by Helga Jensen
‘What would you like to drink?’ says a tall, blonde cabin crew member shortly after take-off. She reminds me of Jamie’s ex-wife. I am now glad he isn’t on the flight out with me. I know he has Miserable Megan in his life, but I wouldn’t want him to get upset by being reminded of Melinda. Emotions are so much stronger at 39,000 feet I find. I’m forever crying when watching an in-flight movie, even if it is a comedy.
‘White wine, please,’ I say politely. I try to divert my eyes and not keep staring at her. I can’t help myself, but I am curious as to how she got her hair into such a neat bun. My hair would probably look like a bird’s nest if I tried that. How come some people can do these wonderful things with their hair? I do envy them.
The lady smiles, dazzling me with her dental-advert-worthy white teeth, and hands me the wine, showing off her equally perfect manicured red nails as she does so.
‘Here, have three. It’s a long flight,’ she says kindly.
‘Oh, wow, thank you!’ Perhaps it is as well that I am not in charge of Jasper and Rupert right now.
‘Cheers,’ says the lady next to me as she lifts up the glass of gin and tonic that she ordered. Until now she hasn’t said anything, which I really didn’t mind.
‘You on holiday?’ she asks with what I assume is a New York accent. I notice that it sounds a bit similar to Patrick’s.
‘Yes, kind of,’ I respond. ‘I have a friend there… I’m going to meet up with him.’
‘Hmm. A male friend, huh?’
‘Um, yeah.’ I blush. ‘Well, he’s… Ah, long story… I… You? Are you going home, or…?’
‘Give me your hand,’ she demands, not answering my question.
‘What?’ I ask. What on earth does she want my hand for?
‘Give me your hand. I read palms. Let me see how your visit will go,’ she insists.
She is starting to make me feel uncomfortable now. I don’t want my palm read.
She grabs my hand and pulls it over to her. Does it say in my palm that fortune telling freaks me out? If I did believe in fortune tellers, I really wouldn’t want to know if something horrible is going to happen.
‘You’ve had a tough time,’ she says, looking at a crease in my palm.
How can she possibly tell that from looking at my hand? Is it because I haven’t used the pomegranate and aloe vera hand cream that Sian bought me last Christmas? Perhaps my skin feels a bit rough but…
She draws her finger along another crease in my palm. I notice her enormously long nails as she does so. They are painted a bright shade of purple and scratch me slightly as she runs her finger along.
‘You’ve waited a long time to get with the right man. But he’s here now. You’ve found him,’ she adds suddenly.
I almost spit out the wine that I am slurping at nervously.
‘I’ve found the right man?’ I ask. I suddenly feel like a Jane Austen character who has been waiting for the perfect suitor. Does he have a big stately home in the country too?
‘Yup, your man is in New York.’ She laughs. ‘You’ll marry him. Bitter sweet though, as someone important will be missing from the wedding.’
Did she say I was going to marry Patrick? And that’s Mum. If I was to remarry, unlike my wedding to Dick, Mum would be missing.
‘This man in New York, he is definitely the one for you. No question about it. He’s tall… handsome. Yup, you two are the perfect match,’ she says. ‘I dun know why, but you should have realised this sooner. Both of ya took your time.’
‘Oh, well, yeah, I took twenty years to call him. How do you know all of this?’ I ask. She knows so much that I wonder whether I should begin to believe what she is telling me.
‘I’m a natural… I have waiting lists in New Jersey,’ she says with a laugh. She then takes her drinks napkin and writes down what she has told me.
‘Will he die early?’ I ask as she starts writing.
‘You’ll both have a good life… now, there, that’s all I can see. Remember what I said,’ she says, handing me the napkin. ‘When it happens, I want you to look at this again and see I was right. Don’t forget me.’ She gestures to the screen in front of her. ‘I’m going to watch…’
She puts her headphones on and tells me nothing further. She can’t stop now. I want to know if the boys will get good careers, will Jasper improve his science skills? I need to know more, but that is it. That is all she will tell me. I wonder if she is right? I am not ready to marry again after Dick. I would certainly never want to go through that again. The boys don’t even know about Patrick; this is all a bit sudden. They’d have to get to know him and absolutely adore him for me to marry him. How can it possibly be true? But how did she know as much as she did? I have too many questions for her to just start watching telly like that.
The more wine I drink, the less absurd this all seems. I suppose if he was so perfect, we would have to have some kind of commitment eventually, especially with such a long-distance relationship. If he hasn’t got many years left, we would have to get a move on. I guess I could marry again one day. I never planned it, but, well, Dick is getting remarried. I don’t know. I never would have expected it, I have to say… Oh my goodness. ‘I’m going to marry Patrick.’
Surely not.
Chapter 22
New York – good to be back
Four messages bleep on my phone the minute I switch it on in the airport terminal. The most important one is from Dick. I feel so relieved to see that the boys are enjoying themselves, although I miss them so much that I feel like getting an internal flight to Florida. I think I would swim there if there weren’t so many alligators down that way.
Boys are having a wonderful time.
Watched you land safely on a flight tracking app, so off to bed. Miss you lots, Sian xxx
Let me know when you land, honey. Not long till I see the gal of my dreams, can’t wait! Xx
Your account is overdrawn and will now be charged at an interest rate of 36%. Please put funds in your account to avoid…
I see the boys must have been using the debit card again. I bet it was on the flight to play some sort of game. I should never have entered the number onto their iPad. As for Patrick, aka ‘the man I’m going to marry’, I will message when I get to the hotel. I don’t want to appear too eager.
The gal of my dreams, bless him, he hasn’t even seen me properly yet. He might be in for a shock. I still can’t believe the palm reader said that I would marry him though. I never would have thought that would happen.
As I wait at the luggage carousel, I see the palm reader once again. She picks up a leopard print suitcase – an item I didn’t know existed. She waves over at me and shouts something. I just about manage to hear her in between the chattering and squeaking of luggage wheels.
‘Remember my words… Have a good life with the man of your dreams…’
I smile over and am about to respond when I notice my suitcase appear. The relief is immense as I desperately want to escape the airport. Even though I managed to get some sleep on the flight, I am still exhausted from all the travelling.
On the drive towards Manhattan, the city lights wake me up a little. A surge of adrenalin hits me as the Manhattan skyline peeps out at me in the distance. What a skyline. It doesn’t matter how many times you see it in real life, or in the movies, it never fails to take your breath away.
It certainly feels like it was over twenty years ago when I was last here. I don’t think I would know my way around at all; it almost feels as though this is my first time here. Nothing seems familiar.
We weave around different blocks, which I personally would call streets. They all look so similar that it is hard to get my bearings. Although it is almost midnight, people are rushing about the blocks like an army of little ants.
The cab pulls over at the hotel, and I wish we were in the wrong part of town. I can immediately see from the grubby, air-polluted, stained look that a five star this is most certainly not. However, if I try to pu
t a positive slant on it, then it has to be said that it does have that New York buzz to it, even if that involves listening to police sirens all night. It is basic, but it was reasonably priced, so I shouldn’t have expected much more. Crammed into a back street of Manhattan, I discover that the street it is located in, and the room itself, are equally as compact.
I still haven’t messaged Patrick back, so I am not surprised when my phone starts to ring. I have barely put my bags down when I see his name flashing up on the phone.
‘Hi, where are you? Your flight landed hours ago,’ he says the minute I pick up the call.
‘Sorry, busy getting a cab and then looking at all the sights… I should have messaged…’
‘No harm done, baby. How do you like your room?’
I look around and see the longest ever dark hair on the migraine-inducing blue and yellow carpet. Yuck. Has this place even been cleaned?
‘Oh, it’s perfect,’ I say sarcastically.
‘Great. I knew you’d love it,’ says Patrick, totally missing the point. He must think I don’t have very high standards.
‘Did you check out your bathroom yet?’
I haven’t dared go in, but I can see the shower curtain is pulled across. It looks like the type of bathroom where there would be a murderer waiting behind the curtain. I can’t help wonder if this is the sister accommodation of Bates Motel.
‘No, I haven’t. I’m not sure I fancy it,’ I say. Even though I would love to freshen up I am too scared to go in.
‘The bathrooms are fantastic there, Amelia. Surely you have a big bath, which I hope to share with you soon, incidentally.’ Patrick laughs.
A big bath? From where I am standing, I am not even sure one of my thighs is going to fit in the bath, let alone me and Patrick. Also, that is a bit forward of him. Then again, maybe I should be a bit more open to the fact that he might get to see me naked, now that we are supposed to marry and all. The thought makes me panic again. Marriage and sex with someone else, is such a terrifying thought.
‘Ha, I don’t think we will fit in the bath together, somehow,’ I manage.
‘You have the suite though, right?’
‘I don’t know. It’s a regular room, I think.’
I look around, wondering if this is actually a suite and see a mouldy looking banana.
‘There might be a fruit bowl,’ I add.
‘Oh, cool. I’m sure you’re in the suite then. I did ask them to upgrade your room.’
‘You asked them to upgrade me?’ I ask. That’s so sweet of him.
‘Yeah, I pulled a few strings, you know.’
‘Oh, thank goodness, because if this is the suite, I cannot even imagine the regular rooms,’ I say.
‘You don’t sound too pleased with your room, Amelia. Is something wrong?’
‘No, nothing wrong. I’m tired. I’m sure the room will look amazing in the morning,’ I say, doing my best to sound a little more grateful for the upgrade. ‘Yes, I am just tired. I’m sure everything will look so much better after a sleep,’ I reiterate, but when I look at the crumpled old bed linen, I know this is a lie. Do they even change the sheets between guests?
‘Okay. Listen. You have a sleep, okay. I’ll see my beautiful princess tomorrow. I’m sure you’re just jet-lagged. Night night, darling. Love you.’
‘Love you.’ I don’t know why, but the words escape from my lips. Maybe a part of me is falling in love with him even though he has put me in the worst dump I could have imagined.
Just as I resign myself to sitting on the bed, my phone rings again. Maybe it is Patrick calling back. I am pretty sure there has been a mix up and I am in the wrong hotel.
‘Hello,’ says Jamie’s chirpy voice. ‘You landed okay? Did you get to your hotel yet?’
‘Oh Jamie. I did, but it’s horrible. Hang on a minute.’
I listen carefully as I hear someone knock and then attempt to move the door handle.
‘Oh my god, Jamie. Someone’s trying to get through my door. It sounds like they’re trying to get a key in the lock. They’re rustling something.’
‘Right. Put your safety locks on quickly. What’s the name of your hotel again? Give me two minutes and I’ll call you back.’
There’s some commotion outside and then I hear a security guard. I press my ear against the door.
‘Sir, is this your room?’
‘I’m looking for someone,’ I hear a man’s voice say.
There is more knocking on the door.
‘Ma’am, are you okay in there?’
I don’t respond. I’m too scared to speak. I notice my phone ringing on the bed. I am terrified that if I answer the men outside will hear me, but I can see that it is Jamie calling back.
‘Hello,’ I whisper down the phone.
‘Right, there’s an Uber on its way for you. I’ve booked a room where the company have put us up, okay. The taxi will be downstairs waiting for you in two minutes. Start grabbing your bags and head out. I want you to stay on the phone with me the whole time, until you get into the cab.’
‘I’m too scared to open the door,’ I say.
‘I’m with you. Do it. Get out of there now. The taxi is waiting, just run if you have to.’
I unlock the bolt and peek outside. The men have gone.
‘Oh phew, Jamie. The men have gone.’
‘Great, now keep walking.’
‘Excuse me, miss. Missy, excuse me.’ I hear a voice behind me.
Oh no, it’s the man who was outside my room. I recognise the voice. He’s shouting for me. He’s running up to me.
‘Miss, please. Stop.’
‘Do murderers say please?’ I ask Jamie.
‘Missy, you left your sweater downstairs,’ the man says, catching up with me.
‘Oh my gosh. I am so sorry. I thought you were a… Never mind. Thank you,’ I say.
Although the man was not a murderer, I still feel immensely relieved to leave the hotel as I sit in the cab.
* * *
Walking in to where Jamie has booked me, I feel so much more comfortable.
It is a typical business hotel. All functional and quite minimal. I’m so busy looking up at the bright, spotlighted ceiling that I bump into someone carrying a briefcase.
‘Sorry!’ I say. The man looks at me with disgust.
‘Tourists,’ I hear him mutter. I obviously don’t look like I’m on a business trip then. What is he doing with a briefcase at this time of the night? Shouldn’t he have finished work by now? Is everyone in New York a workaholic?
I am soon checked in by an attentive receptionist and given the key for my standard room. I open the door with my key card and am pleased to see that there are no vagrant hairs in the room. Not even a hideous carpet.
I throw myself on the comfortable bed. I want to snuggle under the sheets, but they are tucked in so tightly I don’t quite have the strength to loosen them. Instead, I get up and search for my nightshirt and hang up my ‘dress of hope’.
I am still searching for my nightshirt when Patrick replies to an earlier message. I had sent photos of my new hotel, after explaining to him that I had to leave the hotel he had arranged. I thanked him for his trouble though.
Glad you’re happy, honey. Sorry that didn’t work out. The location was amazing; I guess it would be better in the day. Off to bed now but look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Tiffany’s, Fifth Avenue, 1pm. Just like old times XX
Great. See you then. Look forward to it XX
I do consider putting a few more kisses, seeing as he has tried his best with the hotel arrangements and I feel rather ungrateful. However, he has only put two so I think better of it. Treat them mean, keep them keen and all that. What is much more important, is the fact that it is now officially less than twelve hours until my date.
I am about to be reunited with Perfect Patrick after all this time.
Chapter 23
A dodgy deli – not the perfect start
I wake up with a pound
ing headache, probably due to the combination of wine and dehydration from the flight. On top of it all, as I slept in I have now missed my hotel breakfast. Today has not started out as perfectly as I had hoped, seeing as it is THE BIG DAY. Ideally, I would have woken up dozens of pounds lighter, refreshed and glowing, and not with what feels like a woodpecker gnawing at my temples.
I decide to search for a deli and get a bite to eat even though I am so nervous that food is the last thing I feel like right now. However, I certainly don’t want my stomach to give out a big growl if Patrick and I were to have some kind of embrace upon meeting.
I find an average-looking deli and greet the server.
‘A plain ham sandwich, please,’ I say.
The server looks at me completely vacuously, and I have to repeat myself five times.
‘Ham, please. Ham, ham, ham, ham?’
He can’t understand my Welsh accent, or the fact that I don’t want a ham on rye, like the New Yorkers seem to eat. I try to think how they speak in New York.
‘Haaaam?’ I plead desperately. It is no good, though, he just isn’t getting me.
I try to think what people eat in the movies. What would he understand? The queue behind me is getting longer and I hear someone shout for me to hurry up. In my panic, I point to a wilted sandwich in the display fridge.
‘You want this? Jeez, woman, why didn’t you just say pastrami on rye?’
Sheepishly, I pay for it and take my wrapped sandwich from the counter top. I keep my eyes to the floor as I walk past the waiting customers.
I find a metal chair outside the deli and attempt to eat my sandwich. I take one bite of it and know that it’s inedible. I didn’t want rye in the first place. I open the sandwich up to inspect its insides. Is that mustard? I hate mustard. I take some of the pastrami out and wipe the generous serving of condiment off.
As I finally nibble on the pastrami, I can’t help but people watch. It is such a busy street. A smart young couple holding hands are first. They look so in love that you can’t help but feel happy for them. Next is a powerful-looking woman in a suit, quickly followed by a punky-looking guy with ubiquitous piercings. He glares at me and obviously doesn’t appreciate me people watching, so I look at my phone and begin to text.