‘You’re sure it wasn’t the prospect of your wedding night with Ryan?’ asks Maggie.
‘There was that too,’ Lily admits. ‘I’m not gonna lie.’
‘That’s what we should have done!’ I say, smacking my palm on the table. ‘We should have told you the authorities would want to see DNA evidence that you and Ryan had done the deed.’
‘No problem for Ryan,’ says Rachel. ‘I don’t know what you thought the arrangement was, Lily, but he definitely thought he was getting a bride with benefits.’
‘Please,’ says Lily faintly.
‘I bet he had a Holiday Inn booked, with the full honeymoon package,’ says Rachel. ‘Rose petals all over the bed, chocolate-dipped strawberries, champagne in a bucket.’
‘He was well up for it,’ Maggie says. ‘The second the ceremony ended he was going to scoop you up and carry you out of the building. Kicking and screaming.’
Rachel drops her voice, being Ryan. ‘I can’t wait to be married to you, babe. I can’t wait till our wedding night.’
‘Ew! Noo,’ says Lily, laughing and clapping her hands over her ears.
I’m wiping tears from my eyes. ‘Oh darling, your face. After he dipped you in that Hollywood kiss – I’ve never seen anyone look so frozen stiff. You were like a rabbit in the headlights. I wish I’d caught it on camera.’
‘I did! I did!’ Maggie shrieks, attracting stares from the old men in the booth beside us. ‘Look!’ She gets out her phone and shows us the photo of the happy couple just after Ryan’s kiss. He looks like he’s on cloud nine, and as for Lily – she’s like that painting The Scream. It is priceless.
‘You are going to have to destroy all those photos,’ Rachel says, glancing at the men behind us. Then she starts to laugh again. ‘But that one you should keep.’
We’re still giggling helplessly when the barman comes over with another round of cocktails for us.
‘What’s this? We didn’t order these,’ Maggie says.
‘Sshh,’ says Rachel, quickly distributing them.
‘From the gentlemen at the bar,’ says the barman.
‘Really? I thought that only happened in films,’ I say.
‘It happened to me once in a hotel bar in Liverpool. But he thought I was a hooker,’ says Rachel. ‘Those guys seem legit, though.’
Two very clean-cut Wall Street types in suits, standing at the bar, are giving us a discreet wave.
‘I think they’re looking at you, Mags,’ says Lily.
‘No, they’re both looking at you. Guys like that do not go for short-haired brunettes. They’re all blond, all the way.’
‘But you can’t talk to them anyway, Maggie. Don’t forget your vow,’ I remind her, sipping my Cosmo. They might be a cliché, but they’re very delicious.
‘Wait a second!’ says Rachel. ‘You broke your vow already, remember? You spoke to Ryan!’
‘Aaargh!’ This seems to call for another round of screams, as we realise what’s happened. We really are popular in this bar now.
‘The spell is lifted,’ says Lily. ‘Go forth and chat.’
Maggie shakes her head.
‘I don’t feel like it,’ she says. ‘Why should I? I know what will happen. We’ll get chatting, they’ll say British dentists are awful, we’ll say Americans are obsessed with air conditioning, I’ll end up snogging one of them, we’ll go on to some club together, and then he’ll get annoyed because I won’t sleep with him. Or else I will sleep with him and it will be fine but I’ll feel hollow inside the next day. Why bother?’
There’s a silence; no one seems to have a ready reply.
‘Well, when you put it like that …’ says Rachel.
I’m a little concerned. Maggie’s way too young and beautiful to sound so cynical. But then I decide this isn’t the time for a big debrief about her love life. Also, I don’t want anyone to start asking about mine.
‘OK then,’ I say, draining my Cosmo. ‘Time for a change of scene. Where to next? We’ve got a non-wedding to celebrate. Let’s take Manhattan!'
I wake up with a pounding headache, and crawl across the room to the minibar. It takes for ever before I figure out how to open it, and scrabble frantically among the bottles. Gin, vodka, whisky, Pepsi – oh, thank God. Water. I open the bottle and drain it dry.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ I croak to Rachel, who’s already awake and texting someone – Oliver, no doubt.
‘Knock yourself out,’ she says. ‘I’m not thirsty.’
‘How can you not be thirsty? Are you bionic?’ I ask. ‘Are there robot legs under those covers? How much did I have to drink last night?’ I collapse back on the bed.
‘Not as much as Lily or Maggie. Or Vinnie.’
‘Who? Oh! Him.’ Now I remember. After going to an awful sports bar, we ended up in a jazz bar in the East Village, where we met a double bass player called Vinnie, who decided he and Lily were getting married that evening. ‘You’re dressed for it, I’m dressed for it, why not?’ he kept yelling over the music. Then we collected more of his friends, and their instruments, and we all ended up taking a cab to another dive bar – with a detour to Times Square, because for some reason the guys were convinced we’d never seen it before. I have a memory of Vinnie and his friend Ricky taking turns trying on Lily’s veil, and then it goes blurry.
‘Did we do karaoke?’ I ask, frowning.
‘Yes. You and Ricky sang the theme from Beauty and the Beast, don’t you remember?’
‘“Tale As Old As Time”! Oh goodness, so we did. I think we did it quite well, actually. I wonder if anyone filmed it?
‘Do you think Maggie stayed away from the boys? They were coming at her with all their instruments.’ Rachel chuckles. Now I remember: she and I crawled home at 1 a.m., but Lily and Maggie were still partying hard.
But Maggie, when we go next door, insists she didn’t go near the guys. ‘Unlike her,’ she says, nodding towards Lily. ‘She brought Vinnie back here for a nightcap, and they were snogging in that cupboard.’ She points at the walk-in wardrobe.
‘What? It was my wedding night,’ says Lily.
‘You’re looking very, um, fashion-forward, Rachel,’ says Maggie.
I’m so hung-over I’ve only just noticed Rachel’s get-up: a white lace shirt and yesterday’s green Bermuda shorts. With cowboy ankle boots.
‘I know, I know. Don’t pack under the influence,’ says Rachel. ‘I seem to have brought about twenty swimsuits, but no clothes. And my orange sandals broke.’
‘You’re not going commando, are you?’ asks Maggie. ‘Oh good. In that case, I can lend you something.’
Maggie gives Rachel a quick restyle – cut-off denim shorts that actually look quite cute with the shirt and boots – and we head out to a diner nearby for a restorative Sunday brunch. There’s a queue – this seems to be a rite of passage with breakfast in America – but before too long we’re sitting down, sipping our iced water (so civilised not to have to even ask for it) and drooling over our menus.
‘Hmm. I think I want the pecan pie French toast,’ says Maggie. ‘But then what about the buttermilk pancakes with blueberries?’
‘I want the pancakes,’ says Lily. ‘But I also want a banana and walnut sticky bun. To hell with it, I’m having both. This might be my last breakfast in America.’ She sighs heavily. I think we’d all like to contradict her, because of course that’s not true, but none of us wants to encourage her into believing she’s going to stay here if she can’t.
When the food arrives, we eat in silence at first, partly because we’re all hung-over and partly because it’s so insanely good. I take a picture of my huevos rancheros for Charlie, before realising that all of my pictures so far on this trip are of food. Oh well.
‘Oh my God, this French toast is to die for. I want to marry this French toast.’ Maggie looks at Lily apologetically. ‘Oops. Sorry, Lil. I didn’t mean to say the M word.’
‘Oh no!’ Rachel says, putting down her knife and fork. ‘It’s be
en at least twelve hours since we made a wedding joke!’
‘Quick, someone!’ I say, snapping my fingers. ‘Let’s see, um, wedding bells, honeymoon … Nope, can’t think of one. But when I do, I’ll be sure to share it with you.’
‘Ha, ha, ha,’ says Lily, slowly mopping up the last drops of maple syrup with the last scrap of pancake.
‘Shit,’ Rachel says in a different tone of voice, staring out of the window. ‘Don’t look now, but … Ryan’s over there. Across the street.’
Lily gives something between a shriek and a yelp, dropping her fork with a clatter, and then she actually ducks under the table, peering out of the window in a petrified way. ‘Is everything all right?’ asks the waitress, coming over.
‘She’s fine!’ says Maggie, patting Lily on the shoulder. Lily’s face changes and she starts laughing, giving Rachel a shove as she sits down again. ‘You are evil,’ she says. ‘Oh my God. I actually thought he’d followed me all the way to brunch.’
We’re all laughing so hard, it’s a while before Rachel can say, ‘I didn’t think you would fall for it. Oh lord.’ She wipes her eyes. ‘Don’t worry, Lily, you’re grand. He hasn’t the wit to follow you anywhere.’
‘I don’t think he was a real Marine,’ says Maggie. ‘He was too easy to tackle. And his uniform looked fake, like it was from a fancy-dress shop.’
‘Maybe. They did ask him about some army paperwork he didn’t seem to have. But enough about stupid Ryan,’ says Lily, clapping her hands together. ‘Listen, guys. Today I have a surprise for us all!’
We look at her in silence.
‘Another surprise?’ asks Maggie, in a voice filled with dread.
‘Let me guess. We’re robbing a bank,’ says Rachel. ‘One last heist before you retire for good?’
‘No! It’s a real surprise, and it will be fun. Christian at the Mercer set it up for us and I’d feel really bad if we said no. All we have to do is wear something that we don’t mind getting wet.’
‘No,’ says Rachel immediately. ‘Sorry, Lily, but once bitten and all that. I’m not letting you take me to a second location.’
‘First rule of being kidnapped,’ agrees Maggie.
‘Fine! I’ll go by myself. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do – and now that I’m leaving the States, it’s probably my last chance.’
We all exchange glances. ‘You can get tattoos in the UK too, you know,’ says Rachel.
‘No, it’s not a tattoo! It’s a speedboat trip to the Statue of Liberty.’
‘Oh, bless you,’ I say before I can stop myself. ‘You mean one of those family-splash adventures, where you have to be a hundred centimetres high?’
‘No, Christian’s arranged a private one for us,’ Lily says, sounding injured. ’And he made reservations for us to go inside the statue too. But don’t worry about it. I can meet you all later.’ She slides out of the booth to go to the loo.
I’m such a pushover. I know she’s caused havoc, but I feel sorry for her now that her crazy schemes have all come crashing down around her head.
‘Come on, guys,’ I say. ‘Let’s do it. It’ll only be an hour or two, and it’s her dying wish before she leaves the States.’
‘I’m not convinced,’ Rachel says. ‘It could be a trap. How do we know she’s not luring us on to a cruise boat or a whaling ship or something?’
‘I feel so disloyal, but me too,’ says Maggie. ‘It’s like, if the boy who cried wolf invited you to a surprise party, would you go? No.’
‘Don’t be silly. It won’t be a trap,’ I tell them both firmly. ‘And the sea air will be good for our hangovers.’
An hour later, we arrive at Battery Park, where we’re meeting our skipper, Dallas. He leads us to the mooring and shows us our vessel: a sleek little red-and-white speedboat with brown leather seats. For someone with such a fun, outdoorsy job, Dallas seems very downbeat. He’s short and stocky, with a hipster beard and very short legs, which must be convenient on a boat.
‘OK, ground rules,’ he says, in depressed tones. ‘No standing, smoking, alcohol or nudity in the boat, please wear your lifejackets at all times. Any questions?’
‘Can I just confirm we’re going to the Statue of Liberty and straight back, yes?’ says Rachel, climbing aboard. ‘We’re not going anywhere else – like Canada?’
It’s another gorgeous sunny day and it’s an exhilarating feeling to be skimming across the water, with the skyscrapers of Manhattan glittering behind us and the Statue of Liberty on the horizon before us.
‘I’m not – a big – fan of – getting my – hair wet,’ I say breathlessly, as we bump along. ‘Or of things that go really fast through cold air. But this is so cool!’
Lily seems to have revived as well. ‘I’m the king of the world!’ she screams, holding out her arms.
‘Titanic,’ Maggie explains to Rachel, who’s looking mystified. ‘Ooh, we need sunscreen.’ She starts scrabbling in her bag, dislodging a very bashed-up-looking paperback: One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez.
‘I adore that book,’ I say, but my voice is drowned out by Lily’s laughter.
‘Oh my God, Maggie. Are you still reading this?’ She holds up the book to us. ‘I need witnesses. How long has Maggie been trudging her way through this?’
‘You had it in Rome, didn’t you?’ says Rachel, who’s looking a bit green. ‘And at New Year. Though you said you’d been reading it for a while then.’
‘It’s been about a year. But I’m on page fifty! I’m making progress,’ Maggie says, defensively.
‘No you’re not, you’re bored stiff with it! Here. I’ll summarise it for you.’ Lily flips through it, pretending to skim-read. ‘The man lived for a hundred years and was very lonely. The end. Maggie, this book is holding you back. I’m confiscating it for your own good.’ And she puts it in her bag.
‘Give it back!’ shrieks Maggie.
They scrap over for it for a second before Lily chucks it to me. Unfortunately, I’m completely uncoordinated; I bat it away by mistake, and One Hundred Years of Solitude lands with a splash in the ocean.
‘Oops,’ says Lily. ‘Book overboard! Can we go back, Dallas?’
Dallas isn’t very pleased with us, but he does stop the boat and turn it around. Although we do a few circles, there’s no sign of One Hundred Years of Solitude.
‘Lily, you absolute brat! You drowned my book!’ Maggie says, staring at the waves behind her as we chug off again.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Lily. ‘But now you can start reading something you actually enjoy.’
‘Are you OK, Rachel?’ I ask, suddenly noticing that she’s very quiet.
‘All this – bumping isn’t – good for – my hangover,’ she says, looking green. ‘Urrgh. Oh no. I’m going to be …’ And she leans over the side of the boat and is noisily sick.
‘I think we’ve finally discovered Rachel’s kryptonite,’ I say, reaching in my bag for tissues.
When we disembark at Liberty Island, my legs start to wobble the way they did after Charlie made me go on the Tower of Terror at Disneyland. Rachel’s still feeling queasy, so Maggie offers to stay with her while Lily and I climb up inside the statue.
‘Ever since that skiing trip, I haven’t been so keen on heights anyway,’ she says.
Lily and I slowly approach the Statue of Liberty, craning our necks as we stare up at its vast green height and spike-crowned head. Tour groups are milling around taking pictures, while guides with loudspeakers give commentaries describing the people arriving in crowded ships over the centuries, desperate for a glimpse of America.
‘She looks good for three hundred and whatever it is,’ Lily says.
We have to go through a million scans and ID checks before starting the slow climb up the dizzying spiral staircase.
‘Boy, this is brutal,’ pants Lily, after we’ve been climbing for five minutes. ‘Three hundred and seventy-seven steps!’
‘I know. But just think: by the time w
e get to the top, you’ll have worked off half a pancake.’
Eventually we reach the viewing area, which is smaller than you’d expect, especially with all the tourists crammed inside it. But the view from the top, of the whole island of Manhattan and New York harbour, is utterly breathtaking. We spend a while glued to one of the square panel windows, staring at it.
‘I can’t believe I’m going to have to leave all this,’ says Lily, a catch in her voice. I look over to see she has tears in her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she says, wiping them. ‘Being a drama queen. But I love it here so much, Poppy. Everything was going wrong for me at home, ever since … well, since the accident.’
I nod, thinking that I’ve never heard poor Lily say the word ‘died’ in relation to her mother; it’s always ‘the accident’.
‘And then I came here and things just fell into place. It wasn’t always perfect, but I was so happy here. And now it feels like everything’s falling apart again. I can’t stand it. I don’t want to go home.’
‘Honestly, Lily, if you want to stay here, I bet you can. You have so much to offer. Not to mention your cousin is married to a film agent – can’t Sam help you? I’m sure he could help you get a job as an assistant, or a runner, or even a nanny, like Maggie suggested.’
‘I don’t know if you heard, but the last time I tried to use Sam’s connections, it wasn’t a big success,’ Lily says.
‘But wasn’t that because you stole his address book and talked your way into his client’s house using a false identity? I’m sure if you asked him for help, it would be different. Have you even told them you’ve lost your job?’
‘No … I suppose I could ask,’ she says.
‘Of course you could! Come on, Lily. Don’t give up. You might have to go back to the UK and apply for jobs from there. But I’m positive that if you want to stay in Los Angeles you’ll find a way – a legal way. You’re that kind of person.’ For some reason this makes her cry again, so I pass her the second half of my packet of tissues (Rachel has the other half).
‘Thanks, Poppy,’ she gulps. ‘For you to have faith in me, after what I did yesterday – it means a lot.’ She blows her nose. ‘I really have learned my lesson, I promise. I can see there’s a difference between going after what you want and full-on insanity. In future, when everyone around me is telling me the same thing, I will pay attention.’
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