Miranda Dickinson - Take A Look At Me Now

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.