Tilly looks at the time and does the calculation in her head.
Oh my god, it’s the middle of the night there. I hadn’t even realized, I’m so sorry.
*
It’s OK, I was up reading anyway. And I’ve liked hearing about your adventures. It’s almost felt like I’ve been there myself today. Thanks for showing me your New York. Enjoy the rest of your evening x
She stares at the x for a long time, wondering if it’s a typo. Then she orders another martini and types her reply.
Night Alfie x
38
Perhaps buying seven books at The Ripped Bodice was too many. And perhaps it was a mistake to walk back from the East Village to Midtown, but by the time Tilly has finished her second martini it seems like a good idea. She wants to soak up more of the city, the heat of the day finally cooling off. She grabs dinner to go, from a food truck at Madison Square Park, eating it looking up at the Flatiron Building before meandering along the final blocks through the city – about ten blocks too many, as it turns out.
Her feet ache, and her shoulders are sore from carrying the day’s book purchases, but when she spots a street name she recognizes she can’t help taking a detour. She never saw the Alphabet office in person but she recognizes it from the website that she pored over fastidiously, ahead of her interview. She used Google Street View to explore the local area, locating what would have been her local Subway station, finding the local deli where she imagined grabbing cream cheese and lox bagels for lunch, and locating the nearest used bookstore where she pictured herself browsing after work.
Now she stares up at the glass-fronted building, the lights still on despite the late hour. Through the revolving doors she can see an airy reception, the wall entirely covered with books. She allows herself a moment to imagine what it would have been like. If Joe hadn’t got sick. If she’d taken the job. If they’d moved to New York.
And then she spots someone pushing through the revolving door, phone in hand, a full tote bag slung over her shoulder. She wears a denim pencil skirt and a sleeveless blue shirt, her face framed by bright red glasses that Tilly recognizes, her lips painted a matching shade.
As she looks up a frown passes across the woman’s face. It is too late for Tilly to move away – she is standing directly in the woman’s path. A beat longer and Liz Cohen’s eyes widen, a smile cracking her face.
‘Wow. Tilly Nightingale. It’s been a while.’
She has the same composure that intimidated Tilly in her interview. But there’s a warmth to her too, evident in the way she gives Tilly a quick but firm hug.
‘Liz, hello. I’m surprised you remember me.’
‘I’ll be honest, it took me a second. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. But of course I remember you! What are you doing here?’
‘I’m just visiting but I was in the neighbourhood and I thought I’d come and see the office.’
‘Of the publisher you turned down?’
Liz raises an eyebrow, revealing her infamous steely side, known for negotiating the toughest contracts as the formidable publishing director of Alphabet.
‘I’m sorry about that.’
Liz laughs. ‘I’m just teasing you. We were disappointed but these things happen. I’ve always wondered what you did next, instead, though. Tell me, who snapped you up?’
‘Actually, I stayed in my old job, for a while anyway. I’m currently taking a bit of a career break.’
‘You changed your mind about moving to fiction, then? I’ll admit I’m surprised. You sounded so knowledgeable in our meetings.’
‘No, it wasn’t that. I was really excited about the job.’ Tillytries to remember what excuse she gave when she turned it down more than two years ago. Certainly not the truth. ‘After you offered me the job, I found out my husband was sick. A move didn’t make sense any more. He passed away just over a year ago.’
Surprise flashes across Liz’s face, followed by sympathy.
‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ she says with sincerity.
‘Thank you,’ Tilly replies, realizing that for once this topic hasn’t left her shaking. She feels … OK. ‘And thanks for giving me a chance back then. Even if the timing wasn’t right.’
‘Life is all about timing, isn’t it?’ says Liz. In her hand her phone buzzes, lighting up with notifications. She glances at it then back at Tilly. ‘A career break … now that sounds appealing. I’d love to chat more but I’ve got a dinner with an author to get to.’
It is gone 10 p.m. But Tilly understands that’s all part of the job, just like it was for her at Splash.
‘But it was great to run into you. And I’m so sorry again for your loss. You enjoy the rest of your time in the city.’
