I followed her pointing finger and my breath caught. Out beyond the sprawl of the city far below us, an expanse of azure blue water curved beneath a distinctive, vivid red structure spanning its width.
‘It’s the Golden Gate Bridge!’
It was beautiful – a scene so familiar from TV programmes and films but breathtaking in real life.
‘And the most beautiful bay in the world.’ Lizzie linked her arm through mine. ‘I promise you, these eight weeks are going to be the making of you.’
Standing there, with the beautiful San Francisco Bay glistening in the midday sun, I couldn’t do anything but agree. This was going to be the holiday of a lifetime …
CHAPTER SIX
Down and out in San Francisco
Jetlag is a strange and curious animal. After going to bed just before seven p.m. when my drooping eyelids refused to allow me to stay up any longer, I awoke bolt upright at five a.m. and couldn’t go back to sleep. For the next four hours I drifted around Lizzie’s apartment like an aching spectre, lurching between weariness and heart-pounding alertness. I knew I should be sleeping but my body wouldn’t allow me to, my mind too alive with thoughts racing unceasing circuits.
I made myself a cup of tea and logged onto Lizzie’s computer in my makeshift bedroom. As I hoped, I’d received an email from Vicky. It was sitting on top of five unopened emails from Aidan, the subject line identical on all of them:
Nell – please read this
If I’d thought ignoring his calls and texts would be enough to stop him contacting me I was wrong. The cursor hovered over his name on the screen. Maybe I would open them when my body felt less like a zoned-out punch-bag … For now, I needed something positive from home.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: ARE YOU THERE YET?
Hey Nell
Well, are you? I tried to work out the time difference but gave up when I realised my brain wasn’t playing ball. Is it possible to still have pregnancy brain two and a half years after giving birth? Greg thinks I’ve lost the plot worrying about you. He says you’ll be fine. I know he’s right but I still need to hear from you.
EMAIL me, woman!
Big love
Vix xxx
Smiling, I typed a reply:
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Stop worrying – I’m here!
Hi Vix
Stop worrying – I made it!
I still can’t believe I’m here. Lizzie’s place is really cool. It’s in Haight-Ashbury – which everybody calls ‘The Haight’ – and it’s where the hippies were in the Summer of Love. There’s still the odd hippy about and the shops are all little bit alternative and quirky. I like it: it reminds me a little of Camden, although people smile more.
I’ve also made my first trip to a real-life American diner. Lizzie took me to Annie’s – and seriously, Vix, it’s like something out of a movie. The food is phenomenal and it has a fantastic atmosphere. It really brought the spirit of the city home to me today and even though I’ve not yet been here twenty-four hours, I know I was right to come to San Francisco. If nothing else, I’ll have happy memories to look back on when I start job-hunting again.
Talking of job-hunting, how’s it going? Any luck on that front? And have you heard from any of the others? Really hope things are looking brighter for you, hun. At least you have Greg and gorgeous little Ruby to make you smile. I’m keeping everything crossed for you.
Better go. I’ll email again tomorrow.
Love ya
Nell xxx
It felt strange to think that my friend was so far away – along with everything else in my life. Thinking about home made my stomach tighten. I had eight weeks to figure out what I was going to do and all of a sudden that felt like an inordinately long time to be away. I was just beginning to panic when a new email flashed onto the screen:
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Stop worrying – I’m here!
Woo-hoo!
I am so glad you made it safely! I’ve been driving Greg mad since you left, listening to the news in case there were any reports of air crashes or earthquakes. You know me: always cautious. The thing is, I need you to have a good time but most importantly I NEED YOU TO COME HOME IN EIGHT WEEKS. Being unemployed is doing my head in and I need our chats.
I have an appointment with a careers advisor tomorrow. A careers advisor, Nell! At 32! It’s like being 16 again and I’m dreading it. I feel like such a failure. Even though I could’ve been Britain’s best planning officer and it wouldn’t have made any difference to me losing my job. Apart from Brown-Nosed Connie, I don’t think any of us could have done it differently. And I wasn’t willing to get carpet burns on my knees to secure my career prospects, if you get what I mean …
I need updates as often as you can send them. And for heaven’s sake, have FUN. Then at least one of us will be and I’ll have something to read other than my mother’s discarded copies of Star magazine. I’d rather obsess over your trip than whether or not Kerry Katona’s had Botox.
Love ya lots
Vix xxx
It was so good to hear from my friend and the joy of reading her words coupled with my current fragile state brought tears to my eyes.
‘Hey early-bird.’ Lizzie’s smiling face appeared around the door. ‘I thought you’d still be dead to the world.’
I wiped my eyes quickly. ‘I probably should be. But my body had other ideas. I was checking my emails – hope that’s OK?’
‘Of course it is. So, ready for your first day exploring San Francisco?’
I nodded. ‘Absolutely!’
The sun bathed Haight-Ashbury, making every colour brighter and giving the streets a carnival atmosphere. As we wandered along the streets and in and out of the shops, people stopped to greet us – Lizzie providing the introductions:
‘This is Anya – I teach her daughter piano … Marcella was one of my first students when I started teaching here … Stanley’s son Karl is my star pupil …’
‘Have you taught everyone in Haight-Ashbury?’ I giggled when the fifth person had stopped us to say hello.
Lizzie blushed. ‘It looks like it, doesn’t it? This is a very close neighbourhood and I’ve had a lot of recommendations over the years. I’ve been very lucky.’
‘They’re certainly friendly,’ I said, still coming to terms with the very tactile welcomes of complete strangers. I had been hugged by four of the five people we had met that morning and was feeling a little out of my depth.
‘Ah yes, I forgot to warn you about that. It took me a while to feel comfortable with the hugs. People here have a different understanding of personal space than they do in London. Don’t worry, though, you get used to it.’
I wasn’t convinced. Having my personal space invaded by random people was a shock to the system. Even the homeless guys – who were present on almost every corner and street crossing – would step into our path and say hello. The homeless issue was a surprise to me, largely because nobody had told me how overt it was in San Francisco. Mostly men, they were polite and not threatening but there were so many of them for such a relatively small area. Already today we had encountered four men shaking paper cups on the street and I found it unsettling when Lizzie advised me to walk past them. In London I would always stop to buy a Big Issue, but the sellers there were far less willing to follow you down the street than the homeless guys were here. After a couple of hours I ducked my head whenever I heard a cup shaking, feeling awful for doing so.
I think Lizzie must have sensed my unease because she grabbed my arm when we had completed a large loop of the neighbourhood and were walking back towards her apartment.
‘Right. I’m taking you somewhere where you won’t be hugged, hounded or stalked. Come with me.’
She had stopped outside the ebony-bl
ack frontage of a coffee shop, its windows dressed in swathes of purple velvet with the name Java’s Crypt painted in spidery silver letters above.
I stared at it. ‘It looks like a funeral parlour.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive. You’ll love it.’
Java’s Crypt was the kind of place you would run for the hills to avoid in the UK, but here in San Francisco its presence on Haight Street made perfect sense, despite being slightly scary to walk into at first. I could imagine Edgar Allan Poe feeling right at home in its black and purple interior, sipping his iced Java latte beneath silver spider’s web lampshades in booths bedecked with purple velvet and black lace. The coffee shop (or ‘caffeine lair’ as Lizzie told me its owner preferred) was buzzing with a diverse mix of clientele, from members of the Goth community to loudly dressed American tourists, Chinese families and kookily attired locals. It was a surprise to see so many people who ordinarily would avoid each other sitting together in apparent harmony.
We approached the black ash serving counter and I jumped as a tall, black-haired man with a deathly pale face and all-black clothes rose from behind it, looming ominously over us. I was about to turn and run when his black-lined eyes wrinkled and a broad smile spread across his purple stained lips.
‘Yo Lizzie! Haven’t seen you in a while.’
‘Hey Ced.’ To my surprise – and amusement – my cousin and the happy Goth greeted one another with a respectful fist-bump. ‘I thought I should introduce my cousin to the delights of your establishment.’
His pale blue eyes flicked to me. ‘Hey, Lizzie’s cousin.’
‘Hi – I’m Nell.’
He held out his fist, the black leather and silver bangles wobbling around his slim wrist. Following Lizzie’s example I offered a tentative fist-bump. It certainly made a refreshing change from the over-friendly hugs I’d been receiving.
‘Good to meet you. I’m Ced. Welcome to Java’s Crypt. What can I get you?’
‘We’ll have two of your Peruvian filter coffees please,’ Lizzie smiled.
‘Cool. Listen, find a booth and I’ll bring it over.’
‘Come here often?’ I whispered to Lizzie when we were sitting down. ‘I didn’t have you pegged as a Goth.’
She laughed. ‘I’m not – as most of the customers in here aren’t. Ced’s wife Autumn is one of my piano students. And they’re good friends.’
Five minutes later, Ced arrived with our coffee, together with a huge slice of white and dark chocolate-swirled baked cheesecake. ‘From Autumn,’ he explained, sitting next to Lizzie. ‘She said she’d been telling you about it?’
Lizzie’s expression was one of pure joy and I had to laugh despite my slight unease in Ced’s company. ‘She did! We spent most of last week’s lesson talking about this amazing recipe.’
‘Your weapons of choice, ladies.’ Ced produced two forks and presented them to us. ‘So, Nell, how long are you visiting for?’
‘Eight weeks.’
He seemed impressed by this. ‘Big US adventure, huh?’
I took a forkful of delicious cheesecake and nodded. ‘Something like that.’
‘Nell just lost her job in the UK, so she’s come out here to have fun,’ Lizzie offered, which surprised me. I must have been staring at her because her smile suddenly vanished. ‘Sorry hun. But that is why you’re here.’
‘It’s fine, I’m just –’ I looked at Ced. ‘Forgive me. I’m still getting used to how forward everyone is here.’
The Goth smiled. ‘It’s cool. And hey, good call. I’m in this city because I lost my job, actually.’
‘You are?’
He nodded. ‘Ten years ago this July. Believe it or not I used to be a lawyer in New York City.’
The thought of Ced as a suited lawyer was incredible, given his appearance. ‘Wow.’
He waved a pale hand. ‘It’s OK, Nell, you have my permission to laugh. I find it hilarious myself. Hard to believe I was the golden boy of Jefferson Jones and Associates on Wall Street for two years. Golden in more ways than one, actually. This,’ he wound a strand of jet-black hair around his fingers, ‘is, unsurprisingly, not my natural colour.’
His dry sense of humour made me smile and I began to relax a little. ‘I like it,’ I replied. ‘How come you ended up in San Francisco?’
‘I got fired. For nothing more than the fact that one of the partners decided to hate me. And that was it for law and me. I walked around Central Park for hours, thinking about how much of my life I’d given to my career – and how fruitless it had proved to be. So, I made a decision. I quit my apartment, trashed my business suits and moved to the West Coast with one suitcase and my guitar. I busked around for a while, met Autumn at a beach gig in Santa Monica, we settled here and within two years I’d opened Java’s Crypt.’
I was amazed by his story but also encouraged that he had achieved so much from such inauspicious beginnings. If it had happened for Ced, could it happen for me? ‘That’s really good to hear.’
‘This town is a place for adventurers, Nell. There ain’t nothing you can’t do here if you work hard at it.’
As we were speaking one of the homeless men Lizzie and I had encountered that morning entered the coffee shop. I felt every muscle tense in my shoulders: in London this situation usually was a precursor to an ugly scene. Calmly, Ced left our table and walked over to greet the man.
‘Hey brother, what can I do for ya?’
‘You got any coffee on hold?’ the man asked, his voice gruff and low.
‘Sure, man. Come over to the bar.’
I watched as the man accompanied Ced to the counter, where the coffee shop owner made him a large coffee. Thanking Ced, the man shuffled out, tipping his baseball cap to us as he went. I turned to Lizzie, confused by what I’d seen.
‘What just happened?’
Lizzie smiled. ‘That happens a lot here. People buy a coffee to take out and one “suspended”. It then means that when the homeless guys come in they have a drink already paid for. It doesn’t happen everywhere, but it’s something Ced has always done since he opened this place.’
I was quickly learning that this was a city that made no bones about itself. Everything was presented just as it was – good and bad, beautiful and not-so-attractive. It was brash and bold and would definitely take some getting used to.
By the time we returned to Lizzie’s apartment I felt as if I’d gone eight rounds with a heavyweight boxer. Succumbing to the jetlag still pummelling my body, I slept for another couple of hours and when I woke I checked my emails, the familiar task comforting. And then I don’t know why, but I clicked on the latest email from Aidan. Despite my best efforts earlier that day to convince myself I didn’t want to hear from him, the temptation to know what he had to say was too great. As soon as I opened it, however, I wished I hadn’t:
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Nell – please read this
Nell
I feel terrible. I wish we could talk so I could tell you all this in person. But you won’t return my calls and seem to have disappeared off the face of the planet, so this is the best I can do.
I hated giving you the news about your job and I hated even more that you left before I had a chance to explain.
I fought for you, honestly I did. I tried everything I could to save your job. But I couldn’t change their minds. And now the office is like a morgue and you’re not here. And I miss you.
I know I was an idiot to say what I said about us. But it’s still true. Being without you for the past week has only strengthened how I feel. I love you, Nell. I’m going to email you every day until I get an answer. Because I know you feel it too.
You’re angry now – I get that. But look in your heart. Can you honestly say you don’t want us to be together?
We’ve been through too much for this not to happen. I’m not giving up on us.
I love you.
Aidan xx
Angrily, I logged out. I didn’t want to know that Aidan was hurting too and I certainly didn’t want to feel the glimmer of hope it gave me. Suddenly I was stuck in limbo between the newness of San Francisco that I didn’t yet feel a part of and the aspects of my old life I was trying to leave. I decided to ignore the other messages waiting unread in my inbox. Reading any more of Aidan’s words while I was here wouldn’t solve anything, only leave me with more questions. I was still angry with him for making me redundant and then trying to get back with me. Besides, I wanted to use the time I had here to think about the future and how I fitted into it. Whether Aidan could – or should – ever be a part of my life again was something I wasn’t ready to consider yet.
While I had been sleeping, Lizzie had been busy. Keen to make me feel more a part of her city she had invited her friend Eric to join us for dinner.
‘You’ll love him,’ she promised me, dashing around her tiny kitchen as she prepared food. ‘If anyone can cheer you up, Eric can.’
Eric Walker was a six-foot bundle of pure energy, from the cheeky grin playing on his face to his ever-moving hands which he used to accentuate every word. Even sitting at Lizzie’s dining table he didn’t keep still, animatedly jumping from anecdote to anecdote. Originally from Dagenham in Essex, Eric had come to San Francisco for a year and ended up with a lucrative job entertaining visitors at Pier 39 with his unique blend of British humour, circus skills and crazy unicycle riding – which he was still doing fifteen years later. It was wonderful to meet him and especially lovely to talk to another British person, even if his accent had adopted a noticeable West Coast twang.
‘If I’d stayed in the UK I’d be an accountant by now,’ he told me, after reducing me to tears of laughter by juggling various ornaments from Lizzie’s living room. ‘That’s what my dad wanted me to be. Instead I’m in San Francisco, where juggling swords while balancing on a unicycle is perfectly acceptable. I make a good wage from the daily shows and teach circus skills to private students – most of which are accountants, lawyers and bankers. Can you imagine me doing that for a living in Dagenham?’
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