Page 24 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

I decided not to tell Cory that Ethan was going to pay me for this so-called ‘favour’. Or should that be ‘favor’? But, hey, work was work, and I needed the cash.

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, he’s the nicest guy. The quietest guy, usually,’ Cory added absentmindedly, as he wiped the table clean with a cloth. ‘In fact, that might have been the most I’ve ever seen him talk.’

Chapter 7

‘At bloody last, the wanderer returns!’

Mum was sitting at the desk, drying her bright copper chin-length hair, a damp towel on the floor next to her in a scrunched-up ball. She’d been dyeing her hair the same shop-bought colour for as long as I’d been alive. Her white roots glinted more vibrantly every time I saw her – I often forgot she was in her seventies since she still possessed way more physical energy than I ever had, or would.

‘I left a note on the loo,’ I shouted, trying to make myself heard over the retro hairdryer that was attached to the wall with a coiled cord.

‘You should’ve just woken us up!’ Mum shouted back, unfazed by the onslaught of decibels.

I flopped onto the bed, groaning with exhaustion, trying to convince myself that the relentless roar of the hairdryer was white – or pink – noise. I was barely through the door and I was already being pummelled with pandemonium.

Detecting my descent into the duvet, Mum switched off the hairdryer and dropped it on the desk with a clatter, causing me to wince. She swivelled to face me.

‘Oi! No lying down, lazybones! I know what you’re like: once you’re horizontal you’re a goner. Upright! More! There you go.’

I propped myself up against the headboard with a couple of pillows. ‘I’ve been up for hours already, thank you very much! But I’m jetlagged and… well, more than a little bit overwhelmed.’

I didn’t tell her that the only sleep I had managed to get last night – or this morning, or whenever the hell it was – was in the bath. I’d never hear the end of it.

‘Jetlagged, schmetlagged – you’re always tired. Even as a baby you couldn’t keep your eyes open. I had to pretend to be sleep-deprived to all the other mums. As if I didn’t already feel like the odd one out at all the toddler groups.’

She’d told me variations of this story so many times over the years – how her surprise pregnancy with me in her forties had meant she’d had to spend time with loads of women at playgroups who were closer to Anneka in age than her. Her constant assumption that my limited energy levels were down to nothing more than laziness was one of my biggest bugbears; my need for sleep had nothing to do with deliberate inertia and everything to do with sensory overwhelm, shutdown and recovery.

‘You know what you need to perk you up?’ Mum continued, cracking her shoulders.

Oh, here we go.

‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’

‘Uh-huh – some fresh New York City air!’

‘Right. So, where exactly are we going?’ I asked.

She joined me on the bed, her bum bouncing on the mattress with excitement about whatever it was she was about to tell me. ‘We… are… going… foraging in Central Park!’

I groaned and put one of the pillows over my face. The last time we’d been foraging I’d been home from uni in the summer holidays, and had ended up terrified about the prospect of being poisoned by our haul. So petrified, in fact, that I’d secretly replaced all the foraged fungi with five packs of Waitrose mixed exotic mushrooms before Mum cooked what probably ended up as the most expensive risotto of all time later that evening. Mum and Anneka still talked about that risotto to this day. I’d never told them the truth.

‘Is foraging in Central Park even legal?’

Mum removed the pillow from my face. ‘It’s all above board, don’t worry. There’s a chap who’s been running a tour there for years. He’s a bit of a legend in foraging circles.’

It didn’t surprise me in the slightest that Mum was aware of such circles. She was an active member of her local ‘freeganism’ Facebook group, which was probably teeming with boomer widows who’d be chomping at the bit to forage with a relative celebrity.

That said, the knowledge that we’d be joining an official tour settled my nerves somewhat. Plus, there was no denying it was a lovely day out there. Perhaps a walk away from the crowds and some more daylight would help my circadian rhythm settle back down.

‘Fine. When are we meeting him?’

‘The tour starts in…’ She grabbed my wrist and looked at my watch. ‘Twenty-seven minutes.’

I sat bolt upright. ‘Seriously? Is it even possible to get to Central Park in twenty-seven minutes?’

‘Don’t worry, Anneka’s sorting it all out. She’ll be back any second!’