Take A Look At Me Now

CHAPTER FOUR

Good morning, San Francisco

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be approaching San Francisco International airport. Local time is eleven thirty a.m. It’s sunny, with a light westerly breeze and the temperature on the ground is a very pleasant twenty-two degrees Celsius. Please fasten your seat belts and place your seats and trays in the upright position …’

‘Almost home,’ smiled the tanned woman in the seat beside me. During the eleven-hour flight from my connection at Paris Charles de Gaulle airport, I had learned that her name was Patti, she was returning to San Francisco after a business trip to Paris and was something big in electronic security systems. When she discovered this was my first time in her city, she had launched into an enthusiastic commentary on all the places I simply had to visit: from Alcatraz to the Museum of Modern Art, Macy’s to a particular Latino-jazz bar she often frequented in the Mission District. After several waking hours of her tour suggestions, part of me felt as if I knew the city already. ‘You’re going to have the best time, honey. There’s nowhere on earth like it.’

I gazed out of the window as the aircraft began a slow, stomach-flipping descent through the white, wispy cloudbank. The week since my momentous decision in the small Islington travel agency had passed in a blur: giving notice to my startled housemates, moving back in with my even more startled parents, applying for a visa, buying a new suitcase and clothes for my two-month American adventure and avoiding calls from Aidan, who didn’t seem to have received the message that I wanted nothing more to do with him. When I’d checked my mobile in Paris waiting for my connecting flight, the number of missed calls from him had been heading towards twenty. I had no intention of speaking to him yet. The next eight weeks of my life were a clean sheet, a chance to start afresh. Once this time was over I would start to think of what was next for me. But right now, Nell Sullivan was about to arrive in San Francisco with no agenda, no plan and no restrictions.

I had been so engrossed in the details and logistics of my brilliant plan that it was only when the plane landed at San Francisco International airport that reality actually hit me. As the plane made its slow taxi along the runways towards the terminals, the sensible side of me (which had been so noticeably absent in my decision-making over the last seven days) made a magnificent return with a hissy fit to end them all.

What am I doing? Why am I blowing all my money on this?

I was going to a place I’d never visited before, to spend eight weeks with a cousin I hadn’t seen for years. Yes, we had been virtually inseparable during our teens, but that was a long time ago. Lizzie had undoubtedly changed and so had I. I hadn’t given her much option, calling from the travel agency and more or less holding a gun to her head. What if she had only suggested eight weeks because she felt it was the right thing to do? One thing I knew about my cousin was that she was officially the sweetest being on the planet. Growing up, she would always tie herself in knots rather than offend someone.

In the stuffy confines of the pressurised air cabin, my nerves tipped further on edge as I lurched towards a full-blown panic attack. After we’d brought each other up to speed on our respective lives, what would we talk about then? I realised that for the last couple of years my life had more or less revolved around my job and whether Aidan and I were together or not. Even my beloved baking had taken a back seat, especially given the dubious state of the kitchen in my former house-share. Not only was I leaving all of that behind, but I also had to figure out what would fit in their place. Questions about my future waited at home to be dealt with later, but questions of the next two months of my life lay in wait for me in San Francisco. What if Lizzie wasn’t ready to welcome someone who knew so little about herself?

Once my nerves had run themselves sufficiently ragged and we were nearing the terminal building, I began to feel decidedly more positive. Everything would be fine, I reassured myself. There was nothing I could do about any of this now – I would have to discover the answers in San Francisco.

Besides, I’d promised Vicky that I would make the most of my time here. Knowing that she was at home facing the horrors of unemployment unsettled me, but she’d insisted I was doing the right thing.

‘Don’t you worry about me. You need this, Nell. And I need every gorgeous, gory detail you can chuck my way. I’m counting on you to entertain me, OK?’

Standing in the seemingly never-moving line for Immigration at San Francisco airport, I smiled to myself. Only Vicky could make that kind of demand sound like fun.

‘First time in San Francisco, Ma’am?’ the huge Immigration officer asked, his politeness at odds with the fact that he looked as if he could quite easily snap my neck like a pencil if he wanted to.

‘Yes it is.’

He held up my passport, dark eyes beneath his thickset brow flicking between my face and my totally embarrassing passport photo. Just as the scrutiny was beginning to verge on uncomfortable, he handed it back. ‘Thank you. Enjoy your trip.’

As heartfelt sentiments go, this wasn’t a contender for welcome of the year, but I smiled my thanks and scurried away in case the neck-snapping option began to appeal to him.

Even though I was surrounded by my fellow passengers from England and France, the moment I walked into the baggage hall I knew I was in America. The noise in the cavernous hangar was distinctive in tone, the phrases on the overhead signs a little dissimilar to those at Heathrow or Paris Charles de Gaulle – even the atmosphere of the admittedly impersonal surroundings seemed different.

Emerging from the long tunnel-like walkway into the blast of noise, light and activity, I struggled momentarily to gain my bearings. Scanning along the selection of name signs being held by the barriers, I spotted Lizzie, grinning like a Cheshire Cat on happy gas and brandishing a sheet of card framed in what looked like a cerise feather boa, my name artfully spelled out in multicoloured glitter-glue and sequins. I was struck by how beautifully relaxed she looked. Her wavy blonde hair was loosely pinned up, her sunglasses tucked into it at the crown of her head, and her tanned skin glowed against the loose white blouse and pale blue shorts she wore.

‘Nellie!’ she yelled, ducking underneath the stretched elastic barrier, shedding bright pink feathers as she went.

‘Hi!’

I was hit with the full force of my cousin’s embrace as she nearly rugby-tackled me to the shiny-tiled airport floor.

‘I’m so glad you’re here! How are you? How was the flight? Are you hungry? I bet you’re hungry. Well we’re catching a cab home so we can pretty much stop anywhere. You just tell me what you fancy and we’ll find it. This is San Francisco, after all. Coffee! I bet you need coffee. Your first shot of American Joe is always special, trust me …’ She paused long enough to draw breath and gave me a rueful smile. ‘I’m talking too much, aren’t I?’

I had to laugh. ‘Um …’

‘Oh I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep last night because I was so excited, so I had my first coffee at five a.m. Consequently, I’m buzzing a bit. So – welcome to San Francisco!’

I laughed. ‘Thank you. Nice sign, by the way.’

‘It’s a bit showbiz, isn’t it?’ Lizzie giggled and shook the sign, sending a small cloud of glitter and stray feathers fluttering to the floor. ‘I told the kids at the after-school club I run about you and they wanted to help. I’ll have you know this is a unique, one-of-a-kind welcome sign.’

‘Well, I’m honoured.’

‘You’ll have to come and meet the kids while you’re here. They’re so excited to meet “another English”. You’ll feel like a celebrity.’ Lizzie took my suitcase and we walked through the terminal building towards the exit. ‘Now, we can do whatever you like. I’d recommend not sleeping yet, to lessen the chance of jetlag beating you up. That flight used to slay me every time.’

I was tired – the kind of weariness you feel aching in the very marrow of your bones – but I was also suddenly ravenously hungry. And, like a kid in the early hours of Christmas morning, I was determined not to miss a second of the day that lay ahead. Sleep could wait: I had a brand new city to meet.

Our cab driver, a portly Greek man in his early fifties, introduced himself as Apollo as we pulled away from the airport terminal and joined the lines of traffic heading onto the freeway.

‘Your first time in San Fran? You’ll love it, lady! I been here sixteen years this fall, and it’s the best place I ever lived. Bar none. I make my home here, I meet my wife here, I raise my kids here. It’s a special place.’

His dark eyes twinkled as he looked in the rear view mirror at Lizzie and I in the back seat. I smiled back, overwhelmed by the feeling of being at home, despite being a thousand miles away from it.

Warm Californian sun flooded into the car and even though my sudden entry into the middle of the morning in a brand new country had left my brain a little befuddled, the scenery whizzing past the windows was enough to grab my attention. Tall hills rose in the far distance, blue skies arced overhead and everything seemed to catch the sun.

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ Lizzie said, linking her arm through mine. ‘It’s just so good to see you.’

‘You too. It’s been too long.’

‘It has. But we have eight whole weeks to make up for lost time, so let’s make the most of it. Now, I’ve taken a week off from my piano students, so I can show you around.’

‘That’s really kind – but are you sure? I know holidays are like gold dust over here.’

My cousin dismissed my concern. ‘It will be my pleasure.’ Her smile faded a little and she took both my hands in hers. ‘Now, honestly, tell me how you are. Losing your job must have been dreadful.’

‘I don’t know how I am,’ I answered truthfully. ‘It hurt me that they didn’t want me any more but I think I channelled my anger into action to get here. It’s going to take some time for me to work through it.’

‘Take all the time you need, it’s a huge thing to deal with.’ Lizzie squeezed my hands. ‘Have you thought about what you want to do while you’re here?’

‘A little. But I’m up for almost anything. Any suggestions will be gratefully received.’

Lizzie observed me, a sly grin appearing. ‘That is not the Nell Sullivan I knew. You were always Miss Five-Year Plan, even when we were growing up. What’s changed?’

‘My five-year plan has. Which had actually become a six-year plan, without me realising. And then became a defunct plan. Up until last week I let it guide my decisions, but now it’s been taken away I don’t have to stick to the programme any longer. I just want to know what it feels like to have no plan – to step out into my life and see what happens.’

‘Amazing.’ Lizzie stared at me as if seeing her cousin for the first time. ‘And what happens if it isn’t what you want?’

I shrugged, loving the rush of positivity I felt. ‘Then two months isn’t a long time to stick it out before I go home and pick up where I left off.’

‘You go for it, glikia mu,’ Apollo interjected. ‘You only get one chance to live your life. What’s the worst that can happen, eh?’

‘Thanks, Apollo,’ I replied, as Lizzie buried her face in her neck-scarf to stifle her giggles. ‘I’ll remember that.’

‘All’s part of the service.’ His super-white smile rivalled the Californian sun for brightness as it flashed at me in the rear view mirror.

Then, suddenly, the glittering cityscape of San Francisco appeared on the horizon and I lost my breath.

‘Oh wow …’

Lizzie smiled and squeezed my shoulder as I sat upright, drinking in the sight. ‘There she is. Gorgeous, eh?’

‘It’s beautiful. I had no idea.’

‘I told you it’s a special place,’ Apollo grinned over his shoulder, before launching into his own commentary on the sights passing by. The pride he had in his adopted city was infectious and soon Lizzie and I were both nodding along to everything he told us as we began to pass through downtown San Francisco streets that appeared to have come straight out of a film.

We turned a corner into a wide street lined with kooky Victorian houses beneath which were a variety of businesses. The street was lined with trees and every shop sign was hand-painted. Elaborately chalked A-boards promised everything from t-shirts, ice cream and herbal teas to vintage records and books, while bright awnings hung over gaudily coloured shop window displays filled with vintage clothing, hand-crafted items and candles, next to restaurants and bars that spilled out onto the broad sidewalk.

‘Welcome to Haight-Ashbury,’ Lizzie grinned. ‘Your home for the next eight weeks!’

The taxi came to a halt outside a three-storey building with two floors of hexagonal-shaped windows above a New Age clothing and music store, which wrapped around the corner of Haight Street and Cole Street. At one side was an enormous rainbow mosaic, which covered the wall to the next shop further up Cole Street, and a large tree on the sidewalk shaded the entrance to the shop. In the far end of the rainbow mosaic was a door covered in a hand-painted mural to look like acacia blossoms climbing over a dark green brick wall.

Lizzie turned and smiled at me. ‘Here we are.’

We paid Apollo and I thanked him as he unloaded my suitcase from the boot.

‘You have a great time,’ he grinned.

‘I will, thank you.’

Lizzie laughed as we walked up two flights of stairs to her apartment on the top floor. ‘You’ll certainly meet a lot of characters like Apollo while you’re here.’ She opened her front door and ushered me inside. ‘Here it is – home sweet home.’

Her apartment was light and airy, the walls painted white to reflect the sunlight streaming in from the hexagonal bay window. Huge abstract art canvases and vintage posters for San Francisco were displayed on the walls and two enormous spherical paper lampshades hung from decorative plaster roses in the ceiling. In the centre of the main living area was a collection of armchairs and a large squashy couch, all draped in patchwork throws made of tiny pieces of printed Indian fabric. A small table and two chairs were nestled in the window bay and a kitchen area was separated from the main room by a teak breakfast bar. An odd collection of ornaments filled the room – the most noteworthy being a rooster on a motorcycle made out of scrap metal and a life-sized cut-out of Wonder Woman. The aroma of roses was everywhere: from bunches of dried blooms suspended from the edges of paintings and rosebud-studded hearts that hung on every door.

Depositing my suitcase by the front door, Lizzie turned to me. ‘Now, I suppose before I show you around, I should tell you about the man in my life.’

This was news to me. ‘You have a man?’

‘Yes, I do. And it’s important the two of you get on because you’re going to be spending a lot of time together.’

‘Lizzie Sullivan, you dark horse! Is he here now?’ I peered into the apartment half-expecting her beau to appear.

‘He is, as a matter of fact.’ She walked over to a vintage sideboard and patted the lid of a blue glass tank, where a small goldfish was swimming.

‘Nell, I’d like to introduce you to Pablo.’

I suppressed a giggle. ‘Pablo?’

She nodded with mock seriousness. ‘Pablo the Goldfish. Sharer of my space, confidant of my secrets, more-or-less-constant companion. In Pablo I have found all the qualities I could want from a man. Apart from – you know – the obvious …’

‘Ugh! That’s a mental picture I don’t need.’

Her face flushed red. ‘No! I mean he can’t put out the trash. Or mow the lawn. Not that I have a lawn yet, but … OK, I think I’ve taken that analogy far enough.’

‘I think you have. Seriously though, are there any blokes on the scene?’

She shrugged. ‘A few dates. Nothing major. How about you? Is that Aidan chap still hanging around?’

‘He’s the one who told me I was losing my job.’

‘Ooh, nasty. And not exactly conducive to romance.’

‘Nope.’ The memory of Aidan was sharper than I expected. ‘He tried calling me before I came out here but I don’t think we’ve anything more to say to each other.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

I hoped my answer was believable. ‘I think so. But it’s fine. It’s been a long time coming, really.’

Lizzie hugged me. ‘Well I think you’re worth more, anyhow. And you’re here to have fun, so that’s all that matters. Right, let me give you the guided tour of Apartment 24B Cole Street. Which should last approximately thirty seconds. So – this is the kitchen area. I’m hoping for lots of your amazing baking creations to be inspired here. But no pressure! That’s the dining area over there and main living room – feel free to sit wherever you like, I don’t have a favourite chair. Then the first door on the right is my bedroom, the middle door is the bathroom, which is, thankfully, much bigger than you think it’s going to be. And then the last door is your room. It’s actually my office but I prefer to work at the table anyway so don’t go worrying that you’re inconveniencing me. I’ve put a futon in there, which is really comfy, and I’ve cleared the closet so you can hang your stuff up. Everything is yours for the next eight weeks, so if you want to watch TV or make yourself some food or coffee, even if it’s in the middle of the night, you’re welcome to help yourself.’

It was homely and kooky and completely Lizzie – and, considering I had been awake for over twenty-four hours and was now standing in an apartment I had never been in before, I felt surprisingly at home. Seeing my cousin so excited about me spending two months with her went a long way to making me feel like that, but there was also something distinctly familiar about Haight-Ashbury, even from the small amount I had seen during our taxi ride and arriving in Lizzie’s neighbourhood. I had a feeling I was going to enjoy living here for the next eight weeks.

‘Now sit down and I’ll pop the kettle on,’ Lizzie said, hurrying into the kitchen. ‘We’ll go and grab something to eat if you like, but first you need a decent cuppa.’ She reached into an overhead cupboard and produced a box of English breakfast tea like it was the most precious gem in the world. ‘Mum sends me these,’ she said, popping two teabags into a brightly painted teapot. ‘I’ve been able to cope with most changes living in America but decent tea is something I refuse to compromise on.’

‘I like your teapot. Did you paint it yourself?’

‘No – although I did take a pottery class when I first got here. You know me, always a bit crafty. I made those vases on the bookcase – not bad for a beginner. I bought this in Brighton when I last came home, actually. One of Mum’s friends Guin owns a fab pottery studio in Shoreham-by-Sea and I bought this when I met her. Had to smuggle it home in my hand luggage – I think airport security thought I was mad.’ She grinned as she filled the teapot and brought it over. ‘And now I have three things in my house from England: the tea, the teapot and you.’

Growing up together on the Kent coast before my parents moved to Richmond, Lizzie and I had always been close. I envied her artiness and creativity – she was always making something, learning a new instrument or baking. Where I had swimming lessons and occasionally went horse riding at the local stables, Lizzie’s calendar of clubs, groups and lessons for the week was dizzying. Art club, chess club, ballet, jazz dance, drama club, photography class and singing lessons … By the time my family moved to Richmond, however, Lizzie’s attention had been claimed by two loves: playing piano and baking. While I didn’t possess a single musical bone in my body, I did love to bake and that became the activity that bound us together, even when we only saw each other during school holidays. When Lizzie emigrated to the States eight years ago, recipes became our primary form of communication, both of us emailing each other with links to new recipes and photos of our most recent culinary endeavours.

Lizzie now worked as a piano teacher, going into Bay Area schools to teach music classes and tutoring some private students in the neighbourhood. She also ran an after-school baking and crafts club at an elementary school in the Mission District, which had become so successful that three other schools in the city had adopted Lizzie’s programme. Because of this she had been asked to advise on after-school programmes for the California Department of Education.

‘What’s great about it all is that everything I’m doing now happened by chance,’ she grinned. ‘I offered to do a one-off after-school session at the school in Mission and it all stemmed from that. It isn’t what I thought I’d spend my life doing but I can’t imagine doing anything else now.’

As she told me about the recent developments of her life I was immensely proud of my cousin. I remembered how nervous she had been when she first booked her gap year trip to the States; how, nine days into her adventure, she had reverse-charge called me in tears, insisting that she’d made the biggest mistake of her life, was almost broke already and wanted to come home. But then she had a chance meeting with a travelling music and theatre company who were visiting a school in the town where she was staying. When they heard her play they invited her to join them. The wealthy organisation funding the company arranged Lizzie’s Green Card and within a year she was a fully-fledged American citizen. She had settled in San Francisco after falling in love with the city while on tour – and looking at her now I honestly couldn’t imagine her living anywhere else.