Chapter 10

ChapterTen

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Those with overactive minds tend to feel the need for control. It’s hard for these people to relax because they feel that by controlling their circumstances, they can control themselves and everything in their lives. But this is simply not possible! What will happen will happen, and by trying to control it you will only succeed in worrying needlessly and feeding your overactive mind. What you can do is live the current moment as best you can. Meditation practice can help withthis.

I manageto fall asleep (pass out) for the next few hours on the plane and soon enough we have touched down safely. I made it! I drank too much champagne, screamed twice, made up a fake fiancé, got glared at by the cabin crew and forced a man to accompany me for a wee. But I madeit!

At the baggage stand, I wait with my fellow passengers for my suitcases to appear. As I’m doing so, I spot Seth out of the corner of my eye, heading towards the exit. He scurried off as soon as the plane landed, giving me a quick awkward wave as he did so. No wonder. He must think I am bonkers. He’s right. I clearlyam.

I contemplate running after him before he disappears from sight, apologising for my behaviour. Especially after he was so kind about my terror during take-off. But just as I’m about to race in his direction, I see Donna’s red suede suitcase chugging along the luggage carousel. And there’s my suitcase behindit.

Shit. If I don’t grab it now, I will have to wait for it to go all the way around again. The carousel is massive – it’ll take ages. And what if someone steals the cases on the other side where I can’t see them? I once read a news story about people who come to airports and hang around just so they can stand at baggage claim and nick people’s bags. Then what would I do? All that careful packing for nothing. No scarves, no shoes for every eventuality, nothing!

I give one last regretful look at Seth striding out of the airport before grabbing my suitcases from the carousel. I reach both hands out and grab the handles, yanking with all my might. But the cases are so heavy and won’t come all the way off the conveyorbelt.

Shit.

Before I know what’s happening I find myself being dragged along with mybags.

‘Sorry!’ I say, as I bash into the person next to me, trying my very best to retrieve my cases.

But I’m not strong enough. I keep heaving and pulling as I’m moving along with the carousel but I simply can’t get them off. As I knock a few more people out of the way, I hear cries of ‘Just take one and wait for the other!’ and ‘Let go!’ and ‘Bitch, you crazy!’

‘Aaaaaargh,’ I hear someone saying quietly. Then I realise it’s me. I’m basically just bent over, walking my cases around the baggage carousel like dogs on leads, making weird noises every time I try to lift themoff.

‘Heeeeelp!’ I yell. ‘Help me liftthem!’

A few seconds later a beefy guy grabs one of the cases, leaving me with the strength to grab the other with a loud cry and a stumble backwards into more plane passengers.

‘Oof! Sorry,’ I say, looking up to see that the beefy guy is actually airport security. He doesn’t look impressed.

‘No problem, ma’am,’ he sniffs. ‘It’s not like I have anything else to do beside, you know, protecting our great nation from the threat of those who want to attack the values of Lady Liberty.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He responds with a roll of his eyes, striding off cockily. I feel my cheeks sting at his sarcasm. Everyone else at the baggage claim stares at me as if I am the worst. Worse than someone who wants to attack the values of Lady Liberty. Worse, even, than a queue jumper.

‘Sorry!’ I say to them, feeling beads of humiliation sweat forming on my forehead.

Man oh man, I am failing hard at everyturn!

I’ve only been in New York for twenty minutes and already it’s a total shitshow.

* * *

After a seriesof gentle disasters (not being able to find a trolley, annoying the cab driver by pulling up the information about where I was going after getting into his car, and not being able to find my dollars when we reach the destination), we arrive outside a sixteen-storey building with a cream and red brick façade looking lovely in the bright sunshine.

Once the cab driver has deposited me onto the pavement, along with my cases, I look down at my phone to the email Birdiesent.

Apartment 3C, 400 Riverside Way, Upper West Side, Manhattan.

Here I am then. My home for the next fivedays.

Blowing the air out of my cheeks, I peer up and down the street. It’s a really, really long, wide road with huge, attractive red and cream buildings as far as I can see. I look at my watch. It’s only midday here, which feels weird. People are milling around, going about their days, walking their dogs and hailing yellow cabs to take them to lunch.

I try to gather the energy to heave-ho my cases towards the green canopied entrance when a middle-aged man in a blue uniform and matching hat hurries over and grabs them like they weigh nothing.

This must be the doorman. Birdie’s instructions say he’s the one who’ll let me into the Airbnb.

‘I’m Olive,’ I tell him. ‘I’m here for apartment3C?’

‘Of course!’ he says warmly. ‘I’ve been expecting you. My name is Lloyd. If you can let me see your passport, I’ve been instructed to give you the keys to the apartment.’

I pull out my passport and Lloyd checks it with anod.

He grabs my cases and we get the lift up to the third floor.

After depositing my cases inside, Lloyd gives me the number of the superintendent of the building, and an extra spare key. When he’s left, I take in my surroundings with a sigh of relief that I am finally still after an entire day of motion.

‘Bloody freaking hell!’ I groan, rubbing my eyes with a mixture of pure tiredness and pleasure at the studio space before me. The room isn’t big but it’s lovely and, more importantly, neat and airy. The floor is a slightly scuffed parquet, the ceilings are high and there’s panelling in the stark white walls. To the right of the room is a small open-plan kitchenette area with a full-size fridge and a two-hob cooker. I wander in and open cupboard doors and drawers. Plain white cups and plates, heavy steel cutlery and a small selection of pans. Nice. I open the fridge which holds nothing but bottled water, and the freezer which contains only a bottle of fancy-looking vodka and a tub of frozen yogurt. I’ll definitely have to go shoppingthen.

In the centre of the room there’s a small pale blue sofa that pulls out into a bed. I perch on it and give it a little bounce. As I do a little cloud of dust rises up, making me cough.

Ooh, I hope there are no bedbugs. I read something online about bedbugs being a serious issue in New York. I lean my face down to the fabric of the sofa to see if I can identify any bedbugs when I realise that I don’t have any clue what a bedbug looks like or even if they’re visible to the naked eye. I’m just a person pressing my forehead into a sofa cushion.

Wiping my hands on my jeans, I get up and open a door on the right wall and peek my head around. It’s the world’s teeniest bathroom. A tiny person-sized toilet, like the kind you’d get in junior school. There’s also a very, very narrow glass column holding a shower. I try to step in. I barely fit! And, apart from my gigantic hair, I’m a pretty small person. I mime washing in the shower and realise I will have to keep my elbows in at my sides if I am to successfully doit.

Back in the main room, I walk over to what are surely the room’s best features, two large rectangular windows.

I take a peek out, only to find myself looking directly into someone else’s apartment in a different building! The person in there – a long-haired man of around forty who is wearing a khaki coloured vest and, from what I can ascertain, nothing on his bottom – half looks up at me from his rocking chair and scowls. Eeek. Creeptastic or what. I close the blinds as quickly as I possibly can and vow to never ever open them again.

Shudder.

After getting myself a bottle of water from the fridge and taking two painkillers to help ease the post-alcohol/stressfest thud in my brain, I text Alex, the Joans and Birdie to let them know I’m here safe. Immediately my phone starts ringing. It’s Birdie FaceTiming!

I put on the brightest smile I can manage and press answer.

‘Why are you smiling weird?’ Birdie says immediately, her dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. She’s wearing mascara and bright crimson lipstick, her eyebrows are perfectly filled in and there are huge colourful earrings hanging from herears.

‘It’s a bright smile,’ I explain. ‘A welcome to our FaceTime conversation smile. I’m being perky. Like an American. Why are you wearing all that make-up?’ I ask. Then I gasp. ‘Did they let you leave the hospital?’

Birdie shakes her head, turning her phone camera around to reveal the same old hospital room she’s been in for the past eight weeks. ‘I wish. No. It’s Doctor BJ’s shift tonight. I’m peacocking forhim.’

‘Peacocking?’ I ask, screwing up my face. ‘What’s that? It sounds rude… Are you sure you’re up to it? Have you got protection?’

Birdie laughs. ‘Peacocking is when you make yourself look fancy in order to attract a mate. Peacocks do it with their feathers. The make-up, the outlandish earrings.’ She points the camera down to reveal a tight blue dress that clings to her, not inconsiderable, curves. ‘I’m peacocking like a mofo up inhere.’

‘Ah.’ I nod. ‘Well, you look very pretty. I’m sure Dr BJ will feel super inappropriately attracted toyou.’

‘That’s the plan!’ She wiggles her eyebrows. ‘Are you sober now, you sneaky drunkard? How was the flight? Anything interesting happen?’

I think back to forcing a rando TV writer into the loo. To the flight attendant getting mad at me. To the whole plane thinking I was fake engaged.

‘I got a date…’ I say, deciding to omit the more humiliating aspects of the whole experience. After all, Birdie is always telling me I should try to focus on the positives…

‘Whaaaaaat? On the plane?’ Birdie presses a hand to her cheek. ‘That’s badass! Wow, I’m impressed.’

‘Not on the plane. Before the flight. I did meet a man on the plane but… well we didn’t exactly hit it off. Anyway, the man I met at the airport is called Colin. He has sideburns.’

‘Just like you wanted your Big Sexy Love tohave!’

I nod, touched that she remembered.

Birdie shakes her head. ‘I didn’t think you were interested in dating? Don’t get me wrong, I totally think you should be getting laid on the regular, but… this is a surprise. A good surprise, but, you know, unexpected!’

I shrug. ‘I didn’t think I was interested either. But… Colin was sweet. I felt comfy with him. He wasnice.’

‘Justnice?’

‘Really nice!’ Iadd.

‘Did you want to climb him like atree?’

My eyes widen. ‘God, no. I mean, not yet, at least. I don’t really know him. Anyway, you know how I feel about sex. I don’t get those kind of feelings like you. Especially with someone I don’t evenknow!’

‘Well, either way, I’m glad you’ve got a date. It’s about time you opened yourself up to new things. You’ll be as horny as the rest of us in notime.’

‘I hope not,’ I say, thinking back to that damn Atonement library scene and how it is constantly popping up my brain, making me feel peculiar. What if that was a real person I couldn’t get out of my head? What a pain in the bum that wouldbe!

I find myself yawning, despite the fact that I slept on the plane.

‘You should get yourself all unpacked,’ Birdie says softly, tilting her head to the side. ‘If you’re not shattered after that, you should try going up to the roof terrace of the building. The view from there is insane.’

My mouth turns down into a frown. ‘No thanks. You know I don’t do heights.’

‘Hey, you were just on a plane! You already faced that fear! A roof should be easy-peasynow!’

‘I had to get drunk to even get on the plane!’

Birdie bites the corner of her lip. ‘Just consider it, okay. The New York skyline is… well, it’s pretty special.’

‘I’ll think aboutit.’

That’s a total lie. There’s no way in hell I’m going up to a scary rooftop to look at a view of other scary rooftops. If it’s so cool I can just Google what it looks like – I don’t need to actually go up there and scare myself shitless.

Birdie makes me promise to send her pics and updates about what’s happening as frequently as I can before hurriedly saying goodbye because ‘Doctor BJ is outside my room and I need to arrange myself sexily on thebed.’

It takes me an hour to unpack my stuff and when I’m done I slouch on the sofa bed and pull up Birdie’s most recent email. It’s a pretty long list of places she thinks I ought to visit while I’m here. I click on the link to the website of a deli she recommends for breakfast, but before the page even loads, I find my eyes drooping closed and soon enough I’ve completely dozedoff.