Page 14 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

‘Seventy. Fixed rate. You wanna ride a not?’

Anneka looked over at us, her brown eyes wide with uncertainty. My sister was the most confident human I knew, but even though she projected the image of worldly wisdom, the truth was she always relied on Mum – or me, if she was desperate enough – to bail her out.

I frantically Googled whether this was some kind of scam, deciding to ignore my rising panic about roaming charges, before giving Mum a quick nod.

‘All good, let’s go!’ said Mum, making her way towards the boot of the cab that the driver had popped open from his seat. He didn’t bother to help us load in the luggage. Anneka grabbed Mum’s bag before she had a chance to lift it in.

‘You rest now, Mum,’ she said. For once, Mum didn’t argue about the instruction.

The car journey to Manhattan was blissfully quiet, our energy levels having settled into a rare moment of harmony. As we drove over what Google Maps informed me was the Williamsburg Bridge – the driver having mumbled something about a closed tunnel – the Manhattan skyline was suddenly there, unashamedly bright and beckoning. Anneka stuck her head out of the window like an excitable dog, seemingly undeterred by the sensation of icy air cascading across her face.

My mouth couldn’t help but drop open as the skyscrapers swallowed us on the other side of the bridge. Twelve hours ago, I’d been happily unconscious in an English attic, yet now I was entering one of the most exhilarating cities on earth. I just wished I felt happier about it.

We pulled up in front of a handsome building that no doubt would once have been considered grand, but now looked relatively modest compared to the rest of Manhattan’s imposing structures. That said, the hotel still looked fancier than I was expecting. As if detecting my fear, Mum insisted that she’d got a good price on our room at the family-run Earle Inn and that I ‘wasn’t to worry’. But that instruction was immediately counteracted by the revelation that Anneka wasn’t checking in with us.

‘We’re all staying here, right?’ I asked.

‘Of course! Just got something to sort out quickly. Take my luggage and I’ll see you there in about half an hour.’

I had no time to interrogate the situation further as Mum had already entered through the revolving doors. I sighed and followed her in, lugging Anneka’s bags as well as my own.

‘Good evening!’ Mum chirruped in way too loud a voice for this time of night – or morning; by this point I’d totally lost track of o’clocks.

A member of staff who I assumed must be the hotel’s night manager looked up wearily from the reception desk, plastering a smile on his face while stifling a yawn. ‘Welcome to The Earle Inn, how may I help you?’

‘We have a twin room booked under the name of Jennifer Bell.’

Huh, Anneka must have her own room. I knew better than to vocalise my thoughts at this moment in time.

‘I’m afraid I’m not seeing a booking, ma’am,’ the hotel employee said, after a few taps of his keyboard and clicks of his mouse.

‘Could you check again? The name’s Bell, as in… “oh look here, a bell!”’

Mum dinged the reception bell for emphasis, which the employee promptly silenced with his fingertips. His reflexes suggested that similar bell-related occurrences happened way more often than he’d like.

‘Sorry, I’m certain there’s no booking. Our next guests aren’t due until tomorrow.’

Now it was Mum’s turn to look at me wide-eyed.

I sighed. Here we go again. ‘Mum, how did you book the hotel?’

‘On hotels.com. Or something like that.’

‘Right. And do you have the booking reference?’

‘Oh, I dunno! Here’s my phone; you have a look.’

She unlocked the battered handset and handed it over. I connected to the hotel Wi-Fi, navigated to her emails and searched for the name of the hotel. I found the booking confirmation and showed it to the receptionist.

He frowned, as he typed the digits into his system. ‘Okay, I can now see we tried to take payment three times yesterday, but it was declined each time. Which automatically cancelled the booking. You should have received a notification about it?’

Mum swallowed visibly, but kept smiling.

‘Please tell me you still have the room?’ Mum sounded uncharacteristically desperate.

He clicked his mouse a few times, no longer bothering to hide his yawns. ‘We have a room, but it’s a double, not a twin.’

‘We shall take it, good sir.’ Mum was now speaking in some weird, faux-posh English accent as if that would somehow endear her to New York’s sleepiest employee. He really must have seen it all.