Girls on Tour

by Nicola Doherty

  ‘I know what you mean,’ I say, as we start walking down the steps again. I’ve decided to listen to the advice of my mother and Rachel. As soon as I get home, I’m going to talk to Charlie and broach the whole subject of The Future. God, it sounds ominous, like some Michael Bay movie with a sweaty Channing Tatum running away from a giant CGI explosion. Mm, sweaty Channing Tatum … I snap myself out of it and join Lily, who’s buying green plastic souvenir crowns.

  We go back outside to find the others parked on a bench near the water. Rachel’s slumped over one edge, sipping Diet Coke and looking green. Maggie’s staring thoughtfully across the bay. Dallas is moping away at a distance, eating candy floss.

  ‘How was it?’ Maggie asks.

  ‘Good. Climby,’ says Lily. She sits down beside Maggie, and presents her with her crown, while I put Rachel’s on for her. ‘What’s been happening here?’

  ‘Not much,’ says Maggie. ‘I was chatting to Dallas. He was telling me he just broke up with his girlfriend of eight years.’

  ‘Oh, no wonder he’s so depressed,’ I say. ‘I’m glad we bought him a crown.’

  ‘Yes. He’s put on ten pounds since it happened, apparently. And it got me thinking … things could be worse. I am so much happier than I was with Leo. And of course I’ll meet someone at some point. You both did, didn’t you?’ She points at me and Rachel.

  ‘Of course we did!’ I say.

  Rachel nods weakly.

  Maggie continues, ‘I suppose it doesn’t seem such a big deal any more. I don’t know why, but I’m feeling optimistic about the future.’ She stretches out her arms and looks over at the skyscrapers of Manhattan shining across the water. ‘It’s hard not to be optimistic looking at a view like this, isn’t it?’

  ‘I agree,’ says Lily, smiling at me.

  ‘What do you think?’ I ask Rachel.

  She gives us a pathetic look, her crown askew. ‘I can’t do that boat again. Do you think we could call a helicopter?’

  Back at the hotel, we decide to have a little down time. Rachel goes to have a sauna – her favourite hangover cure – and Maggie sets off for a run in Central Park (madness). Lily is meeting Christian for a drink. After reading and relaxing for a while, I decide to Skype Charlie. It’s a Sunday, so I’m expecting him to be in his shorts and football T-shirt, as per usual. But to my surprise, he’s looking dapper in his best Liberty shirt. Dapper, but anxious. Why is he anxious?

  ‘Poppy! Finally,’ he says. ‘I’ve been texting you, and leaving messages at the hotel.’

  ‘Have you really?’ I look at the phone beside the bed and see a blinking red light. ‘Sorry, babe. I can’t get texts here. And we’ve been out a lot. How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, but what about you?’ he says.

  ‘Me? What about me?’

  ‘Poppy! Come on. Your mum told me. She messaged me on Facebook asking for my number, and then she left me a voicemail …’

  Oh no. Oh no, no, no no no no no. She is a dead woman. And I should never have let her join Facebook!

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, Poppy. You know you can tell me anything. Especially if it affects both of us.’

  ‘Really?’ I can’t believe how seriously he’s taking this. I’m torn between being impressed, and mortified that my mum has been sharing details of my biological clock with him. ‘I didn’t think it was necessary yet. Mum’s overreacting.’

  ‘Overreacting! If I’m going to be a father—’

  ‘You’re going to be a what?’

  ‘A father! Isn’t that what she meant? You’re pregnant, right?’

  ‘Good grief! Of course I’m not! What on earth gave you that idea?’

  ‘Your mother did! In her message! It was a bit crackly, but she was talking about my responsibilities and your, um, reproductive health’ – now he’s blushing – ‘and her future grandchild! What the hell was I supposed to think? And then I couldn’t get hold of you, and I couldn’t reach her either – I’ve been going out of my mind.’

  I can’t even find the words to set things straight; I’ve covered my face with my hands. My mum has created some chaos in her time, but this takes the absolute chocolate-covered, cream-filled double-decker biscuit. Charlie still seems to believe that I’m pregnant though I’ve just told him I’m not, and he’s going on about all the thinking he’s been doing, and how he wants to be there for me.

  ‘… so I went and got you this.’ The screen jerks and he disappears.

  ‘Charlie?’ I say, peering. ‘Where did you go? Come back! I can’t see you.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ Hands reach to the screen, and now I see him: he’s on the floor. On one knee.

  ‘I love you, Poppy, will you marry me?’

  A giant hand is coming towards me holding out a ring. Solitaire diamond. White gold. Red box.

  ‘Oh my God! Charlie! You have got to be joking!’

  ‘What?’ He puts the ring down and peers back into the screen, looking offended. ‘I’m not joking! Will you marry me?’

  ‘Charlie, stop it! Listen, for the last time! Mum was talking nonsense. I’m not pregnant, OK?’

  ‘You’re not?’ He looks bewildered. ‘Not even a little bit?’

  Oh my God. Men!

  ‘No! You can’t be a little bit pregnant.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Look. I’m really sorry Mum gave you such a fright. What she was trying to say … not that she should have said anything to you, but that’s another story … was that women in our family tend to … um …’ Nope. I could tell Charlie anything, but I can’t say the M-word. ‘We have to try a little earlier if we want a baby. Like, before we’re thirty-five. That’s all.’

  ‘Oh,’ he says. The poor thing; he looks totally shell-shocked. ‘I see. That’s good to know.’

  We stare at each other wordlessly. He’s obviously adjusting to the whole she’s-not-pregnant thing. While I’m catching up with the whole he’s-just-proposed thing. I can’t believe he did that. It was obviously ridiculous – like something out of a 1950s kitchen-sink drama, with him doing ‘the right thing’. But I am touched, as well. And I’m glad we’ve begun the whole discussion about The Future. To be continued when we’re back in the same room, and time zone.

  ‘It’s funny,’ he says. ‘I was shit-scared when I heard her voicemail, but now … I’m almost disappointed.’

  ‘Really?’ I say, even more touched. ‘That’s – wow! That’s nice.’ Good God! I might not need to do The Future with him after all. Is he actually broody? Am I even broody? Now I’m the one running scared from The Future, with its CGI clouds gathering on the horizon and things exploding behind Channing Tatum.

  The picture blurs for a minute, and when Charlie comes back, his face is showing a mixture of emotions I can’t identify. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘We could do it anyway, right?’

  Now it’s my turn to be bewildered. ‘What do you mean?’ Does he want to knock me up right away? This is all happening rather fast, isn’t it?

  ‘You know. It’s sooner than I thought, but Poppy … you know I love you. Will you? Marry me?’

  He holds the ring out to me again, as if I need a visual cue. I stare at it for a few minutes before I can speak.

  ‘Are you serious? You want me to make a huge, life-changing decision, just like that, over Skype?’

  His face changes. ‘Is that a no?’

  ‘Yes! I mean, no! I don’t know. This isn’t the movies! You can’t just spring this on me and expect me to reply off the top of my head.’

  ‘Why not?’ he says. ‘I know how I feel about you.’

  Aargh. This is so messed up. I wanted to discuss The Future with my boyfriend, and now he’s proposed and I’m saying no. But honestly! What does he expect? With a huge effort, I get my voice under control. ‘Charlie, I don’t want to talk about this any more. Not on Skype. We can talk when I get back.’

  ‘Fine,’ he says curtly.

  ‘Fine!’ I say.

  We glare at each other and I can tell we’re
both trying to think of a killer line to sign off with. But we can’t. We’re such saps.

  ‘Enjoy the rest of your weekend in New York!’ he snarls.

  ‘Thank you! I’ll see you when I’m back!’ I snap. And our call ends with the incongruous ‘bloop’ sound effect.

  I sit on the floor in a state of shock, trying to process what just happened. Then I see a note that must have been shoved under the door at some point while I was being proposed to.

  Dear Poppy,

  One last surprise. Meet us at 7 p.m. at 42 East 20th Street. Dress smart.

  Love, the Girls.

  ‘Too many!’ I shout, crumpling it up in my fist. ‘Too many surprises!’

  What has got into everyone? What with Lily’s shotgun wedding and Charlie’s Skype proposal, this weekend is like an episode of Lost. What are they planning now? Is Maggie going to turn into a smoke monster, or is Rachel going to reveal that Oliver is her long-lost twin brother and they have to split up? Actually, that is a genuine fear of mine. You always read about sperm donors’ kids who meet not knowing that they share a father, especially when he made hundreds of donations.

  Aargh. Why am I thinking about sperm? Now I’m back in the whirlwind of Charlie, my mother and this debacle of a situation. I cannot believe Mum’s ability to wreak havoc in my life from two thousand miles away. And Charlie – I can’t believe he thought that the best solution to a set of life-changing decisions was an Argos ring and a Skype proposal.

  I suppose I should make an effort and dress up, but that requires a degree of concentration that I don’t have, so I pull on a Hawaiian print dress and add red lipstick. That will have to do.

  Outside the hotel, I hail a cab and give the driver the address. I have no idea what to expect – a topless bar? A tattoo parlour? – but it looks normal. An elegant brownstone building with a round awning and lettering above it – it’s the Gramercy Tavern! Finally things are looking up. I hurry inside and find the girls at a fantastic table in the centre of the dining room, waiting for me.

  ‘What a great surprise! I’ve always wanted to come here!’ I say, giving them all a hug in turn before sitting down. ‘Thank you!’

  It’s a classic New York place: the kind of place where Harry might have taken Sally on a date. Wood-beamed ceilings and white plaster walls; white tablecloths and candles on the round tables. Best of all, the food is meant to be amazing: classic dishes perfectly executed, according to the New York Times review I’ve been drooling over.

  ‘How did you get us a table? I tried to book online, but it was impossible!’

  ‘Please,’ says Lily. ‘If I can’t get a table in a restaurant, there’s no hope for me. I might have given the impression you were the model Poppy Delevingne,’ she adds in an undertone. ‘But it’s too late now, we’ve got the table. And we look like VIPs anyway.’

  They really do. Lily’s in a black-and-white strapless silk dress, with her hair teased into a big mane, wearing blue drop earrings. Rachel’s looking gorgeous in a pink shift dress with an orange belt – it turns out it belongs to Maggie, who’s wearing a very cute blue ruffle top tucked into a floral miniskirt. She’s also got fabulous smoky eyes and nude lipstick.

  ‘I had a little session in Sephora,’ she admits, when I compliment her. ‘The whole no-make-up thing wasn’t really me.’

  ‘Fair enough, darling. So how did you know I’ve always wanted to come here?’ I ask.

  ‘Charlie told us,’ Maggie says. ‘And he also told us …’

  They all exchange glances, and Lily nods to the waiter, who approaches with a bottle of champagne. No. They can’t be … he can’t have …

  ‘He told us it’s your birthday next week! Happy birthday!’ they chorus.

  Oh. I put my hand over my mouth, suddenly feeling a mixture of emotions. Horror at turning thirty; happiness at having such great friends; and gratitude to my wonderful, idiotic boyfriend.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I say unguardedly. ‘I thought for a minute Charlie had told you …’

  ‘Told us what?’

  ‘That he proposed.’

  Deafening shrieks ensue. ‘That’s amazing!’ ‘Congratulations!’ ‘Fabulous!’ They all start pouring champagne and toasting me at once.

  ‘No, no, stop!’ I protest. ‘He … It was a mess. My mother gave him the idea I was pregnant … which I’m not! And he misunderstood and he proposed, and when I said I wasn’t pregnant, he suggested getting married anyway.’

  Now everyone’s looking confused. Maggie’s champagne glass is hovering in mid-air, as if she’s not sure whether to sip it or not.

  ‘And so I said no,’ I finish, really regretting telling them now. ‘No big deal! Now, what’s everyone going to eat?’

  They all open their menus and pretend to read them, but they’re obviously wondering whether they can ask more questions.

  ‘Why did you say no?’ Rachel asks, bluntly. The others put down their menus, looking relieved.

  ‘Because it’s a huge decision! I can’t say yes on the spur of the moment like that. And we’ve only been together ten months. That’s not long enough.’ I look at them all doubtfully, and find myself adding, ‘Is it?’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ says Lily. ‘I’d only known Ryan a day. But I will say,’ she adds thoughtfully, ‘I think it would be long enough. If you really loved someone.’

  ‘And it’s not just about time. Leo and I were together a year and it still wasn’t right,’ Maggie says.

  I look at Rachel, hoping she’ll come up with something sensible.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘I used to think there were set rules – move in after a year, get married after two or three. But now I think: when you know, you know.’

  Great. Now they’re all making me feel really unromantic. But I am a romantic! I’m a hopeless romantic!

  ‘If you’re not sure about Charlie, then you definitely shouldn’t rush into anything,’ Maggie says helpfully.

  ‘It’s not that,’ I say, realising I’m being completely illogical. ‘I am sure about Charlie. I know I want to spend the rest of my life with him. I just wasn’t expecting an impulse proposal over the internet.’

  ‘I’m sure it wasn’t an impulse,’ Rachel says seriously. ‘He loves you. I’m sure he’s thought it through.’

  I don’t say anything, because deep down I agree with her. Charlie’s spontaneous, but he’s not an idiot. Not really.

  ‘It seems so soon. And he’s only twenty-six! Twenty-seven in June, but still.’

  ‘My dad was married by the time he was twenty-seven,’ Rachel says.

  ‘Mine too,’ says Lily.

  ‘But men are different these days! It’s evolution in reverse. Anyway … I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Let’s drop it and order some food.’

  ‘Of course! Happy birthday dinner,’ says Maggie quickly. ‘Why didn’t you tell us it was your birthday this week?’

  ‘I was being an idiot,’ I admit. ‘I just felt really old.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! You’re a spring chicken!’ says Lily, though she really can’t talk. I’m sure she thinks I’m ancient.

  ‘You’re younger than Cameron Diaz,’ Maggie points out.

  ‘You’re only as young as the man you feel,’ Rachel adds, cackling to herself as I roll my eyes. They are right: I was being stupid. Obviously the whole thirty thing had hit me harder than I thought. But now that I’ve come out about it, it doesn’t seem so bad. Especially when Maggie plonks down a pink gift-wrapped box in front of me.

  ‘What? Guys, you shouldn’t have!’

  ‘Come on, open it.’

  I open it up to find, under layers of white tissue paper, the most beautiful jewelled hair comb. It’s silver, decorated with tiny seed pearls, and looks like it’s from the 1930s, if not earlier.

  ‘We thought it was very you,’ says Rachel.

  ‘This is gorgeous! Oh, I don’t believe it! Thank you so much.’ I give them all a kiss, and put it in my hair, feeling almost tearful at ho
w sweet they are.

  After sharing a starter of scallops with Lily, I have steak and triple-cooked chips with Béarnaise sauce, which is probably the best steak and chips I’ve ever had. I can’t help imagining how much Charlie would love it here. Suddenly I find myself remembering the first meal he ever made me. He spent the day cooking up an amazing feast for me, and carried a bag full of Tupperware containers across London to my flat because I was stuck at home with a twisted ankle. And we weren’t even going out then – he was wooing me.

  Enough! No more Charlie thoughts. I take another sip of red wine and try and concentrate on the conversation about where to go after dinner. They’re discussing a place called Tenjune, which is meant to be good, when Maggie says, ‘I had a sort of a tip just now, from a guy I met.’

  ‘What? When did you have the chance to meet a guy?’ I ask, looking around the restaurant in confusion. What has been happening today?

  ‘When I went out for my jog in Central Park this afternoon. He was jogging too. He came over and asked me for directions.’

  ‘Ah,’ says Rachel. ‘It’s an old one but a good ’un.’

  ‘I was wearing my Royal Parks Half Marathon T-shirt, so we started talking about that – he’s done it too. He lives in London, he’s English. Over here on holiday. His name’s John.’

  ‘Great name,’ says Lily. ‘Very retro. What was his tip?’

  ‘He said he and his friends were going to this place called Le Bain tonight. I think it’s in the Meatpacking District. It’s meant to have a rooftop bar and great views over the city.’ Maggie shrugs. ‘It could be fun.’

  ‘That’s great!’ says Lily. ‘We have to go!’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ says Maggie. ‘This is our weekend. If we don’t go, it’s fine, I’ll just send him a text or something. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. And if it’s not, it’s not.’ She sounds very serene; I’m impressed. Seconds later, she adds, ‘I would quite like to, though.’