Читать книгу: «I Heart Hawaii», страница 5

‘Do you know Alex?’ I asked, afraid to hear the answer to my question.

‘I don’t know him, know him, but I love him,’ she said so quickly I could barely understand her. ‘That is, I love Stills. They’re my favourite band. I’ve seen them at least ten times. I’ve been to every tour they’ve ever played. I once went to Texas to see them play at South by Southwest. Imagine, me in Texas.’

A quick look around the room confirmed that neither Nia, Danielle, Avery or Joan could even conceive of such a thing.

‘Angela,’ Perry said. ‘I have to meet him.’

And just like that, Perry the investment banker and grown-up Mean Girl turned into a squealing teenybopper who had a crush on my husband. But on the upside, at least she hadn’t shagged him.

‘They’re playing here in a couple of weeks,’ I said as casually as I could manage. ‘Trying out some new material.’

Perry gave a sharp nod and Danielle, Avery and Nia began shovelling my belongings back in my handbag while Joan pulled out a Google Pixel phone and began tapping away at the screen.

‘If you’re looking for tickets, the show sold out as soon as they announced it,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’

‘Angela,’ Perry leaned forward and gripped my knee so tightly my foot sprang out and kicked Avery square in the shin. ‘Can you get us tickets?’

‘I don’t know,’ I gasped, wincing as I pried her fingers off me. ‘I can ask.’

‘I would do anything to go to that show,’ she said, opening her eyes so wide I could see white all the way around her pale grey irises

‘Anything?’ I replied, more frightened than interested.

‘Anything,’ she confirmed. ‘Forget the membership process, you’re officially in The Mothers of Brooklyn.’

‘Which is very nice of you,’ I said as I grabbed my bag back from Nia, immediately reaching in to find my phone, my thumb hovering over the emergency call button. ‘But really not necessary. I really do have to go, as lovely as this has been.’

It hadn’t been lovely, it had been intimidating, humiliating and ultimately terrifying, and for the first time since I’d met Cici Spencer, I couldn’t wait to get to work.

‘We’ll work it out,’ Perry said, following as I stood up out of my seat. ‘There has to be something.’

‘I will ask,’ I promised, not even sure if I meant it. ‘Nice to meet you all.’

The M.O.B. stared after me as I dashed out the room, walking quickly through the big white room and breaking into a run as I hit the steps to the street.

‘You need to socialize with other mothers more, they said,’ I muttered as I turned onto 8th Avenue and flagged down a passing yellow cab. I couldn’t get far enough fast enough on foot. ‘You need more mommy friends, they said.’

Hurling myself into the back seat, I rummaged through my bag to make sure everything was there before tearing into the packet of M&Ms, inhaling them by the wild-eyed handful. There wasn’t a single thing anyone could offer that would make me go through that again. They could send all four of the Chrises to my house, oiled up and shirtless, each bearing a different Chanel handbag, and I still wouldn’t be swayed.

I never wanted to see Perry Dickson again as long as I lived.

CHAPTER SIX

‘I’m not saying she’s obsessed but I am saying, if I ever get home from work and seem a bit off, please just check it’s me and not Perry Dickson in an Angela skinsuit,’ I said, pushing Alice’s pushchair through Park Slope. It was Friday and I should have been ‘working from home’ but Cici had called an emergency meeting and demanded I attend. On my first Friday working for her. Definitely not a power trip.

‘Maybe we should come up with a safe word,’ I suggested. ‘Like, if I seem taller than usual, ask me what I want for dessert and if I don’t say rhubarb, she’s got me locked in the attic of that bloody mansion on 11th Street.’

‘I thought our safe word was peanut butter,’ Alex replied through a mouthful of doughnut.

‘Your safe word is peanut butter,’ I said, flushing at the very thought. ‘I don’t have a safe word, I’m English.’

‘Rhubarb it is,’ he agreed simply. ‘Perry Dickson, huh. Is she hot?’

‘Yes,’ I admitted grudgingly. ‘And she’s got some very nice trousers.’

‘You’ve got nice trousers too,’ Alex said, resting his hand on the top of my arse. ‘I can put her on the list for the show if you want me to.’

And there I was, hanging on the horns of a true moral dilemma. I did not want Alex to put Perry Dickson on the list for his show but I knew if I did, it would make her incredibly happy. It was a selfless act that would make someone else’s day, earning me many karmic brownie points, but it would also mean spending another second of my life with Perry Dickson, something I had vowed never to do.

‘Maybe,’ I said, staying non-committal until I’d consulted wiser minds on the matter, i.e. Jenny. ‘I’ll let you know.’

Hanging back on the edge of the street, we waited until the light changed before starting to cross 7th Avenue to the subway station. Besson’s offices might be cool but they were not convenient. I had to get the G to Lorimer and then the L to Bedford and, even then, it was still a fifteen-minute walk. Thankfully, the humidity had broken and the weather was civilized again, even if my commute wasn’t. As we crossed, I fished around in my satchel, digging around for my MetroCard and trying my best not to think about all those women from The M.O.B. rummaging through my things. Just as I caught the edge of the travel pass with my fingertips, my bag slipped off my shoulder, hanging precariously between me and the pushchair for a second.

‘Alex, watch out!’ I cried but it was too late. The bag fell, hitting Alex hard in the back of the knee and knocking him off balance, the strap wrapping round his leg and sending him face first into the road.

‘Oh my god,’ I yelled as Alex groaned, the contents of my bag rolling on the street around him. I pushed Alice to the safety of the pavement and stamped the brake on before turning to help Alex up to his feet, the two of us stumbling to safety right before the light changed, leaving my bag at the mercy of the traffic.

The strap had snapped.

The strap of my Marc Jacobs satchel, my first and only true bag love, had snapped clean in two.

Pushing my hair behind my ears, I looked right, then left, then right again, preparing to run out against the light to retrieve my poor bag as it sat waiting patiently for me in the middle of the road.

Until a taxi came tearing around the corner and ran right over it.

‘My bag,’ I gasped.

‘My ankle,’ Alex moaned.

‘Waah,’ Alice added. She was absolutely fine but understandably wanted to be part of the excitement.

‘Are you OK?’ I asked my husband as I tried not to cry. I was worried about him, of course, but he was clearly in one piece and this was my bag. My precious, beautiful, wonderful bag. Unable to tear my eyes away from the carnage, I choked back a sob as I saw it lying there in the middle of the road, flat as a pancake, haemorrhaging tampons, breast pads, loose change and tubes of lip balms that had rolled away from the scene of the crime and into the gutter.

‘I don’t think anything is broken but my ankle does not feel good,’ Alex said, wincing as he touched his leg. The fall had torn his paper-thin vintage jeans and there was a nasty gash on his knee. ‘What the hell happened?’

‘My bag broke,’ I said, the simplicity of the statement not nearly covering the enormity of what had just happened. A bus hurtled down the street towards the victim and this time I had to look away. Rest in peace, little bag. ‘We should go to the hospital, you’ve got to get it looked at.’

‘I’m fine,’ he insisted before howling in pain the second he tried to put weight on his left foot. ‘I take it back, I’m not fine. ER it is.’

‘Right, yes, let’s do that,’ I nodded before realizing the light had changed again. ‘Just a sec.’

I dashed into the crosswalk, scooping up my flattened satchel, smashed phone and as many of my other belongings as I could. My keys and wallet seemed to have survived unscathed but everything else was a goner. I couldn’t even look at the packet of salt and vinegar Squares that were scattered all over the street. My last bag of them as well.

‘Don’t be upset,’ Alex said, leaning against the pushchair and holding out a hand for the wreckage of my bag. ‘I’ll bet I can fix it.’

‘We should fix you first,’ I said, wiping away a tear as I cradled my first bag baby in my arms. My first human baby was no longer crying but looked understandably confused by what was going on. One day you will understand, I thought sadly, but I hope I will be able to spare you this pain. ‘There’s that walk-in clinic on 5th Avenue, it’s closer than the hospital.’

‘You’re going to be late for your meeting, go, I’ll be OK.’ Alex hopped along using Alice’s pushchair as a makeshift crutch. I shoved the remains of my bag into the shelf under her seat and gave him an unconvinced once-over.

‘Yeah, I don’t think so,’ I told him, glancing down at the open wound on his knee. ‘They can wait ten minutes. I’d prefer to know you didn’t bleed out on the way if it’s all the same to you.’

With half a smile on his even paler than usual face, Alex rested one arm around my shoulders, keeping the other hand on the handle of the pushchair while Alice sang happily to herself, entirely unmoved by the drama unfolding around her.

‘Angela Clark,’ Alex said, hobbling down the street, very, very slowly. ‘What did I do to deserve you?’

What did I do to deserve this? I replied silently as I spotted the puff from my lost-forever Chanel powder compact, blown up into the air by another passing car. It certainly felt like punishment for something but – oh, wait a minute.

‘This isn’t exactly the time for it,’ I said, sliding my arm around my husband’s waist and staring up at the sky. Someone up there was taking the piss. ‘But when you get home, if you could add Perry Dickson to the guest list for the show, that would be grand.’

‘Sorry I’m late,’ I called, emerging out of the lifts at Besson forty minutes later. ‘Minor emergency, crisis averted.’

Cici, Kanako and the rest of the editors were sitting around the crystal conference table. One by one, they each turned to look at me, all of them with the same expression on their faces.

‘So, this is Alice,’ I said, pointing to the baby hanging from my chest.

Alex and I had made it to the walk-in clinic, only to find out there was a two-hour wait to see a doctor. Convinced he wouldn’t survive a trip to the emergency room at the hospital down the block, I agreed to pop on the papoose, take Alice to my meeting then jump in a cab to come back and collect him once they’d strapped him up. The intake nurse had assured me he’d be fine and quietly promised they’d keep him in what she referred to as the Man Flu wing until I returned.

I hated the papoose, Alice just hanging there, arms and legs waving wildly, bursting out of my chest like the alien in, well, Alien. And, as someone who went arse over tit more often than the average bear, it didn’t feel safe.

‘She doesn’t look like you at all!’ Cici said, almost smiling as I found a seat at the table. ‘Are you sure she’s yours?’

‘Unless they pulled a watermelon out of me and then switched it with this, yes, I’m pretty certain,’ I replied. I pulled out a bag of rice crackers and handed one to Alice, praying to anyone or anything that might be listening that she would be quiet through the meeting.

‘And why is she here?’ she asked. Besson Media was supposedly a parent-friendly workplace. It said so on our website! We were even getting a crèche! Just not before Cici got the executive spa I’d heard her discussing with the building owners the day before.

‘It’s a long story,’ I said, forcing a smile onto my face. ‘But the short version is, my handbag broke then Alex fell over and I had to take him to the doctor for an X-ray and the wait was so long I couldn’t leave her there and I didn’t want to miss the meeting and, actually, that’s the whole story. Sorry.’

‘Thanks for making me wish I hadn’t asked,’ Cici replied. ‘Will it behave?’

I looked down at my little girl who looked back with an angelic smile.

‘I reckon we should just get started,’ I replied, committing to nothing.

‘Fine,’ Cici said, never taking her eyes off Alice. ‘I have an appointment in the city in an hour so I’ll keep this brief. We’ve hired someone to manage the day-to-day running of all your sites. She’s going to be overseeing content, developing new ideas, that kind of thing.’

According to the panicked murmurs and uncomfortable glances that ran around the table, no one else had been informed of this change in command.

‘I’ll still be here,’ Cici added, even though she was already mentally gone from the meeting, scrolling through emails on her phone as she spoke. ‘But once she starts in two weeks, you’ll all report into our new vice president of content, Paige Sullivan.’ She turned and called out imperiously, ‘Paige?’

Cici Spencer was a good-looking woman, tall and slim with surgically perfected features, but even I felt myself go full goldfish when Paige Sullivan stepped out from the closest privacy pod. While Cici was a hot cross between a china doll and a bitch, Paige was absolutely lush. Long blonde hair fell around her face in loose curls, full lips painted old Hollywood red pouted at the room and her simple fitted black shift dress only emphasized the curves that made even married me question my sexuality.

She wasn’t only a taller, cooler, younger me. She was a blonde, British Jenny Lopez. Cici had found a way to clone me and my best friend and breed a new and improved version to replace us both.

‘Good morning,’ Paige said, joining Cici at the head of the table. ‘So great to meet everyone, I’m looking forward to booking in some one-on-one time with you all next week so we can get acquainted before I start properly. I think I recognize everyone, except for possibly the baby.’

‘She’s just interning for the day,’ I replied, scooping regurgitated crackers off the crystal desk before Cici could see them.

‘If anyone has time to chat now, I’ll hang around but, if not, I will book out some time in the diary and we’ll talk later on,’ Paige said, a friendly smile on her beautiful face. Immediately, everyone stood up, practically running back to their desks. Cici might be a brilliant CEO but she was not a talented manager. People did not like surprises in the workplace unless they were pastry-based.

‘I have to go,’ Cici said, dropping her phone into an alligator-skin Birkin. ‘So I guess I’m leaving you with Angela. She’s developing a new site right now but she used to be editor of The Look magazine at Spencer.’

I gave the pair of them a small salute to confirm these facts.

‘She also turned James Jacobs gay, accused me of abducting her friend’s baby and punched me in the face at a party one time.’

‘Happy memories,’ I said, a rictus grin frozen on my face. ‘Thanks, Cici. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She stopped and stared. ‘Tomorrow?’

‘At your birthday party?’ I replied. ‘That is tomorrow, isn’t it?’

‘Yes but I didn’t invite you.’

There was absolutely no filter on the woman, none whatsoever.

‘Delia invited me,’ I said, methodically rubbing my hand up and down Alice’s front. ‘You know, your twin sister? With whom you share a birthday?’

With an actual out-loud groan, Cici rolled her eyes and gagged. ‘Really? I hate when she mixes business with my personal life. I’ve told her a thousand times, you don’t make friends with the staff. This is just like the time she took our old nanny to tea at The Plaza. Who cares if it’s her seventieth birthday? You know I can’t go there any more?’

‘Must be a nightmare for you,’ I said, wishing Alice could puke on command. In that moment, I’d have held her over those suede thigh-high boots without a second thought. ‘Should I return your gift?’

‘Angela, I’m sure your being at the party will be a gift in itself,’ she replied, jabbing the button on the bank of elevators as though she could will it to come faster. ‘Your appearances usually end in some kind of drama and I didn’t book entertainment.’

‘I know who you are!’ Paige said, as Cici melted away into the lift. ‘You’re Angela Clark!’

‘Oh god,’ I replied, squeezing Alice’s feet. ‘Is that a good thing or a bad thing?’

‘Actually, we have friends in common,’ Paige explained, sliding into the chair beside me and shaking one of Alice’s sticky fingers. ‘You know my friend Tess, Tess Brookes?’

‘Yes, of course, the photographer,’ I replied, relaxing right away. ‘I haven’t seen her in forever.’

I could not have been more relieved. If Paige was friends with Tess, no matter what wicked qualities she’d displayed to impress Cici so much, she couldn’t be all bad. Tess was one of the nicest people I knew so Paige had to be at least half decent.

‘She’s helping me house-hunt,’ Paige said, one finger still trapped in Alice’s grasp. ‘Apartment-hunt, rather. I can’t believe how expensive flats are here. As much as I’m enjoying crashing at Tess’s place, I don’t think her boyfriend loves having me around.’

‘I don’t think boyfriends ever really do.’ I thought back to all the times Jenny had ended the night face down on my and Alex’s sofa. ‘If I hear of anything, I’ll let you know.’

‘It’s been a total whirlwind, getting the job, moving so quickly,’ she said, shaking her finger loose from Alice’s grasp. ‘It’s nice to know there’s going to be at least one friendly face when I get started.’

I glanced over my shoulder at the rest of the office, working hard to look as though they were working hard at their standing desks.

‘They’re all pretty nice once you get to know them,’ I said, before silently adding, ‘I imagine.’

‘I’m off to look at another walk-in wardrobe masquerading as an apartment,’ Paige said, checking her watch. ‘See you in a couple of weeks.’

I waved goodbye and she stepped into the lift, the doors sliding shut and whisking her away.

‘She was all right, wasn’t she?’ I said to Alice, handing her another cracker before helping myself to one. ‘I’m almost excited about working with her.’

For her, corrected the unhelpful voice in my head. You’ll be working for her.

‘Whatever,’ I muttered, heaving myself out of my chair with accompanying sound effects. ‘Shall we go and see if IT can lend us a phone?’

Blinking, Alice hurled her half-eaten rice cracker in my face.

‘Don’t give me that, you bloody love that phone,’ I muttered, picking the cracker off my stripy T-shirt and dropping it in the bin as I passed through the kitchen. ‘Although, if your dad asks, we definitely don’t do screens when he’s not watching.’

Truly, I was a terrible mother.

‘Look, I know we need to get back to the clinic but it’s been a very traumatic day.’

Alice looked up at me from her papoose, disapproval all over her face.

‘I’ve never noticed it before but you do have a look of your grandmother on occasion,’ I told her, looking away. It was one thing to be judged by other adults but it was quite another to get the side eye from your own infant.

Safely tucked away in the corner of Milk Bar on Metropolitan, I snaffled another mouthful of Milk Bar Pie under my daughter’s disapproving gaze.

‘It’s too sweet for you,’ I said, licking the gooey caramel filling off my spoon. ‘And Daddy doesn’t like you having sugar.’

She gave me a look as if to say he didn’t like her watching old episodes of Teletubbies on YouTube either but that didn’t stop me turning it on every time he was out the house.

‘That’s just as much for my enjoyment as yours,’ I told her with a sniff.

Even though I knew we should have gone straight back to the clinic and sat with Alex while he waited for his X-rays, the call of the Milk Bar Pie was too strong. Alice was too young for me to explain why but I made a mental note to ask her future therapist if this might have any lasting effects.

This was how I’d imagined New York motherhood. Café-hopping with my baby strapped to my body in an overpriced, ergonomic papoose and paying six dollars a pop for a slice of overpriced, hipster dessert. The two-dollar cup of weak tea I could do without but I was the one who chose to live in America and so we made do with what we had. Maybe we’d make it a tradition, I thought. Maybe we’d come here every week, sharing something sweet when she was old enough, until she was so big she wanted her own piece. Once upon a time I couldn’t have begun to imagine life with a baby. Now, I couldn’t even conceive of the fact that, one day, my baby would be a grown-up.

Staring out the window, I watched as people went about their day outside the café. Williamsburg had changed, grown up, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. Everyone looked like everyone else, all the originality chased out of the neighbourhood by developers with deep pockets. It was crazy to think what it would cost to live around here these days. The artists’ lofts had been replaced by skyscrapers, all the bars we used to go to chased out in favour of fancy restaurants with fourteen-course tasting menus. This city was a living thing, constantly changing, moving, growing. Today I was paying six dollars for a piece of pie but, a couple of years ago, I wouldn’t have wanted to walk down this street on my own.

Everything in New York changed so quickly. Most of the shops and restaurants in Union Square had either closed or moved in the last few years; Coffee Shop shuttered a year ago, Republic was gone and even the massive Toys ‘R’ Us on the east side of the square had shut up shop. But it didn’t matter, I realized as I patted myself down, making sure I still had my MetroCard, keys and wallet, bereft without my bag. New York was bigger than any one shop, any one restaurant. It wasn’t a middle-aged divorcé buying a sports car, shaving the hair off his bum and having it implanted into his scalp, it was the most thrilling, electric city on the planet and, when one door closed, seventeen more opened, even if they were a few subway stops further east and cost twice as much in rent.

The phone I’d borrowed from the not-at-all-happy IT team at Besson rattled across the table, pulling me out of my moment. Setting down my fork and rubbing my hands on the legs of my jeans, I swiped at the screen to see who had tracked me down on WhatsApp, expecting Alex’s photo to fill the screen.

Perry bloody Dickson.

Alice began to fuss as the phone continued to buzz. My heart told me not to answer but my head was convinced Perry wasn’t the kind of woman to take no for an answer and I was terrified if I didn’t pick up the call I’d find her waiting on my doorstep when I got home. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t given her my address. If Jenny could find out where Taylor Swift lived and print her full address, phone number and personal email in my birthday card, Perry Dickson could certainly find me.

‘I’m not going to answer it,’ I told Alice who was just about to pop an arm out of her socket, trying to answer the call. It was longest twelve seconds of my life. When the screen finally went black, I breathed out, waiting for the inevitable voicemail message.

‘Angela, it’s Perry Dickson,’ she said, as if I hadn’t immediately put her contact details into my phone the second I’d left the meeting. You didn’t go around letting people like this sneak up on you if there was any way to get a head start on them first. ‘We heard about Alex’s accident and I wanted to call to see if there was anything we could do.’

How had she heard about Alex falling over a broken handbag and skinning his knee? Had the world suddenly run out of news? Seemed bloody unlikely, given the state of things.

‘I’d love to send my personal chef over to take care of you but if your housekeeper would be offended, say the word and I’ll think of something else.’

‘My housekeeper?’ I mouthed. Alice kicked me right in the boob, presumably because she had just found out other babies had been born into families with housekeepers and personal chefs.

‘Hopefully this won’t mean Stills has to cancel the show on the fourteenth, I’m so looking forward to it. Call me when you get this, love to Alex.’

Ha. So that was it. She was really calling to check on the tickets to the Stills show. That didn’t exactly explain her network of Park Slope spies but at least I didn’t have to worry about her showing any genuine concern.

Alice began to nod, her head lolling forwards as she drifted in and out of sleep. Against her sleepy will, I pulled her out of the papoose and turned her round, ignoring her grumblings and dodging the tiny, flying baby fists as I worked her legs back into the holes. The second she was settled, the babbling stopped. Her eyelids flickered, long black lashes settling against her cheeks, and she was out for the count.

‘Come on,’ I whispered, one hand holding the fork that was hanging out my mouth, the other curled around Alice’s back. ‘Let’s go and check on the invalid.’

I felt a smile forming on my face as I screwed up the napkin I’d had in my lap and dropped it on my plate. I could cope with all the madness as long as there were moments like this, just me, my girl and six dollars’ worth of sugar. I didn’t need five-star trips to Hawaii, personal chefs or designer handbags, I already had everything I could ever want and more. For at least a moment, I was officially FOMO-free.

‘Let’s see how long that lasts,’ I mumbled, leaving the café and flagging down the first passing taxi, headed back to Park Slope, Alex Reid and a proper cup of tea.