MIRANDA DICKINSON
Take a Look at Me Now

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2013

Copyright © Miranda Dickinson 2013

Cover design by Caroline Young © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Miranda Dickinson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9781847562357

Ebook Edition © February 2020 ISBN: 9780007535125

Version: 2020-03-06

Praise for Miranda Dickinson

‘The perfect book to curl up with on a cold winter’s eve.’

Closer

‘A blissfully romantic tale told with all the warmth and wit we’ve come to love from this author.’

Claudia Carroll

‘Oh my heart, this book! What a story. It’s so achingly tender and bittersweet, and a spark of true joy. I adored every page.’

Josie Silver, author of One Day in December

‘An engrossing love story, beautifully written.’

Sarah Morgan, Sunday Times bestselling author

‘Beautifully written.’

Cathy Bramley, Sunday Times bestselling author

‘A love story we can all connect with.’

Woman & Home

‘An absolute triumph!’

Katie Marsh, bestselling author of A Life Without You

‘Absolutely and utterly amazing.’

Laura Kemp, author of The Year of Surprising Acts of Kindness

‘One is one of those books you want to savour.’

Holly Hepburn, author of A Year at Castle Court

‘Romantic, heartbreaking and emotional.’

Cressida McLaughlin, author of The House of Birds and Butterflies

‘A novel about having the courage to love.’

Caroline Smailes, author of The Drowning of Arthur Braxton

‘Emotional story … full of both heart and soul.’

Fabulous

Dedication

For my lovely Bob

Thank you

for believing in my dream,

for keeping my dream alive

and for doing the washing-up.

I love you xx

Epigraph

‘Our brightest blazes are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks.’

Samuel Johnson (1709–1784)

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for Miranda Dickinson

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter One: The day that changed my life

Chapter Two: So long, farewell …

Chapter Three: Pack up your troubles

Chapter Four: Good morning, San Francisco

Chapter Five: Welcome to the neighbourhood

Chapter Six: Down and out in San Francisco

Chapter Seven: Cable cars and seaside jazz

Chapter Eight: Famous names

Chapter Nine: Fortune cookies and fate

Chapter Ten: Eat your heart out, Tony Bennett

Chapter Eleven: A spoonful of sugar

Chapter Twelve: Rare finds in Haight-Ashbury

Chapter Thirteen: Beware the chance remark

Chapter Fourteen: Carpe diem

Chapter Fifteen: Interesting developments

Chapter Sixteen: Serendipity strikes again

Chapter Seventeen: It’s only coffee …

Chapter Eighteen: Getting to know you

Chapter Nineteen: The sweetest thing

Chapter Twenty: Take me out

Chapter Twenty-One: Tall tales and revelations

Chapter Twenty-Two: Three little words

Chapter Twenty-Three: Secrets and lies

Chapter Twenty-Four: Time to go home

Chapter Twenty-Five: Time for action

Chapter Twenty-Six: An unexpected offer

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The hard work begins

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Moving the goalposts

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Compromise or die

Chapter Thirty: Hello again, hello …

Chapter Thirty-One: Back to reality

Chapter Thirty-Two: Little lost girl

Chapter Thirty-Three: Welcome to Nell’s Place

Read on for a sneak peek

Keep Reading …

My ten favourite places in San Francisco

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by the Author

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE
The day that changed my life

When the thing that was going to change my life arrived, it didn’t look anything like I’d expected.

Had you asked me before – say, for instance, when I was wedged into the unfamiliar armpit of a fellow commuter on the bus into work that morning, trying my hardest not to retch at his unique aroma of onions soaked in B.O., and wishing for something in my life to change – I’d have predicted it to look like a priceless object. And I would have expected it to arrive with a Hallelujah chorus and a dramatic, edge-of-your-seat voiceover by that bloke from X Factor:

‘Nell Sullivan has been waiting for something to change her life. And NOW. This. Is. IT …’

What I didn’t expect was for it to be a three-line message scribbled on a lime-green sticky note, stuck to the screen of my computer at work. Especially not from Aidan Matthews – my line manager in Islington Council’s Planning Department and, perhaps more importantly, the man who had been the on-off love interest (and nearest thing to a steady relationship) in my life for the best part of five years.

Hi Nell

Any chance you could find an excuse to pop into my office this morning? Things I need to tell you. A x

As soon as I saw it, I knew my wish from the B.O. bus seat that morning was about to bear fruit. Aidan wanted me back. Until now I hadn’t realised quite how much I wanted to resolve things with him. When we had broken up last time it had been a mutual decision – both of us tired of navigating the problems we’d never been able to solve. But as my finger traced his familiar handwriting on the note, my heart began to race. Maybe we’d both known this would happen: it always had done before. We were destined for each other; it was evident in the chemistry that still sparked between us even when we weren’t together. It had been building for a while: with the lime-green message I now held his intentions were obvious.

Avoiding the suspicious stare of Connie Bagley, the sour-faced secretary who perched like a bitter owl at the desk next to mine (and would happily run to management with the merest whiff of accusation against me), I sauntered nonchalantly across the grey carpet to see Vicky Grocutt, Assistant Planning Officer – and my best friend.

‘Morning, Vicky,’ I said, making a point of raising my voice enough for Cranky Connie to hear. ‘Do you mind if we go over the applications for Domestic Works?’

I saw her eyes light up at the promise of potentially salacious gossip.

‘No problem, Nell. I’m afraid there’s quite a few to get through.’ She gave a knowing smile and stood, grabbing a large armful of files. ‘Perhaps we’d better take this into the meeting room?’

‘Excellent idea.’

Smiling innocently at the repressed rage of our colleague, Vicky and I barely managed to keep our giggles at bay until we were safely behind the closed meeting room door.

‘I’ve got to hand it to you, Nell,’ Vicky laughed, tossing the files on the oval beech meeting table and flopping into a leather office chair, ‘you certainly know how to wind that woman up.’

‘She’s her own worst enemy. If she didn’t take so much pleasure in ratting on everyone it wouldn’t be as much fun to annoy her.’ I filled two mugs from the coffee machine, which was permanently on duty to satisfy the caffeine needs of the department.

‘And you do it so well.’

I grinned as I joined her at the table. ‘Thank you.’

Vicky sipped her coffee and shuddered as the thud of caffeine hit her. ‘My life, who’s on percolator duty this morning?’

‘Terry, I think.’

‘Oh well, that explains it. He’s trying to give up smoking. Again. Must need caffeine to fill the gap.’ She pushed her mug aside and squared herself at me. ‘So come on, what’s the real reason for our meeting?’

‘This.’ I enjoyed the shiver of anticipation as I pulled Aidan’s note from my suit jacket pocket and handed it to her. ‘It was waiting on my screen this morning.’

Vicky picked it up and screwed up her eyes to scrutinise it. I smiled to myself. Even though everyone around her insists she needs glasses, Vicky Grocutt remains a defiant squinter, the thought of visiting an optician’s just too horrific to consider after being brought up in a family of them.

When she realised who the note was from, she blinked at me.

‘Nell …’ she breathed. ‘Do you think …?’

I shrugged and it was all I could do not to squeal out loud. ‘I’m not sure. But what else could it be?’

She appeared to be as excited as I was, having become an expert in my love life by living it vicariously over the years. ‘I knew it! I told you he was giving you the eye yesterday in the briefing meeting. I knew I hadn’t imagined it!’

Yesterday afternoon I hadn’t wanted to believe it, especially as things had been decidedly cool between Aidan and I over the last couple of months. But then I’d caught him glancing in my direction as our superiors droned on about planning objections and schedules, his stunning blue eyes causing the same army of butterflies to lay siege to my stomach as always. Gorgeous Aidan Matthews, with his closely cropped fair hair, square jaw and body to die for …

Aidan’s ability to melt my resolve with one look had long been my undoing since the first day I met him in the office kitchen, six years ago. I lost all power of rational thought when he was around. Over the years the effect he had on me had covered a multitude of disappointments, broken promises and bad timings, leading me to reach the conclusion that we were probably destined to end up together. I believed that our other failed attempts had simply been a case of both of us not being ready: sometimes he’d backed away, sometimes I had. But we always ended up in each other’s arms, and that had to mean something, surely?

‘I don’t know what else it could be,’ I replied. ‘I think he wants us back together. And I think this could be it for us. We’re both tired of this stop-start thing going on. This could be where we get serious.’

‘And not before time,’ Vicky grinned. ‘Greg and I had met, moved in and were expecting Ruby by the time you guys were on your third round of “will-they-won’t-they”. You both need to stop being so feisty and settle down, in my opinion. But how do you feel about it?’

‘Good,’ I said, my mind still abuzz with the revelation. ‘I mean, it’s unexpected, for sure, but now I’ve had time to think about it, I think it could work.’ I could feel tears prick the corners of my eyes. ‘Oh who am I kidding? I love him, Vix!’

My best friend scooped me into a hug, knowing exactly what this development meant for me.

‘Oh babe, I know you do. I want you two to get back together, have lots of hot sex and babies!’

Since becoming a mother, just over two years ago, Vicky had decided that everybody’s life was more interesting, sexy and exciting than hers. While I knew she loved her partner Greg and adored their daughter Ruby, it seemed that she still mourned for the excitement of her single days when she was the terror of bachelors across London and the Home Counties.

She let me go. ‘So, when are you going to see him?’

I took a deep breath. ‘Now.’

When I’d wished for something to change on the bus that morning, the prospect of rekindling my relationship with Aidan had been the furthest thing from my mind. It wasn’t going to change my life – not in the way I expected – but it was a start. A more settled relationship might set me up to make the changes I really wanted to make, changes that might take a few years to bring them into being. For unbeknown to anyone – even my best friend – I had been cradling a dream for years. I dreamed of running my own business. It had begun as an idea for a restaurant but when Vicky and I visited New York for a Christmas shopping trip two years ago my dream had changed. Instead of a café or restaurant, which were ten-a-penny in the capital, I began to dream about establishing a truly authentic American diner, serving pancakes, waffles and French toast for brunch and all manner of burgers, calzone, pizza and BBQ cuts for dinner. Everything prepared fresh, everything made to order. I dreamed about it when stuck in boring Council meetings, sketching doodles of interior layouts and signs on my work memo pad. In my mind it was so clear: baking fresh bread, scone-like biscuits and cinnamon rolls every morning, and crafting banana cream pies, deep-dish apple pies and batch upon batch of pancake batter every day. All of my daydreams were a world away from the never-changing schedule of procedures, plans and paperwork that my current job entailed. When Aidan and I rekindled our relationship, maybe this time I would share it with him. Besides, Aidan was lovely and whenever we had been together, we’d always been happy. Our version of happy, anyway …

Vicky left the meeting room first, making an expert job of engaging Connie in conversation. Seeing the coast was clear, I ducked out and sprinted through the main office to Aidan’s door at the other end. Outside, I paused, checking my reflection in the darkened window of the empty office next door. Not bad, Sullivan, I told myself. My dark-blonde hair was neatly back from my face, making the most of my cheekbones and deep green eyes, and the suit I’d thrown on in a hurry after sleeping through two snoozes of my alarm that morning didn’t look too creased. Aidan wanted to see me, I reminded myself, not my choice of outfit. Straightening the hem of my jacket, I knocked.

‘Yes?’

I pushed the handle and peered around the door. ‘Hi. You wanted to see me?’ Play the game, Nell. Enjoy the chase …

Aidan’s blue eyes sparkled and he rose from his chair. ‘Yes. Yes, I did. You look … great, Nell.’

Yes I do, Aidan. ‘Thank you. As do you.’

‘Quick, come in and shut the door.’

I did as he asked, willing my heart rate to slow as images of the last time we’d got back together flashed across my mind – the passionate kisses, the locked door and the pot plant by his desk that never quite recovered from its sudden toppling … I took the seat opposite him and sat with my hands folded demurely in my lap. Aidan Matthews might want me back, but I was going to make him work for it. ‘So, here I am.’

‘Here you are …’ His lazy smile sashayed its way across his tanned features and I shifted a little to halt the forward route march of the butterflies in my stomach. Then he straightened and cleared his throat, the act so suddenly vulnerable that I had to fight the urge to leap across his desk and snog him for all I was worth.

‘Nell, there’s something I have to tell you. I’ve known since yesterday, and I have to say it came as somewhat of a shock to me. I honestly couldn’t have predicted this.’

You’re not the only one … ‘Really?’

His eyes were intent on me. ‘Really. I just – Nell, I don’t know how to say this, what words to use …’

My heart went out to him. ‘Aidan, I know. Just say it.’

A flash of confusion traversed his face. ‘You know? H-how do you …?’

Full of confidence, I smiled and leaned towards him. ‘I just do, Aidan. It’s written all over your face. So don’t worry about the right words: just say it.’

‘Wow.’ He looked bewildered but relieved at my invitation. ‘You’re being incredible about this – you are a wonderful woman …’

My smile broadened as I cast a quick glance in the direction of the not-so-healthy yucca plant by his desk. Prepare for another re-potting, plant …

‘… That’s why it’s such a tragedy we’re going to lose you.’

I don’t know what happened then: it was as if what Aidan said was usurped by the words the Aidan Matthews in my mind was at that moment expressing: I love you, Nell. I can’t fight it any more. Will you take me back …?

For a while the two Aidans faced off: one uttering irresistible words of love, the other retorting with – well, whatever it was he was saying that I couldn’t comprehend.

‘Nell? Say something, for heaven’s sake.’

I scrabbled my way back to the here and now. ‘I just … I thought … Sorry, what did you say?’

Aidan’s shoulders dropped and guilt stained his face. ‘I didn’t want you finding out at the same time as everybody else. Like I said, I only knew for definite yesterday and I almost told you after the briefing meeting. But we’ve been through so much together, you and I, that I just couldn’t bear the thought of you hearing it from anyone other than me. I care about you, you know that …’

His mouth was moving, but none of the words made any coherent sense. And then, slowly, like a pinprick of light piercing the darkness of a tunnel, the truth began to dawn.

‘You’re sacking me?’

‘I wouldn’t have put it like that, but …’

‘How else would you have put it, Aidan? You’re taking my job away!’

‘It’s not me personally, Nell …’

‘Well it feels like it.’

‘Of course you’ll feel that way. But at least it isn’t just you, honey …’

Rage pulsed through my body. ‘Oh that’s OK then! As long as I get to share the ignominy of redundancy with my colleagues! What kind of stupid, cruel logic is that?’

‘Try to keep your voice down, OK? I’m not meant to be telling you this.’

I snorted. ‘Well, lucky old me.’

He leapt from his chair and was suddenly beside me, his hands on my shoulders. ‘I know this is difficult. Believe me, I didn’t sleep last night agonising over how to tell you. But don’t you see, Nell? It’s out of my hands! I tried to speak up for you, but they’re rearranging the entire department. It’s come from top level – budget cuts and the recession have forced their hand. There’s nothing I can do.’

I bit back tears as I looked into his beautiful blue eyes and hated myself for even caring what he thought of me. ‘What am I going to do?’ I begged him, my voice disgustingly weak and needy. ‘What about my rent? My car? How am I going to find another job that pays like this one? Nobody’s hiring at the moment.’

He stroked my cheek with his hand. ‘At least you’ll have your redundancy pay. They have to acknowledge the service you’ve given for six years. At least it’ll pay the bills for a couple of months … Believe me, there are people in a far worse situation than you in this department.’

This news did anything but comfort me. I glared at him. ‘Who else?’

‘Beg your pardon?’

‘Who else is being sacked, Aidan?’

He swallowed hard and I hated the shame I saw in his face. ‘Almost everyone. Nick will stay on as Chief Planning Officer, I’ll remain as Head of Department and Connie will be asked to become office manager for Parks and Recreation as well as Planning.’

I let out a hollow laugh. So all of Connie’s sucking up to management over the years hadn’t gone unnoticed … ‘Right. I’m going now.’

He wobbled backwards as I stood, and I suddenly realised how pathetic he looked, stripped of his work-related bravado.

‘Please don’t say anything to anyone. We’re calling them all into the meeting room in half an hour.’

Part of me wanted to grab the ailing yucca and ram it down his traitorous throat, but despite my fury I walked steadily out of Aidan’s office and back to my desk, where for the next thirty minutes I hid behind my computer screen, feeling like the biggest traitor in the world as the regular banter of my colleagues tore my heart to shreds.

I am losing my job …

The words felt alien, cold, jagged. No matter how many times I repeated them in my head I couldn’t reconcile them to my life. I had never been made redundant, not in all the years I’d been working. In the three positions I’d held since graduating from university, I’d always been promoted, or resigned when a better job came along. The carefully mapped-out schedule for my life hadn’t accounted space for a ‘redundant’ block. My home, my car, my career – and even my secret future dream of running my own business – were all nothing without money, without stability.

I stared at my reflection in the dark screen of my computer monitor and saw pure, hollow-eyed fear glaring back at me.

I’m losing my job. What am I going to do?

CHAPTER TWO
So long, farewell …

Processing the news was a surreal experience. I felt as if I was floating just above a room filled with rotating knives, knowing my descent was inevitable. How dare Aidan drop this on me? How could he think this was a better option than learning about it with the rest of the team? At least if I’d heard it at the same time as them we could have reacted as a team, united by a common experience. Now I was in limbo – not in with Aidan and the lucky few who would walk out of the office today knowing they had a job to come back to, and not with my workmates who were about to learn their fate. I hated it; and I hated Aidan more for once again demonstrating how little he really knew me. I wanted to tell Vicky but she had disappeared to the canteen to grab a bacon sandwich. Feeling completely helpless, I wished the seconds away until the inevitable meeting.

Thirty minutes later, we filed into the meeting room like sheep into an abattoir, my colleagues completely unprepared for the lightning bolt about to fire at them. Aidan and two of his superiors calmly handed out letters to all of us, detailing the consequences of the Council’s ‘programme of restructuring’. Vicky and two of my other female colleagues began to sob quietly, while my male friends stared in gut-wrenched silence, eyes not blinking as the awful reality set in. Some idiot from HR who nobody knew then stood up and explained how committed the Council was to ensuring our personal development – a ridiculous stance to take considering it was happily sacking fifteen people. When he asked for any questions he was met by uniform, wordless hatred.

I could feel Aidan’s eyes on me, but I refused to look back, focusing instead on the impersonal general letter in my hand:

We regret to inform you … This is not a personal reflection on your considerable contribution to the Department, rather a necessary measure to protect the financial integrity of the Council …

No longer required.

Out of a job.

Unemployed …

However I looked at the words I couldn’t help but take them personally. This couldn’t be happening to me! Only that morning I’d wished for something to change …

And then, it hit me.

Something had changed. Admittedly not in a good way, but my secret wish had been granted. From this moment on, my life would never be the same again. Nell Sullivan, Assistant Planning Officer, was no more. That chapter of my life had been brought to a sudden end and now …

Well, now what?

The prat from HR was handing out tissues and wittering on about a hastily arranged consultation with a local recruitment agency to follow the end of the meeting. But it was as if I had become cocooned in a bubble, separated from the devastated expressions of my colleagues by a million new thoughts that sparkled and spun around my eyes. I hadn’t planned for this, hadn’t even considered its possibility in my carefully ordered life. And yet, here it was, together with the promise of three months’ wages in one go …

At the end of the meeting, I followed my colleagues out, my heart inexplicably light despite the devastation that surrounded me. Vicky grabbed my arm and pulled me from the line of zombie-like shufflers heading down the corridor to the room set aside for ‘career repositioning advice’.

‘Can you believe they’ve just done that?’ she demanded, trails of blue-black mascara running down her cheeks. ‘Bastards! I’ve just taken out a new mortgage on the house – how on earth am I going to pay for it now?’

‘I don’t know, hun.’

‘And Greg’s had his hours cut at the factory, too … This is such a mess.’

‘You’re telling me,’ the bulky, middle-aged hulk of our colleague Terry appeared beside us. ‘Can’t believe I chose this bloody week to give up smoking. Either of you have any fags?’

We shook our heads and watched him lumber away.

‘I think I might take up smoking,’ Vicky said, staring blankly after Terry. ‘Look at me: I’m shaking, Nell.’ She held out her hand and I could see the light from the strip-lights overhead undulating gently over her newly manicured nails. ‘I’m going to have to phone Greg and tell him. So much for our wedding plans next year.’

‘The agency might have something for you, Vix,’ I suggested, immediately hating myself for sounding like Aidan’s henchwoman. As I considered it, the thought that had begun in the meeting room grew. I didn’t want to be a victim of this. I wanted to do something else …

‘… Of course the Disney World trip Greg wanted to take me and Ruby on is out of the window. I might have to ask Mum to look after Ruby for an extra day because there’ll be no way I can justify paying nursery fees five days a week now. And then I’ll have to endure her endless diatribes on how reckless Greg and I were to have Ruby before we were fully settled. I swear if we have to move back to his parents’ house in Brentwood I will go insane …’

Vicky was listing all the things she now couldn’t afford and I had to force myself away from the burgeoning idea to give her my full attention. ‘Vix, hun, try not to think the worst. I know you’re still in shock – we all are – but we don’t know what the situation is yet. You and Greg have been through worse and look at how happy you guys are. Ruby’s gorgeous and loves you both to bits and you know Greg is a great dad and partner. You’ll work through this.’

She sniffed. ‘You think so?’

‘If anyone can get through this, you guys can.’

‘Thanks, babe. And you will, too. At least you and Aidan patched things up and worst-case scenario you could always move into that big house of his …’

I averted my eyes and she stopped.

‘You did get back together, didn’t you?’

I let out a long sigh. She wasn’t going to like it, but I couldn’t lie to her. ‘No, we didn’t.’

‘I don’t understand. Why call you into his office if he wasn’t going to …?’ Her eyes widened as the truth dawned. ‘Oh my life. You knew …’

‘He asked me not to say anything …’

Her expression darkened. ‘You knew, Nell! You came out of his office and you sat at your desk like nothing had changed, and all the time you knew?’

‘What was I supposed to do? I wasn’t going to be the one who broke everyone’s hearts!’

Vicky shook her head and instantly the room temperature seemed to drop. Deliberately, she turned her back on me and followed the others down the corridor.

What on earth was I supposed to say to her? I knew she was just angry and hitting out at the nearest person, but I felt frustration gnawing at me that she hadn’t afforded me the chance to reply.

‘Probably best to let her go.’ A hand appeared on my shoulder and I turned to see the pinched, triumphant expression of the office secretary. ‘She’s upset: it’s understandable …’

Angrily, I shrugged my shoulder free. ‘Get lost, Connie.’

I didn’t accompany my colleagues to the recruitment agency meeting, instead returning to the office to fetch my bag and coat. I needed to get out for a while, the atmosphere in the office sucking the life from my body and the whirling thoughts in my head making me dizzy.

‘Shall we grab some fresh air?’ It was Aidan, standing a few feet away, his eyes full of concern as he wrung his hands. ‘I don’t know about you, but I need a coffee after that.’

‘No thank you.’ I struggled into my coat and swung my bag over my shoulder.

‘Nell – I know this is hard. But I can look after you. Having to give you that news today made me realise how I feel about you. We’ve been tiptoeing round the subject for months now. Maybe this could be the making of us? I have that big house all to myself, after all. Let’s stop pretending: we’re meant to be together …’

Incredulously, I turned to look at him. ‘Seriously? You’re declaring your love for me now?’

He mistook my tone for surprise, his confident grin widening as he stepped towards me. ‘Yes, baby. Let me look after you. You have to admit this is what we both want …’

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was Aidan Matthews so deluded that he thought news of my imminent unemployment was a suitable precursor to renewing our relationship?

‘Go away, Aidan. I don’t think we have anything more to discuss.’

He was staring after me like a dumb animal as I swept out of the office.

I didn’t go far: just for a walk around the periphery of the Council office complex, its landscaped grounds curving around the multi-million-pound building that had been the cause of much controversy when it had been built eight years ago. The flat grey sky cast a subdued light over everything and a lack of breeze made the space seem ominously quiet.

This had not been the way I expected today to pan out. In the space of four hours I had assumed I was getting back with Aidan, discovered I was losing my job, unintentionally offended my best friend and then been propositioned by the man who had just sacked me. Not bad going for a Thursday morning. And now, everything hung precariously like question marks suspended in my mind. How did I really feel about this? What was going to happen with my room in the rented house-share? Without a steady income, things didn’t look promising. How long could I exist on my redundancy pay?

As I walked around the car park, the idea that had occurred to me before my run-in with Vicky returned – and with it, a sense of injustice that grew the more I considered it. Why should I have to obediently sit and wait until I found another job? It might take months to find something else. I only had to watch the news to see how hopeless the jobs situation was right now …

I deserve more than this.

I thought about the figure that had been typed on my redundancy letter. As an indication of how much my soon-to-be former employer thought of my contribution to them, it was an insult. But, as an unexpected lump sum, it could be seen as a bit of a windfall. Perhaps it was a sign that my carefully planned life wasn’t the best way to live. Perhaps it was an opportunity to do something different …

What do you want, Nell Sullivan?

The question presented itself suddenly, stopping me in my tracks. I was hurt and angry and dreading the prospect of being unemployed. I didn’t want this to be my life for the next however many months it would take to find another job. I wanted something positive, something that would build me up, not drag me down.

I want to do something just for me …

And then, it hit me. I could go somewhere – far away from my former job and uncertain future. My trip to New York with Vicky two years ago had been the last time I’d had a proper holiday – the sort that involved plane tickets and duty free, anyway. This could be something just for me. I didn’t just want a break from everyday life: I needed an adventure. And while my measly redundancy settlement wouldn’t go far to pay my bills, it would make a nice little nest-egg to invest in a trip …

It was brilliant. I didn’t know where I wanted to go, only that I needed to do it – and soon.

The devastated visages of my colleagues brought me heavily back to earth when I returned to the office. Terry’s face was grey – although this might have had more to do with the half packet of cigarettes he had just coughed his way through. Dave and Sid, Planning Officers for twenty years each, were sitting like deflated balloon bookends on the edges of Terry’s desk. Nick was trying his best to look sympathetic for everyone while clearly relieved he was still employed. Vicky was slumped in her office chair, systematically peeling the layers of French polish from her nails. She didn’t look up when I arrived.

‘She’s back, then,’ Terry said. ‘We thought you’d legged it.’

‘I just needed to get out for a while.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Couldn’t face seeing the people she sold out,’ Vicky muttered, still not looking at me.

‘Now hang on a minute …’ I began, but Dave held up his hand.

‘It’s OK, Sully. She’s just upset. We all are.’ His smile bore the weight of the world. ‘We know Matthews put you in a position.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You probably shouldn’t be standing around chatting.’ Connie’s expression was one of pure, spiteful delight. ‘Management want you out in ten minutes.’

‘Who told you that?’ Vicky demanded.

‘Mr Matthews. While you were in the recruitment agency meeting.’ Her grin was about as sincere as a politician’s promise. ‘There are cardboard boxes in the meeting room. You might want to use them.’

I could feel the resigned despair of my colleagues as we collected the empty copier paper boxes and began to clear the contents of our desks. Packing my box alongside them, I felt a bit of a fraud: yes, it was horrible and scary, but since my revelation I couldn’t escape a tiny thrill of excitement dancing around within me. The sensible part of me, which had been in charge for most of my life, was uncharacteristically quiet and for the first time in many years I felt as if the constraints of my life had been removed by this curveball of sudden redundancy.

Out on the street we gathered, a box-toting band of newly unemployed people, not ready to walk away from each other yet secretly not wanting to prolong the agony. After a few mumbled words of solidarity and promises to meet soon for a drink, we dispersed. Vicky sniffed and walked over to me.

‘I’m sorry, Nell. I shouldn’t have said what I did.’

Relief flooded through me as I hugged her. ‘It’s OK. You were upset and angry.’

‘And also a bitch. But thanks for understanding.’ She sighed and looked at the sickly cactus that was poking out from her box of belongings. ‘I think I’m going to go straight home. Are you coming to the tube station?’

‘No, not yet.’ I wanted to pursue the thought in my mind while it still burned, before cold reality had a chance to dawn and spoil the party. ‘I just need to – you know …’ I tilted my head in the direction of the shops in the distance.

Vicky clearly thought I was referring to the pub at the end of the street. ‘Don’t blame you. Call me tonight when you get home, OK?’

I watched her slumping frame shuffle away and finally allowed myself to feel the excitement that had been steadily building within me. Taking a deep breath, I turned and walked purposefully down the street, my resolve building with each step.

This is it, Nell Sullivan: this is your time.

A few blocks down from the Council building, I stopped outside a small travel agency. Its windows were filled with cards promising exciting destinations and deals. It was as if I was staring at a gallery of possibilities, each smiling model asking me the same question:

Where are you going, Nell Sullivan?

A young male sales advisor with startlingly lustrous black hair smiled as I entered, his friendly expression flickering a little when I put my cardboard box on his desk. The bushy fronds of my desk plant spilled over the edge of the box, while my stolen office stapler – one final act of defiance against my now former employer – caught the light from his computer monitor.

‘How can I help?’ he managed, scrabbling to reconstruct his professionalism. His name badge read: Hi, I’m Josh.

‘I want to know where I can go for –’ I pulled the folded redundancy notice from my jacket pocket and handed it to him to show him the sum my former employer was willing to pay to be rid of me ‘– this much.’

‘Um, well, lots of places,’ Josh stammered, his travel agent training clearly not having covered crazy customers with pot plants and cardboard boxes. ‘Where would you like to go?’

I hadn’t considered this far ahead in my plan. ‘I’m not sure. I want to do something exciting, something just for me. I’ve just been made redundant, you see.’

‘Wow. I’m sorry to hear that. When?’

‘About three hours ago.’

‘Heck, that’s awful. So you definitely deserve a treat.’ He smiled and heaved a huge stack of brochures onto his desk. ‘OK, let’s start with the kind of things you fancy doing on holiday. Beach?’

‘No, I don’t think so. I want to move about more, I think.’

‘No problem.’ He pulled out four brochures and dropped them onto the floor by the side of his desk. ‘Ski holiday? Watersports?’

‘No. I don’t mind activities but I don’t want to just focus on that.’

‘Excellent.’ Two more brochures were eliminated from the pile. ‘How about a trek? Some kind of adventure trip?’

‘Maybe.’ I tried to picture myself hiking across the Gobi Desert, or climbing the Great Wall of China. Even with the most optimistic version of myself this seemed a little extreme. ‘Actually, no.’

Another brochure was dropped to the brown carpet. ‘Good. We’re making progress.’ After several more questions, Josh’s slightly russet features worked into a smile and he held up a thick brochure. ‘How about the USA?’

On its cover were Rocky Mountains, Las Vegas signs, bustling cities, New England autumn trees and the majestic sweep of the Grand Canyon. ‘America – where anything can happen’ was emblazoned across the images and instantly I felt my heart racing.

‘Yes! That looks amazing.’

‘Excellent.’ Josh nodded and began to flick through the glossy pages. ‘So – America pretty much has something for everyone. What do you want to do? Cities? Beach? Fly-drive?’

My mind was racing. ‘I – I don’t know. Where would you suggest?’

‘Personally, I love Vegas. But Florida is great if you want beaches and theme parks. If history’s your thing there’s New England or Philadelphia. Or how about one of the cities? New York? Chicago? San Francisco …?’

‘That’s it!’ I yelled, making Josh jump and a middle-aged female customer at the next desk frown at me. Giggling, I lowered my voice. ‘Sorry. My cousin Lizzie lives in San Francisco. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before. I could visit her.’

‘Well, it would certainly keep your costs down if you could arrange some of your accommodation.’

‘It would.’ A thought occurred to me. ‘Actually, would you mind if I just made a phone call?’

‘Um, sure. Be my guest.’ From Josh’s expression it was clear this latest development couldn’t make his current customer any odder in his eyes.

I checked my watch, mentally calculating the current time in San Francisco. Seven hours behind GMT – so Lizzie would be just getting up. Or at least that was what I hoped. I dialled her number, willing her to pick up. After more rings than were comfortable, the call connected and a sleepy voice spoke.

‘Hello …?’

‘Lizzie, it’s Nell. Did I wake you?’

‘Who …? Oh Nellie! Hi! Sorry, I’ve not had my coffee yet. How are you? Why on earth are you calling me at seven fifteen in the morning? Is everything alright?’

I giggled. ‘I’m fine. Well, apart from losing my job today. It’s so good to speak to you!’

‘You lost your job? Oh Nell, that’s terrible! I’m so sorry …’

‘It’s OK, honestly. But I have a bit of a favour to ask – and please say no if it’s going to be an imposition …’

‘Ask away.’ I could hear the whirr of a coffee machine in the background and tried to imagine my cousin’s apartment in the colourful Haight-Ashbury district of the city that I’d seen from the photos she’d sent with her annual Christmas letter to me.

‘I’m going to get some redundancy money and I’ve decided I want to do something different for a few weeks. How would you feel if I came to visit you?’

The squeal from my cousin reverberated around the travel agency, eliciting another disdainful glance from the disgruntled customer next to me.

‘That would be amazing! How long do you want to come for?’

Everything was progressing with such speed that I hadn’t even considered how long my adventure was going to last. Plucking a number from thin air, I replied, ‘Six weeks?’

‘Great. Or why not make it eight?’

‘Lizzie, would that be OK?’

‘Of course! It’ll give you a chance to sightsee and really get a feel for the place. And I can show you around – you can meet my friends and be an honorary San Franciscan!’

Five minutes later, I ended the call. It was happening so fast, but it felt right. My mind was made up – there was no time to waste. ‘Right. I’d like to go to San Francisco next week. For two months, please!’

Two months in a brand new city. Two months to experience everything San Francisco had to offer me. Two months to throw caution to the wind and be somebody different to dutiful Nell Sullivan, former Assistant Planning Officer. It was perfect …

CHAPTER THREE
Pack up your troubles

‘You’re doing what?’

My housemates – Charlotte, Sarah and Tom – were staring at me as if I’d just dyed my hair green. Already suspicious when I’d called a house meeting, they were now sitting like the Three Wise (and Grumpy) Monkeys on the faded IKEA sofa in the living room of our shared house in Woodford. I couldn’t blame them for their suspicion: the last time we’d had a house meeting was six years ago to find out which of us knew the slightly odd man who had been sleeping on our sofa since a house party the week before. (It turned out, none of us did – and we had, in fact, been feeding and housing a random bloke who’d wandered in from the street while the party was in full flow …)

‘I lost my job yesterday. So I’m going to San Francisco for eight weeks,’ I repeated, hoping this time they would understand.

They didn’t.

‘Excuse me?’ Sarah crossed her long legs and looked at me like the headmistress she was working hard to become. Her teacher’s tone, when inflicted, could reduce a grown man to tears. I had seen this happen on several occasions, more often than not the man in question being her boyfriend Tom, who now appeared to be cowering on my behalf. ‘Have you even thought this through? What are you going to do for money once your redundancy payment runs out? And what about your room, Nell? We can’t afford to carry two people on the dole.’

She shot an accusing look at Tom, who visibly winced. It was common knowledge that Sarah had been supporting him financially since he was laid off from a London advertising agency. Tom’s experience of unemployment was another reason why I didn’t want to stay in the UK wallowing. He might have been content to spend the last six months in his pyjamas playing X-Box and watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta, but it was my idea of hell.

‘I am trying to get a job,’ he protested, sounding more like a whining three-year-old than a tragic victim of the recession. ‘It’s tough out there. For what it’s worth, Nell, I think you’ve got the right idea. Get out while you can.’

‘Tom …’ Sarah growled through gritted teeth, ‘you’re not helping.’ She turned back to me. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Nell, I think you’re being completely irresponsible.’

Charlotte, who up until now had remained silent, folded her arms and nodded in agreement. In all the time we’d shared a house, I hadn’t managed to click with her. My latest bombshell was unlikely to change this.

‘Well, that’s your opinion,’ I replied. They had never shown much interest in my life to this point, beyond when rent was due or if I’d been baking. I could hardly expect them to start now. ‘But I want to do this. And if it backfires horribly, I’m happy to bear the consequences.’

As if I didn’t exist, Charlotte turned to Sarah, flicking her too-straight blonde hair – which, apart from her eyes that seemed to stare directly through your skull, was her only truly remarkable feature. ‘Dave could move in.’

‘Could he?’ Sarah’s mood lifted from annoyed to mildly ruffled.

‘I think so. He has a good job –’ she aimed the emphasis directly at me, but I was impervious to it ‘– he’s reliable and he’d make a great housemate.’

‘Um, Nell’s still here?’ Tom said, but Sarah wasn’t listening. Clearly Charlotte’s suggestion appealed to her. Knowing how much like immature schoolgirls they could be I guessed she was probably already imagining the two couples playing house and co-ordinating a double wedding …

Sarah beamed. ‘It’s perfect. When are you moving out, Nell?’

I didn’t mind her reaction, or the blatant glee with which Charlotte and Sarah helped me to clear out my room later that day. Of course, Charlotte and Sarah made polite small talk as we worked but I knew we wouldn’t miss each other. We had never really bonded anyway – the house-share was nothing more than a sensible choice until I could afford a place of my own. The fact was we only really interacted when we passed in the hallway or occasionally met up when bills needed paying. If we’d been close friends I imagined it could have been harder to leave: as it was, they were surprisingly easy to walk away from.

‘Will you miss Woodford?’ Dad asked as we drove his packed Volvo through London traffic towards my parents’ home in Richmond.

‘Not really.’

‘Don’t blame you, Nelliegirl. Bloody awful place. Besides, your great American adventure awaits!’

I smiled back, loving my dad today even more than usual. When I had told him and Mum yesterday about my San Francisco plans, his first reaction was to congratulate me: ‘Splendid! Don’t let the Council scum grind you down, darling …’ Initially I’d wondered how they would take the news that their daughter who’d flown the nest was now creeping back into it, but neither of them batted an eyelid.

Mum fussed around me for the next few days, insisting on washing all of the clothes I planned to take with me and cooking all my favourite meals. It felt good to be surrounded by my parents, even if the sudden lack of personal space was more than a little challenging at first.

Aidan made repeated attempts to contact me, at first leaving voicemail messages, then switching to text messages and finally resorting to missed calls, all of which stacked up on my mobile screen – and all of which I resolutely ignored. I was still angry with him, not least for choosing the day I’d been made redundant to try to make a move on me. I was determined not to think about him while I was away. This was my chance to focus on myself and I wasn’t likely to waste it agonising over Aidan. He’d commandeered far too much of my time already.

As the days passed, I allowed myself to be caught up in the practicalities of my planned trip, worried that if I paused for too long I might end up reconsidering. I was doing this for me, I reminded myself whenever butterflies appeared; this was a good thing.

The day before I was due to leave, I arranged to meet Vicky. She was agog with the news of my sudden decision and concerned that this signalled the beginning of a nervous breakdown or onset of a very early mid-life crisis.

‘It can’t be a mid-life crisis,’ I laughed. ‘I’m only thirty-two.’

‘It’s possible, Nell,’ she insisted. ‘I was reading in Cosmo last week about women who reach thirty and completely change their lives. And there was that incident where you suddenly dyed your hair black last year, remember? Even you had to admit it was a daft decision. Now, I know we’ve had a setback with losing our jobs, but don’t you think this is a little – extreme – especially for you? I mean, you’re always the one I used to rely on to get us home after a wild night out. You are Ms Sensible. I’m a bit worried about this change of direction.’

‘I’m just going on holiday,’ I replied, handing her a fresh gin and tonic. ‘I’m not trying to “find myself” or anything contrived like that. But I’ve played it safe for six years and never really done anything just for me. I’m not running away. I’m just taking a break.’

Vicky had been almost convinced by this, on one condition: ‘Promise you will email me, every week. I want to make sure you’re OK. More than that, I want to know that you’re not squandering this opportunity. So I expect you to squeeze every bit of joy out of the next two months. And I expect details, missy. As often as you can.’

I happily agreed, yet again grateful that I had such an amazing support circle around me.

As I lay in bed that night, too excited to sleep, I wondered what the next eight weeks might hold in store for me.

This is it, Nell Sullivan, I told myself. Tomorrow my adventure begins.

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.

‘This is a bit weird, catching up on large amounts of our lives, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘I mean, it’s great, but it’s only when we talk about it that I realise how many years it’s been since we last did this.’

‘I like what I’m discovering, though. You’ve done so well.’

‘Aw, thanks hun. And so have you.’

I stared at her. ‘Hardly. I’ve just lost my job – thanks to my ex who I had mistakenly assumed I was about to get back together with. I’ve moved back with my parents and when I get home I have to start looking for a new job at a time when so many people are unemployed.’ When I said it out loud, I realised I didn’t really have much to show for the last six years of my life. ‘That’s why it feels good to be here. Like I’m doing something positive.’

Lizzie put her arm around me. ‘You are doing something positive. You can take your life in whatever direction you can from this point on. I think it’s exciting.’

‘It is. And terrifying not to know what’s coming next. But I’m lucky to have my lovely family to support me. Thanks Lizzie.’

‘My pleasure! So how do you feel about living back with your mum and dad?’ Groaning, she slapped her hand against her forehead. ‘Forgive me. What a daft thing to ask.’

‘Don’t apologise, it’s a valid question. Actually, I think I’m fine. It was a bit difficult losing my personal space and all that, such as it was – but they’ve been brilliant.’

Lizzie offered to refill my mug but I declined. ‘And how did your housemates take the news?’

I grimaced. It hadn’t been the easiest conversation I’d ever had but that was more to do with the fact they were going to be a quarter down on the bills than without someone they had shared a home with for five years.

‘They were a bit annoyed, obviously. And I think Sarah thought I was mad. But I don’t think they’ll miss me. They’re all nice people but it was more like being in university halls than living with great friends.’

During the flight to San Francisco, I’d had time to reflect a little on my life. So much had changed since the day I lost my job but one thing I had realised was how little life I had actually lived before then. Everything had been a means to an end, an ‘I’ll-be-happy-when’ existence, as if I was holding on until the good stuff arrived. I had always been the sensible one, the girl who could answer the ‘where do you see yourself in five years’ time’ question at job interviews without stopping to think about it.

So I’d moved into the dreary house-share in Woodford with people I had nothing in common with other than a shared kitchen and desire to live near a tube station, because it was the sensible choice, allowing me to save for a place of my own while I rented. I had taken a job in the well-respected London Borough Council and had remained there for six years, waiting for the next opportunity to arise. It made sense to stay there until I found something else. Or until Aidan and I decided to be together permanently, when two wages coming in each month might offer a little leeway for something else.

Even though I had a secret dream career that bore no resemblance to planning law or development permissions, I hadn’t allowed myself to consider it because it was risky and had serious potential to fail. When I’d saved enough … when I was in a better position to make the leap … when I felt ready … then I might allow myself to pursue it.

But losing my job had thrown everything into question: it had removed my sensible living arrangements, challenged my savings and absolutely, definitely, ruled out any future with Aidan Matthews. I was already in a risky situation with no guarantee of anything other than unemployment and two months to do whatever I wanted to. Given this, the playing field was open wide and anything was now possible …

Lizzie squeezed my arm. ‘I’m going to make sure you have the best time here. And we’ll start by getting you something to eat.’

If my grumbling stomach could have whooped for joy it would have done so with gusto at that moment. ‘That’s a fantastic idea. Where are we going?’

Lizzie’s broad smile seemed to illuminate the room. ‘Only the best place in the neighbourhood! I’m taking you to Annie’s.’

CHAPTER FIVE
Welcome to the neighbourhood

There are times in your life when you find yourself in exactly the right place. It might not make sense at the time, but deep down inside you feel it: you were always meant to be there, on that date, at that time. Walking into Annie’s diner on my first day in San Francisco felt like one of those moments.

Annie’s was everything I’d hoped a true American diner would be. Nestled on the corner of Haight and Clayton Streets, it was a neighbourhood hub that had been feeding the good people of The Haight for nearly forty years. From the outside it was unremarkable, save for the pink and blue neon signs hung in its wide windows, which wrapped around the corner that joined the two streets. The wood panelled frontage was painted the colour of very milky coffee and bore the scars and scrapes of years of weather, traffic and city air. Had it been in England, it would probably have been dismissed as a ‘greasy spoon’ café and avoided. But here in San Francisco, its time-earned war wounds of standing proud in the city merely added to its charm. I could imagine a scene from a US cop drama set here – where the hard-bitten detective would arrange a secret rendezvous with one of his illicit moles, dishing the dirt on a crime gang over huge stacks of pancakes and coffee so strong it could melt spoons …

Lizzie laughed when she saw me taking in all the details of Annie’s exterior. ‘Your face – anyone would think I’d taken you to Disney World for the first time. It’s just a diner. A great diner, mind you, but still a regular, Stateside eatery.’

Now it was my turn to giggle. ‘You said eatery … You’re such a Yank now!’

But Lizzie was wrong. Annie’s was so much more than just a diner. I was later to learn what an institution it was in the community and how even people who had moved out of The Haight faithfully made the pilgrimage back here every weekend for brunch. The whole building smelled of coffee, sugar, vanilla, the delicious aroma of pancakes and frying steak, which wrapped around our nostrils. We approached the polished chrome counter, where customers were hunched on bottle-green leather bar stools over enormous cups of black coffee and gargantuan portions of food that made your eyes water as much as your mouth. Faded black and white photographs of past customers and staff peppered the red-painted walls, the smiling faces and bulging brunch plates in them no different from those filling the diner today. It was as if history hung heavily around the current customers, the eyes of the past bestowing their blessings on the faces of the present.

‘I’ve been coming here since my first weekend in San Francisco,’ Lizzie said. ‘You have to try the French toast – it’s pretty much legendary in The Haight.’

‘Hey Lizzie! You on a loyalty bonus from Annie now?’ shouted a broad-backed, balding man from the far edge of the counter.

Sat next to him, a man of similar build with an impressive bushy beard but less hair chuckled. ‘Yeah – she’s on a short-stack bonus. One more customer introduced and she finally makes the three-stack!’

‘You wish,’ my cousin called back, as several other diners raised their heads in greeting. ‘Marty, Frankie, this is my cousin Nell from England. She’s here for a couple of months so you’d better get used to another Brit in the joint.’

Marty – the one sans beard – raised his hand in greeting. ‘Well hello, Nell-from-England. This your first time here?’

‘It is, yes.’

‘You gotta be gentle with her, Marty,’ Frankie said, wiping ketchup from his beard with a paper napkin. ‘Annie’ll skin ya alive if you spook any more customers outta here. Nell, nice to meet ya. Don’t you listen to a word Marty says and you’ll fit right in.’

I laughed. ‘I’ll remember that, thanks.’

A couple moved from a table near the counter and Lizzie grabbed it quickly. ‘Marty and Frankie are cab drivers,’ she informed me, holding a menu up to her face to shield her words, ‘and our resident philosophers. Anything you want an opinion on, they’re your men.’

I looked at the considerable array of options on the laminated menu card, which wouldn’t have looked out of place on the tables of Al’s Diner in Happy Days. ‘Wow, when you said French toast was big here you weren’t kidding. Seventeen varieties?’

‘Oh yes. And every one of them awesome.’ Lizzie’s expression reminded me of years before when our families would meet for Pancake Day tea. Out of the two of us, Lizzie had always possessed the sweet tooth, which made her extremely easy to buy birthday and Christmas presents for. I never saw her happier than when she was about to consume obscene amounts of sugar. ‘You should try all of them, of course, but my favourite is Banana Maple Walnut. Unbelievable. Some nights I actually wake myself up dreaming of it.’

‘I’ll give that a go then. And a cup of coffee, please.’

‘Oh don’t worry about that. You get coffee here even if you haven’t ordered it.’ She righted the upturned mugs on our table. ‘And coffee here is the best.’ She looked up as a young waitress approached us. ‘Hey Laverne. This is my cousin Nell from England.’

Laverne stuffed her order pad into the waistband of her apron and shook my hand. ‘Hi! Lizzie’s told me so much about you!’

‘She has?’ Her enthusiastic welcome took me a little by surprise.

‘I was telling Laverne about that amazing chocolate orange cheesecake you used to make when we were teenagers, do you remember?’

It had been a long time since I had last thought of that, but instantly memories of consolation cheesecake afternoons at my house after inevitable teenage breakups rushed back. ‘Yes, I do. We ate a lot of cheesecake after all our disastrous relationships.’

Laverne smiled. ‘I’m, like, a total baking fan. You have to give me the recipe before you go back to England.’

‘No problem. If I can remember it, that is. I haven’t baked in a while.’

‘Thank you so much! So, what can I get you guys?’

‘One Banana Maple Walnut, one Nutella Pomegranate please.’ Watching Lizzie ordering struck me how utterly San Franciscan my cousin had become. The inflection of her voice now had a characteristic West Coast upward flick and she was relaxed and happy.

‘Sure thing. I’ll go grab the coffee pot for you guys. And hey, I’ll tell Annie you’re here. She’ll bust a gut to meet you!’

When she left us, I leaned closer to Lizzie. ‘Annie? Is that the Annie?’

‘The very same. Founded this place thirty-seven years ago and still going strong. You’ll love her.’

‘I’m looking forward to it already.’

Lizzie folded her hands on the checkerboard tabletop. ‘So what’s this about you not baking, Nellie? You baked all the time when we were kids.’

I relaxed back into the squashy booth seat. ‘Recently I just haven’t done it. Not since Aidan and I – since the last time we were together.’

My cousin frowned. ‘But you didn’t just bake for him. It’s always been your thing, hasn’t it?’

It made me uncomfortable to be thinking about Aidan, especially as I had tried so hard not to think about him over the last week. ‘I think after the last attempt between us failed I shelved everything that reminded me of him. I wanted to be someone different, I suppose. I was sick of the merry-go-round of our relationship.’

‘I can understand that. But, you know, my kitchen is your kitchen while you’re here. So if you get the urge to bake again you’re more than welcome.’

I laughed as her veneer of innocence completely failed to cover the ulterior motive. ‘Oh and I suppose it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition if you had to eat whatever I made?’

Busted, she giggled. ‘Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing …’

Laverne returned with a jug of freshly brewed coffee and filled our huge coffee cups. ‘Here you go. Annie’s house coffee, Golden Grain.’

Puzzled, I looked at Lizzie. ‘But coffee isn’t made from grain.’

Laverne giggled. ‘You know that and I know that. It’s one of the mysteries about this place. Enjoy,’ she chirped as she left us.

My first cup of American coffee smelled good and tasted like heaven, although it was considerably stronger than the filter coffee I was used to in the Planning Department – even when caffeine-fan Terry was making it. The memory of my former colleagues brought a glimmer of sadness to the pit of my stomach. I wondered how they were all doing. I made a mental note to ask Lizzie if I could email Vicky when we returned to her apartment.

‘So I hear the Brit invasion is happening?’

I looked up from my two-pint coffee mug to see the half-smile of a diminutive woman of uncertain years. Her hair was dyed the colour of a new penny and her white smile glowed against the warm caramel of her skin. She had a red pencil behind one ear and several gold chains were arranged about her neck. Dressed in a black polo shirt several sizes too large for her that had Annie’s emblazoned in red embroidery on the front, black skin-tight jeans and leopard print pumps, she possessed a presence so all-encompassing that it was as if the sunlight streaming in from the diner windows dimmed a little in reverence.

‘Hey. I’m Annie Legado. I own this place.’

‘Hi. I’m Nell.’ I wasn’t sure whether I should curtsey or bow in her presence. Instead I extended my hand and she shook it, her grip surprisingly strong for her slight frame.

‘You look like Lizzie. How long you here for?’

‘Two months.’

She nodded, the strange almost-smile still in place. ‘Two months is good.’

‘So that means we have two months to turn my cousin into a fully-fledged San Franciscan, Annie,’ Lizzie grinned.

Annie drew in a breath through her teeth, like the sound a mechanic makes just before he tells you how much your car repairs will cost. ‘Tall order. But I guess we’ll try.’ She slapped the back of my seat. ‘You ladies have a good day.’ And with that, she was gone.

I stared at Lizzie. ‘She is one scary woman.’

‘Wait till you get to know her. I think the term you’ll choose then is indomitable. You can see why her business has survived as long as it has. Nobody would dare to take it away from her.’

The buzz in Annie’s was incredible, with several conversations crossing the room. A young couple dressed entirely in black with pale faces and matching Goth make-up at one end of the counter were happily conversing with Marty and Frankie at the other, comments occasionally moving to the opposite side of the diner where a woman with three small children was seated. Annie stalked the room like a stealthy lioness, dipping her head into conversations at every table as she went, nodding with her trademark half-smile before moving on.

Lizzie nudged me. ‘So, do you like Annie’s?’

I knew that I was grinning although I couldn’t tell whether this was due to a chronic lack of sleep, the power of turbo-caffeine racing through my body or simply the thrill of being here. ‘It’s wonderful,’ I replied. ‘Surreal, but wonderful. Two weeks ago I was losing my job and now I’m in San Francisco in a real-life American neighbourhood diner. For the first time in my life I don’t have a clue what will happen next. And it feels good.’

‘O-K, we got one Banana Maple Walnut, one Nutella Pomegranate.’ Laverne handed us oval plates so big that two of them barely fit on the table. ‘En-joy.’

A gargantuan mountain of buttery toast triangles nestling between a blanket of banana slices, dusted in icing sugar and swimming in a glistening pool of maple syrup gazed oozily up at me. It was truly a sight to behold.

‘Are all the varieties of French toast here this big?’ I asked, staring at my plate.

‘Yup. Actually, compared to some other diners I’ve been to that’s a small portion.’

I wondered if my arteries were going to hate me for dragging them across the Pond to be assaulted by this amount of fat. But as this was the first day of my American odyssey, I reasoned it was only right I made an effort. Although, if the food was going to be this amazing for the next eight weeks, I realised I would have to make sure I upped my exercise while I was here to stop me returning to the UK looking like Jabba the Hutt after a slave binge.

An hour later, Lizzie and I struggled out onto the sidewalk in the bright sunshine. My stomach felt as if it had dropped several inches and was now snoozing somewhere around my knees.

Lizzie gave a loud groan. ‘I was going to suggest we catch the Muni home, but given the amount of food we just ate, I think a walk might be good.’

‘A walk would definitely be good.’

We crossed the street and walked for several blocks, passing a church and multicoloured wooden buildings. The sound of the traffic mingled with birdsong from the trees lining the pavements and at one corner we could hear the enthusiastic rhythms of a drummer practising in his apartment. Walking further still, we reached a grand stone staircase leading up into a park.

‘It’s a bit of a scramble up here, but I promise you, the views are worth it,’ Lizzie puffed, as the after-effects of our enormous brunch laboured our breathing. ‘This is Buena Vista Park. I didn’t even know it existed for the first two years I lived here. But then quite a few of the people who help out at my after-school club are San Francisco natives and they didn’t know about it either.’

The park was more of a wooded hill, with pathways disappearing off into the trees around us. We passed a couple of people walking dogs and a tramp asleep on a bench, but besides them the park was largely empty. It seemed surprising to find this in the middle of a city and as soon as the trees overhead blocked the view down to the road I could have believed I was out in the wilds. Birdsong surrounded us and the wind rustled through swaying branches and these became the only sounds, spoiled a little by the puffing and groaning from two overfed women struggling up the hill.

When we reached the summit we flopped down to catch our breath, Lizzie flinging herself dramatically back onto the sun-baked grass in the clearing.

‘You’d think, after so long living here, that my stomach would know its limits,’ she said, patting her belly, which made the long glass bead necklaces around her neck tinkle together. ‘But no. One trip to Annie’s and my resolve disintegrates.’

‘That French toast is amazing. How on earth do you manage not to be the size of a house?’

‘I walk. A lot. And with the schools work, my music lessons and all the other things I don’t tend to sit down for very long most days.’

‘You look amazing. So West Coast.’

My cousin giggled. ‘Why, thank you, Ma’am. You look great too, Nellie. Happier. It’s a good look on you. Now,’ she struggled back to her feet and took my hand to drag me up, too, ‘you need to see the real reason we came up here. Just look at that …’

I followed her pointing finger and my breath caught. Out beyond the sprawl of the city far below us, an expanse of azure blue water curved beneath a distinctive, vivid red structure spanning its width.

‘It’s the Golden Gate Bridge!’

It was beautiful – a scene so familiar from TV programmes and films but breathtaking in real life.

‘And the most beautiful bay in the world.’ Lizzie linked her arm through mine. ‘I promise you, these eight weeks are going to be the making of you.’

Standing there, with the beautiful San Francisco Bay glistening in the midday sun, I couldn’t do anything but agree. This was going to be the holiday of a lifetime …

CHAPTER SIX
Down and out in San Francisco

Jetlag is a strange and curious animal. After going to bed just before seven p.m. when my drooping eyelids refused to allow me to stay up any longer, I awoke bolt upright at five a.m. and couldn’t go back to sleep. For the next four hours I drifted around Lizzie’s apartment like an aching spectre, lurching between weariness and heart-pounding alertness. I knew I should be sleeping but my body wouldn’t allow me to, my mind too alive with thoughts racing unceasing circuits.

I made myself a cup of tea and logged onto Lizzie’s computer in my makeshift bedroom. As I hoped, I’d received an email from Vicky. It was sitting on top of five unopened emails from Aidan, the subject line identical on all of them:

Nell – please read this

If I’d thought ignoring his calls and texts would be enough to stop him contacting me I was wrong. The cursor hovered over his name on the screen. Maybe I would open them when my body felt less like a zoned-out punch-bag … For now, I needed something positive from home.

From: vickster1981@me-mail.com

To: nell.sullygirl@gmail.com

Subject: ARE YOU THERE YET?

Hey Nell

Well, are you? I tried to work out the time difference but gave up when I realised my brain wasn’t playing ball. Is it possible to still have pregnancy brain two and a half years after giving birth? Greg thinks I’ve lost the plot worrying about you. He says you’ll be fine. I know he’s right but I still need to hear from you.

EMAIL me, woman!

Big love

Vix xxx

Smiling, I typed a reply:

From: nell.sullygirl@gmail.com

To: vickster1981@me-mail.com

Subject: Stop worrying – I’m here!

Hi Vix

Stop worrying – I made it!

I still can’t believe I’m here. Lizzie’s place is really cool. It’s in Haight-Ashbury – which everybody calls ‘The Haight’ – and it’s where the hippies were in the Summer of Love. There’s still the odd hippy about and the shops are all little bit alternative and quirky. I like it: it reminds me a little of Camden, although people smile more.

I’ve also made my first trip to a real-life American diner. Lizzie took me to Annie’s – and seriously, Vix, it’s like something out of a movie. The food is phenomenal and it has a fantastic atmosphere. It really brought the spirit of the city home to me today and even though I’ve not yet been here twenty-four hours, I know I was right to come to San Francisco. If nothing else, I’ll have happy memories to look back on when I start job-hunting again.

Talking of job-hunting, how’s it going? Any luck on that front? And have you heard from any of the others? Really hope things are looking brighter for you, hun. At least you have Greg and gorgeous little Ruby to make you smile. I’m keeping everything crossed for you.

Better go. I’ll email again tomorrow.

Love ya

Nell xxx

It felt strange to think that my friend was so far away – along with everything else in my life. Thinking about home made my stomach tighten. I had eight weeks to figure out what I was going to do and all of a sudden that felt like an inordinately long time to be away. I was just beginning to panic when a new email flashed onto the screen:

From: vickster1981@me-mail.com

To: nell.sullygirl@gmail.com

Subject: Re: Stop worrying – I’m here!

Woo-hoo!

I am so glad you made it safely! I’ve been driving Greg mad since you left, listening to the news in case there were any reports of air crashes or earthquakes. You know me: always cautious. The thing is, I need you to have a good time but most importantly I NEED YOU TO COME HOME IN EIGHT WEEKS. Being unemployed is doing my head in and I need our chats.

I have an appointment with a careers advisor tomorrow. A careers advisor, Nell! At 32! It’s like being 16 again and I’m dreading it. I feel like such a failure. Even though I could’ve been Britain’s best planning officer and it wouldn’t have made any difference to me losing my job. Apart from Brown-Nosed Connie, I don’t think any of us could have done it differently. And I wasn’t willing to get carpet burns on my knees to secure my career prospects, if you get what I mean …

I need updates as often as you can send them. And for heaven’s sake, have FUN. Then at least one of us will be and I’ll have something to read other than my mother’s discarded copies of Star magazine. I’d rather obsess over your trip than whether or not Kerry Katona’s had Botox.

Love ya lots

Vix xxx

It was so good to hear from my friend and the joy of reading her words coupled with my current fragile state brought tears to my eyes.

‘Hey early-bird.’ Lizzie’s smiling face appeared around the door. ‘I thought you’d still be dead to the world.’

I wiped my eyes quickly. ‘I probably should be. But my body had other ideas. I was checking my emails – hope that’s OK?’

‘Of course it is. So, ready for your first day exploring San Francisco?’

I nodded. ‘Absolutely!’

The sun bathed Haight-Ashbury, making every colour brighter and giving the streets a carnival atmosphere. As we wandered along the streets and in and out of the shops, people stopped to greet us – Lizzie providing the introductions:

‘This is Anya – I teach her daughter piano … Marcella was one of my first students when I started teaching here … Stanley’s son Karl is my star pupil …’

‘Have you taught everyone in Haight-Ashbury?’ I giggled when the fifth person had stopped us to say hello.

Lizzie blushed. ‘It looks like it, doesn’t it? This is a very close neighbourhood and I’ve had a lot of recommendations over the years. I’ve been very lucky.’

‘They’re certainly friendly,’ I said, still coming to terms with the very tactile welcomes of complete strangers. I had been hugged by four of the five people we had met that morning and was feeling a little out of my depth.

‘Ah yes, I forgot to warn you about that. It took me a while to feel comfortable with the hugs. People here have a different understanding of personal space than they do in London. Don’t worry, though, you get used to it.’

I wasn’t convinced. Having my personal space invaded by random people was a shock to the system. Even the homeless guys – who were present on almost every corner and street crossing – would step into our path and say hello. The homeless issue was a surprise to me, largely because nobody had told me how overt it was in San Francisco. Mostly men, they were polite and not threatening but there were so many of them for such a relatively small area. Already today we had encountered four men shaking paper cups on the street and I found it unsettling when Lizzie advised me to walk past them. In London I would always stop to buy a Big Issue, but the sellers there were far less willing to follow you down the street than the homeless guys were here. After a couple of hours I ducked my head whenever I heard a cup shaking, feeling awful for doing so.

I think Lizzie must have sensed my unease because she grabbed my arm when we had completed a large loop of the neighbourhood and were walking back towards her apartment.

‘Right. I’m taking you somewhere where you won’t be hugged, hounded or stalked. Come with me.’

She had stopped outside the ebony-black frontage of a coffee shop, its windows dressed in swathes of purple velvet with the name Java’s Crypt painted in spidery silver letters above.

I stared at it. ‘It looks like a funeral parlour.’

‘Appearances can be deceptive. You’ll love it.’

Java’s Crypt was the kind of place you would run for the hills to avoid in the UK, but here in San Francisco its presence on Haight Street made perfect sense, despite being slightly scary to walk into at first. I could imagine Edgar Allan Poe feeling right at home in its black and purple interior, sipping his iced Java latte beneath silver spider’s web lampshades in booths bedecked with purple velvet and black lace. The coffee shop (or ‘caffeine lair’ as Lizzie told me its owner preferred) was buzzing with a diverse mix of clientele, from members of the Goth community to loudly dressed American tourists, Chinese families and kookily attired locals. It was a surprise to see so many people who ordinarily would avoid each other sitting together in apparent harmony.

We approached the black ash serving counter and I jumped as a tall, black-haired man with a deathly pale face and all-black clothes rose from behind it, looming ominously over us. I was about to turn and run when his black-lined eyes wrinkled and a broad smile spread across his purple stained lips.

‘Yo Lizzie! Haven’t seen you in a while.’

‘Hey Ced.’ To my surprise – and amusement – my cousin and the happy Goth greeted one another with a respectful fist-bump. ‘I thought I should introduce my cousin to the delights of your establishment.’

His pale blue eyes flicked to me. ‘Hey, Lizzie’s cousin.’

‘Hi – I’m Nell.’

He held out his fist, the black leather and silver bangles wobbling around his slim wrist. Following Lizzie’s example I offered a tentative fist-bump. It certainly made a refreshing change from the over-friendly hugs I’d been receiving.

‘Good to meet you. I’m Ced. Welcome to Java’s Crypt. What can I get you?’

‘We’ll have two of your Peruvian filter coffees please,’ Lizzie smiled.

‘Cool. Listen, find a booth and I’ll bring it over.’

‘Come here often?’ I whispered to Lizzie when we were sitting down. ‘I didn’t have you pegged as a Goth.’

She laughed. ‘I’m not – as most of the customers in here aren’t. Ced’s wife Autumn is one of my piano students. And they’re good friends.’

Five minutes later, Ced arrived with our coffee, together with a huge slice of white and dark chocolate-swirled baked cheesecake. ‘From Autumn,’ he explained, sitting next to Lizzie. ‘She said she’d been telling you about it?’

Lizzie’s expression was one of pure joy and I had to laugh despite my slight unease in Ced’s company. ‘She did! We spent most of last week’s lesson talking about this amazing recipe.’

‘Your weapons of choice, ladies.’ Ced produced two forks and presented them to us. ‘So, Nell, how long are you visiting for?’

‘Eight weeks.’

He seemed impressed by this. ‘Big US adventure, huh?’

I took a forkful of delicious cheesecake and nodded. ‘Something like that.’

‘Nell just lost her job in the UK, so she’s come out here to have fun,’ Lizzie offered, which surprised me. I must have been staring at her because her smile suddenly vanished. ‘Sorry hun. But that is why you’re here.’

‘It’s fine, I’m just –’ I looked at Ced. ‘Forgive me. I’m still getting used to how forward everyone is here.’

The Goth smiled. ‘It’s cool. And hey, good call. I’m in this city because I lost my job, actually.’

‘You are?’

He nodded. ‘Ten years ago this July. Believe it or not I used to be a lawyer in New York City.’

The thought of Ced as a suited lawyer was incredible, given his appearance. ‘Wow.’

He waved a pale hand. ‘It’s OK, Nell, you have my permission to laugh. I find it hilarious myself. Hard to believe I was the golden boy of Jefferson Jones and Associates on Wall Street for two years. Golden in more ways than one, actually. This,’ he wound a strand of jet-black hair around his fingers, ‘is, unsurprisingly, not my natural colour.’

His dry sense of humour made me smile and I began to relax a little. ‘I like it,’ I replied. ‘How come you ended up in San Francisco?’

‘I got fired. For nothing more than the fact that one of the partners decided to hate me. And that was it for law and me. I walked around Central Park for hours, thinking about how much of my life I’d given to my career – and how fruitless it had proved to be. So, I made a decision. I quit my apartment, trashed my business suits and moved to the West Coast with one suitcase and my guitar. I busked around for a while, met Autumn at a beach gig in Santa Monica, we settled here and within two years I’d opened Java’s Crypt.’

I was amazed by his story but also encouraged that he had achieved so much from such inauspicious beginnings. If it had happened for Ced, could it happen for me? ‘That’s really good to hear.’

‘This town is a place for adventurers, Nell. There ain’t nothing you can’t do here if you work hard at it.’

As we were speaking one of the homeless men Lizzie and I had encountered that morning entered the coffee shop. I felt every muscle tense in my shoulders: in London this situation usually was a precursor to an ugly scene. Calmly, Ced left our table and walked over to greet the man.

‘Hey brother, what can I do for ya?’

‘You got any coffee on hold?’ the man asked, his voice gruff and low.

‘Sure, man. Come over to the bar.’

I watched as the man accompanied Ced to the counter, where the coffee shop owner made him a large coffee. Thanking Ced, the man shuffled out, tipping his baseball cap to us as he went. I turned to Lizzie, confused by what I’d seen.

‘What just happened?’

Lizzie smiled. ‘That happens a lot here. People buy a coffee to take out and one “suspended”. It then means that when the homeless guys come in they have a drink already paid for. It doesn’t happen everywhere, but it’s something Ced has always done since he opened this place.’

I was quickly learning that this was a city that made no bones about itself. Everything was presented just as it was – good and bad, beautiful and not-so-attractive. It was brash and bold and would definitely take some getting used to.

By the time we returned to Lizzie’s apartment I felt as if I’d gone eight rounds with a heavyweight boxer. Succumbing to the jetlag still pummelling my body, I slept for another couple of hours and when I woke I checked my emails, the familiar task comforting. And then I don’t know why, but I clicked on the latest email from Aidan. Despite my best efforts earlier that day to convince myself I didn’t want to hear from him, the temptation to know what he had to say was too great. As soon as I opened it, however, I wished I hadn’t:

From: a.matthews@me-mail.com

To: nell.sullygirl@gmail.com

Subject: Nell – please read this

Nell

I feel terrible. I wish we could talk so I could tell you all this in person. But you won’t return my calls and seem to have disappeared off the face of the planet, so this is the best I can do.

I hated giving you the news about your job and I hated even more that you left before I had a chance to explain.

I fought for you, honestly I did. I tried everything I could to save your job. But I couldn’t change their minds. And now the office is like a morgue and you’re not here. And I miss you.

I know I was an idiot to say what I said about us. But it’s still true. Being without you for the past week has only strengthened how I feel. I love you, Nell. I’m going to email you every day until I get an answer. Because I know you feel it too.

You’re angry now – I get that. But look in your heart. Can you honestly say you don’t want us to be together?

We’ve been through too much for this not to happen. I’m not giving up on us.

I love you.

Aidan xx

Angrily, I logged out. I didn’t want to know that Aidan was hurting too and I certainly didn’t want to feel the glimmer of hope it gave me. Suddenly I was stuck in limbo between the newness of San Francisco that I didn’t yet feel a part of and the aspects of my old life I was trying to leave. I decided to ignore the other messages waiting unread in my inbox. Reading any more of Aidan’s words while I was here wouldn’t solve anything, only leave me with more questions. I was still angry with him for making me redundant and then trying to get back with me. Besides, I wanted to use the time I had here to think about the future and how I fitted into it. Whether Aidan could – or should – ever be a part of my life again was something I wasn’t ready to consider yet.

While I had been sleeping, Lizzie had been busy. Keen to make me feel more a part of her city she had invited her friend Eric to join us for dinner.

‘You’ll love him,’ she promised me, dashing around her tiny kitchen as she prepared food. ‘If anyone can cheer you up, Eric can.’

Eric Walker was a six-foot bundle of pure energy, from the cheeky grin playing on his face to his ever-moving hands which he used to accentuate every word. Even sitting at Lizzie’s dining table he didn’t keep still, animatedly jumping from anecdote to anecdote. Originally from Dagenham in Essex, Eric had come to San Francisco for a year and ended up with a lucrative job entertaining visitors at Pier 39 with his unique blend of British humour, circus skills and crazy unicycle riding – which he was still doing fifteen years later. It was wonderful to meet him and especially lovely to talk to another British person, even if his accent had adopted a noticeable West Coast twang.

‘If I’d stayed in the UK I’d be an accountant by now,’ he told me, after reducing me to tears of laughter by juggling various ornaments from Lizzie’s living room. ‘That’s what my dad wanted me to be. Instead I’m in San Francisco, where juggling swords while balancing on a unicycle is perfectly acceptable. I make a good wage from the daily shows and teach circus skills to private students – most of which are accountants, lawyers and bankers. Can you imagine me doing that for a living in Dagenham?’

Watching Lizzie’s friend performing his impromptu routine I found it hard to imagine Eric wading through tax returns in an office.

‘So Lizzie tells me you’ve had a tough day?’ he asked, when Lizzie was in the kitchen dishing up dessert.

‘Not really. I’ve just felt a bit out of place. Everything’s different here: crossing the road, ordering a cup of coffee, even buying things in shops.’

Eric laughed. ‘Don’t worry, we all go through it. Listen, have you been to Fisherman’s Wharf yet?’

‘No, I only arrived yesterday. But it’s on my list of places to visit.’

‘Excellent!’ He grabbed a handful of cutlery and began to juggle it, making me laugh again. ‘Why don’t you two come and see my show tomorrow? You’ll love Pier 39. It reminds me of summer holidays in Southend and Bournemouth when I was a kid.’ He added a pepper grinder to the collection of tumbling knives and forks – chuckling when a cloud of pepper dust covered his lap. ‘Trust me, it’s impossible to feel out of place there. Lizzie, what do you reckon?’

Lizzie returned to the table with enormous bowls of ice cream sprinkled with tiny Oreo cookies. ‘I think it’s a great idea, but this is Nell’s trip.’

By now I was laughing so hard I had to struggle to catch my breath, feeling so much better already. Eric’s suggestion sounded like the perfect choice.

‘Yes – let’s do it!’

CHAPTER SEVEN
Cable cars and seaside jazz

Next morning we made our way down to Fisherman’s Wharf. Eric had recommended a great place for lunch and suggested it was worth spending time wandering along the Bayside streets to soak in the atmosphere before we visited his afternoon show.

‘I really like Eric,’ I said to Lizzie as we walked past the numbered piers stretching out into the San Francisco Bay. ‘How did you come to meet him?’

‘He was teaching circus skills in one of the schools I teach piano at. My friend Tyler introduced us – he’s the principal of Sacred Heart Elementary where my after-school kids’ club meets. I think his exact words to me were, “we have another crazy Brit here you should meet”. Of course, he expected me to know Eric simply by virtue of the fact we both hailed from the same country. You’ll notice Americans think that a lot. As it turned out, we got on instantly and he became a really good friend. Actually, it was because of Eric’s work with the children that I was inspired to start the club, so I have a lot to thank him for.’

Restaurants and food stalls selling fresh crab, clam chowder, hot dogs and seafood lined the seafront, the scent of cooking food surrounding us as we walked past gift shops (stacked with jokey t-shirts, souvenirs and cheap sunglasses), brightly painted coffee stalls, bicycle hire companies and electrical goods stores. I breathed it all in, feeling decidedly more positive than I had yesterday, the innate sense of fun making me grin like a big kid.

On every street corner, we passed buskers playing. Their music styles were as varied as the food stalls they were often performing beside: reggae by the clam chowder stands, classic rock by the coffee and pretzel stand, jazz by the Italian pizzeria unwisely named ‘Pompeii’s Grotto’, funk by the twenty-four-hour breakfast diner and even classical opera next to an Asian-Japanese restaurant. It was my first introduction to the two major things that seemed to underpin everything in San Francisco: music and food.

‘The restaurant Eric recommended is over there,’ Lizzie said, putting a dollar in the bucket of a reggae-playing dreadlocked busker who appeared to be working his way through the Bob Marley Songbook on a battered synthesiser. She pointed towards a cluster of wooden tables beside a fish restaurant.

We ordered steaming clam chowder served in bowls made of hollowed-out bread loaves and settled down for a great lunch.

‘I read one of Aidan’s emails yesterday,’ I confessed, blowing on a hot, sweet spoonful of buttery chowder.

‘You did?’ She made no attempt to disguise her reaction. ‘And what did he have to say for himself?’

‘That he’s sorry. And he loves me. He said the experience of making me redundant made him realise how much he wants me in his life.’

‘He actually said that?’ Lizzie shook her head. ‘Oh well, how nice for him. How do you feel?’

‘I don’t know. I mean, when he called me into his office I thought he was going to ask us to get back together, so in one way knowing that’s how he feels confirms what I’d been thinking for a while. But that was my life before and losing my job has called everything into question. And I’m still angry with him. He said he tried to save my job, but that’s easy to say after the event, isn’t it? When I thought about it this morning I came to the conclusion that I’m just not ready to go down that road again yet. Not until I work out which direction I want to go in.’ I stirred another handful of crunchy oyster crackers into my chowder. ‘Does that make sense at all?’

‘Yes, absolutely. This trip should be about you, not about Aidan’s guilt.’ She held up her hand. ‘Not that I’m saying he doesn’t love you. I’m sure he does. But you need to focus on yourself, not him. It’s like when I first moved here. I got involved with a bloke a couple of years ago who was enthusiastic one minute then cold as ice the next. I’d been battling to keep the relationship going for six months when Eric pointed out that the guy was demanding so much time from me that I never had any for myself. I argued with him about it for a couple of weeks, but he had totally summed up where I was. I pulled back and the guy disappeared.’

It was so good to find that Lizzie understood what I was feeling and also to share in more details about her life. I was intrigued by the fact that Eric had been the one to dissuade her from her previous relationship. Seeing how close they had been last night made me wonder if their friendship was a precursor to more. ‘Eric seems like a good friend.’

‘He is.’ Her expression gave nothing away.

‘And you have Ced and his wife, too. And who was the principal guy you mentioned? Tom?’

Lizzie gave a self-conscious giggle. ‘Tyler.’

This was too good an opportunity to miss. ‘What’s that giggle for? I think you need to tell me about Tyler.’

She shot me a look but her smile was as bright as the seaside sunshine. ‘Nothing to tell, thank you very much. I’ve known him about four years. He’s thirty-five, one of the youngest principals in the area and he’s a great friend. I asked for his help with the cross-city education programme I’ve been writing and he’s been amazing with it. And that is all.’ She looked down at her watch to signal the subject was closed. ‘Right, we’d better head to Pier 39.’

We made our way along the seafront past the multicoloured vintage trams of the F-Line system, the crowds of tourists with their cameras and matching anoraks and the lines of bicycles waiting for hire towards Pier 39. We reached the entrance, flanked by colourful flags flapping in the Bay breeze and a giant sculpture of a crab made from iron and clad in growing plants.

‘Where does Eric perform?’ I asked Lizzie.

‘Right in the middle of the pier’s boardwalk. But we’ll hear him before we see him.’

‘What does that mean?’

My cousin smiled. ‘You’ll see. We’re a little bit early but I reckon we should just head straight there.’

We walked onto the dark wooden boardwalk and as we rounded a corner a familiar Essex voice called out above the hum of the crowd.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, roll up, roll up! Fifteen minutes to the show of the decade, a plethora of pluck, a phantasmagoria of feats! You do not want to miss this, people! Come and see me by the carousel at two p.m. sharp!’

I turned to Lizzie. ‘Eric?’

‘That’s him.’

We followed the sound of his voice until we saw Eric, dressed in black t-shirt and baggy red streetdance trousers, wheeling around amused tourists on a unicycle. When he saw us, he raised his hand and pedalled over.

‘You came!’ He wobbled between us, planting a kiss on my cheek then Lizzie’s. ‘Are you having a better day, Nell? Was I right about this place or what?’

I smiled back – but then with Eric around it was impossible not to. ‘My day is much better, thank you. And I love your office.’

He chuckled and spread his arms wide. ‘Beats a stuffy accountancy firm, eh?’

‘Can I get you anything before your show?’ Lizzie asked. ‘Do you have water?’

Eric’s eyes shone. ‘Darlin’, you read my mind. I’m good for water but I could murder a coffee. I didn’t get the chance for one this morning. Would you mind?’

‘Not at all.’ My cousin opened her bag and searched around its considerable depths to find her purse.

‘Why don’t I get them?’ I offered. I was enjoying the atmosphere and wanted to say thank you to Lizzie and Eric. ‘What can I get you?’

With their coffee orders, I made my way back through the crowds to the boardwalk entrance where I’d seen a coffee kiosk. The friendly lady behind the counter asked where in England I was from and wished me a pleasant stay in the city as she handed over cups of steaming coffee. Popping plastic lids on the paper cups, I fitted them into a cardboard carrier and turned to leave the kiosk – just as somebody’s elbow caught under mine and sent the carrier and three cups flying into the air. Shocked, I jumped out of the way to escape the hot liquid’s rapid return to earth and turned to confront the person who had knocked into me.

And that was the first time I saw him.

His eyes were shaded behind sunglasses and his dark wavy hair was being blown about his tanned face by the chilly breeze gusting in from the Bay. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans with a khaki jacket – and he looked utterly horrified.

‘Man, I’m so sorry,’ he said, his voice deep and pure West Coast. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

‘No you weren’t. That coffee was hot – it could’ve hurt someone.’

He reached out and touched my arm. ‘I’m sorry, are you OK?’

I took a breath. ‘I’m fine. Are you?’

He took off his sunglasses to reveal dove-grey eyes filled with concern. ‘I’m good. Hey, please let me replace your drinks. It’s the least I can do.’

I was still ruffled but the gorgeous stranger’s earnest apology and kind offer were some compensation for my embarrassment. I couldn’t tell whether my sudden rise in temperature was due to the after-effects of our very public collision or the handsome man now offering to make amends for it. I agreed and watched as he quickly joined the queue, eager to resolve the problem he had unwittingly caused.

‘Here,’ he said, handing me fresh drinks. ‘Again, my humble apologies.’

‘That’s very kind of you, thanks.’

His smile was warm and wide. ‘You’re English?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Cool.’ As if remembering something important he held his hand out. ‘I’m Max.’

When I shook it, his hand was as warm as his smile. ‘Nell. Thanks for these.’

‘No problem.’ His eyes held mine for a moment. ‘So – great to meet you, Nell.’

I was struck by a strong urge to stay where I was, enjoying the unexpected pleasure of his company. But I was aware that Lizzie and Eric were waiting for me and that the circus performer would appreciate caffeine before his show. So, kicking myself for failing to think of anything more inventive, I smiled back. ‘Nice to meet you too, Max. I’d better …’

‘Sure. Um – bye.’

My heart was racing as I turned and hurried back along the boardwalk. Maybe it was my imagination but I could have sworn he was watching me until I disappeared from view …

‘You are an angel,’ Eric grinned, accepting a cup.

‘Sorry it took so long. I had a bit of a mishap.’

Lizzie took her cup from the carrier. ‘What happened?’

‘Someone bumped into me and sent everything flying. But he replaced them and was really sweet about it.’

‘Nell Sullivan, you’re blushing!’

I giggled. ‘Well, he was quite easy on the eye.’

My cousin laughed. ‘Wow, Nellie, this is a turnaround. Yesterday you said you felt out of place, but now you’re fraternising with the locals. I’m proud of you.’

‘OK, lovely ladies,’ Eric said, picking up three long clubs and clambering back onto his unicycle. ‘Showtime!’

Eric’s colleague was gathering a crowd in the large central piazza of the pier, shouting his encouragement through a squeaky loudhailer.

‘Our amazing, one-of-a-kind show is about to start,’ he yelled. ‘Trust me, people, miss this and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life! Come closer, please, gather in. Plenty of room for you all!’

As we watched the intrigued onlookers shuffling into place, Lizzie told me that Eric had regular visitors who would come often to watch his shows. And it was certainly a spectacle. Within minutes of welcoming his audience, Eric was balanced on a unicycle, with flaming clubs in his hands.

‘Now I may or may not have done this before and it may or may not have worked in the past,’ he grinned, causing the people at the front of his audience to shriek and step back as he wobbled towards them. ‘So if this all goes wrong, at least I’ll be able to say I went out in a blaze of glory …’

The crowd gasped as he appeared to almost topple off the unicycle before regaining his balance and perfectly juggling the firebrands, eliciting another cheer and enthusiastic applause from his rapt audience. His colleague then took over the commentating duties as they launched into a well-practised banter about their supposedly dubious juggling skills, moving on to carving knives and watermelons, then axes. Clearly loving the eager applause, Eric hopped off the unicycle and sprinted up the steps to the Pier’s first-floor level, where he hopped over the banister to mount a unicycle with a seat that extended almost two metres above the wheel.

Lizzie and I laughed, gasped and applauded along with the crowd, watching the consummate professionals at work. As they neared their big finale, I looked up at the clearing sky and noticed the man from the coffee kiosk leaning on the first-floor balcony where Eric had climbed onto the unicycle. He was smiling as he watched the show, and once I saw him I couldn’t stop staring. With the benefit of distance I was able to take in his appearance fully. He didn’t look like a tourist, nor did he appear to work at the Pier, yet he seemed entirely at home standing there, laughing at Eric’s antics. It was only when he half-turned his head and looked straight at me that I averted my eyes. His smile widened in recognition and he raised his hand in a little salute. Blushing, I turned back to Eric’s show – and I was just about to tell Lizzie to look when I realised he had gone.

Meeting him had been the most random of happenings, but for some unknown reason it completely caught my attention. The memory of his smile was still dancing in my mind when Eric’s show ended with a thunderous round of applause and the audience began to noisily disperse to Pier 39’s other attractions.

Taking his final bow, Eric bounded over, wiping his brow with a towel.

‘Did you enjoy the show?’

‘It was incredible,’ I replied. ‘How on earth do you ride that thing and juggle?’

‘I’ll let you into a secret,’ he beamed, leaning closer in case any of his audience heard his confession. ‘For about twelve months I couldn’t. Not that it stopped me trying. Thankfully the punters thought it was part of the comedy show. Good job Chad and me are such convincing comedians, eh?’

Eric’s performance partner appeared and handed him a bottle of water. ‘Hey ladies. Eric said he had a rent-a-crowd coming down today. Good show?’ His accent was pure mid-West, a laid-back, lazy drawl that perfectly fitted his surroundings.

Lizzie nodded. ‘Amazing as always, Chad. Although I think you almost gave that lady in the front of the crowd a coronary with your axe-juggling.’

‘Ha, I saw that. What can I say? I have that effect on women.’

Lizzie promised Eric another dinner invitation soon and we left them to prepare for their next show, for which the audience was already gathering. We walked away from Pier 39 towards Aquatic Park and Ghirardelli Square. The shroud of mist over the Bay had cleared to just a thin layer on the horizon, making the distant blue hills appear to be floating over the deep blue-green stretch of water. Tourist boats buzzed towards the red span of the Golden Gate Bridge and around the ghostly ruins of Alcatraz Island, enjoying the freedom to explore the Bay that many of the infamous island prison’s inmates literally would have died for.

When we reached the Powell Street terminal of San Francisco’s iconic cable cars, my cousin nudged my arm.

‘I reckon we should brave the queue and have a cable car ride. You can’t come here and not try it out.’

The queue was considerable, wrapping around the manual turntable and back up the street, but the warm afternoon sun was shining and the atmosphere amongst the waiting tourists was affable. We joined the back of the line, Lizzie amused by the touristy thing we were doing.

‘You know, it’s strange but it’s been years since I last rode in a cable car. When I arrived I did a bit of sightseeing but pretty soon I was living here and life just kind of took over.’

‘In that case, we’re absolutely doing the right thing.’

‘I concur, dear cousin. And I’m still keeping my eye out for your handsome stranger. I can’t believe you saw him again and didn’t tell me.’

‘I tried to, but he’d gone before I had a chance.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know. Keeping all the gorgeous ones for yourself,’ Lizzie joked.

As we neared the front of the queue, several wooden cable cars rumbled down towards the turntable, the drivers and brakemen hopping off and trading loud, good-natured banter with each other as they pulled and pushed the cars around to turn them. I was very amused when the drivers took a break by the tiny wooden hut beside the turntable and passed around a large plastic tub of red liquorice. One lady, who was later revealed to be a visitor from New York, protested loudly when she saw this, insinuating that their break was tantamount to treason for the tourists waiting to travel. But a brakeman caused a ripple of laughter to move through the rest of the queue when he replied, ‘Lady, if we don’t get our liquorice you don’t get our help hauling your ass up Powell. Any questions?’

By the time Lizzie and I climbed inside the wooden cable car, my face was aching from smiling so much. There was a great deal about Fisherman’s Wharf that proved the neighbourhood didn’t take itself too seriously and didn’t expect its visitors to either. Riding the cable car was the perfect way to end the day’s sightseeing and was exciting beyond words. Lizzie and I sat on bench seats, holding on and giggling as the burgundy and gold cable car clunked and bumped in wooden splendour, warm wind blowing through its open windows as it sped up and down the steep streets.

When we finally swapped the cable car for a slightly more sedate Muni trolleybus, Lizzie grinned at me.

‘Good day?’

‘Great day. Thank you.’

‘Oh it’s my pleasure. I feel like I’m rediscovering the city. So, where to tomorrow?’

I pulled my guidebook from my bag and consulted its folded-edge pages. How on earth could I choose when everywhere I’d read about sounded so amazing? ‘I don’t know. Where would you recommend?’

Lizzie shook her head. ‘Nope, this is your trip. I know – close your eyes.’

‘Do what?’

‘Don’t argue, Nellie, just do it.’

I did as I was told. ‘OK. Now what?’

‘Open the guidebook anywhere.’

‘That’s daft …’

‘No it’s not! Come on, Nell, live dangerously! You’re meant to be having an adventure, remember?’

Laughing, I flicked through the guidebook pages and stopped at one.

‘Brilliant!’ Lizzie said. ‘So – where are we going tomorrow?’

I opened my eyes and looked at the page, a large grin spreading across my already aching face when I saw the location. It was perfect and already I couldn’t wait to see it.

‘Here.’

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