Watching Lizzie’s friend performing his impromptu routine I found it hard to imagine Eric wading through tax returns in an office.
‘So Lizzie tells me you’ve had a tough day?’ he asked, when Lizzie was in the kitchen dishing up dessert.
‘Not really. I’ve just felt a bit out of place. Everything’s different here: crossing the road, ordering a cup of coffee, even buying things in shops.’
Eric laughed. ‘Don’t worry, we all go through it. Listen, have you been to Fisherman’s Wharf yet?’
‘No, I only arrived yesterday. But it’s on my list of places to visit.’
‘Excellent!’ He grabbed a handful of cutlery and began to juggle it, making me laugh again. ‘Why don’t you two come and see my show tomorrow? You’ll love Pier 39. It reminds me of summer holidays in Southend and Bournemouth when I was a kid.’ He added a pepper grinder to the collection of tumbling knives and forks – chuckling when a cloud of pepper dust covered his lap. ‘Trust me, it’s impossible to feel out of place there. Lizzie, what do you reckon?’
Lizzie returned to the table with enormous bowls of ice cream sprinkled with tiny Oreo cookies. ‘I think it’s a great idea, but this is Nell’s trip.’
By now I was laughing so hard I had to struggle to catch my breath, feeling so much better already. Eric’s suggestion sounded like the perfect choice.
‘Yes – let’s do it!’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cable cars and seaside jazz
Next morning we made our way down to Fisherman’s Wharf. Eric had recommended a great place for lunch and suggested it was worth spending time wandering along the Bayside streets to soak in the atmosphere before we visited his afternoon show.
‘I really like Eric,’ I said to Lizzie as we walked past the numbered piers stretching out into the San Francisco Bay. ‘How did you come to meet him?’
‘He was teaching circus skills in one of the schools I teach piano at. My friend Tyler introduced us – he’s the principal of Sacred Heart Elementary where my after-school kids’ club meets. I think his exact words to me were, “we have another crazy Brit here you should meet”. Of course, he expected me to know Eric simply by virtue of the fact we both hailed from the same country. You’ll notice Americans think that a lot. As it turned out, we got on instantly and he became a really good friend. Actually, it was because of Eric’s work with the children that I was inspired to start the club, so I have a lot to thank him for.’
Restaurants and food stalls selling fresh crab, clam chowder, hot dogs and seafood lined the seafront, the scent of cooking food surrounding us as we walked past gift shops (stacked with jokey t-shirts, souvenirs and cheap sunglasses), brightly painted coffee stalls, bicycle hire companies and electrical goods stores. I breathed it all in, feeling decidedly more positive than I had yesterday, the innate sense of fun making me grin like a big kid.
On every street corner, we passed buskers playing. Their music styles were as varied as the food stalls they were often performing beside: reggae by the clam chowder stands, classic rock by the coffee and pretzel stand, jazz by the Italian pizzeria unwisely named ‘Pompeii’s Grotto’, funk by the twenty-four-hour breakfast diner and even classical opera next to an Asian-Japanese restaurant. It was my first introduction to the two major things that seemed to underpin everything in San Francisco: music and food.
‘The restaurant Eric recommended is over there,’ Lizzie said, putting a dollar in the bucket of a reggae-playing dreadlocked busker who appeared to be working his way through the Bob Marley Songbook on a battered synthesiser. She pointed towards a cluster of wooden tables beside a fish restaurant.
We ordered steaming clam chowder served in bowls made of hollowed-out bread loaves and settled down for a great lunch.
‘I read one of Aidan’s emails yesterday,’ I confessed, blowing on a hot, sweet spoonful of buttery chowder.
‘You did?’ She made no attempt to disguise her reaction. ‘And what did he have to say for himself?’
‘That he’s sorry. And he loves me. He said the experience of making me redundant made him realise how much he wants me in his life.’
‘He actually said that?’ Lizzie shook her head. ‘Oh well, how nice for him. How do you feel?’
‘I don’t know. I mean, when he called me into his office I thought he was going to ask us to get back together, so in one way knowing that’s how he feels confirms what I’d been thinking for a while. But that was my life before and losing my job has called everything into question. And I’m still angry with him. He said he tried to save my job, but that’s easy to say after the event, isn’t it? When I thought about it this morning I came to the conclusion that I’m just not ready to go down that road again yet. Not until I work out which direction I want to go in.’ I stirred another handful of crunchy oyster crackers into my chowder. ‘Does that make sense at all?’
‘Yes, absolutely. This trip should be about you, not about Aidan’s guilt.’ She held up her hand. ‘Not that I’m saying he doesn’t love you. I’m sure he does. But you need to focus on yourself, not him. It’s like when I first moved here. I got involved with a bloke a couple of years ago who was enthusiastic one minute then cold as ice the next. I’d been battling to keep the relationship going for six months when Eric pointed out that the guy was demanding so much time from me that I never had any for myself. I argued with him about it for a couple of weeks, but he had totally summed up where I was. I pulled back and the guy disappeared.’
It was so good to find that Lizzie understood what I was feeling and also to share in more details about her life. I was intrigued by the fact that Eric had been the one to dissuade her from her previous relationship. Seeing how close they had been last night made me wonder if their friendship was a precursor to more. ‘Eric seems like a good friend.’
‘He is.’ Her expression gave nothing away.
‘And you have Ced and his wife, too. And who was the principal guy you mentioned? Tom?’
Lizzie gave a self-conscious giggle. ‘Tyler.’
This was too good an opportunity to miss. ‘What’s that giggle for? I think you need to tell me about Tyler.’
She shot me a look but her smile was as bright as the seaside sunshine. ‘Nothing to tell, thank you very much. I’ve known him about four years. He’s thirty-five, one of the youngest principals in the area and he’s a great friend. I asked for his help with the cross-city education programme I’ve been writing and he’s been amazing with it. And that is all.’ She looked down at her watch to signal the subject was closed. ‘Right, we’d better head to Pier 39.’
We made our way along the seafront past the multicoloured vintage trams of the F-Line system, the crowds of tourists with their cameras and matching anoraks and the lines of bicycles waiting for hire towards Pier 39. We reached the entrance, flanked by colourful flags flapping in the Bay breeze and a giant sculpture of a crab made from iron and clad in growing plants.
‘Where does Eric perform?’ I asked Lizzie.
‘Right in the middle of the pier’s boardwalk. But we’ll hear him before we see him.’
‘What does that mean?’
My cousin smiled. ‘You’ll see. We’re a little bit early but I reckon we should just head straight there.’
We walked onto the dark wooden boardwalk and as we rounded a corner a familiar Essex voice called out above the hum of the crowd.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, roll up, roll up! Fifteen minutes to the show of the decade, a plethora of pluck, a phantasmagoria of feats! You do not want to miss this, people! Come and see me by the carousel at two p.m. sharp!’
I turned to Lizzie. ‘Eric?’
‘That’s him.’
We followed the sound of his voice until we saw Eric, dressed in black t-shirt and baggy red streetdance trousers, wheeling around amused tourists on a unicycle. When he saw us, he raised his hand and pedalled over.
‘You came!’ He wobbled between us, planting a kiss on my cheek then Lizzie’s. ‘Are yo
u having a better day, Nell? Was I right about this place or what?’
I smiled back – but then with Eric around it was impossible not to. ‘My day is much better, thank you. And I love your office.’
He chuckled and spread his arms wide. ‘Beats a stuffy accountancy firm, eh?’
‘Can I get you anything before your show?’ Lizzie asked. ‘Do you have water?’
Eric’s eyes shone. ‘Darlin’, you read my mind. I’m good for water but I could murder a coffee. I didn’t get the chance for one this morning. Would you mind?’
‘Not at all.’ My cousin opened her bag and searched around its considerable depths to find her purse.
‘Why don’t I get them?’ I offered. I was enjoying the atmosphere and wanted to say thank you to Lizzie and Eric. ‘What can I get you?’
With their coffee orders, I made my way back through the crowds to the boardwalk entrance where I’d seen a coffee kiosk. The friendly lady behind the counter asked where in England I was from and wished me a pleasant stay in the city as she handed over cups of steaming coffee. Popping plastic lids on the paper cups, I fitted them into a cardboard carrier and turned to leave the kiosk – just as somebody’s elbow caught under mine and sent the carrier and three cups flying into the air. Shocked, I jumped out of the way to escape the hot liquid’s rapid return to earth and turned to confront the person who had knocked into me.
And that was the first time I saw him.
His eyes were shaded behind sunglasses and his dark wavy hair was being blown about his tanned face by the chilly breeze gusting in from the Bay. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans with a khaki jacket – and he looked utterly horrified.
‘Man, I’m so sorry,’ he said, his voice deep and pure West Coast. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
‘No you weren’t. That coffee was hot – it could’ve hurt someone.’
He reached out and touched my arm. ‘I’m sorry, are you OK?’
I took a breath. ‘I’m fine. Are you?’
He took off his sunglasses to reveal dove-grey eyes filled with concern. ‘I’m good. Hey, please let me replace your drinks. It’s the least I can do.’
I was still ruffled but the gorgeous stranger’s earnest apology and kind offer were some compensation for my embarrassment. I couldn’t tell whether my sudden rise in temperature was due to the after-effects of our very public collision or the handsome man now offering to make amends for it. I agreed and watched as he quickly joined the queue, eager to resolve the problem he had unwittingly caused.
‘Here,’ he said, handing me fresh drinks. ‘Again, my humble apologies.’
‘That’s very kind of you, thanks.’
His smile was warm and wide. ‘You’re English?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Cool.’ As if remembering something important he held his hand out. ‘I’m Max.’
When I shook it, his hand was as warm as his smile. ‘Nell. Thanks for these.’
‘No problem.’ His eyes held mine for a moment. ‘So – great to meet you, Nell.’
I was struck by a strong urge to stay where I was, enjoying the unexpected pleasure of his company. But I was aware that Lizzie and Eric were waiting for me and that the circus performer would appreciate caffeine before his show. So, kicking myself for failing to think of anything more inventive, I smiled back. ‘Nice to meet you too, Max. I’d better …’
‘Sure. Um – bye.’
My heart was racing as I turned and hurried back along the boardwalk. Maybe it was my imagination but I could have sworn he was watching me until I disappeared from view …
‘You are an angel,’ Eric grinned, accepting a cup.
‘Sorry it took so long. I had a bit of a mishap.’
Lizzie took her cup from the carrier. ‘What happened?’
‘Someone bumped into me and sent everything flying. But he replaced them and was really sweet about it.’
‘Nell Sullivan, you’re blushing!’
I giggled. ‘Well, he was quite easy on the eye.’
My cousin laughed. ‘Wow, Nellie, this is a turnaround. Yesterday you said you felt out of place, but now you’re fraternising with the locals. I’m proud of you.’
‘OK, lovely ladies,’ Eric said, picking up three long clubs and clambering back onto his unicycle. ‘Showtime!’
Eric’s colleague was gathering a crowd in the large central piazza of the pier, shouting his encouragement through a squeaky loudhailer.
‘Our amazing, one-of-a-kind show is about to start,’ he yelled. ‘Trust me, people, miss this and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life! Come closer, please, gather in. Plenty of room for you all!’
As we watched the intrigued onlookers shuffling into place, Lizzie told me that Eric had regular visitors who would come often to watch his shows. And it was certainly a spectacle. Within minutes of welcoming his audience, Eric was balanced on a unicycle, with flaming clubs in his hands.
‘Now I may or may not have done this before and it may or may not have worked in the past,’ he grinned, causing the people at the front of his audience to shriek and step back as he wobbled towards them. ‘So if this all goes wrong, at least I’ll be able to say I went out in a blaze of glory …’
The crowd gasped as he appeared to almost topple off the unicycle before regaining his balance and perfectly juggling the firebrands, eliciting another cheer and enthusiastic applause from his rapt audience. His colleague then took over the commentating duties as they launched into a well-practised banter about their supposedly dubious juggling skills, moving on to carving knives and watermelons, then axes. Clearly loving the eager applause, Eric hopped off the unicycle and sprinted up the steps to the Pier’s first-floor level, where he hopped over the banister to mount a unicycle with a seat that extended almost two metres above the wheel.
Lizzie and I laughed, gasped and applauded along with the crowd, watching the consummate professionals at work. As they neared their big finale, I looked up at the clearing sky and noticed the man from the coffee kiosk leaning on the first-floor balcony where Eric had climbed onto the unicycle. He was smiling as he watched the show, and once I saw him I couldn’t stop staring. With the benefit of distance I was able to take in his appearance fully. He didn’t look like a tourist, nor did he appear to work at the Pier, yet he seemed entirely at home standing there, laughing at Eric’s antics. It was only when he half-turned his head and looked straight at me that I averted my eyes. His smile widened in recognition and he raised his hand in a little salute. Blushing, I turned back to Eric’s show – and I was just about to tell Lizzie to look when I realised he had gone.
Meeting him had been the most random of happenings, but for some unknown reason it completely caught my attention. The memory of his smile was still dancing in my mind when Eric’s show ended with a thunderous round of applause and the audience began to noisily disperse to Pier 39’s other attractions.
Taking his final bow, Eric bounded over, wiping his brow with a towel.
‘Did you enjoy the show?’
‘It was incredible,’ I replied. ‘How on earth do you ride that thing and juggle?’
‘I’ll let you into a secret,’ he beamed, leaning closer in case any of his audience heard his confession. ‘For about twelve months I couldn’t. Not that it stopped me trying. Thankfully the punters thought it was part of the comedy show. Good job Chad and me are such convincing comedians, eh?’
Eric’s performance partner appeared and handed him a bottle of water. ‘Hey ladies. Eric said he had a rent-a-crowd coming down today. Good show?’ His accent was pure mid-West, a laid-back, lazy drawl that perfectly fitted his surroundings.
Lizzie nodded. ‘Amazing as always, Chad. Although I think you almost gave that lady in the front of the crowd a coronary with your axe-juggling.’
‘Ha, I saw that. What can I say? I have that effect on women.’
Lizzie promised Eric another dinner invitation soon and we left them to prepare for th
eir next show, for which the audience was already gathering. We walked away from Pier 39 towards Aquatic Park and Ghirardelli Square. The shroud of mist over the Bay had cleared to just a thin layer on the horizon, making the distant blue hills appear to be floating over the deep blue-green stretch of water. Tourist boats buzzed towards the red span of the Golden Gate Bridge and around the ghostly ruins of Alcatraz Island, enjoying the freedom to explore the Bay that many of the infamous island prison’s inmates literally would have died for.
When we reached the Powell Street terminal of San Francisco’s iconic cable cars, my cousin nudged my arm.
‘I reckon we should brave the queue and have a cable car ride. You can’t come here and not try it out.’
The queue was considerable, wrapping around the manual turntable and back up the street, but the warm afternoon sun was shining and the atmosphere amongst the waiting tourists was affable. We joined the back of the line, Lizzie amused by the touristy thing we were doing.
‘You know, it’s strange but it’s been years since I last rode in a cable car. When I arrived I did a bit of sightseeing but pretty soon I was living here and life just kind of took over.’
‘In that case, we’re absolutely doing the right thing.’
‘I concur, dear cousin. And I’m still keeping my eye out for your handsome stranger. I can’t believe you saw him again and didn’t tell me.’
‘I tried to, but he’d gone before I had a chance.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know. Keeping all the gorgeous ones for yourself,’ Lizzie joked.
As we neared the front of the queue, several wooden cable cars rumbled down towards the turntable, the drivers and brakemen hopping off and trading loud, good-natured banter with each other as they pulled and pushed the cars around to turn them. I was very amused when the drivers took a break by the tiny wooden hut beside the turntable and passed around a large plastic tub of red liquorice. One lady, who was later revealed to be a visitor from New York, protested loudly when she saw this, insinuating that their break was tantamount to treason for the tourists waiting to travel. But a brakeman caused a ripple of laughter to move through the rest of the queue when he replied, ‘Lady, if we don’t get our liquorice you don’t get our help hauling your ass up Powell. Any questions?’
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