Miranda Dickinson - I’ll Take New York

Imelda snorted and began to hang the clouds from small hooks in the ceiling. ‘A point of view that you’re hiding behind.’

‘I’m not hiding …’

‘Yes, you are. Admit it, honey: if Otis hadn’t stood you up that night you’d still be with him and you’d still be a firm believer in relationships.’

The mention of Otis made Bea wince. She might have succeeded in telling everyone else she didn’t miss him but she had a long way to go to convince herself. She didn’t want to feel this way. She wanted to feel as happy being single as she had spent many hours telling Russ, her parents and Imelda she was. But she had invested five years of her life in building something with Otis. It was unrealistic to think she could walk away from that unscathed.

‘That’s immaterial. Otis did stand me up and it was the last straw. He isn’t going to change and I’m not prepared to put my life on hold waiting for a miracle.’

‘But you’re still in love with him?’ Imelda pulled no punches and Bea was winded by the direct question.

‘Maybe I am. Or maybe it’s been slipping away from me for months, only I wasn’t prepared to notice.’ She sighed and moved to the side as Imelda descended the steps. ‘There’s no point trying to work that one out. I just want to focus on me for a change. Is that so wrong?’

Imelda’s expression softened and she put her hand on Bea’s shoulder. ‘Of course it’s not wrong. I just want you to be happy.’

‘So do I. That’s why I want to find out how to do that by myself.’

‘O-K …’ Imelda shrugged, about as satisfied with Bea’s answer as Bea was. ‘How’s Russ been?’

That was a good question. Russ had veered between insisting that all Bea needed was time to forgive his best friend and standing staunchly alongside her in her decision. At least he seemed to have finally got the message that Bea didn’t want to talk about it now, after a week of berating her at every opportunity. Bea was relieved to feel the pressure lessen: what she wanted now was to focus on the bookstore.

‘I think he knows not to push me on it.’

Imelda smiled as she sorted through a basket of knitted meteorological symbols for her window display. ‘The guy cares about you. In his own klutzy way. And I think he’s a little embarrassed about his friend. After all, if it wasn’t for Russ, you and Otis would never have met.’

A brief memory of the party where Russ had introduced Bea to his ‘legitimate single friend who most definitely isn’t gay’ flashed across Bea’s mind and she felt her stomach twist in response. Otis Greene had caught her attention immediately, with his velvet-smooth olive skin, dark eyes that seemed to call her closer and toned body visible beneath the contours of his well-cut shirt and jeans. When he smiled, it was as if a pause button had been pressed on the rest of the scene in the bar: suddenly it was just him and her, smiles spreading as their eyes drank in the sight of one another. Bea had fallen hard and fast for the handsome art dealer – a fact she could trace back to that first meeting – and that initial surge of emotion had carried her through years of not-so-perfect times.

She didn’t want to still love Otis. She wanted to push him and everything in her life connected to him into the Hudson River and walk away, never looking back. But Bea knew her own heart. That was why striking out on her own was so important.

‘I understand why Russ tried to get us back together. I do. He’s stuck between Otis and me and I don’t suppose it’s ever been a particularly comfortable position.’

‘Shame you didn’t ask for the barman’s number, then,’ Imelda winked, twirling a large knitted raindrop around her forefinger as she ascended the stepladder again. ‘Could have solved a lot of problems …’

‘It doesn’t matter anyway: we made a pact.’

‘Who did?’

‘Me and the barman. We’re swearing off relationships for good.’

Imelda groaned. ‘ Bea …’

‘No, it made me feel better, Immi. I’ve wasted too much of my life chasing something that hasn’t happened. My life is worth more than that. It was good to find someone else in this city who sees it like I do.’

‘Trust you to find a cute guy who doesn’t want to date you,’ Imelda laughed. ‘Hey, I’m not making fun of you. If it makes you happy, go for it.’

‘I think it will make me happy.’

‘Good, then. Now, do you have time for coffee before Russ sends out a search party?’

Russ had practically bundled Bea out of the bookstore that morning, seeing how distracted she was by the events of the night before.

‘You’re no use this morning. Go for a walk or something.’

Bea had instinctively headed for Beads & Beans, the quirky craft and coffee shop owned by the third Musketeer to her and Russ. Imelda Coulson had been Bea’s firm friend for almost five years and was as unconventional as her business suggested.

Imelda’s store was a riot of colour, filled with every craft item imaginable. Rainbow skeins of embroidery silks and wool were packed next to roll after roll of beautiful ribbons and trims. Almost an entire wall was filled with tiny wooden drawers containing buttons, charms, quill papers, sequins and fastenings, each drawer front bearing a hand-painted sign. Next to the haberdashery supplies were thick bolts of brightly patterned fabrics – shimmering satins, cool cottons and thick, luxurious velvets. In the centre, tables and chairs were set out, each one painted in a different pastel shade and customers congregated here, indulging in crafts while enjoying coffee and cakes on hand-painted crockery.

Bea loved it here: the strong sense of creativity and fun mirrored the boundless positivity of the store’s proprietor. It was impossible not to smile when you were surrounded by so much colour and possibility. She had first met Imelda at a mutual friend’s Christmas party and they quickly struck up a friendship, Bea drawn to Imelda’s fiercely optimistic stance on everything. They had talked about owning their own businesses one day and Bea never doubted that Imelda would succeed in her ambition. Then, around the time Russ and Bea were looking for properties to set up their bookstore, Imelda’s wish had unexpectedly come to pass.

Suddenly made redundant from her job at a Wall Street bank, she had seen it as a sign to move her life forward and had opened the business she had long dreamed of, uniting her two loves of great coffee and crafts. Only in Brooklyn could this unlikely pairing have worked. Surrounded by unusual, artisanal shops and kitsch cafés, it was a perfect fit. Imelda hosted children’s parties at weekends and various groups of craft enthusiasts and local people interested in learning new skills during the week. Everybody else came in for coffee and the unique experience of sitting in a place alive with activity and fun.

‘So how long were you and the barman talking for?’

Bea shrugged. ‘An hour, maybe? I wasn’t exactly watching the time.’

Imelda peered over the rim of her oversized coffee cup. ‘Unusual to have a conversation that lasts a whole hour which doesn’t mean anything, don’t you think? Especially if you’re still thinking about it this morning. Just what did you talk about?’

Bea couldn’t hide her smile at the memory. ‘Everything and nothing. How much we loved New York, how embarrassing it was to be single at an engagement party filled with happy couples and …’ She trailed off as the pinky shake pact came to mind.

‘And what?’

‘And then he suggested The Pact. And it was the most perfect idea I’d heard in ages. So I agreed.’

Imelda’s expression didn’t flicker, leaving Bea in no doubt of her opinion. ‘So now you need to hope that your pact-buddy will be tending the bar at the next party you go to.’