Chapter 5

ChapterFive

Olive’s recent search history:

Packing for America + tips??Chances of 27-year-old getting deep-vein thrombosis on long-haul flightPlane crash statisticsFinal Destination plane crash sceneWhat is Jack out of Dawson’s Creek up tonow?Airbnbsafe?Airbnb murders(incognito search) Atonement library sex scene

The last timeI went away for any length of time was in 2013. Birdie bought me a spa trip to Cheshire in an effort to get me to ‘unclench my uptight butt’. And that was only two days away from home in a nearby county, so hardly an epic voyage. I found the whole thing pretty stressful, to be honest. The duvet at the spa was different to my duvet and I couldn’t get to sleep. And there was a big open fire in one of the communal areas that I dreamt was going to somehow catch onto the curtains and set the whole place aflame, chargrilling us all to our untimely deaths. That was two days in a place less than an hour away from my house. This? This is a whole different story.

I try to distract myself from the nerves swishing in my belly, by applying myself wholeheartedly to the task of packing. I glance across my bed. I can no longer see the crisp white duvet cover because it is absolutely crowded with stuff. Clothes for every occasion, toiletries for every occasion, reading glasses, books for every mood, my favourite Miller Harris perfume for when I need to feel confident and my old faithful Avon perfume for when I need comfort, my entire skin care regimen, a mini first aid kit, big coat, little coat, shoes for walking slowly, shoes for running, shoes for casual dinner, shoes for fancy dinner, slippers, slipper socks, all kinds of footwear. In a neat pile next to it I have my selection of bras. Comfy bra, sleep bra, strapless bra, padded bra, bra that makes my boobs look very pointy but goes well underneath my red tea dress, bra that doesn’t really do anything at all and went pinky grey in the wash but I am immovably attachedto.

I glance down at my average-sized suitcase and bury my head into my hands. How do people do this? I need more time to figure this out! How on earth am I going to get this all done by 3 a.m. when I need to set off to the airport?

For the gazillionth time since I left the hospital, I pick up my phone and open up my texts to Birdie. And then for the gazillionth time I close it seconds later. What am I going to do? Cancel? I can’t! I won’t. Birdie is relying on me and there’s no way I’m going to let her down, not now, not when it matters somuch.

While I’m staring at the pile of gloves I have managed to accumulate into the mix, there’s a light knock on mydoor.

‘You may enter,’ I callout.

Alex pops his head round the door, his soft round face grimacing as he sees the state of my room. There was a time when he wouldn’t even knock, just burst in and plonk himself down onto my bed for a natter. But since he’s been with Donna we seem to have settled into a polite awkwardness.

‘Oh dear,’ he says, wandering in, eyes searching for a place to sit and unable to findone.

‘I know.’ I gesture around the room, shaking my head. ‘I’ve been trying to reduce the piles for the past hour but I’m finding it… tricky.’

Alex picks up a pile of scarves from where they’re laid out over my easy chair.

‘Well you can start here. Nobody needs to take ten scarves anywhere.’

‘An attendee of a scarf festival would,’ I say reasonably.

‘There’s no such thing as a scarf festival.’

‘Actually yeah, there is! Where else would folk gather to celebrate the beauty of a well-woven chunkyknit?’

Alex shakes his head, but I’m actually telling the truth. There is such a festival and if it wasn’t held in some remote Scottish village with a history of terrible stormy weather then I would definitely be going.

I gather the scarves to my chest. I cannot choose between them. It took me thirty minutes to choose these final ten that were still in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Scarf For My Neck. ‘I have scarves for all occasions here, every type of weather, every type of outfit. What if I leave the wrong ones behind?’

‘You’re going to New York, not Easter Island. If you find yourself in need of a different scarf you will be able to buy one. If you find yourself in need of a different hat, or coat or pair of shoes, they have shops! They have lots of shops in New York! It’s all shops, pretty much. And you’re only there for fivedays!’

‘Yeah,’ I say. Of course he’s right. I am being daft. I just don’t want to come unstuck when I’m there.

Alex puts his hand on my arm. ‘You know you don’t have to go, right?’

I frown. ‘I’m helping Birdie! I haveto!’

Donna pops her head around the door. ‘You don’t actually, Olive,’ she says, casually joining in the conversation as if she’s been listening behind thedoor.

‘Of course I do! She’s my best friend. She’s…’ I swallow hard. ‘She’s dying. She’s requested this ofme.’

Donna nods. ‘It’s terrible, truly terrible that she’s so unwell.’

‘Dying.’

‘Yes. Of course, Olive. But a true friend wouldn’t ask you to just up and leave your life, to go to America of all places to look for a complete stranger! It’s dangerous there. Guns, mobsters, super-sized portions.’

Alex nods sagely.

‘Birdie is a true friend,’ I tell them. ‘She wouldn’t ask this of me if it weren’t desperately important toher.’

Alex and Donna look at each other. ‘We’re just worried about you is all,’ Alex says. ‘You’re not exactly, you know, worldly. Have you ever left Greater Manchester?’

‘I went to Chesteronce!’

‘Chester,’ Donna says. ‘That’s not even an hour away fromhere.’

‘You like things just so,’ Alex points out. ‘You get grumpy if things are different, if anything changes unexpectedly. You once told the BBC weatherman on the telly to go fuck himself because he’d predicted no rain and it did rain and you didn’t have an umbrella.’

‘I trusted that weatherman!’

‘You like your routine,’ Donna adds, smiling benevolently. ‘And, Olive, we’re just worried that you’ll get all the way to New York and get yourself into some sort of pickle.’

‘A pickle?’

Alex shrugs. ‘That you’ll get lost or in trouble or homesick.’

‘And it will be left for us to fix things when it all goes wrong,’ Donna adds, as if she’s the parent talking to a problem child. ‘I’m not being funny but, we just know you. We know what you’relike.’

I don’t want to go. I don’t want to do this. Everything they’re saying about me is completely correct. But still, I feel a flicker of sadness that they think so little of me, assume that I’m incapable.

‘I can get in touch with Birdie, if you don’t want to go,’ Alex says, patting my arm. ‘I mean, it is a bit of an awkward situation. I can tell her that it’s too much to ask of you. That you can’t just take off to New York out of bloody nowhere! You’re not the sort of person who can do that. And that’sokay.’

The flicker of sadness turns into a flame of anger at their complete lack of belief in me. I’m allowed to not believe in myself. Donna doesn’t have to either. But Alex? He’s my brother! He should trustme.

Like Birdiedoes.

She trustsme.

She trusts me to dothis.

I take a deep breath.

‘Wait a minute…’ I say as something occurs to me. ‘Are you guys trying to reverse psychology me? Are you trying to piss me off by saying I can’t do something so that I retaliate with impressive courage and I doit?’

Donna and Alex shake their heads.

‘No,’ Donna says. ‘We genuinely think this is a terrible idea and that you shouldn’t go and that your friend is desperate, of course, but also a little selfish for asking this ofyou.’

Before I have chance to respond, my phone dings with a text. I open it up. It’s from Birdie.

I know you’re probably shitting yourself right now. But I just want you to know that I appreciate this so much, Brewster. I upgraded your flight to first class so it’s a little comfier, I know how you hate small spaces.

I smile.And in that moment any wobbles I had seem to fade a little.

‘Is that Birdie?’ Alex asks. ‘Shall I ring her now? Tell her you’re staying.’

I stand up and put my hands on my hips. ‘No. Because I am going. And I will find Chuck Allen. I will do this for my friend because I love her and that’s what friendsdo.’

‘Doesn’t she have family in America who can send this letter?’ Donnaasks.

I shake my head. ‘She was a foster kid. She doesn’t have family. I am her family. I will be back in less than a week. So, you can either support me and help me sort out this shit heap,’ I say, indicating the room of doom. ‘Or you can bugger off. I’m already nervous as it is and I don’t need you two here trying to talk me out ofit.’

There. That told them. I am Olive Brewster. Strong, capable woman and they can eat their words.

Alex and Donna blink at my little speech, shake their heads sadly and leave theroom.

Oh.

‘You’re not going to help me pack?’ I yell. ‘Guys? GUYS?’

I hear them tread softly down the stairs.

‘Guys, come on,’ I call out again.’ Help meeeeee!’

They’ve gone. They’re seriously not on myside?

‘Alex?’ I shout. ‘Come back, dude!’

No answer.

Fine. Fine.

Looks like I’m doing this alone.

Totally, completely alone…

I am an adult woman and I can do this alone.

Can’tI?