Miranda Dickinson - Take A Look At Me Now

Vicky clearly thought I was referring to the pub at the end of the street. ‘Don’t blame you. Call me tonight when you get home, OK?’

I watched her slumping frame shuffle away and finally allowed myself to feel the excitement that had been steadily building within me. Taking a deep breath, I turned and walked purposefully down the street, my resolve building with each step.

This is it, Nell Sullivan: this is your time.

A few blocks down from the Council building, I stopped outside a small travel agency. Its windows were filled with cards promising exciting destinations and deals. It was as if I was staring at a gallery of possibilities, each smiling model asking me the same question:

Where are you going, Nell Sullivan?

A young male sales advisor with startlingly lustrous black hair smiled as I entered, his friendly expression flickering a little when I put my cardboard box on his desk. The bushy fronds of my desk plant spilled over the edge of the box, while my stolen office stapler – one final act of defiance against my now former employer – caught the light from his computer monitor.

‘How can I help?’ he managed, scrabbling to reconstruct his professionalism. His name badge read: Hi, I’m Josh.

‘I want to know where I can go for –’ I pulled the folded redundancy notice from my jacket pocket and handed it to him to show him the sum my former employer was willing to pay to be rid of me ‘– this much.’

‘Um, well, lots of places,’ Josh stammered, his travel agent training clearly not having covered crazy customers with pot plants and cardboard boxes. ‘Where would you like to go?’

I hadn’t considered this far ahead in my plan. ‘I’m not sure. I want to do something exciting, something just for me. I’ve just been made redundant, you see.’

‘Wow. I’m sorry to hear that. When?’

‘About three hours ago.’

‘Heck, that’s awful. So you definitely deserve a treat.’ He smiled and heaved a huge stack of brochures onto his desk. ‘OK, let’s start with the kind of things you fancy doing on holiday. Beach?’

‘No, I don’t think so. I want to move about more, I think.’

‘No problem.’ He pulled out four brochures and dropped them onto the floor by the side of his desk. ‘Ski holiday? Watersports?’

‘No. I don’t mind activities but I don’t want to just focus on that.’

‘Excellent.’ Two more brochures were eliminated from the pile. ‘How about a trek? Some kind of adventure trip?’

‘Maybe.’ I tried to picture myself hiking across the Gobi Desert, or climbing the Great Wall of China. Even with the most optimistic version of myself this seemed a little extreme. ‘Actually, no.’

Another brochure was dropped to the brown carpet. ‘Good. We’re making progress.’ After several more questions, Josh’s slightly russet features worked into a smile and he held up a thick brochure. ‘How about the USA?’

On its cover were Rocky Mountains, Las Vegas signs, bustling cities, New England autumn trees and the majestic sweep of the Grand Canyon. ‘ America – where anything can happen’ was emblazoned across the images and instantly I felt my heart racing.

‘Yes! That looks amazing.’

‘Excellent.’ Josh nodded and began to flick through the glossy pages. ‘So – America pretty much has something for everyone. What do you want to do? Cities? Beach? Fly-drive?’

My mind was racing. ‘I – I don’t know. Where would you suggest?’

‘Personally, I love Vegas. But Florida is great if you want beaches and theme parks. If history’s your thing there’s New England or Philadelphia. Or how about one of the cities? New York? Chicago? San Francisco …?’

‘That’s it!’ I yelled, making Josh jump and a middle-aged female customer at the next desk frown at me. Giggling, I lowered my voice. ‘Sorry. My cousin Lizzie lives in San Francisco. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before. I could visit her.’

‘Well, it would certainly keep your costs down if you could arrange some of your accommodation.’

‘It would.’ A thought occurred to me. ‘Actually, would you mind if I just made a phone call?’

‘Um, sure. Be my guest.’ From Josh’s expression it was clear this latest development couldn’t make his current customer any odder in his eyes.

I checked my watch, mentally calculating the current time in San Francisco. Seven hours behind GMT – so Lizzie would be just getting up. Or at least that was what I hoped. I dialled her number, willing her to pick up. After more rings than were comfortable, the call connected and a sleepy voice spoke.

‘Hello …?’

‘Lizzie, it’s Nell. Did I wake you?’

‘Who …? Oh Nellie ! Hi! Sorry, I’ve not had my coffee yet. How are you? Why on earth are you calling me at seven fifteen in the morning? Is everything alright?’

I giggled. ‘I’m fine. Well, apart from losing my job today. It’s so good to speak to you!’

‘You lost your job? Oh Nell, that’s terrible! I’m so sorry …’

‘It’s OK, honestly. But I have a bit of a favour to ask – and please say no if it’s going to be an imposition …’

‘Ask away.’ I could hear the whirr of a coffee machine in the background and tried to imagine my cousin’s apartment in the colourful Haight-Ashbury district of the city that I’d seen from the photos she’d sent with her annual Christmas letter to me.

‘I’m going to get some redundancy money and I’ve decided I want to do something different for a few weeks. How would you feel if I came to visit you?’

The squeal from my cousin reverberated around the travel agency, eliciting another disdainful glance from the disgruntled customer next to me.

‘That would be amazing! How long do you want to come for?’

Everything was progressing with such speed that I hadn’t even considered how long my adventure was going to last. Plucking a number from thin air, I replied, ‘Six weeks?’

‘Great. Or why not make it eight?’

‘Lizzie, would that be OK?’

‘Of course! It’ll give you a chance to sightsee and really get a feel for the place. And I can show you around – you can meet my friends and be an honorary San Franciscan!’

Five minutes later, I ended the call. It was happening so fast, but it felt right. My mind was made up – there was no time to waste. ‘Right. I’d like to go to San Francisco next week. For two months, please!’

Two months in a brand new city. Two months to experience everything San Francisco had to offer me. Two months to throw caution to the wind and be somebody different to dutiful Nell Sullivan, former Assistant Planning Officer. It was perfect …

‘You’re doing what ?’

My housemates – Charlotte, Sarah and Tom – were staring at me as if I’d just dyed my hair green. Already suspicious when I’d called a house meeting, they were now sitting like the Three Wise (and Grumpy) Monkeys on the faded IKEA sofa in the living room of our shared house in Woodford. I couldn’t blame them for their suspicion: the last time we’d had a house meeting was six years ago to find out which of us knew the slightly odd man who had been sleeping on our sofa since a house party the week before. (It turned out, none of us did – and we had, in fact, been feeding and housing a random bloke who’d wandered in from the street while the party was in full flow …)

‘I lost my job yesterday. So I’m going to San Francisco for eight weeks,’ I repeated, hoping this time they would understand.

They didn’t.

‘Excuse me?’ Sarah crossed her long legs and looked at me like the headmistress she was working hard to become. Her teacher’s tone, when inflicted, could reduce a grown man to tears. I had seen this happen on several occasions, more often than not the man in question being her boyfriend Tom, who now appeared to be cowering on my behalf. ‘Have you even thought this through? What are you going to do for money once your redundancy payment runs out? And what about your room, Nell? We can’t afford to carry two people on the dole.’