Pulling myself out of the bath, I slipped on the robe and padded across the carpet, leaving miserable-looking footprints behind me. I rummaged around in my bag for my phone, half hoping it was old and crappy enough not to work in America. Bugger, five whole bars of reception. I stared at the screen. Three messages. Hmm. Did I really want to do this with only one vodka in me? Forcing myself to stand up, I walked over to the window. If I was just going to turn around and go home, I wanted at least to get my money’s worth out of the view. It really was beautiful, the sun was shining, people were wandering through the park, dashing to the subway, ducking into shops, carrying bags and bags and bags.
How weird would it be if I went home and it was as if nothing had happened? If I’d been confused somehow and it wasn’t what I thought. Or Mark had realized what an idiot he was and did everything he could to win me back. And in years to come, we’d be able to smile ruefully, maybe even laugh, at Mark’s mad moment and the time I ran away to New York for fourteen hours.
‘Angela, it’s your mum, just calling to say I got the hotel to refund the cost of my room since I stayed with you, so that will go back on your credit card.’ Bless my mother for always thinking of the practical things in life. ‘I spoke to Louisa and she was very apologetic – very, oh Annette, I don’t know what to do – well, that young lady should know better, and I spoke to Mark as well. The less said about that right now the better, I think. Anyway, call me when you can and give me your flight details for coming back. Dad’ll come and get you and I’ve made up your room. Call me when you get a chance, I hope you’re having …’ cue slightly awkward pause while my mother looks for the right word. ‘I hope you’re safe. Love you dear.’
‘Angela, it’s Louisa, please call me back? It’s Sunday morning and I know you must be really angry and everything but, well, I’m sorry. And I didn’t know what to do and, oh God, I can’t do this over the phone. I’m such a shit friend.’ Yes, you are, I thought. She sounded gutted, but I really couldn’t have cared less. ‘I spoke to your mum, it was horrible, she hasn’t been that mad with me since I brought you home drunk from that sixth form party at Tim’s house … Oh and Tim’s hand is broken, but he’ll be OK in a couple of weeks. It’s not a serious fracture. Erm, call me?’
I decided she could stew for a while longer.
‘Hi, it’s me,’ he started. I pressed my hand against the window and watched the people below. ‘I had to call and say something.’ Even from way up on the eleventh floor I could see people emerging from Starbucks with huge vats of coffee. Coffee would be great right now. Coffee or Sambuca. ‘I’m so sorry for what happened, it was incredibly stupid of me and heartless and, well, just awful.’ There were so many shops around the square. I would definitely feel better if I could go shopping. ‘I should have told you what was happening.’ Even though the aircon was high in the room, I could see how hard the sun was beating down on all the gorgeous people in their tiny shorts and cute T-shirts. ‘Katie and I, well, I should have told you, it’s sort of serious.’ So many people were bustling around. ‘I think we need to have a really sensible chat about the mortgage and everything, I mean, you can’t just vanish, Angela.’ And I could see squirrels darting around in the trees. ‘Your mum said something about you being in New York? I don’t know, well, can you call me? I know I fucked up, but you have to call me, you can’t just hide. I’m not going back to the house, I’ll stay with, well, I won’t go back to the house until we’ve spoken.’ I spotted a subway station peeping out from the trees. Wow, the subway. ‘We have to talk about what’s going to happen. I do love you Angela, but, well, I’m just not in love with you any more. Anyway, call me.’
I rested my forehead against the glass and hung up. So much for him doing anything he could to get me back. Just because this was all a big shock to me, didn’t mean it was a shock to him, more like a relief. Shit. What the hell was I going to do now? I couldn’t stay with my mum for the rest of my life and I couldn’t rely on my friends any more. I couldn’t even throw myself into my work, I was freelance, and it was a really slow time for me. I breathed in deeply and stepped back from the window, keeping the tips of my fingers on the glass as I dialled Mark’s number.
‘Hello?’ His voice.
‘It’s me,’ I said, pressing my fingers harder against the window, against the skyline. ‘I’m sending Mum over for my stuff, she’ll pack it up.’ I traced the tops of the opposite buildings and carried on breathing. ‘I won’t be coming back to the house, so do whatever, just, I’m not coming back.’
‘You’re at your mum’s?’ he said hesitantly.
‘I can’t talk to you,’ I said, looking down on the park and breathing deeply and slowly. ‘And I’m not at my mum’s, I’m in New York and I don’t know when I’m coming back, so go and do whatever you want to do with whoever you want to do it with, and don’t ever, ever call me again.’
I hung up and leaned my entire weight against the window. So, I’d chosen New York, now I needed it to support me in that decision. And to celebrate, I dashed to the bathroom and threw up the vodka and Coke, followed by the peanut M&Ms. Nice.
‘Hi, Miss Clark?’ The door opened, leaving me just enough time to pull my robe tightly around me and push myself up from my comfy fetal position around the toilet bowl. The girl from reception pushed through the door with a trolley. ‘It’s Jennifer, the concierge? Is it OK for me to come in?’
‘Yes,’ I called, checking nothing was flashing in the mirror and staggering across the room to let her in. ‘Of course.’
‘I wasn’t sure that you would have all your essentials,’ she presented the trolley with a flourish. It was stacked with piles of giant cookies, boxes of cereal, a kettle of steaming water, hot milk, cold milk, pancakes, toast and a big box of beauty products. ‘And, you know, you mentioned a break-up and no one should be on their own after a break-up. This is our complimentary “All Men Are Shits” break-up service.’ She picked up a cookie, snapped it in half and grinned.
‘God, thank you, and it’s Angela, please,’ I said, feeling incredibly English. I took the half cookie she offered and stood awkwardly, taking it in. ‘This is wonderful, thank you, I was starving.’
‘Well, we’re a whatever, whenever hotel, and I’m a whatever, whenever kind of a person,’ she said, hopping on to the bed. ‘Say if you want me to go though, I’m totally overstepping my concierge boundaries. I just thought, if I’d come to New York after a break-up with one tiny travel bag and no hotel booked, what would I want? So I hit the supplies room, dug out some pyjamas,’ she pulled out a pair of white cotton button-up PJs from the bottom of the trolley, ‘slippers, socks, cleansing stuff, sewing kits – I don’t know, everyone seems to need a sewing kit – and all the food I thought I would want if I was post-break-up. And tea, because, you know, you’re English.’
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but I was more than happy for this girl to keep talking until I made a decision. ‘Thank you again, I suppose I do need pyjamas, I hadn’t thought about it really. About anything, actually.’
She mixed a hot chocolate for both of us and broke up another cookie. ‘They’re the first thing I need when I break-up with someone, I just take to my bed for like, a week or something, and then I eat until I’m over him. So, that’s why all the food. I’m guessing it was a bad break-up if it sent you all the way across the Atlantic, huh?’
I took the pyjamas and instinctively made towards the bathroom, but I had a feeling this girl wasn’t going to mind me putting them on in front of her. She had already flicked on the TV and was nodding to a music video. I slipped the bottoms on under my robe and quickly dropped it to slide on the top. They felt great, like the coolest, softest sheets I’d ever slept in.
‘Too bad to talk to a stranger about?’ she asked. ‘It’s OK, I am the hotel’s resident shrink.’ She patted