to stop me returning to the UK looking like Jabba the Hutt after a slave binge.
An hour later, Lizzie and I struggled out onto the sidewalk in the bright sunshine. My stomach felt as if it had dropped several inches and was now snoozing somewhere around my knees.
Lizzie gave a loud groan. ‘I was going to suggest we catch the Muni home, but given the amount of food we just ate, I think a walk might be good.’
‘A walk would definitely be good.’
We crossed the street and walked for several blocks, passing a church and multicoloured wooden buildings. The sound of the traffic mingled with birdsong from the trees lining the pavements and at one corner we could hear the enthusiastic rhythms of a drummer practising in his apartment. Walking further still, we reached a grand stone staircase leading up into a park.
‘It’s a bit of a scramble up here, but I promise you, the views are worth it,’ Lizzie puffed, as the after-effects of our enormous brunch laboured our breathing. ‘This is Buena Vista Park. I didn’t even know it existed for the first two years I lived here. But then quite a few of the people who help out at my after-school club are San Francisco natives and they didn’t know about it either.’
The park was more of a wooded hill, with pathways disappearing off into the trees around us. We passed a couple of people walking dogs and a tramp asleep on a bench, but besides them the park was largely empty. It seemed surprising to find this in the middle of a city and as soon as the trees overhead blocked the view down to the road I could have believed I was out in the wilds. Birdsong surrounded us and the wind rustled through swaying branches and these became the only sounds, spoiled a little by the puffing and groaning from two overfed women struggling up the hill.
When we reached the summit we flopped down to catch our breath, Lizzie flinging herself dramatically back onto the sun-baked grass in the clearing.
‘You’d think, after so long living here, that my stomach would know its limits,’ she said, patting her belly, which made the long glass bead necklaces around her neck tinkle together. ‘But no. One trip to Annie’s and my resolve disintegrates.’
‘That French toast is amazing. How on earth do you manage not to be the size of a house?’
‘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 …
CHAPTER SIX
Down and out in San Francisco
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: [email protected]
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: [email protected]
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: [email protected]
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