I open my eyes to see that she is looking in the direction of her hospitalroomdoor.
‘Doctor BJ!’ she says, her pale cheeks reddening. ‘Hi. Ahem.Sorry.Um…’
The screen goes blank as Birdie quickly endsthecall.
I spend the next fifteen minutes sitting on the bench and laughing so hard thatIcry.
God, Iloveher.
* * *
The next morning,my phone alarm yanks me out of a really weird dream. I’m dreaming that Birdie is a ghost and we’re at the top of the Empire State Building and she wants me to jump off. She says that I’ll be able to fly, but I know, for sure, that I will splat onto the top of a yellow cab and make a mess. Then I’m in a big old library, watching the sex scene fromAtonementagain. Only James McAvoy is actually Colin from the airport. But he can’t seem to getitup.
‘This has never happened before!’ DreamColinsays.
‘That’s all right. I’m not that bothered about sex anyway!’ Dream version of me replies. But in the dream I’m feeling very disappointedindeed.
As the alarm sounds, I grumble and sit up in the sofa bed. Last night I did Netflix and chill (in the non-millennial way) and while I did enjoy the Aziz Ansari stand-up special, it was finished in about an hour. At home I’d have been content enough to scroll through Instagram, take a bath, organise my closet or read a book, but last night none of those thingsappealed.
I briefly considered venturing out. Maybe treating myself to a dinner in one of the restaurants Birdie suggested, or going for a walk somewhere. But I soon dismissed the idea when I realised that I am not brave enough to go out for dinner alone. Breakfast and lunch is one thing. But dinner? In a restaurant?Alone?That soundsterrifying!
In the end I knocked on Mrs Ramirez’s door and she was only too happy to feed me soup and tell me tales of all the exotic places she’s visited and which ones I should definitely go to on ‘my next tripabroad’.
After my shower, I peek out of the blind and check the weather. From what I can see, the sky is looking pretty dark and ominous, to be honest. Like something out ofGhostbusters. Plus, it’s raining again. I swallow down my reservations about getting on a ferry in this weather, and get dressed in jeans, my favourite T-shirt with a picture of Bill Murray on the front, and a big maroon-coloured jumper over the top. Layers seem like the right call for a treacherousferrytrip.
I blow-dry my curls straight in an effort to make myself less recognisable. I don’t have straighteners, but I do have serum (a must in every curly girl’s arsenal), and after a lengthy battle with the hairdryer and a flat paddle brush, my hair looks pretty damn straight. There! No need to wear theberet!
After necking a strong coffee, I pull on my duffel coat, grab an across-the-body satchel, sadly leaving my attention-grabbing bumbag behind, and leave theapartment.
Because I’m already late I decide to forgo the subway, and hail a cab out on the street. But I mustn’t be doing it right because none of the cabs stop for me! I look at my watch. Shit, I need to get a move on. I wave over to Lloyd in the entrance of the building, but he’s chatting intently to another resident and doesn’tnoticeme.
I hold my hand out and shake it about, like I see people do on the movies. But it stilldoesn’twork.
An elderly Jewish woman holding a massive red umbrella shuffles past me. ‘Doll, ya gotta be more aggressive than that!’ She chuckles before continuing on down thestreet.
I’m not an aggressive person, though! How does one even aggressively hail a cab? Do I flip the middle finger instead of waving my hand? Do I do some of my best karate chop moves to get theirattention?
Oh man. I haven’t got time to ponder this if I’m to get to the ferry port on time. So I take a deep breath and yell at the next cab that drives in mydirection.
‘Oi!!!! Stop!STOOOOOOOPPPPP!’
To my surprise and delight it works! The cab zooms to a stop right in front of me. I climb in quickly, a little buzz rushing through me. I don’t think I’ve ever shouted that loud before in mywholelife!
‘Where to?’ the cabby asksbluntly.
‘The Whitehall Ferry Terminal,’ I say. ‘And steponit.’
The driver grins at me in the wing mirror and puts his foot down onto the pedal so hard that we take off with a noisy screech, just like in themovies!
I nod, satisfied, allowing myself a little proudsmile.
Maybe I’m starting to get the hang of this whole New Yorkthing!
* * *
Nothing dentsthe burgeoning confidence of a scaredy-cat quite like turning up at a rainy ferry port and seeing the ferry – that you’re about to climb on to – rocking from side to side in this alarmingweather.
‘Olive?Overhere!’
