‘Hi!’ Jon’s voice chirped happily down the phone at me.
‘Good morning!’ I replied, scrutinising the contents of my suitcase, most of which were strewn across the floor. I kicked a pair of knickers out of my way and uncovered a clean pair – yes! ‘Is your flight on schedule?’
‘That’s what I was calling you about – no, Virgin have cancelled it. And the one after it, but it looks like the flights later in the day are going, so they must be busy shovelling snow, Old Man Marley-style over at Heathrow. And you?’
‘Cancelled, but lots are still showing as on schedule. I think we’ll head to the airport anyway, see what’s going on and wait it out. How about you and Carl?’
‘Yeah, we’ll come to the airport with you . . . ’ There was a shuffling noise and what sounded like Carl protesting with the words ‘seven hours?’ and then Jon came back on the line. ‘Carl’s up for it, he loves airports.’
With seven of us squeezed into a mini-van, trying to make light small talk but with minds elsewhere, the trip to the airport was a little sombre. Abigail was staring out of the window searching for planes to take her back to her boyfriend, and Dee and Ian were sitting in the back of the people carrier in silence, pretending they weren’t holding hands under their coats. Jasmine was intermixing texting, tutting and shooting dagger stares at me in a way that said, I can’t believe you fudged up like this.
‘Never had this happen before,’ she muttered.
I ignored her and turned to Jon. ‘So you’re not flying back with BA?’
‘We’re flying back with Virgin,’ Jon explained, stretching over me to look out the car window at the sky, laying a hand briefly on my leg. ‘Or so we thought.’ Carl nodded his agreement while nibbling on half a pretzel he’d found in his pocket.
Jon went on quietly, ‘Maybe we’ll get to have the George Bailey experience in New York after all.’
I thought about the night before, about how relaxed and fun it had been. I’d needed that, and I felt closer to New York and Christmas because of it, because of Jon. But I had to get these people home.
‘Just a little longer to wait then we’ll be home.’ I was trying to cheer myself up as much as anyone else. ‘I’m sure the airlines have it all under control.’
As we walked through the doors of JFK airport we were faced with a scene straight out of a disaster movie, minus the actual disaster. The vast crowd had formed itself into spaghetti-junction queues, and everyone was talking loudly into their phones, slurping from water supplies and fanning themselves with rapidly outdating boarding passes. There was also an unsettling lack of staff behind the long rows of check-in desks, just forlorn Christmas wreaths hanging where the workers should be.
‘Right.’ I surveyed the scene, trying to keep my voice light. ‘Come along then.’
We wheeled our suitcases in and out and over people’s feet until we were in the British Airways zone. I picked a queue and we settled into it, because being British we knew this was how best to handle a crisis. Jon and Carl ambled off to find the Virgin desks, and as Jon left he hurled a grin at me and I realised he didn’t seem quite as bothered about the delay in returning home as the rest of us.
‘Hey,’ I called after him, and he turned.
‘Yep?’
‘You aren’t gagging to get home to that big family Christmas?’
‘Christmas is nearly a week away, we have loads of time to get home. I’m quite happy if we get to stay here a bit longer.’
So here we were, in a queue that looked like it belonged in Disneyland in the height of summer, weaving, stretching, snaking its way back and forth in front of the check-in desks. Above us, long banks of TV screens with departure information on them were showing an awful lot of red. I stood on tiptoes and searched the crowds for someone in BA’s trademark navy blue, but I couldn’t see anyone. For now, at least, we were on our own.
‘All right,’ I chirped. ‘Let’s just wait it out here for a while and I’m sure someone will come and tell us what’s going on soon.’
‘Do you want me to just go and find someone?’ sighed guess who. ‘Then we’ll actually have some answers?’
‘No, I don’t want you to go anywhere. If BA had answers they’d come and tell us. I’m sure they’re working their arses off – wherever they are – to try and figure out what to do with all these people, so we need a little patience.’
Jasmine sat down on her suitcase and looked away.
‘Oh no,’ Abigail wailed and stepped forward, breaking apart Dee and Ian, who were standing as close as two people could without touching. ‘My boyfriend just texted me and he says they’re cancelling flights all over Europe – the snow is just getting worse!’
This rippled up and down the queue and before long everyone was swapping stories on how they’d heard the snow was three foot thick at Heathrow, that there wouldn’t be any flights until January, that it was all a BA conspiracy, that Christmas was ruined and that none of this would have happened if we hadn’t legalised gay marriage.
‘OK, OK, calm down everyone,’ I said to my colleagues. ‘I think it’s pretty likely that we won’t be going home today . . . ’ I tailed off. We weren’t going to be going home today. I’d guessed that, really, but now I knew for sure. My little flat, with its slippers and its silly little Christmas tree and its pizzas in the freezer suddenly seemed even further away than they’d felt all week.
I shook myself out of it. So we would be here for another day. Heathrow will have the snowploughs in by tomorrow, and New York City really wasn’t the worst place to be stuck. ‘As soon as a BA rep comes along we’ll find out if they have any idea when planes will be flying again, and if they have a plan for us to go to some airport hotel or something.’
Dee and Ian exchanged a sideways look, Jasmine remained silent and picked at her nails, and Abigail pulled her phone out to search her Twitter feed for #SnowmageddonUK. I watched her chew her bottom lip. ‘Abi, we’ll be heading back tomorrow, I’m sure. It can’t be that all the airports in Europe are closed. Maybe we’ll have to fly into Amsterdam or something and then get on a Eurostar back to London. You’ll see your boyfriend really soon.’
Abigail nodded without meaning it. ‘I know, it’s just that we had all these plans. Tomorrow he was going to pick me up from the airport and he had that surprise planned. Then we were going to visit his family, then we’ve got tickets to Somerset House – for the ice rink – the day after. If our flight doesn’t go then Christmas is—’
‘Don’t you dare say “ruined”.’ I stopped her. ‘Christmas is whatever you make it – contrary to popular belief, it’s not only Christmas if you follow a certain procedure.’
‘Damn right,’ said a man in front of us in the queue without turning around. He wore a scruffy leather jacket and was leaning against a piller, nose-deep in a magazine article.
I blinked. Was he talking to us? I studied the back of his neck for a moment before turning back to Abigail.
‘So, um, let’s not jump to conclusions. Christmas is still on. We’re still going home. Everything will be fine and . . . ’ My stomach growled. ‘And everyone needs to calm down so I can think about food for a minute.’ Yes, food. That’s what we needed. I had always found thoughts of food soothing.
The man in front of us straightened up and stretched, cracking his neck joints, before turning around with a grin.
HELLO. My eyes met his and I found myself smiling back. He had a lovely face – a face that combined the best bits from that guy from Game of Thrones and Nashville with that other guy from Star Wars. You know the ones. A face with stubble and dark eyes and perfect snog-lips that looked like they’d bite you mid-make-out, in a good way.
Dee and Ian went back to chattering intimately, while Abigail returned to her phone.
‘There’s a lot of motivational speaking going on in your group,’ he commented in a soft American accent. ‘Can I make a wild guess that you’re the boss?’
‘I am,’ I laughed, and checking the others weren’t listening, added, ‘And I’m looking forward to getting everyone home.’
He nodded, catching my drift. ‘You need a break?’ He handed his magazine to me. ‘I’ve got the latest People right here and there’s a pretty juicy story on Katy Perry and Taylor Swift that’s worth a read.’
I took the magazine, my brows furrowed. ‘Thanks . . . are you sure you’re done? Did you have a chance to read this one?’ I pointed to a story on the cover called ‘Could All the Real Housewives be Off to Prison?’.
‘I read it,’ he nodded. ‘But it was a little sensationalist. Nothing more than them breaking contract by refusing to film a whole episode in Cabo at a funeral. So it’s yours, take it.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s made its way down the line and I think I’ve had it for more than my fair share. And besides, you mentioned food, and that’s a sure-fire way to get a guy to stop reading and give up his magazine.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t trying to get your attention!’ I said, mortified.
‘I know.’ He grinned again. ‘But my stomach listened anyway. I doubt we’re leaving here anytime soon so could I ask a huge favour?’
‘Maybe,’ I replied.
‘Could you watch my bag for like, five minutes while I grab something to eat?’
‘Sure.’
‘You’re the best.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Elijah.’
‘Olivia, lovely to meet you,’ I said, becoming all Queen of England-like around this foreign scoundrel. I shook his hand, and the physical contact made me want to phone my mum, and Kim, and say Look here, you lot, this was the spark I kept banging on about. I knew you needed it – I knew that being a perfect match to someone on paper wasn’t enough.
Off he wandered and I watched him leave like he was Kenickie and I was Rizzo and I’m not ashamed.
I let out a long, low whistle and when I caught Dee’s eye she gave me a subtle thumbs-up. Flicking through the magazine and not focusing on any of the pages, my mind and gaze wandered to Elijah’s tatty suitcase and I fell into a daydream about what type of underwear it might be holding. Would we carry on talking when he was back? Perhaps we’d be sat next to each other on the plane, and he’d fall asleep on my shoulder, and I’d let him and then make some joke about how he had to now buy me breakfast. Ha, who doesn’t love a pervy joke with a near-stranger?
Five, ten, fifteen minutes. He was taking a while to pick up some food . . . Perhaps he was sitting in somewhere. But what if he wasn’t? What if he was a devastatingly good-looking terrorist who’d just left an unattended bag full of bombs with me? Ooo, here come the sweats. I was going to be on the news. Oh lord.
As my watch ticked around to the twenty-minute mark I fanned my armpits and looked up and down the terminal. Where was he?
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Jasmine piped up, glaring up at me from her suitcase throne.
‘Nothing, everything’s great. Go back to sleep.’
‘What?’
I ignored her and crept an inch closer to his bag, leaning down, just a little. Was it ticking?
‘Ian, do bombs still tick?’ I hissed.
He looked up, eyes wide. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Bombs. Do bombs still tick, like a clock, or is that an eighties movie thing?’
‘Why the hell are you asking me?’
I ignored him and knelt next to the tatty holdall, pressing my ear against it. And of course, that’s when Elijah reappeared. He stood over me, smiling curiously, looking like Chris Hemsworth after a trip to Zara Men, following a day of hard manual labour. I bet his arms were a bit filthy and sweaty under that smart jacket. God he was a fox.
‘Thanks for looking after my bag,’ he said, still smiling. ‘You didn’t have to keep quite this close an eye on it, you know.’
I stood up, feeling like a prize twonklodite. ‘At your service, guvna!’ I saluted. I hate myself sometimes. ‘So what did you get to eat?’
He opened a Subway bag. ‘I didn’t know what you guys liked, so I just got a whole selection of sandwiches.’ He looked up at me, and then at Abigail, Dee, Ian and Jasmine, whose ears had pricked with interest at the prospect of free stuff. Even Jasmine was edging forward.
‘You bought Subways for us?’
‘Yeah.’ He shrugged, his eyes remaining on me. ‘Gotta be hospitable and feed the Brits, right? Merry Christmas.’
I didn’t know what to say. What a nice gesture. I thought he was leaving me with a suspicious package and all along he was buying us food. FOOD. Mmmm. I fumbled in my handbag. ‘Let me give you some money for these—’
‘No, don’t be crazy.’ He put a warm, rough hand on mine. ‘Now, you look like a girl who’d like a pizza sub, am I right?’
‘They do a pizza Subway? How do you know me so well already?’
‘I know a kindred spirit when I see one.’ He turned to the others and pulled out sandwich after sandwich. ‘Girl on the phone, you look like you could do with a pick-me-up. How does a bacon melt sound?’
Abigail took the gift and practically teared up. ‘It sounds like comfort food.’
‘And for the happy couple, how about matching turkey and black forest ham?’
Dee and Ian leapt further apart. ‘We’re not a couple!’ they cried in unison. Dee started laughing like a hyena sprayed with laughing gas. Ian reached forward. ‘We will take the Subways though, thank you, sir.’
‘My pleasure. And you.’ He fixed Jasmine with a smouldering look and she flipped her hair. It was all very Coca-Cola advert.
‘This is really cool of you, I didn’t think we were going to get to eat today,’ she remarked, glancing at me.
‘You look like you need something to put a smile on your face. So how about a big ol’ greasy meatball marinara?’ He handed her the sub and she unwrapped it, uncertainty on her face. Was that an insult? Elijah turned back to me.
‘Thank you for these,’ I said, chomping into my pizza sub. A pizza sub!
‘You’re welcome. All I need from you is to keep me company in this queue.’
‘Lucky for you, queueing is one of my fortes.’
‘That is lucky for me. You look like you’re enjoying that sandwich.’
‘Hell yes, I am.’ My inner goddess began to salsa – haha just kidding, I don’t have an inner goddess. But I hadn’t felt chemistry in a long time and it was like all my nerve-endings were waking up.
‘So, Olivia,’ he said, as we both chowed into our respective Subways. ‘What brings you and your friends to New York?’
I sat down on my suitcase and he did the same on his bag. I remembered an article from Sugar magazine from when I was about fourteen that said a boy fancies you if he mirrors your actions. Elijah and I were clearly meant to be together. ‘Work. I’m a temporary manager at a company called Girls of the World, this is my team, and we were here for a conference.’
‘A conference about girls?’
‘A conference about equality. My company helps young girls stand up for themselves and have opinions and be confident in themselves and their brains. We go to schools and clubs around the country but also set up groups and days out and courses where people can meet new people and get involved in whatever makes them shine.’
‘That’s good spiel. A New York conference at Christmas, that’s a sweet free ride.’
‘Well, we’re a pretty big community in the UK, and online we have hits from all over the world, but we’re still trying to break through a bit more internationally. I didn’t really have a lot of time to make the most of Christmas in this city. Do you live here?’
‘I do, I live just below midtown, in the Meatpacking District. Did you get down there at all?’
‘No, I don’t think so. What do you do there, I’ve always wondered about that area? Is there a lot of . . . meat to be packed?’
He laughed. ‘No. I’m a musician. I play drums for a rock band; we do gigs around the city most weeks.’ Of course he’d have a yummy profession. Of course he’d turn me into an eighties music video-style groupie.
‘Is that why you’re flying somewhere? Are you off to play a Christmas concert?’ I asked him, chomping into my sandwich, which was rapidly disappearing.
‘No, I’m just getting out of the city until the new year. New York is crazy with tourists during the holidays – no offence.’ He looked bashful. ‘But I have a buddy in Manchester in the UK so I’m flying over to visit him for a couple of weeks.’
We talked for a while, eating our sandwiches and trading anecdotes, before a wary-looking British Airways employee appeared from nowhere and clapped her hands together to get the queue’s attention. ‘Ladies and gentleman, if I could have your attention please?’ We all fell silent and shuffled into a semicircle around her. My right arm became pressed against Elijah’s as we stepped forward, which I pretended to ignore.
‘I’m afraid there won’t be any more flights to the UK today . . . ’ the BA lady started, and a low grumble began to rise from the queue. Her face fixed into a smile that was ready for battle. ‘The weather is just not letting up across the pond, and the most important thing is that you’re all safe. So we don’t fly until it’s safe, simple as that. Other airlines are facing the same cancellations, and we estimate that nobody will be flying into British airspace for at least another twenty-four hours.’
Behind me, I heard Abigail whimper.
Beside me, Elijah turned his head slightly and caught my eye, a small smile playing on his lips, which I couldn’t help but echo. Another twenty-four hours in New York? All right, so maybe that wasn’t the worst thing after all . . .
‘You’re welcome to stay in the airport if you want to, but I’d highly recommend you take the complimentary hotel service we’ll be providing. I’ll be coming down the queue to check how many are in your party and how many rooms you’ll need, and then we’ll be moving you to the Brooklyn Marriott, where your dinner and breakfast will be provided.’
‘Excuse me?’ I piped up, upon seeing Abigail’s sad face. ‘I just wanted to check – there’s no chance of us getting a flight to France or anything today instead?’
The BA woman shook her head. ‘Not today, not with the weather how it is over Europe. I’m sorry. Hopefully we’ll be in the clear tomorrow.’
I faced my team and slapped on a smile. ‘The Brooklyn Marriott, that’s not bad. At least we’re not stuck in an airport hotel. Think of it like a free holiday night in New York, no work or anything. You can do whatever you want.’
I saw Dee look over at Ian and smile a small, tender, smile. Good for them. As the woman started moving down the queue with her clipboard, my team began gathering their things, folding their magazines back in their bags, stowing away their snacks and slipping back on their discarded shoes.
Elijah slung his leather holdall onto his shoulder and looked directly at me. ‘Well, Olivia, I hope we get to do this the same time tomorrow.’
‘You’re not coming to the hotel?’ I accidently whined.
‘Nah, I live so close, I might as well go home for the night.’ He kept his eyes on me as he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. ‘But thank you for the company; it was great to spend time with you.’
‘Ermanyu-nyuto,’ I said. What I meant was ‘oh, you too’ but I was still sparkling like a teenager from that stolen kiss. ‘Thanks for the chatter.’
‘Thank you for the chatter.’ He hovered. Was this like the end of a first date? Should I signal for him to kiss me on the mouth? This was not something I was completely averse to, though it was perhaps a little forward . . .
‘Thanks for the advice on looking after your hands, I’ll remember that,’ I said.
‘You’re welcome. Thanks for talking me through biscuits versus scones.’
‘Thanks for . . . ’ Oh lord, this wasn’t an Oscar speech. What I wanted was for him not to go – it felt too fleeting and too soon. He was hardly the love of my life after just two hours of talking, but I liked his company and it had been a while since that spark had actually sparkled. Why wasn’t he asking me out?
Urgh, I could have slapped myself. What was I always telling the girls in school? Be confident, have an opinion, don’t be afraid to speak your mind about the things you like or the things you want. And now I was all ‘why won’t he ask me out?’ like a big fat wet-wipe.
Elijah leant in for one last one-armed hug and I grabbed his arm as he pulled away. He looked at me expectantly, amusement in his eyes.
‘Do you want to meet for a drink tonight?’
He grinned. ‘Hell yeah, I thought you’d never ask!’
‘Why didn’t you ask?’
‘Because you’re here with all your friends and I’m the weird loner. Ball’s in your court.’
‘Fair enough. Where would you suggest we meet?’
‘What are you into?’
In my mind Jon’s face appeared, telling me about all the things New York at Christmas had to offer, all the things I’d never done. ‘I have one more night in New York, so I want to do something traditional and Christmassy.’
Elijah laughed. ‘Something touristy?’
‘Well, I am a tourist.’
‘All right . . . meet me on the corner of Fifth and Thirty-Third Street, outside the Empire State Building, at eight p.m.’
The Empire State Building? A ripple of excitement went through me. I’d never been up it, and I’d seen from my hotel that it was lit up red and green for Christmas. Hang on, was this what it felt like to be excited about Christmas? Or maybe I was just excited about Elijah.
The staff from British Airways were beginning to usher us towards the buses. I suddenly had a thought and stopped short. ‘Wait,’ I said to nobody in particular. ‘What about Jon and Carl?’
‘What about them?’ said Jasmine. ‘You do know they don’t work for us, don’t you?’
‘Of course, but we should see what they’re doing, let them know we’re going back to the city.’
‘Who are Jon and Carl?’ Elijah asked, picking up my case for me and shuffling closer to the door with us while I craned my neck behind me.
‘They’re our good friends and their flights were cancelled too . . . ’
‘Everyone on buses one to three please exit the terminal using the doors to the right and head straight to bus stop five, where you’ll be directed onto your coach.’ The BA woman rubbed her eyes, tiredly. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she called to a man who’d broken free of the group. ‘The buses can’t wait; they have to do many trips between the airport and the hotels this afternoon.’
‘Can I just—’
‘No,’ she snapped, and he shuffled back into the group.
‘Come on,’ Elijah said, edging me forward. But I hadn’t said goodbye to Jon. I hadn’t told him Merry Christmas.
‘Chop-chop,’ shrilled the BA attendant, her patience wearing thin, and who could blame her? Perhaps she too thought she was about to finish for Christmas, and now she had to stay in New York, with everyone looking to her for answers and expecting her to sort everything out. With a final look back at the terminal I followed orders. I hear ya, sista.
Outside the coach I said goodbye to Elijah. ‘See you tonight then!’
‘Sure will. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Me too. And thanks again for the lunch – dinner is on me.’
‘You’re more than welcome, and I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s not every day a struggling musician from New York gets to take out an English rose.’ He leaned over and for a moment I thought we were going to snog (I was feeling bizarrely up for it, even in front of my colleagues). My mouth curved into a smile as he came closer and I drew in my breath, but instead he met my eyes and then moved a fraction to the right to give me another cheek kiss. I exhaled and shook my head, just a tiny amount, as he walked away. Santa baby . . .
The drive back into the city was surreal; hadn’t I just left here? The yellow taxis, the road signs, the skyline, it was all coming back to me like it was yesterday. Only it wasn’t, it had been this morning. I sat in comfortable silence, excited at the prospect of one more day in the city, Jon and Kim would be proud. Behind me Abigail was murmuring into her phone. I knew she needed her privacy, so I only half strained to listen in to her conversation. Well done, me.
‘I just want to come home and see you,’ she was saying. ‘Do you think your mum will be OK with us coming a day later?’
I thought about what Jon had been telling me about his big family Christmas. Would his family, and all his brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews, be OK with him being delayed? I knew if it were my family they’d barely notice. Well, that’s not fair. They’d notice, but there wouldn’t be any chewed fingernails, or worries about missing out on Christmas activities. I, however, was a bit worried on missing out on my downtime.
Thinking about Jon I pulled out my phone and tried to call, but just got his answerphone. So after a text to Anne to update her, if she was interested, I called home instead.
‘Hello?’ barked Dad down the phone.
‘Hi, Dad, it’s Liv.’
‘Hello, love. How’s New York?’
‘Good thanks, looks like I’m stuck here a bit longer – the flights are all cancelled.’
‘Oh dear . . . you’d better speak to your mother.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Lucy, just eat the bloody apple. Livia! How are you doing, sweetie?’ Mum said, coming on the line.
‘I’m fine thanks – we won’t be coming home today though, because of the weather. BA are putting us all up in a hotel back in Brooklyn and hopefully we’ll be on a flight tomorrow. Lucy’s still there?’
‘Yes, her flight to Thailand is delayed until who knows when, and she’s being the world’s stroppiest teenager. Do you know she only wants exotic fruit because she wants to “at least pretend she’s on a South-East Asian beach and not stuck here”? And I’m paraphrasing – she was much ruder than that.’
I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of my mum and my sister spending this ‘quality’ time together. I bet it would be quite fun to be at home right now. ‘So is it really that bad in England, the snow?’
‘It’s pretty thick – more than I’ve seen before around these parts. Very Christmas card-like. It’s quite pretty actually. The neighbours have been sledding like mad.’
‘Is it snowing now?’
‘Oh yes, it hasn’t stopped all day.’
Hmm, that wasn’t a good sign for tomorrow. ‘OK, I’d better go, Mum, but I’ll keep you updated. Let me know if Lucy gets her flight out.’
I sat back in my chair and watched a yellow taxi whiz past the window, fairy lights entwined around its sign, and smiled at the thought of Elijah.
I might still technically be the boss, but work was over. We were off the clock and into the Christmas holidays. I leant over the back of my chair.
‘You guys?’
Abigail put her hand over the mouthpiece, Dee and Ian looked over and Jasmine raised her eyebrows at me without looking up.
‘It’s half past two, and I think I’m going to leave you on your own for the rest of the day. I have some things I’m going to do while I’m here, so feel free to sightsee, hang out in your room, whatever you want. After we’ve checked in, I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow. Sound good?’
‘Yep,’ said Jasmine, very quickly. After the others agreed I sank back down. I might not be home, but at least, just for a few hours, I was going to be alone.
There was a definite festive spring in my step as I pottered about my spacious beige and red hotel room. It may only be for a day, but I was on holiday. The only thing, really, I needed to do work-wise was make sure nobody got lost on the way back to the airport tomorrow. I tuned my bedside clock radio into a Christmas music station and hummed along to ‘Let It Snow’. Come on, Christmas; show me what you’ve got.
I was just sniffing the selection of Marriott complimentary toiletries when there was a knock on the door.
‘Go away,’ I muttered, assuming it would be Jasmine ready to complain that her towels weren’t soft enough or the pole up her arse was getting uncomfortable.
But I opened the door to Jon! He was here! I made a loud ‘yaaaay’ noise like people do when they’re pissed and a friend walks in the room, and threw my arms around him. ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.
‘Didn’t you know that all the flights were cancelled?’
‘Yeah, but I didn’t think we’d end up in the same hotel – how cool is that? How do they have space for us all?’
‘I don’t know, maybe because though the BA passengers have all been given separate rooms, I have to bunk in with Carl?’ he said, coming into my room and plonking himself down on the bed. He pulled two bags of mini-pretzels from his pocket and handed one to me. ‘I nabbed these from reception.’
I climbed onto the bed and we sat side by side, cracking into the mini-pretzels. ‘Hey,’ I said between mouthfuls, ‘talking of free food, you would have loved this. We met a guy in the queue at the airport – a New Yorker – and he asked me to save his space while he went to get something to eat, and he came back with Subways for all of us!’
‘For all of you?’ Jon said, impressed. ‘That was nice of him. So you’re full then, I’ll take these back.’ He reached for the pretzels but I wriggled away, stuffing them frantically into my gob.
‘He was nice,’ I said slowly. I was watching Jon’s reaction carefully. It didn’t matter what he thought, not really, it’s just . . . it kind of did matter.
‘Cool. So, Miss I-Hate-Christmas-and-New-York-At-Christmas, we’ve just been given twenty-four work-free hours here, and I spent the whole journey to the hotel ignoring Carl and coming up with a total bucket list for us to do together, guardian angel Clarence-style. We need to head off while it’s still light to fit it all in, but I guarantee that by the end you’ll be feeling so Christmassy you might as well call yourself Jesus.’
‘Oh . . . ’ He made a whole itinerary? That was sweet, which made this all the more awkward. ‘I can do a couple of hours now but I have plans this evening.’
‘With your team? Can’t they go it alone for one night?’
‘Actually, no, with the guy from the queue.’
‘The Subway guy?’
‘Yeah. Elijah.’
‘But isn’t he like, fifty?’
I couldn’t help but laugh at Jon’s aghast face. ‘No, why would you think that?’
‘Because he talked to people in the queue, which is weird anyway, and he bought you all lunch for no reason, which is like a rich old dad thing to do. And who’s called Elijah, other than Elijah Wood anyway?’
I stood up off the bed and brushed the crumbs off me. ‘You’re so odd. But stop sulking just because we can’t do everything on your list, I really want to at least do some of it this afternoon, and I’m all yours tomorrow morning.’
‘What if he’d put date rape drugs into your Subway? You shouldn’t just accept food from strange men.’ Jon stood also and I began pushing him towards the door, my hands on his lower back.
‘He wasn’t strange, he was very nice.’
‘Serial killers are nice when they’re not killing, you know. It’s how they lure you in.’
‘Elijah is not a fifty-year-old rapist serial killer; he’s just a nice guy who’s taking me out this evening.’
‘Somewhere public?’
‘At least to begin with!’ I raised my eyebrows.
‘Just be careful, OK?’ he said quietly. I grabbed my handbag and shut the door behind us. He stood close and rested his hand on my upper arm and I looked up at him. Was that sadness on his face?
I’m fully aware that there’s always been a smidgen of chemistry between Jon and me. But it’s never been any more than a flirty fondness, more ‘lovely’ than love. You know how there’s always someone – whether it’s the boy you used to fancy at school, that person in your office that you always like being near on nights out, the nice barista at your coffee shop who makes you smile when he or she remembers your name. But have I ever thought about it becoming anything more? No, not really. Apart from occasionally when I have rudey dreams about him, but I seriously have rudey dreams about everyone.
‘I will be careful,’ I said, kindly, and he thought about this for a moment, with his funny, lips-rolled-in thinking smile.
‘All right.’ He snapped out of it. ‘Well, if I only have you for a couple of hours, let’s make the most of it. Let me see . . . we won’t have time to queue for the ice rink now, but if we stay any longer than tomorrow we will. How about Central Park?’
Wait – I just remembered that I’d wanted to be alone. But being with Jon was the same, really. In a nice way.
‘Central Park sounds great. Is it Christmassy?’
‘Are you kidding me? Yes, it’s beautiful at Christmas. Let’s go.’
I didn’t need to be alone right now, wishing it was the Christmas-future. I needed to be in the Christmas-present.
A ride on the subway later and we emerged into the frosty afternoon air with Central Park stretching in front of us and the Plaza hotel behind. As we moved from the street and into the park, the ground beneath our feet changed from salty grit to an icing-sugar dusting of snow. The trees were a carbon-grey, pops of colour in the form of neon running-wear on pink-cheeked joggers bobbed up and down along the paths, and dogs of all shapes and sizes bounced about, tangling their leads around their owners.
I loved it. We started walking and I soaked in the view with every step. ‘I’ve been to Central Park once, I think, but Kim and I literally only had time to grab— Ooo, nuts!’
‘Pardon?’
‘This is what we grabbed!’ I pulled Jon towards a man standing next to a small cart. The most glorious smell was wafting from it: caramelised almonds. Or cashews. Or peanuts! The choice was yours. I bought two bags of the almonds and forced one into Jon’s hand. ‘These are amazing, taste them. Just smell them!’
He crunched into the sugar-coated almond, which was warm and sticky in all the best ways. ‘Well look at that,’ he said, as we walked on through the park, snaffling them down. ‘You just imparted a little New York winter wisdom on me; these are delicious.’
On we walked, our movie-like soundtrack being a saxophonist who stood under a bridge playing beautiful lazy melodies of Christmas classics.
‘I can’t believe this’ – I opened my arms wide, speaking through a mouthful of almonds – ‘is right in the middle of a city like New York. It feels like Hyde Park. Actually, it feels nothing like Hyde Park. New York is so big and busy and epic, and I love that about it, and then Central Park is a slice of countryside. Do you know what I mean? I don’t know if it’s all the paths or the sports fields or the lakes or the little hills but it feels like lots of small parks sewn together.’ I stopped and looked left and right at the scene, all silver, leafless trees and white powder, straight out of a Christmas card.
‘I wish I’d thought to get us takeout coffee,’ said Jon. ‘Then we’d be proper New Yorkers right now— Whooooooa!’
I was just about to chow into the rest of my almonds when we hit a patch of ice and Jon skidded sideways away from me, his arms flailing in the air.
My nuts dropped (so to speak) and I reached out for him. Before we knew it we were both Charleston-ing in the middle of the path, all kicky-legs and swingy-arms. Eventually we slowed, gripping each other and laughing, and he wrapped his arms tightly around my shoulders. We were squeezed together, steadying each other, and it occurred to me we’d never been this close before. It was stronger than a quick hug, or a goodbye kiss on the cheek. We breathed against each other, afraid to move a foot wrongly, but Jon held us both steady, balanced against his warm frame. ‘I’m not letting go.’ He smiled, his face close to mine.
I chuckled lightly and an unexpected blush crept across my cheeks. I pulled away from him, gathering my nuts and stuffing them and my hands in my pockets, and we continued a long, careful, walk through Central Park together. Like proper New Yorkers.
My Jon-time sped away from me and before I knew it our Christmas-in-New-York adventure was over. After we left Central Park we zoomed back to Brooklyn on the subway, and said our goodbyes.
‘What are you going to do this evening?’ I asked before we departed to our separate rooms.
‘I don’t know yet.’ He dawdled. ‘I’ll find something. Do you know what you’re doing with Elijah?’
I nodded excitedly. ‘I think we’re going up the Empire State Building.’
‘Impressive. Very cool. I’m glad you’re making the most of New York.’
‘And Christmas. Have you seen it’s lit up all red and green at this time of year?’ I wanted him to know I’d listened to him, that I was trying.
We went our separate ways, and it was early evening by the time I was waiting below the Empire State Building, staring up at it in awe just like I was Kimmy Schmidt straight out of the bunker. I didn’t spot Elijah jogging over until he was right in front of me, all scruffy-chic and sexy-mexy. He greeted me with a ‘Damn, girl’, which honestly NEVER HAPPENS.
He stepped back, making a show of appearing to find my poncho, boots and jeans combo the hottest thing since hot sliced bread (aka toast). So I once-overed him and ‘damn, girled’ him back.
Elijah laughed. ‘I forgot for a second that my best lines wouldn’t work on a girl like you.’
‘A girl like me?’
‘Sorry, a woman like you.’
‘Ha – that’s not what I meant. I want to know what you think I’m like.’
‘Smart, honest, a feminist.’
‘Well thank you. Feminists still like compliments; we just don’t survive off them. I am interested in your other “lines” though, because “damn girl” can’t be your best.’
Elijah took my hand and kissed it, in an unexpectedly gentlemanly and romantic gesture, and began to lead me down the street. ‘All in good time, good woman.’
I looked back at the Empire State Building as we walked away. ‘Are we not going up?’
‘Oh, you wanted to go up the Empire State?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ I replied.
‘Believe me; you do not want to go up there. One week to Christmas and there’ll be tourists queueing up all eighty flights of stairs. No, I’m taking you to dinner nearby. I know this great place, it’s pretty quiet and it serves amazing steaks.’
‘Could we go up after dinner?’ I pressed, disappointment on my face.
Elijah looked down at me as we walked along. ‘How about we do it tomorrow, if we’re still here?’
I nodded. ‘Yes please. I want to make the most of Christmas in New York. I do like steak though,’ I added, not wanting to appear ungrateful.
‘Then this place will make you fall in love.’
OK, no bother. I may not make it up the Empire State Building tonight, but I was still in New York, and less than twenty-four hours ago I was wishing to the star atop the Rockefeller Christmas tree that I could have extra time here. And here I was, ready to be open-minded and believe in Christmas, and the Big Apple, and everything it encompassed.
‘Tell me about your family,’ I instructed as we weaved down 34th Street.
‘All right,’ Elijah said. ‘My mom’s an alcoholic and she left when I was two, and my dad is in prison for second-degree homicide. I raised myself, helped my cocaine-addicted sister through college and became a male stripper at sixteen just to pay for food.’
Oh. He’s different from the usual boys I meet, and his underdog tale kinda made me want to be his sugar-mama. ‘What kind of food could you buy on a stripper’s salary?’ I asked, as if this was remotely important.
‘Pretty much just mac and cheese. Every night, mac and cheese. I think that’s why my sister turned to drugs, just to try and escape that taste of microwave cheese.’
‘That’s a . . . ’ I struggled for what to say. I was ninety per cent sure he was joking. Maybe ninety-three per cent sure. But imagine if I burst out laughing and it killed him, and he never told anyone about his horrifying home life again? ‘That’s one gritty family story.’
‘Suits me though, right? As a musician?’
OK, ninety-six per cent now. ‘Yeah . . . so, is it all true?’ One thing I was learning about Elijah was that he was hard to figure out.
‘Nah,’ he laughed. ‘My folks are divorced, my mom lives over in Connecticut and my dad down south, but I’m an only kid so no cocained sister. I did live off mac and cheese for a long time though.’
‘Because of stripping?’
‘I don’t think anyone would pay me to take off my clothes.’
I raised my eyebrows at him, and at that point we arrived at the restaurant, a small Italian place between a hotel and a souvenir store. The frontage was nondescript; nice enough but pretty standard. Huh. I mean it looked cosy, friendly, I certainly wasn’t expecting somewhere all glitz and glamour, but . . . I glanced down the street where I could see some traditional brownstones the next block over, steps leading both up and down to fairy-light-strewn basement and first floor eateries. They looked so New York.
Anyway. I shook off those thoughts, cursing Jon for getting in my brain with this ‘you must experience Christmas in New York’ blabber.
We took a seat by the window, so that was nice. With the yellow cabs whooshing through the darkness like bumblebees, I could remember where we were. Elijah smiled at me, my American Boy, for tonight at least. And when the steak arrived it too was delicious. I ordered the New York strip as a compromise with myself, and a glass of wine later I’d relaxed into the evening.
‘I’m really glad I met you,’ he said, all of a sudden as I was mid-chew.
‘You are?’
‘I could have been stuck between families full of screaming kids in that queue, but I was next to you. And you’re interesting, and funny, and I don’t know a lot of English girls.’
That was unexpected. ‘You’re interesting and funny too,’ I said, my Englishness struggling to accept the complimentary nature of Americans.
‘Full disclosure: I did date an English girl once, just briefly, but you’re not a rebound or a replacement.’
‘What happened?’ I asked, being nosy.
‘She was just here on vacation, but we hit it off. I was all booked to go visit a couple months later and she stopped answering my messages, or phone calls. I think she might have had another life at home.’
I studied him for a second . . . but I was certain this time it wasn’t a joke. He looked quite forlorn. ‘That’s horrible! On behalf of Britain, I apologise.’
He laughed. ‘Thank you. I’m over it now but she did inspire an album full of break-up songs.’
‘Harsh, angry ones?’
‘Soppy, “she’s out of my life” ones,’ he corrected me, then laughed again. ‘But don’t worry, I don’t get attached generally unless it’s a mutual feeling, I’m not hinting that I’m going to go bunny boiler-obsessed on you.’
The more Elijah and I talked, the more I liked him. He felt like a mystery novel – confident, secretive, I was never sure when he was joking or when he was serious, but his charm made me want to turn the pages and dig deeper into his story.
As dinner drew to a close, he ordered us some whiskeys. I had the feeling he was testing me, assuming I would be a girl who didn’t like whiskey, but would drink it anyway if he told me to.
‘Jameson, huh?’ I held my glass up to my face, the ice cube sparkling against the amber liquid.
‘It’s the best,’ shrugged Elijah, watching my every move.
‘Irish, though?’
‘You don’t like it?’
‘I like it.’ I drank it, slowly, but in one. ‘But you surprise me, because to me, nothing beats one of your American bourbons. It’s Woodford Reserve Double Oaked for me, any day.’ I signalled the waiter to bring us a couple of those, and luxuriated in Elijah’s dropped jaw. That’s right, honeybunch, the English rose has many layers indeed.
I turned back to him and he leaned over the table, no messing around, and kissed me right on the lips. The Jameson stung, and his stubble scratched, but I kissed him back, my mouth curled into a smile.
He broke away and sat back down as the bar staff appeared. My heart was racing, the blood was bounding in my ears and I could feel the whiskey burning in my belly. Lost for words but keeping my poker face in place, I picked up my glass and clinked Elijah’s, before raising it to those recently used lips.
I was exhausted by the time I unlocked my bedroom door, and so ready to take my bra off. What an evening! It had been a while, believe me, since I’d felt so drawn to someone so quickly. Elijah was fun, and sexy, and new. He was a distraction, who’d be gone before anything could even think about getting serious, but he was here now, and I could still taste his whiskey lips on mine.
I stepped over the threshold, already reaching up the back of my coat with one hand to unlock the gates of my own personal boob prison, when I stepped onto a piece of paper lying on the carpet.
It was a note from Jon. I thought of him for a moment. We were OK, weren’t we? I really didn’t want it to be weird between us, because it shouldn’t be – if he met a girl I’d definitely be chuffed to bits for him.
Hello! I’m not sure when you’ll be getting back in, but do you still fancy meeting up for some bloody good last-minute sightseeing tomorrow? Crap diner coffee is on me? If so, meet me in the lobby at 7.30 am (I know it’s early, but trust me . . .) J x
I yawned at the note. Seven thirty a.m.? OK, I could do that. I kicked my legs jive-style until my boots hurled themselves across the room and then climbed into my bed, fully clothed, and with my bra just dangling about under my jumper. I needed to tell a certain someone about Elijah, and so I reached for my phone.
FaceTime connected after just a couple of rings and there was my Kim, all lit up under fluorescent lights.
‘Olivia!’ she cried, her face pink-tinged and make-up free. She was smiling a big smile.
‘Hello, hello! How’s Antigua?’
‘So good. The weather has been perfect and all-inclusive is the best thing in the world. Do you know you can have pizza and a mojito for breakfast, if you want? I mean I haven’t but you could. OK, I had it one morning. Hang on; shouldn’t you be on a flight? Are you back home already?’
‘Nope, still in New York, our flight – all flights – were cancelled so now we’re staying until tomorrow.’
‘Oh bugger! Oh well, if you’ve got to be stuck somewhere, New York’s not a bad option. Now you can go to Rockefeller! You have no excuse!’
I laughed. ‘Been there, done that.’
‘You fitted it in?’
‘Before I even knew we were staying on longer, I took a photo for you – I’ll send it in a bit. Jon came with me, last night.’
‘Ahh, and how is the lovely Jon?’
‘He’s OK. Actually you’d be very pleased with him –he says he and New York City are going to force me into loving a proper Christmas by the time we leave. He’s been put up in the same hotel as me, and I’m meeting him in the morning.’
‘Now I love him even more! That’s my boy. Be open-minded, OK, Liv? And don’t be tight with the money – live a little. And if you see some mistletoe and wanna just grab Jon – I mean life – by the balls then go for it.’ Her face contorted into a wide-mouthed laugh.
‘Where’s Steve?’ I asked, trying to change the subject.
Kim composed herself, mopping her eyes. ‘He’s snoring off the too-much-free-whisky he drank. He’s dead to the world.’
‘Tell him I say hi when he wakes up.’ Then I said, a little shyly, ‘So . . . you know, I met a rather nice man here in New York.’
‘You did WHAT?’ Kim dropped her tablet and for a moment I had a nice view of what appeared to be a hotel bathroom ceiling. Then her face reappeared. ‘Who?’
‘His name’s Elijah, and he’s a New Yorker, and he bought everyone Subways at the airport and then he took me out to dinner tonight. We had steak.’
‘You had sex?!’
‘Steak. But Elijah is really really really sexy, and he’s all-American and all I can think about is sex with him because he is Sex.’
‘Ohmygod, you said sex so many times to me just then. I need to know what the fuss is about – can you send me a picture?’
‘No, I don’t have one of him yet.’
‘Text it over as soon as you do. I need to know if this man who’s getting you all hot under the collar is really worth it, or if this is no different from your weird Paul Hollywood crush. But in the meantime, you should go for it.’
‘Do you think?’ I asked. My insides fizzed at the thought.
‘Of course. I haven’t heard you this excited about a man since that Draco Malfoy lookalike in that club last year.’
‘It was a shame that was a gay club . . . ’
‘This Elijah is basically perfect for you. You can have a great time with him with zero commitment, what with him living an ocean away and all.’
‘Is it sad that that’s true?’
‘Not at all. Have some fun and maybe you’ll come out of it feeling like you’re ready to start dating properly again. Anyway, there’s no rush. And don’t overthink it. If you’re both happy with no-strings Christmas canoodling, then treat yourself. Pull up those Christmas stockings and put an unexpected item in his bagging area.’ Kim pulled a face. ‘Urgh, what am I talking about?’
‘You are quite disgusting,’ I laughed.
‘But . . . ’
‘What?’
‘If you do decide you want something, er, sexy, you know you really don’t need to look any further than the man who’s sleeping down the corridor from you.’
‘OK, I’m going to hang up now, I’m sure you have some couples massage to go and look smug about.’
‘Nooooo, don’t leave me, I’m bored,’ wailed Kim.
‘I’m so sleepy and I have to be up early.’ I yawned at her face.
‘I’ll sing you to sleep, it’ll be like the old days when you’d drunk a little too much and your head was spinning and the only thing that helped was me singing Disney songs and stroking your head.’
Mmmm, that did sound nice. I snuggled down in the bed and propped my phone so that Kim and I were facing each other. I closed my eyes and she smiled at her choice of song, as she launched into a soothing version of The Little Mermaid’s ‘Kiss the Girl’.