Fairytale of New York (21 page)

Many people in my situation would have chosen to run home; for me this was never an option. Whilst I was incapable of functioning on many levels, one thought managed to cling on stubbornly:
I can’t go back.
If I went home and attempted to resurrect my old life, somehow David’s betrayal of me would be even more brutal. Then and there, in the ruins of my selfesteem, I made the decision that was to become a mantra from that day to this:
I don’t look back.

This would be my single act of defiance against the man who had torn my whole world apart:
You brought me here—you brought me to America—so this is where I’m staying.

Firmly closing the door on my past, I started to build the walls that I had only now begun to demolish, brick by brick—nearly seven years after David jilted me. Strangely enough, it took a fraction of the time to construct them than, it now seemed, was required to pull them down.

The day I arrived in New York, heart securely defended against any future attack, I began to understand the ‘American Dream’—that all-encompassing, deliciously irresistible urge to believe
anything
is possible. All around me were people who had felt its attraction; like iron filings being drawn to a huge, Manhattanshaped magnet, pulled across land and sea from the four corners of the world to this magical city of dreams. And every day since, no matter what state my life is in, I’ve felt the Dream calling to me—just like Mum used to do on Christmas morning when James and I were kids: ‘Come on! Get up and
see
what’s happening!’

A hand was gently stroking my cheek as sleep retreated and I woke. Struggling to focus, I blinked rapidly until the fog cleared in my eyes and I recognised the face before me.

‘Hey there, kid. How ya doin’?’

‘Hi. I feel horrible.’

Ed smiled in gentle response. ‘Yeah, but you look worse.’

I managed a laugh. ‘Oh,
cheers
.’

The smile left his face momentarily. ‘I
know,
by the way. Celia told me everything. Don’t look like that, Rosie: I know and it’s OK.’

And that was it, right there. After all the years I’d refused to reveal my past to him, after all my fears about how it would affect our friendship, one simple sentence was all that was needed:
I know and it’s OK.
Even though every part of me ached, knowing that Ed knew it all gave me a surprisingly immense sense of comfort.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘For not telling you…for not sharing this with you—
first.
’

He grinned and stroked my forehead. ‘No accounting for taste, obviously. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me this a long, long time.’ He shook his head. ‘Point is, I know
now.
That’s all that matters, OK? You’ve done
so well,
Rosie. You’re
doing
great. So, you ready to go home now?’

I nodded. I needed to be home.

We didn’t speak much in the cab. Ed just wrapped an arm round my shoulder and remained quiet as I leaned my head against his well-loved, beaten-up brown leather jacket and shut my eyes, inhaling its familiar scent.

Once inside my apartment, he sat me on the couch and hurried round, switching on lamps, drawing blinds and coaxing my coffee maker into reluctant clanking action. My burning eyes followed him and I was instantly reminded of Ben.
During those first few weeks at his place, when just about the only thing I could do was breathe in and out, Ben looked after me completely. He was everything I needed: cook, counsellor, friend, brother, entertainer, doctor. Watching Ed busily at work now brought a rush of nostalgia and made me wonder what I had done in my life to deserve such amazingly selfless friends.

Ed returned and handed me my favourite mug filled with hot, sweet black coffee. ‘Here—drink this. Then you’d better eat something.’

I shook my head. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Doesn’t matter, you still need to eat. Then you need rest.’

‘You don’t have to do this, Ed. Go home. I’ll be fine, honestly.’

The ice-blue stare searched my soul. ‘Do you want me to go home, Rosie?’

I looked long and hard at this person who had done so much for me. And suddenly I realised I didn’t want to be alone. ‘No, I don’t.’

Relief seemed to light him up from the inside out. ‘Then I’m not going anywhere.’ He bent forward and lightly kissed my forehead. ‘I’ll go fix us something to eat, OK?’ He jumped up and headed for the kitchen. ‘Although you may be disappointed if you were expecting a culinary masterpiece. I can’t seem to find any
normal
food in here…’ Sounds of drawers and cupboard doors being opened wafted in from the direction of my kitchen, followed by a crash and a muffled profanity, ‘…and your cupboards are booby-trapped!’

‘Ed?’ I called out.

He appeared like a flash at the doorway. ‘Yeah?’

‘Thank you.’

A huge smile spread across his face. ‘You’re more than welcome, Rosie.’

Next morning I awoke feeling unexpectedly stronger. In the brave light of a new day things seemed clearer. Although my body ached like I’d just done ten rounds with a herd of elephants, my soul felt lighter than I could remember. I sat up and couldn’t help smiling when I saw Ed. He was fast asleep in the chair at the bottom of my bed, his dark hair all ruffled up endearingly, my patchwork quilt draped casually across his chest, with his tall body awkwardly contorted to fit the confines of his makeshift bed. Grabbing fresh clothes from my closet, I tiptoed past him to the bathroom.

About twenty minutes later, I emerged feeling refreshed from a hot shower. As quietly as possible I went into my kitchen and began to make breakfast. It was almost ready when I heard a long groan followed by a sleepy-eyed Ed as he appeared in the doorway. Only he could make dishevelled look so attractive first thing in the morning. It wasn’t difficult to see why the good ladies of New York were queuing up for him.

‘Morning,’ he murmured, running a hand through his tousled mop of hair. ‘I ache.’

‘Hmm…I’m not surprised. Why didn’t you sleep on the couch? That chair didn’t look at all comfortable.’

‘It wasn’t. But I wanted to be there in case you woke up. You snore, by the way.’

‘Oh, cheers.’

The azure-blue eyes sparkled. ‘Just kidding. You OK?’ He followed me to the table in the living room and eased himself into a chair as I poured the coffee.

I took a deep breath. ‘Actually, I think I am. I guess it’s a relief to get it all out.’

Ed took a sip from his steaming mug. ‘Sure. That makes sense. Ow,
dammit
…’ He stretched out his right arm and rotated his shoulder until it gave out a loud grating click. ‘So—Celia says you’re going to do David’s wedding?’ He was careful not to reveal an opinion through his expression, but I could guess what it was.

‘Yes, I think—well, I said yes, anyway. And before you ask, I don’t know why. It just seemed like the right thing to do. In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. Up until yesterday the biggest fear I had was seeing him again. Now I’ve done that so I have to face the next biggest fear: asking for answers.’

Ed’s eyes remained unmoved but I caught his head shaking a little. ‘You are a constant surprise, Rosie Duncan.’

‘Why?’

He put his mug on the table. ‘For years you’ve kept this secret—it ran your life and prevented you from fully trusting anyone. Then yesterday you had to face David and I saw you totally destroyed by it all over again. You know, I figured that would set you back
years
—have you scurrying back to the safety of your solitude—but today here you are: the hope is back alive in you, and now you’re even daring to think of the rest of your life. I don’t know how you do it.’

I didn’t either. ‘I’m scared to death of the situation right now, but it’s like you said: I have to consider the possibility
that my life could move on. You were right with what you said before: there
was
a whole side of me you knew nothing about. I should have told you years ago. I’m sorry.’

Ed let out a long sigh. ‘Finally, she realises the truth: Ed Steinmann is always right.’ Leaning forward, he gently took my hand, his fingers slowly wrapping around mine. ‘And I’m here for you, OK?’

I placed my other hand over his and felt a wave of peace washing over me.

Two days later, Kowalski’s welcomed me back like a long-lost friend. Even the little silver bell on the front door sounded delighted when I entered my shop. Marnie rushed up and flung both arms round me. ‘Oh, Rosie—are you OK? I’ve been so worried ‘bout you. You didn’t have to come in, you know. Are you certain you’re OK to work?’

Ed laughed. ‘Put her down, Marnie, she’ll be fine.’

Later that morning, Marnie joined me by Old F, who was busily percolating coffee for all his worth.

‘Celia told me about—you know—what happened.’

I ignored the pang of anxiety that her concerned expression evoked in me. ‘I’m glad you know. I hope you understand why I didn’t say something before.’

She shook her head, pink bunches swinging as she did so. ‘Seriously, it’s fine. You wouldn’t believe Ed, though.’

‘How do you mean?’

She looked round furtively, checking to ensure Ed wasn’t within earshot. ‘He was like a man
possessed
after we got Celia’s call. I’ve never seen him so full of purpose. He was pretty awesome, you know. Especially when you consider who he was meant to be seeing that night.’

‘He had a date?’ In all the events of the past couple of days,
it hadn’t occurred to me what Ed had abandoned to come to my rescue.

‘Only that newsreader, Teagan Montgomery—the one who made the top ten of the Manhattan’s Beautiful Women poll in the
New York Post
last month?’

I stared at her. ‘Are you sure?’

Marnie nodded with a conspiratorial smile. ‘I’m certain of it. I offered to call her for him but he said it was “unimportant”—can you believe that?’

‘He’s a star. He looked after me so well after it all happened. But then he’s a lovely guy.’

‘Hmm. I don’t think he’d have done that for just anybody, though,’ she grinned, walking to the counter to serve a customer.

Being back at my shop, surrounded by familiar sights and people, I felt my hope returning. I was going to be fine.

All that day and the following week, I found myself getting back on form. Celia phoned me every day and Ed offered to come by my apartment whenever I felt I was getting scared again. But I was coping. A lot of it was an act, of course. Inside, my feelings were just as muddled and jumbled as before, yet somehow knowing other people knew about it made everything easier to handle.

One thing bothered me, though: Nate didn’t visit. He called to apologise for not being there and sent me texts every day to see how I was, but I couldn’t help wondering if what I’d told him had changed his opinion of me after all. This thought sat uneasily on top of the pile of emotions in my gut and remained there stubbornly, despite my best attempts to dismiss it.

Celia was quick to dispel my concerns. ‘I spoke with Nate today and he was very worried about you. He’s simply snowed under with work till the holidays.’

‘And
he’s planning his engagement,’ I chipped in.

Celia raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Or
being planned
into it, if what I hear is correct.’

‘Which it’s bound to be, as you are the trusty, never-fail ears of the
Times,’
I laughed.

‘Absolutely. So has David called you?’

His name sent a wave of cold nausea through me. I swallowed hard. ‘No. Not yet.’

Celia grinned. ‘Only
I
heard Mr Lithgow has been spotted at several seasonal soirees sporting the latest desirable fashion accessory for the rat about town.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her sparkle was infectious and I found myself smiling with her.

‘Only a
huge
humdinger of a black eye!’ she announced, then leaned forward and, added, ‘Now,
I wonder
why Nate hasn’t been to see you recently…’

‘Oh, no, Celia, you don’t think…?’

Celia shrugged but the sly smile remained. ‘Who knows? I’m merely reporting facts here. It would be unethical of me to enter into conjecture. But, you’ve gotta admit, it’s an intriguing possibility. And Nate was very,
very
angry when he left my office last week.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know, honey. Nate doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who hits people. Anyway, whatever the truth is, I’m not looking forward to seeing David again.’

‘Honey, you’ll be
fine
! Just you wait and see.’

As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long.

It had been a crazy day at the shop as Christmas fever well and truly gripped New York. Not only were we rushing to complete garlands and decorations for our orders, but we also had to deal with a constant stream of customers through the
doors. Four extra staff had been taken on for the seasonal rush—Jocelyn, Heidi, Brady and Jack—all recently graduated floristry students. They worked on the orders with Ed, while Marnie and I faced the onslaught from the street.

‘Hey, did I tell you I finally got a new apartment?’ Marnie smiled as she wrapped a berry-red poinsettia and placed it in a Kowalski’s string-handled bag for a large smiling lady.

‘That’s great!’ I replied, accepting payment from a grufflooking man and handing over his change.

Marnie smiled. ‘It’s near SoHo—a friend of my uncle’s got it for me at a special price.’

‘How lovely to be in your new place in time for Christmas,’ the smiley lady beamed.

‘Isn’t it just?’ Marnie smiled back, adding, ‘Merry Christmas!’ as the lady left. Turning to me, she continued, ‘It’s so cool. Mack says with the right furnishings it’ll look a million dollars.’

‘Mack? Ah, the guy from your theatre group…Marnie, I’m sorry. I completely forgot to ask you about how it went with him.’

‘Uh, well, I did like you said and asked him out for a drink. And it was…
good.
We talked about just about everything. He’s such a great guy.’

I sensed a But. ‘But?’

‘Totally,
completely
gay.’

‘Oh, no,’ I breathed in sympathy.

‘No, it’s totally cool though ‘cos he’s, like, the most
awesome
person when it comes to interior decorating. He’s taking me shopping Saturday to fit out the whole place,’ she giggled, and trotted merrily away to attend to a customer. I shook my head but couldn’t help smiling. In the midst of all the change and pace around me it was comforting to know that a great City
Institution—namely, The Legend that Is Marnie Andersson’s Love Live—was alive and well.

My mobile buzzed in my pocket. I didn’t recognise the number. ‘Hello, Rosie Duncan speaking?’

‘Well, hello, Rosie Duncan,’ replied a voice that made icicles stab at my spine. ‘It’s David.’

All of a sudden, it was harder to breathe. ‘Yes—I know.’

There was a pause, then I heard him laugh. ‘Good, good. I need to see you, Rosie—uh, regarding the commission order we spoke about recently. My fiancée’s getting jittery about the designs—you know how it is…’ Another, longer pause followed. I braced myself against a strong wave of pain as it crashed over me. ‘Uh…can I meet you…tonight…? Let’s say—uh—dinner at seven thirty at Rochelle’s?’

My head was spinning, but I steadied myself and answered as calmly as I could, ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’

His tone changed for the briefest time.
‘Please,
Rosie? There are things I want…we need to discuss.’

Though I hated it, he was right. Better to get it over with as soon as possible. ‘Fine. See you then.’ I ended the call before he could reply.

‘You OK?’ Marnie was once again behind the counter, looking concerned.

I managed a smile. ‘Yes, mate. I’m just fine.’

Once, when I was about fourteen years old, I met an explorer. He had recently returned from a successful Arctic expedition and my school invited him to talk to us about it. He brought photos of snowfields and polar bears, arctic scientists muffled up against the cold in bright orange snowsuits and nightscapes illuminated by the Northern Lights.

He was asked what made him want to do what he did: his
answer was surprising. ‘I was a fearful child,’ he said. ‘My mother was terrified of spiders and I inherited her fear. My grandmother used to hide under the stairs during thunderstorms, so I would hide there with her until I got scared of them too. I soon became scared of everything that was new and different, and anything I didn’t understand. Then I began to be interested in science—especially biology and meteorology. As I studied the things I feared, I realised what I was missing out on—the wonders of this world, the intricate beauty of its varied environments. I became an explorer to make up for lost time. Anything I’ve previously feared I now actively pursue.’

Maybe that’s what I was doing now.

I stood outside Rochelle’s on West 70th Street and looked up at the entrance that rose magnificently from the tree-lined avenue.
Time to make up for lost time,
I told myself as I walked up the marble steps.

The maître d’ smiled as I approached. ‘Ah, Ms Duncan, how delightful to see you again.’

I smiled. ‘Hello, Cecil. How’s your wife?’

Cecil’s bushy black moustache rose as he smiled. ‘She’s very well, Ms Duncan. She adored the bouquet you put together for her birthday.’ He gestured towards the dining area. ‘I believe Mr Lithgow is already here. Follow me, please.’

David stood as I approached the table. ‘Rosie.’ He offered his hand—then withdrew it quickly when I didn’t accept. As we sat down, I noticed he was rubbing one thumb erratically across the knuckle of the other—a thing he always did when he was nervous. I frowned. He had appeared so confident when he’d called earlier, and I had expected him to be the same now. But to see him not in control empowered me slightly. A waiter brought menus and we ordered. Once the necessary business was complete we were left alone. As it was early, the restaurant
was only a quarter full, with most of the diners seated on the other side of the room. Consequently, we were more alone than I had anticipated we would be.

David took a long sip of water and then looked at me. In the soft light I could clearly see a faint purple shadow around his right eye. It was obvious that Celia’s trusty sources had triumphed once again.

He spoke at last. ‘I didn’t think you’d come. I didn’t think you’d take the job.’

My guard in place, I answered coolly. ‘I’m still not sure why I did.’

His stone-grey eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I’m so glad you accepted. Honestly I am. You don’t know how good it is to see you.’

His warmth threw me and I reached for my water glass to avoid his stare.

‘I can’t tell you what a relief it was to finally find you,’ he continued, leaning towards me, his voice like velvet trade winds. ‘I
needed
to find you, Rosie. I—uh—I wanted to—make things right…’

He was interrupted by the arrival of our wine, providing a brief respite. He straightened up to talk to the wine waiter and I grabbed the few precious seconds it provided to gather myself together. When the waiter left I seized the initiative and changed the subject.