by Mandy Baggot
Angel had been wrestled up onto Dean’s shoulders only until he realised just how much she’d grown since his last visit home. He’d dropped her down to the ground, clasped her hand instead and led the way outside. A sea of yellow taxis had greeted them and a line of weary travellers waiting their turn for a ride. The limousine waiting for the Walker party was a welcome sight although Hayley was never going to admit that to her mother.
‘Gabe, can you pull over?’ Dean called to the driver. ‘My niece wants to stop.’
‘Sir, I wouldn’t recommend doing that. Some of the other drivers told me the cops are getting hot on cars that pull over on the bridge.’
‘It’s OK, Dean. She doesn’t need to see everything this second. We can walk the bridge tomorrow or something,’ Hayley said.
‘No, Mum. I want to see it now. Please, Uncle Dean!’
‘Pull it over, Gabe. We see a cop car, we’ll jump back in and outrun them like an episode of Blue Bloods. How does that sound?’ He grinned at Angel and offered his hand for a high five.
Hayley watched their hands connect, the utter joy taking over her daughter’s features. This was all so exciting for her. Seeing New York for the very first time was special. It was Angel’s first moments here, ones she would remember forever. Just like she had. The smell of the city – it’s living, breathing heart, its electricity – the feeling that you were right in the midst of something that was constantly evolving. She’d stood on the Brooklyn Bridge at eighteen with her whole life stretching out before her. Wishes, dreams, a blank canvas to fill up any way she chose. She remembered stretching her arms above her head and feeling the breeze filter through each finger. Freedom, a foreign country, dollars in her pocket and a few weeks of indulgence before she knuckled down to college. And then there was that one night, way too much vodka and a Belgian called Michel.
The car pulling to a stop made Hayley come to. Angel was already tugging at the door handle before the brakes had fully engaged.
‘Wait, Angel. You have to be careful.’ She had visions of Angel stepping into traffic and being mown down. ‘There are a lot more cars here than at home.’
Angel let out a hiss of annoyance. ‘I’m not sure that’s actually true. Most people here use the subway.’
‘OK, Miss Smarty Pants, have it your way. Fly out of there, but be prepared to get up close and personal with a van load of Krispy Kremes,’ Hayley bit back.
‘Hey, it’s OK. She’s just excited,’ Dean said, sitting forward on the seat. ‘I’ll look after her.’
Hayley let out a sigh. Why was she so jumpy? The guy from airport immigration had set her on edge like he was a mind reader, privy to her innermost thoughts. He’d asked a million questions – who she was visiting, how long for, her plans for the holidays – and then Dean had been there. Calm, confident, gorgeous Dean, who she loved with all her heart but who just seemed to do everything a whole lot better than she did. Including managing her daughter. Her parenting skills were all she had since fashion dreams had been given up. She thought she was doing OK but Dean, clever, industry-led Dean, was just such a natural with his niece. And Angel adored him, bonding again immediately. Was this because a male figure in her life was a novelty? Or because it was something she craved? Would this be what it would be like with her father in her life?
Angel opened the car door, slipping out and stepping up to the metal and wire barrier. Hayley heard the ‘wow’ before her daughter’s feet even hit the snow-covered tarmac. She followed Dean and Angel out of the car and joined them at the edge of the bridge.
And there was that view. Straight out of the movies. A scene so well-known but so completely different when you saw it for real, when it was that close.
High-rise buildings towered up from the banks of the Hudson River, shards of light bouncing off the water, reflecting in the ripples of the tide. Squares of yellow and rectangles of orange and white lights came from the tall, slim blocks across the river. Firm, foreboding but somehow also welcoming. Snow speckled the view, large, slow-moving flakes drifting in the breeze.
‘Which is the highest building, Uncle Dean?’
Hayley looked to Angel. She had her feet up on the first rung of the metalwork, leaning out, but her brother was directly behind her, his body close, his arms holding Angel steady. Snowflakes were settling on their hair. There were moments, like this one, where she saw elements of Michel in her daughter. It was something about her profile, the shape of her nose and definitely her eyes. Hayley continued to watch Angel with Dean. One night ten years ago had never mattered more than it did now.
‘That’s the One World Trade Centre. It stands at one thousand seven hundred and seventy six feet and has a hundred and four floors.’
‘Wow,’ Angel said.
‘See, it’s there,’ Dean said, pointing across the water.
‘How many steps does it have?’ Hayley asked.
‘I don’t know that, but I do know it has elevators,’ Dean responded, grinning at her.
‘Mum didn’t really want to know. She was trying to be funny,’ Angel told him.
‘I know, Angel. She did it all the time when we were growing up.’ He tickled Angel’s ribs until she had to jump back down onto the road. ‘So, are you hungry?’
‘I am. We had chicken on the plane but that was hours ago,’ Angel answered.
‘How about Chinese? I know this great little restaurant,’ Dean suggested.
‘Oh, we don’t need to go out anywhere,’ Hayley began.
‘My treat,’ Dean said.
‘Yes!’ Angel did an air pump.
‘Well, why don’t you hop back in the car and we’ll go and get us some dim sum and fortune cookies,’ Dean said, opening the door for Angel.
Once the excited nine-year-old was back in the car Hayley let out a sigh that had her shoulders rolling. She clutched hold of the ironwork of the bridge but quickly let go as her fingers froze.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ Dean asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.
She hadn’t known her brother was so close. The comfort almost brought tears to her eyes and she realised in that moment just how much she missed him. He’d been here, in New York, since she was seventeen and only now did she grasp just how much that had challenged her. He was her big brother, the only one who had never judged or asked too many questions.
She forced a smile but she wasn’t sure it had met her eyes. ‘I’m fine.’ How could she even begin to tell him everything that was wrong? It was easier this way.
He shook his head. ‘Come on, Hay, you’ve never been able to lie to me since the day you hid your Barbie’s dresses just so I couldn’t put them on Action Man.’
She couldn’t help the laugh escaping. ‘I didn’t understand back then.’
‘Making soldiers cross-dress just seemed natural,’ Dean said in a camp voice. ‘I’m sure I wasn’t alone.’
She looked her brother up and down. Brown brogue shoes, dark blue designer jeans, clean shaven, with his short brown hair gelled up to perfection. His blue knit coat was collecting snowflakes and it was almost exactly like the last time she was here. Younger, more excited, but still vulnerable.
‘What is it?’ Dean said in no more than a whisper.
Hayley shook her head and forced a smile. It wasn’t the right time. She wanted to be closer to having answers, find a trail and be heading towards a result before she let anyone in on it. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
And then her cheeks hit the wool of Dean’s coat and the flakes of white mushed up against her skin as he embraced her hard. She breathed in the scent of his cologne, savouring all the memories it brought back. Fun, laughter, simple, uncomplicated times.
‘You’re in New York, Hay! New York! My adopted home town! And it’s Christmas time!’ Dean swung her about in his arms like she was a fabric doll. Then he held her away from him, hands planted on the side of her reddened cheeks as he swayed her head from side to side. ‘I have a whole list of things for us
to do. We’re going to finally get you in a horse and cart. We’re going to go skating at the Rockefeller Centre. Vern is going to get us tickets for something on Broadway.’ An ecstatic sigh left him. ‘It’s going to be the best two weeks of your life!’
Hayley took back control of her head. ‘Who’s Vern?’
For a second the wind was taken out of Dean’s sails but then he laughed and clamped a hand on her shoulder. ‘Nice try. Your daughter never keeps anything secret. She must have told you about Vern.’
Hayley smiled. ‘She might have. But I definitely need to know more about Randy. Please tell me it’s a dog and not a pet name.’
9
Asian Dawn, South William Street, New York
‘You going to eat that or stare at it like it wants to buy all your shares?’
Tony shovelled in a mouthful of beansprouts and pulled at Oliver’s plate with his spare hand. His black hair bounced around his forehead as he devoured the food on his plate, spatters of juice speckling his olive skin.
Oliver shook his head at his friend. ‘Really? Just because I don’t eat like a starving woolly mammoth?’ He pulled the plate back towards him.
Tony was right though. He had ordered food he didn’t even want. After the heated debate with Clara, his brain was fried. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on the Regis Software merger paperwork and the stress ball had been given the pounding of its life. He needed to unwind. He was coiled so tightly in every area of his life and now he had his mother on his back. As if he didn’t have enough going on. Maybe the doctor was right. Maybe a rapid physical dismantling could happen at any time. A breakdown. Or a heart attack.
He picked some noodles up with his chopsticks and put them to his mouth, hoping the ingestion of food would quell the panic, soften the ache in his chest wall. He chewed slowly, trying to savour the subtle flavours, concentrate on just the eating, nothing else. His eyes moved to the other patrons, enjoying the fine food and the unique ambiance of the restaurant. Red paper lanterns hung from vantage points around the room, elaborate Chinese plates and ornaments adorned the walls and each table had a delicate, fresh orchid in its centre with a glowing tea light candle.
‘So, what’s happening in your world?’
Oliver turned his attention back to Tony. ‘Ah, you know, the usual.’
‘Really? Because Momma heard they called an ambulance for you yesterday.’
Oliver threw his napkin to the table and inhaled a breath. ‘All of my staff have signed a confidentiality clause.’
‘And most of them eat at the family restaurant. What can I say?’ Tony lifted his shoulders nonchalantly.
He would identify the employee who was sharing information and make sure they were reprimanded. Reports of ill health, Chinese whispers through the city, would do the company no good whatsoever.
‘Well? I’m waiting here,’ Tony said, his brown eyes fixed on him.
He swallowed. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’
‘No?’
‘No.’ He didn’t sound convincing and he knew Tony wouldn’t be fooled.
He dropped his eyes to his plate of food, considering what to say next, if anything. He heard Tony suck in a breath and a chink of glassware made him raise his head.
‘Well, you’re here so you didn’t die,’ Tony stated.
‘I admire your powers of observation.’
Tony shook his head. ‘I don’t understand you. We’ve had this conversation so many times. You said you weren’t going to let this thing take over.’
‘It’s kind of hard not to.’
‘Pa!’ Tony waved a meaty hand in the air. ‘We all know the worst that could happen. You could keel over right here right now, your head in black bean sauce, stomach empty, unfulfilled …’ Tony lowered his voice a notch. ‘Not been laid in forty-eight hours …’
‘Actually it’s a little under twenty-four.’
‘Last night?’ Tony asked, eyes wide. ‘Man, you’re good.’ He took a swig from his beer bottle. ‘So what’s the problem? You made it out of the hospital instead of being transferred to the mortuary, it’s all good.’
‘My mom wants me to go home for Christmas and, if I don’t, she’s going to make me speak at the McArthur Foundation fundraiser.’
‘That cold slab at the mortuary is sounding tempting,’ Tony teased.
Oliver put down his chopsticks and picked up his beer bottle. ‘You don’t understand what it’s like. You have a million cousins, nieces and nephews for Christmas, I have my mom, the shroud of death hanging over the place and Pablo quizzing me on the NHL which I never have time to watch anymore.’
‘What d’you want me to say?’
‘I don’t know. That I’m not being a Grade A jerk. That I have every right not to want to spend that day in December that way.’ He was getting agitated just talking about it. He shifted in his seat as an uncomfortable current of pain ran up his left arm.
‘Look at it this way. What scares the crap out of you the most? Spending a few hours stuffing yourself full of turkey with your mom? Or standing up in front of a room full of New York’s finest, talking about your dad and Ben?’
Oliver flinched and tried to hide it by picking up his chopsticks and spearing a clump of noodles. He knew the answer to that. The public affair scared him a lot more than visiting home for the day, but both scenarios were going to open up closed wounds and remind him what he was living with.
‘I don’t know,’ Tony said, sitting back in his chair. ‘I could kill you now instead. We could order up a bottle of Scotch and go out with a bang.’
Oliver couldn’t help the corners of his mouth twitching. Only Tony could turn his death sentence into a joke. His friend had been making him laugh since 1989. Tony’s parents’ Italian restaurant, Romario’s, had been the Drummond’s Friday night out since he was old enough to eat solid food. It was one of the few places he’d visited with his father and brother that he still went to. There wasn’t room for grief amongst the larger-than-life personalities of the Romario family.
‘Seriously, man, if I knew I wasn’t going to make old age I wouldn’t be wasting a second worrying about it. I’d be living it.’
‘I do live it,’ he countered.
Tony snorted. ‘In between panicking about it.’
There was that word again. Panic. From the mouth of his best friend.
‘Order some more drinks,’ Tony said. ‘And I promise, you drop here and now, I’ll keep every secret you ever told me for at least a month after the funeral. After that, it’s open season and capitalising on every talk show this side of the seaboard.’
* * *
The car stopped outside the Asian Dawn restaurant and Angel’s jaw dropped at the sight of the frontage. There were china painted dragons, ivory-coloured statues and two flaming torches at the door. Strings of tinsel adorned the dragons’ necks, a garland of gold-coloured candy canes hung over the doorframe and, fixed to the wall, was an image of Santa Claus holding the reins to his sleigh, which flashed on and off in stages of red, white and green.
Angel opened the car door and jumped out onto the pavement, running up to the nearest ornate dragon. As she got out too, Hayley watched her daughter smooth her hands over the pottery mane, fingering the swirls and dips in the masonry.
Angel turned then, looking at her. ‘Can I have anything I want?’
This restaurant looked like something out of a James Bond Shanghai scene. Everything about it signalled top dollar. She’d be lucky to afford a tip let alone a meal.
Hayley opened her mouth to speak.
Dean beat her to it. ‘Of course you can.’
‘Do they have ice cream?’
‘Only the best ice cream in Manhattan.’
‘Dean …’ Hayley started as Angel headed to the door. ‘This place looks lovely but it also looks like somewhere Kim and Kanye would come to be seen.’ She let a breath out. ‘It looks expensive and …’
Dean reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s
on me.’
‘You can’t do that the whole time we’re here, Dean.’ She locked eyes with him. ‘And I don’t want you to. It isn’t fair.’
Dean smiled. ‘Tonight is my treat.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s fill you both up with New York’s good stuff.’
Hayley smiled. She had to admit the thought of sweet and sour chicken and the best ice cream in Manhattan was more than a little tempting. And if she ran into Kimye … well she’d maybe suggest that Kim’s colouring went much better with gold than red.
* * *
Tony let out a belch. ‘So what was she like?’
Oliver creased his brow at the question. ‘Who?’
‘Miss Less-Than-Twenty-Four-Hours-Ago’
Christa. This one he remembered the name of. ‘If I’m honest, a little bit creepy.’
‘Yeah?’ Tony shifted his body forward in his seat and looked increasingly interested.
‘She made me pretend I was a lemur.’
Tony laughed out loud, a sound that echoed the whole way round the restaurant and back again like an audible boomerang.
‘It’s not funny,’ Oliver hissed.
‘I don’t see the issue.’ Tony wiped his face with his napkin.
‘It works in your perverted world maybe.’
‘Did you get her number?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Shame,’ Tony grinned. ‘I would have been any animal she wanted me to be.’
Oliver shook his head at his friend as Tony’s mobile phone erupted into life.
‘Hey,’ Tony answered, shifting back in his chair. ‘Momma, no, I can’t.’ He rolled his eyes as he looked to Oliver. ‘Momma, Ivano does this every second week …’ He continued the conversation in loud Italian Oliver had no hope of ever translating even if he did know some of the language.