Miranda Dickinson - Take A Look At Me Now

‘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 …

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.