by Jenny Oliver
And Emily’s New York certainly wasn’t the New York that Hannah had been to when she was seven with her family. There was no budget hotel, McDonalds for dinner, queues for the Empire State Building.
When they had pulled up outside the house in Greenwich Village that Emily had borrowed off a friend for the weekend, Annie had leant over the Hannah and said in a loud whisper, ‘See these are the perks of putting up with her.’
Emily had done her loud, horsey laugh and sauntered off ahead to tell the cabbie where to deposit the bags while handing over dollars like candy.
Hannah had stood back, trying not to gawp at the red-brick townhouse with its dark-green shutters, red geraniums in pots on the windows, black railings flanking the steps up to the red front door, London plane trees dappling the sidewalk, and surreptitiously snapped a photo ready to send to the family WhatsApp as soon as she had the Wi-Fi code.
The second cab pulled up and two of Emily’s friends from work stepped out, followed by Jane Williams, the fabric designer. Hannah immediately stopped taking tourist-esque photos and put her phone away, trying to look as if she was taking all this in her stride.
They’d all met with a quick wave hello at the airport but been seated separately on the plane. Hannah had heard so much about Jane that she’d been expecting a bolder, more forceful figure to match her fabric designs but, in reality, she was much more laid-back boho. All big, white-toothed smiles and shaggy hair, the tips bleached from the sun. It was clear she’d been travelling for a while from her tan that was complimented to perfection by a thin white vest and a string of turquoise beads with a gold disc and red tassel as a pendent. Alongside that, the knees of her rolled-up skinny jeans had tartan patches and she wore beaten-up yellow Converse high-tops. Last time Hannah had been on Cherry Pie Island Emily had pointed out Jane’s white houseboat with its black lattice balconies and flower-pot dotted roof and suddenly Hannah could match the two perfectly. Her down-to-earth cool was worthy of immediate life-envy.
Hannah watched as Jane followed the other two women inside and, realising that she should probably go in too, started to follow. But then was surprised to see Jane pause on the bottom step, so Hannah paused as well. Then Jane turned and walked back to stand next to her.
‘I just wanted to say…’ Jane said, her voice serious, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown. ‘I saw photos of the dress, Annie’s, and I thought it was breath-taking. Absolutely incredible. I hope you don’t mind, but I Googled your end of year show. It made me think how…’ She scratched her head as if trying to put the right words together, then went on, ‘How lucky it is when people find what they’re meant to be. I don’t mean luck like you haven’t put the work in, but luck like, Thank God that happened and she didn’t slip through the net. You know? Anyway, I don’t know if that makes sense but I wanted to say it. My mum always said you should tell people the good things you’re thinking about them.’ She turned to look at the house and then back at Hannah. ‘Sorry, that was a bit rambling.’
Hannah shook her head. ‘Not at all. It was really nice.’
‘Oh good.’ She exhaled. ‘That’s a relief. I’m not sure I a hundred per cent fit into this…’ Jane swept her hand to encompass the glistening, pristine building.
‘No, me neither.’ Hannah laughed, feeling her shoulders drop a touch, the pretence slipping.
‘Well if it all gets a bit surreal we can rely on each other for grounding. Yeah?’
Hannah nodded. ‘Absolutely!’
It got more surreal.
There was a limo and a driver called Derek who took them to an exclusive day spa where Emily had hired out a room where they could relax, read magazines and drink the latest detoxing tea between massages and facials, manis and pedis. Hannah had never been so scrubbed and buffed, waxed and preened. While Emily had some weird body wrap, Annie, Jane and Hannah went up to the roof where a heated outdoor pool allowed them to swim under the morning sun and rest their elbows on the edge to look out over the whole of New York City.
Next stop was brunch in Central Park. A very good-looking waiter popped the champagne while they gigglingly reminisced about Cherry Pie Island antics from their school days. Emily told the whole table the story of meeting Jack when she’d first arrived in the fifth form – how he’d swaggered and she’d swooned. Then how she’d left him for Hollywood and megastar Giles Fox. Hannah took a sip of bucks fizz and listened as Emily managed to laugh off the trauma of a high-profile jilting at the altar – ‘Darlings, it didn’t kill me,’ Emily said with an absent wave of the hand. ‘I’m not sure it made me stronger, but it certainly gave me something to chat about over brunch.’
And this was no ordinary brunch. There were no pancakes and eggs over-easy. Instead they ate crab cakes and green papaya, passion fruit salmon ceviche and blinis with crème fraîche and beluga caviar.
The afternoon was shopping in Bloomingdales. Hannah could barely remember the last time she’d shopped. Her mum had slipped her fifty quid at the airport and told her to buy herself something nice but the choice was almost too much. Emily insisted that they all have EHB Cosmetics makeovers and the shop staff, in awe that the big boss was there in the store, worked as if their lives depended on it. Hannah watched with a smile as Emily posed for a photo with all her EHB staff and then packed them off for a swanky lunch as a thank-you for treating them so well.
‘That was nice of you,’ said Hannah.
But Emily wouldn’t have any of it. ‘Be good to people and they’ll be good to you.’
‘No I think it’s more than that. I think you’re a good boss.’
Emily paused, then shook her head and said, ‘Let’s go and look at the shoes.’
But Hannah had seen the slight pinking of her cheeks at the compliment.
Hannah, Annie and Jane then spent an enjoyable hour helping Emily pick out her wedding shoes. It was as they were sitting on the quilted seats, a sea of shoes around them, that Jane revealed, all-casual, that her boyfriend William had proposed while they were travelling round Mexico together. Much cheering, kissing and hurray-ing ensued and another pair of wedding shoes was picked.
But that wasn’t the end of the shoe purchasing. After Jane’s sparkly silver efforts were decided upon, they spent another half hour persuading Hannah that she should heavily subsidise the fifty her mum had given her and buy the pair of buttery soft leather ankle boots that she was so clearly coveting. And then Annie bought a pair, so as not to feel left out.
The evening was a show on Broadway, followed by martinis in red velvet booths at Soho House where Emily was a member. It was how the other half lived. It was how Emily lived. She paid for it all, refused a cent from anyone.
Hannah fell into her massive bed with its Egyptian cotton sheets, feeling like a princess. Like the socialites she read about in Grazia. Too wired to sleep, she got up and slipped her new boots on, tucking her pyjama bottoms into the ankle, then lay back and inspected them from every angle. She didn’t want this life every day – she wanted to do things like browse second-hand bookstores and flower markets, show Jemima M&M World and get sticky fingers from chicken wings in run-down diners – but for the few days she did have it, it was amazing. The experience of a lifetime, exactly as she’d been promised.
It was only as the evening of the second night approached, that too much of a good thing became a bit too much. Like Hannah was living a foot above the pavement and everywhere they went, everything they saw, had been polished just before it was touched. And she was starting to crave the real city.
‘Everyone ready?’ Emily called from the bottom of the stairs.
Hannah heard the sound of heels clipping down steps and doors opening and closing as the group convened in the hallway. She had been ready for an hour and been sitting on her bed watching Roseanne reruns. At Emily’s call she grabbed her bag and headed to join the others.
‘How are you doing?’ Jane asked as they walked together down the steps to where Derek was waiting by the limo.
> ‘Oh yeah, I’m good thanks.’ Hannah nodded.
Jane laughed like she didn’t suspect that was the whole truth. At the bottom of the steps she said, ‘You know I’ve seen the itinerary for tomorrow? The entire morning is each to their own. Emily’s having her hair cut.’
Hannah gasped without thinking.
‘I knew it.’ Jane laughed.
‘No seriously,’ Hannah started. ‘I don’t want seem ungrateful…’
‘But you’re dying for a reprieve? I’m going to Brooklyn. I can’t wait. Come if you want. Equally – go do whatever you want to do,’ she added with a gesture to indicate that the city was Hannah’s oyster.
All the way in the limo Hannah planned her following morning. She’d made a list before coming, and before realising that the days were planned down to the minute, of flea markets and vintage shops, of what was on at MOMA and the best diner for pancakes. It was only when the car pulled up outside the blacked-out windows of a restaurant with the words The Bonfire scrawled in silver on the facia that Hannah realised where they were and who was going to be inside.
‘Ms Hunter-Brown,’ said the concierge. ‘What a delight. Best table of the house, this way.’
Hannah tried to ignore the sudden flicker of excitement that had come with the idea of seeing Harry. Instead she focused on the feeling of walking into the dim crispness of her surroundings. Dark-grey walls, white tablecloths, smoked mirrors angled to reflect her back to infinity. She kept her head tilted down, glancing around at the other diners, spotting copies of Harry’s cookbook lined up neatly along a shelf, listening to the sounds of glasses clinking, voices chattering, fire sizzling. The sudden pop and hiss of light made her head shoot up as flames flashed bright in the open kitchen up ahead then dimmed to nothing but smoke and the chef, Harry, tilting a pan to plate up, his eyes narrowed, sweaty, dirty, focused, absorbed, the people around him moving like ants all busy working as one. The clay oven at the back like a giant furnace. The grills on either side glowing with hot coals and stones. While in contrast waitresses walked past in pristine white shirts carrying delicate plates of salt-crusted salmon and Wagyu steak.
They had been seated at the table closest to the kitchen, two more of Emily’s friends had arrived and sat down – New York locals who Hannah recognised from the movies and had tried her best not to be starstruck. They’d ordered wine and were perusing the menu before Harry saw her. Hannah glanced up just as he did and she saw immediately the double-take. As if he knew her but didn’t quite know how to place her. It was only a second, maybe two, but she saw him stop what he was doing, saw him lose concentration and step back suddenly as the fire took control. Someone next to him shouted and doused the flame down to nothing. Harry reached down to the corner of his apron and wiped his forehead. He didn’t look up again.
Hannah rolled her lips together over a smile.
‘I didn’t tell him we were coming,’ Emily called over from the other side of the table. ‘I thought it would be a really fun surprise. I’ve never eaten here. Wilf arranged the table and he said, whatever you do have the steak. It’s the best steak you’ll ever eat in your life. So, girls, I recommend the steak.’
Hannah had the steak. And Wilf was right, it was the best steak she’d ever tasted. Like fire and night. Tender, juicy, almost aromatic. But for the majority of the meal she found she was watching Harry out the corner of her eye. After France, Jemima had talked about him non-stop; Harry said this, Harry would love that, Harry said I have to do this if I want to be a chef. And Hannah had often caught herself remembering the pair of them sitting together cooking lobsters and buttering rolls and it never failed to make her smile just how much they had delighted in each other’s company. And how much she had wished she could have sat with them, under the awning of the outhouse, barbecuing under the fierce heat of the sun and having very serious chats about the cooking of food. Little did Harry know what a regular feature he had become in the lives of the Barker family, both in conversation and imagination. Trying to focus on the chat around the table, Hannah would find her concentration drifting away, watching instead what Harry was doing in the kitchen. She knew when he’d moved from the open grill to the clay oven. Knew when he was happy and when he was furious. Knew by the end of it how all the chefs worked together, like a crazy, step-less dance honed to perfection from hours of practise. She never heard him shout, never heard him swear, but she could see in him command and in others respect. They were mesmerising to watch.
He kept his eyes away but she wondered if he could feel her looking.
‘So our names are on the guest list for a club just round the corner from here. I’m thinking we have dessert, then maybe head to another bar and then on to the dancing. There’s a whole group of girls who I used to work with going to be there so it should be brilliant. A great big load of us,’ Emily said, draining her wine and scrutinising the dessert menu. ‘Wilf said go with the cream puff. It’s to die for. That’s what I’ll have.’
As the waiter brought Hannah her dessert menu, she was contemplating when the last time she went clubbing was.
‘Thanks,’ she said as she was handed the thick white card. The waiter nodded.
Before she could scan the list of desserts she saw on the corner of her menu, ‘Have the peaches,’ scribbled in black Biro. She looked around to see if anyone else was going to say something about having words written on their menus, but no one did. They all made ooh noises about the cream puff. She glanced up towards the kitchen, Harry had his head down moving little individual portion pans from the centre to the edge of the grill, he didn’t look up but she could see the hint of a smile on his lips. A second later he called something to one of the other chefs and it was gone.
The whole table had ordered the cream puff.
‘And you, madam?’ the waiter asked.
‘I’ll have the peaches,’ she said.
‘Oh, Hannah, are you sure?’ Emily said. ‘Wilf recommended the cream puff.’
‘Yeah I know, I just fancied the peaches,’ she said and she saw the waiter hold in a smile.
Chapter Fourteen
They left the restaurant via the back door because Emily wanted to swing by the kitchen to say hi to Harry. The corridor was narrow, space only for two people to stand uncomfortably close side by side, so they lined up in single file and the waiters and waitresses squeezed past them, clearly wishing they weren’t there. Annie was behind Emily and Hannah could hear them both chatting to Harry, praising the food and telling him where they were headed, then she heard them call bye and their snaking line shuffled forward towards the back door.
Hannah couldn’t believe she was stuck at the end. She wished she’d got up first, walked out with Emily and Annie and then she could have been there for the chat, said Hi and been the one to compliment the food. Now though he was back in the kitchen and she was off clubbing.
But then, as she passed the swing doors to the kitchen she heard his voice say, ‘You liked the peaches?’
The smile that hit her face was completely out of her control. ‘I did,’ she said. ‘I really liked them. I’ve never tasted anything like that before. Everyone else had the cream puff.’
‘That’s the crowd-pleaser,’ he said with a smile, arms folded across his chest, leaning up against the open door.
‘I’ve gotta go,’ Hannah said, pointing towards the line of Emily’s group, who were slowly disappearing ahead of her.
He nodded.
She smiled and did a sort of wave. She could feel that this was a moment, a chance, that was about to slip through her fingers but there was nothing she could do about it.
‘She’s going to that club, yeah?’ Harry called out as Hannah took a couple of steps towards the door.
She turned and nodded.
‘You like clubbing?’ he asked.
Hannah shrugged. ‘Yeah. It’ll be fun. There’s a whole group of us.’
Harry nodded. She could see him thinking. He glanced back towards the kitchen,
then to Hannah.
‘Harry, I’ve really gotta go,’ she said again as she saw Jane about to slip out through the back door. Felt her feet reluctant to follow.
‘Don’t go,’ he said suddenly and she frowned. ‘Would you be upset if you didn’t go?’
‘I don’t know. No. I don’t know. I don’t want to upset Emily.’
‘Emily won’t mind. Come out with me.’ Harry had taken a couple of steps closer towards her and was nodding as if this was a really good idea.
‘She will mind. It’s her hen do. And you have to work.’ Hannah bit down on a smile.
‘Yes I know, but…’ He shrugged like he didn’t know what he was doing. ‘Emily won’t know if you’re there or not.’
Hannah shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’ The door to outside had closed. She had to go to catch up with Jane.
‘I do. Come on. Come out with me.’
Hannah looked at him, saw his eyes crinkle as he smiled, getting used to the idea of skiving off. She covered her face with her hands as she tried to make her decision and then suddenly, without really thinking about it, she’d turned and was jogging out the door in her heels. Running on instinct. She just caught Jane before she got into the limo. ‘I think I’m going with Harry,’ she said, catching her breath.