No Kiss Goodbye (14 page)

‘Go on, Ava,’ I encourage, ‘I reckon you can take her down.’

Ava smiles and shakes her head. A fifth person has cut in front of us and grabbed the next available taxi while we freeze our asses off, waiting.

‘See, this is why I wanted you to keep the wheelchair. We’d never have to queue like this if you were still broken.’

I grab Ava and hug her tight. A small part of me is just after her body warmth, but the majority of me is just so glad I’m still standing upright. I didn’t forget our conversation on the plane, and even better, I didn’t forget how to use my legs.
Progress.

‘What’s this for?’ Ava asks, hugging me in return.

‘Just thanks.’

‘Thanks for what?’

‘Thanks for always being a great friend, even when I’m a pain in the ass.’

‘You, a pain in the ass? Never!’ Ava playfully winks and sticks her tongue out. She retracts it quickly, either embarrassed that the attractive man across the road is staring or worried that it’ll get frostbite and fall off.

I look around at the sea of yellow cabs stretched out for miles on the road ahead. Layers of thick snow hide the ground, but the weather doesn’t slow the hundreds of people rushing about. It’s such a busy place and nothing like I’m used to, but I feel a strange sense of belonging.

I’m thousands of miles away from my life. I can be anyone I want to be here. I can be outrageously eccentric or simply slip under the radar; there are no limitations. I’m free.
But I don’t want freedom.
I long to be laden down with buggies and changing bags. I want tired, screaming children racing around me ‘til my head pounds. I want all the things I so often long to get a break from.

Ava doesn’t notice my wallowing, and I’m glad. I promised her so many times that we would go on a girly adventure to this amazing city, but it was just another broken promise on a long list. I wasn’t intentionally letting her down, but it was just that something always came up. An unexpected bill would land our way, or Mark would be swamped with work. The time was never right. The timing is most definitely worst of all now, yet here we are.

I can’t feel my face. The only sign that I’m still breathing is the fog coming out my nose every few seconds. My extremities are completely numb. As an Irish person, I’m born with a God-given right to bitch about the weather, but even I don’t have words to describe this degree of cold. The icy wind finds its way inside my clothes and burns into my bones. I cross my fingers that we will eventually learn the technique needed to hail a cab and actually manage to sit in it before another yuppie chatting on an unbelievably slim mobile phone plonks themselves in it first. Ava is used to traveling for work, so I can’t understand why she’s acting like a stunned rabbit in the headlights now. She’s leaving all the negation of this place up to me.

Every time I glance across the road, I make brief eye contact with the attractive man opposite me. I quickly turn my gaze towards the ground. But I know he hasn’t looked away. He’s studying us with concentration.
What the hell is his problem?

I look back up, determined to outstare him, but it’s hard, since he looks so damn familiar. He’s tall and seriously well dressed. Clearly money is no object for him. Maybe he’s a movie star incognito or a successful Wall Street banker. I am about to call Ava’s attention to him when he crosses the road and begins to walk towards us. He must have decided a taxi would be easier to get from our side. In fact, he was probably just going to take ours.

‘Hi,’ he says stopping right in front of us.

‘Hello,’ I mumble.

‘You look great,’ he adds.

‘I’m married,’ I say shakily.

He laughs.

‘You look great, too,’ Ava says, dropping her bag and flinging herself full force into his arms.

He must be made of titanium or something because he doesn’t as much as flinch. But he does smile; there’s something reassuring in his bright eyes, and despite the icy cold, I feel warm. ‘Laura, do you remember Nigel?’ Ava says, untangling her arms from around his neck.

I shake my head, slightly embarrassed. I spent the last ten minutes subconsciously admiring his chiselled jawline and sparkling emerald eyes. He’s the nearest thing to perfection I’ve ever seen. If we’ve met before, it would be almost impossible to forget a face that beautiful.

‘I’m sorry,’ I apologise. ‘I can’t place you.’

I hoped to God that we aren’t good friends or, even worse, past lovers. Maybe this man is another memory erased. Although the idea that I may have made love to such a stunning man isn’t such a hideous thought.

‘Don’t worry,’ Nigel assures. ‘I’ve changed a lot in recent months. But I remember you, Laura. It’s really good to see you.’

I blush. I’m relieved Nigel thinks I’m forgetful rather than rude, and I’m very flattered that he remembers me. I instantly like him. He’s friendly and polite. I wonder why Ava hasn’t mentioned him before now. Although maybe she has and, like everything else, I’ve simply forgotten.

‘Nigel is living here in the city,’ Ava explains. ‘I thought we could stay at his place and save a fortune on hotel costs.’

I look at Ava with more than a little concern evident in my crumpled eyebrows. As nice as Nigel seems, I don’t fancy shacking up with a stranger – especially when we don’t know how long for.

‘Hotels are pretty expensive here,’ Nigel explains, ‘and the exchange rate isn’t in your favour at the moment. You’re more than welcome to stay with me.’

‘Laura, come on. It’ll be fun. Nigel is going to take us dancing tonight,’ Ava says, jumping up and down on the spot with excitement.

‘Please?’ Nigel asks. ‘I’ve a nice two-bed apartment. I seldom admit this, but it can get very lonely sometimes. You’d be doing me a favour and keeping me company.’

I smile. With a face like Nigel’s and a body to match, I doubt he ever gets lonely. But surprisingly, there’s nothing dishonourable about him, and I find myself comfortably wanting to be his guest

‘Great stuff,’ Nigel says, and I think I can hear a hint of an Irish accent buried underneath his New York twang. ‘This will be fun.’

I really hoped it would be.
I can have one night of fun
, I tell myself, but it’s straight to work tomorrow as I start formulating a plan to get the kids back.

A shiny, black limousine pulls in close to the edge of the footpath in front of us. Ava nearly tramples me as she dashes by. She nods to the driver who has left his place behind the wheel to open the rear, passenger door. She looks back at Nigel, shrieks happily, and jumps inside. Before I have time to gather my thoughts, Ava pops her head out the door again.

‘Thanks, Sam.’ She giggles and ducks inside once more.

The driver doesn’t reply; he just smiles.

‘Come on, Laura,’ Ava shouts from the comfort of what I imagine is a very spacious backseat.

I look from Nigel, back to the driver, and back to Nigel again.

It’s all a little too surreal. People like me don’t travel around famous cities in the back of stretch limousine. People like me take the bus because petrol prices are crippling. People like me don’t flee their life, their country, their marriage.
People like me,
I tut.
I don’t even know who I am anymore.

‘Please, go ahead,’ Nigel politely suggests as he takes my hand and helps me to sit inside.

The car is stunning. Cream leather seats, so soft it feels like my bottom is being kissed by cotton wool. A miniature mahogany bar with a dim blue neon light acts as a confident centrepiece. Two crystal champagne glasses rest on the polished timber and beg to be drunk. Ava is sitting with her legs crossed and arms stretched out, draped over the backseat.
No wonder she loves New York.

‘It’s the real stuff.’ Ava chuckles, dropping her eyes to the label on the champagne bottle. ‘Not like that horrible sparkling wine Adam gets on offer in the supermarket.’

I laughed. She’s right; that stuff is terrible. I never know whether to drink it or use it to clean the loo.

Nigel finally scoots in beside us and joins our joking. He’s easy to talk to, and I find myself chatting as though we are old friends.

‘Are you hungry?’ Nigel asks.

I was starving, but I didn’t know whether to admit it or not. I’m afraid Nigel will suggest we stop at some outlandishly expensive restaurant and my credit card will be maxed out after half a slice of pizza.

‘I’m peckish.’ Ava rubs her tummy.

‘Well, I’m starving,’ Nigel says. ‘How about we drop your bags off at my place and then grab a bite to eat?’

‘Sounds good to me.’ Ava nods.

I just smile. I’m too busy worrying about my finances to actually speak. A fancy restaurant would be no bother for Ava. She practically prints money herself since selling her PR company last year. Perhaps that’s how she knows Nigel so well. Maybe they are involved in investments together. I’ll have to ask her later.

The car stops outside an impressively large hotel, and I realise I have no idea where I am. I was so busy sipping champagne and nibbling on appetisers that tasted and smelt a bit like dirty football socks that I had completely forgotten to look out the window and admire the sights.

I enjoy the view now. The hotel is at least twenty stories high, if not more. The whole front wall is flush with the reflective glass and the view of the entire street radiates in its reflection. A large fountain centred in front sprays several jets of water high into the air every ten seconds or so.

Two porters in top hats and tails wait to greet us at the marble steps leading to reception. I cringe as I gaze at my scuffed ankle boots that badly need a polish and my comfy jeggings that have seen better days. I looked across to Ava for reassurance. She sits cross-legged, unintimidated by her lavish surroundings, sipping her champagne like a diva. She’s wearing a simple navy tracksuit that’s probably a one-off by some famous designer I’ve never heard off. Her gel nails radiate manicured perfection and not so much as a hair in her sleek ponytail strays out of place despite just getting off a plane. Although we left Ireland in a fit of blind panic, Ava still looks as though she’s stepped off the pages of
Vogue.

I shiver as I suspect we’ve abandoned the idea of dropping the luggage off first and are obviously going to head straight for lunch in this offensively expensive hotel. Sam opens the limo door, and I thank him as I step out, hoping the others will follow quickly behind.

‘Good afternoon, Sir. It’s a lovely day out there today,’ one of the porters says with a grin so false he could have held a feather between his teeth and it wouldn’t budge as he spoke.

‘Perhaps it’s lovely if you were a polar bear, but it’s freezing the arse off me,’ Nigel jokes.

The man’s face turns bright red, and for a moment, he looks as though he’s choking on the hypothetical feather.

‘You’re going to get me in trouble with the boss someday, Nigel,’ he says between laughs and snorts.

‘Nonsense,’ Nigel insists. ‘If the old farts who own this place can’t have a laugh, then I’m not sure I wish to reside here any longer.’

‘Aren’t those old farts your parents,’ Ava teases.

I look around in astonishment. Nigel winks cheekily at me. I couldn’t tell if it’s a strange joke or if he genuinely is the heir to this enormous building. It does, however, explain Nigel’s opulence.

I walked through reception, slowly spinning around a couple of times to take a mental picture of the grandeur. The finely polished marble floors sparkle as they catch my reflection. Pale porcelain statues hide in subtle alcoves dotted every few meters along the walls. They are seriously ugly pieces of art, so I know they must be expensive. The lobby carpet is so thick it attempts to polish my boots as I wade through it. The slightly shrill recording playing over the lift speakers wishes us a nice day. I wonder how long it would take before listening to that every morning would start to really grate on your nerves.

‘This is us,’ Nigel announces as the lift stops with a slight jolt when we reach the top floor.

I follow Ava and Nigel, lagging behind.

‘It’s this one here,’ Nigel says as he turns the key in the only door at the end of the long corridor. I wonder why Nigel’s room is the only one on the entire floor. I feel decidedly uneasy about being so isolated in a strange man’s hotel room. If Nigel is aware of my apprehension, then he certainly hides it well. He’s an expert in politeness.

In spite of my less than fervour attitude, Nigel remains fresh-faced and enthusiastic as he swings the door open and stands back allowing Ava to enter first.

‘It’s okay,’ she calls back beginning to get impatient waiting for me to follow. ‘He won’t bite, you know.’

Nigel silently follows Ava inside and leaves the door ajar for me to enter in my own time.

Deciding I feel even more anxious waiting alone in the hallway, I quickly follow the others inside and close the door behind me.

‘It’s a penthouse.’ I gasp as the sheer class of the room I find myself in hits me.

‘Yeah, well, what else did you expect to find on the top floor?’ Ava asks as she ducks her head into a large diner-style fridge in the open-plan kitchen.