiting for us, all dressed up to the nines in a lavender-coloured flowery print dress that really brings out her bright blue eyes, with a scarf and cardigan exactly to match. Such a shame they don’t have Marks and Spencer’s here in the US, I find myself thinking as I look at her. The woman would die and go to heaven if she was ever let loose inside a branch of Per Una.

  ‘So there you all are!’ she says the minute we walk, or rather stagger our freezing way through her hall door, shaking ourselves down and leaving a trail of snow prints on the floor behind us. ‘I was starting to get real worried about you.’

  ‘Oh come on now,’ says Mike cajolingly, ‘we weren’t gone that long, were we?’ Then turning to me he gives a cheeky wink and says, ‘She always thinks serial killers have gotten hold of you if you don’t check in every hour on the hour, isn’t that right, Mom?’

  ‘Laugh all you want, smart-ass,’ says Dorothy primly, ‘but when you’re a mother you never stop worrying, not for one single minute, no matter how old your kids are.’

  You’re right, I think, as a long-buried memory instantly resurfaces, unbidden. The night of my school graduation, when like the rest of my class, I went out on the tear to this God-awful nightclub that we all thought was the coolest thing going at the time. Then crawling in the door after a few drinks too many, well past 5 a.m.

  And Mum. Still with the light on in her room, propped up against the pillows and reading, just waiting for me. I remember insisting that I was eighteen now, a grown adult, she didn’t have to wait up any more. ‘This is frankly starting to get embarrassing!’ I can vividly remember snapping at her, with all the arrogant confidence that goes with being eighteen and thinking you know it all.

  ‘But I’m your mother,’ she’d said simply. ‘When you’re out, I worry. And when you’re fifty, I’ll probably still be worrying.’

  Oh, Mum … I think, as a familiar heart-twisting pain takes a grip.

  ‘However, I’m very glad to see you’ve brought Holly back with you,’ says Dorothy, interrupting my thoughts. ‘It sure is good to have you back again, sweetie!’

  ‘Good to be back too,’ I smile, snapping back to the present as she wraps me in a big bear hug. And there it is yet again, that smell of lavender mixed with lily of the valley. Warm, comforting smells because they remind me of exactly what it is that I’ve lost.

  ‘You’re always welcome, you know that,’ she says. ‘But here’s the thing: I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you in the hands of my two errant sons tonight.’

&n
bsp; ‘Let me guess,’ says Mike, cheekily teasing her, ‘hot date, is it Mom? Thought you looked a little bit dressed up for a snowstorm alright. You got a boyfriend on the side you want to tell us about?’

  ‘None of your nonsense now,’ says Dorothy crisply. ‘You know it’s the twenty-sixth today, right?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘So you remember what that means?’

  Mike and I just look back at her, mystified.

  ‘It’s my annual poker night over at Doris’s!’ Dorothy goes on, before turning to me to explain. ‘Every year, day after Christmas, for the last couple of years, Doris and I meet up in one of our apartments with a few neighbours and we play poker till it’s last man standing. Now, last year I got fleeced and came out of there smashed broke, but this year I’m determined to have my revenge. So wish me luck, kids, dinner’s in the pot, and whatever you do, don’t wait up for me.’

  The minute she’s gone, I turn back to Mike.

  ‘Do you know how lucky you are?’ I ask him out straight. ‘I mean, to have a Mum that strong and feisty and amazing?’

  ‘I know. Isn’t she just great?’

  ‘She’s more than that. What wouldn’t I give to have a Dorothy in my life, with all of that zest for life? I’m telling you,’ I add, ‘that’s exactly what I want to be like when I’m her age. All dressed up, heading out for poker night with my buddies and not letting the minor matter of a snowstorm stop me.’

  ‘As I’ve no doubt you will be one day,’ Mike smiles as we head for the tiny galley kitchen. ‘Now come on, what do you say to some dinner? Though I can’t guarantee it won’t just be leftover turkey from yesterday … with apologies in advance.’

  To be honest, though, it’s just such a happy night, a fabulous conclusion to yet another magical day, that I honestly wouldn’t have cared if I’d been served up a tin of dog food. Turns out Dorothy was super-organized before she disappeared off for the night and there’s a whole potful of turkey curry waiting for us that only needs heating up. So I take care of that while Harry sets the table and Mike is on ‘manly duty’ as he calls it, stoking up the fire and making a lot of grunting noises with ton-weight coal scuttles.