Page 12 of Meet Me In Central Park

First stop had been a doughnut tour. I couldn’t believe anyone had thought to come up with it, or that there were so many ways to eat them. I knew my aunt had a passion for doughnuts and she’d regularly turn up with Krispy Kremes when she came into the shop. There were always at least two missing from the box of a dozen, which she jokingly called her delivery tax. But I still hadn’t expected her to be the sommelier of the doughnut world.

‘You can taste the lemon they put in the batter for this one, can’t you?’ Aunt Dottie had closed her eyes to savour the flavour and I’d nearly choked laughing. All I knew was that I’d never tasted a better sugared doughnut. Then there’d been all the flavoured ones, everything from peanut butter and banana to passion fruit and coconut.

After the tour was over, when all I’d wanted to do was to lie down and undo the top button of my trousers, Dottie had other plans. That was how I’d found myself in a bar in Greenwich Village, listening to the blues and feeling as if every song had been written for me. Maybe it was working my way through the whiskey, bourbon and rye that my aunt insisted we absolutely had to try, but after three drinks, something shifted in me as I looked around the bar.

Everyone in there seemed to be having the same experience, feeling the music on a deeper level than I ever had before, and then it hit me. Every single person in the room had been through something that made the lyrics meaningful to them. There was one song that really got to me. It was about a man losing his wife and the loss making him realise he had to live for the two of them. It seemed to capture the shift that had happened since I’d arrived in New York. I’d started off still wrapped up in the guilt that I’d worn like a cloak since the accident, feeling terrible for being in the city my mother had always dreamed of visiting when she never would. But listening to the song, I realised that just lately I’d started doing what the lyrics suggested: living my life for the three of us. Nan had been right about me coming here, like she was about so many things. Aunt Dottie had clearly understood that long before I did, but she’d found a way to finally make me realise.

‘So what do you think, the perfect night out or what?’ She nudged me as we sat side by side in the taxicab that was weaving its way back through the streets of Manhattan.

‘It couldn’t have been better.’

‘I think you might be right, and you look really different.’ Dottie turned and narrowed her eyes. ‘Different better, which is definitely a good thing. I knew this city could work its magic, like it did for me, but it took me a helluva lot longer to get to where you are. You’re doing great, kid.’

Superlatives weren’t Dottie’s thing, so it felt like high praise I didn’t deserve. All I was doing was getting through each day, but the difference was that now I was doing it with a smile on my face a lot more of the time, and after tonight, I was determined not to feel guilty about that any more.

Something in Dottie’s expression made me ask, ‘What brought you to New York in the first place?’ But even as I spoke, whatever it was I’d caught a glimpse of disappeared.

‘That’s a story for another night. I need to get back to Brian and put my cold feet on his legs to warm them up. Better make sure I look okay.’ My aunt took out a compact and applied some powder, followed by a fresh coat of lipstick, before spraying herself with perfume. ‘I’ll tell you all about that one day, but for now I’m just glad Ruby asked me if you could come and stay.’

Breathing in the familiar scent that my grandmother and great aunt both loved so much, I couldn’t be annoyed about being tricked into coming to New York. I was lucky to have two such wise women in my life, and counting my blessings was something I was determined to do more of. It sounded like it had taken years for the city to help Dottie learn to let go of the past and I only had until Christmas Eve. So I’d better start making the most of every moment.

6

Exercise had always been my salvation when I felt at my lowest ebb, and regardless of my determination to start thinking more positively, I knew I needed to get out and do as much of that as I could. So, even though walking had always been more my thing, when Dannie asked me if I wanted to join him to go running the day after I went to the blues club with Dottie, it felt like an opportunity not to be missed, despite my reservations about going back to Central Park and bumping into Harry again.

We’d been jogging for about twenty minutes, when I first started trying to persuade him to stop for a drink.

‘We can’t stop. If you want to be able to keep eating smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels every morning, and join in with Rob’s weekly cheesecake tasting, then you’ve got to keep moving that butt as they say over here.’ Dannie was jogging on the spot as he spoke, and watching the steps racking up on his Fitbit towards his daily minimum target of 12,000. Rob had been trying out a new cheesecake recipe after every art class, and Dannie wasn’t wrong when he said I’d become an enthusiastic tester, but that didn’t mean I was going to let him get away with pointing it out.

‘Are you calling me fat?’ It was a stalling tactic, and he was on to me.

‘Of course not!’ Dannie grinned. ‘But I’m happy to be like one of those boot camp guys who tell you how pitiful you are to make you keep going. Do you think it would help?’

‘Probably not.’ It was no good, I was going to have to finish the run, one way or another and preferably without Dannie having to shout ‘motivational’ abuse at me. Trying and failing to keep up with him, I attempted to keep the momentum going as I climbed the steps up from the Bethesda Fountain, almost running straight into Harry and Paula as I did. Dannie was already chatting, but it was going to take me a least thirty seconds to get enough breath back to speak. Wondering if I looked as unattractive as I felt, I avoided looking at Harry. Paula was as immaculate as ever, and Dannie was leaning down on the arm of her wheelchair, saying something that made her laugh. The situation made me self-conscious all over again; sweaty, out of condition and clearly lagging behind my running partner. None of that would have mattered if I hadn’t been acutely aware of Harry’s presence. I’d have liked to say I didn’t know why it bothered me – after all, he already had a beautiful and extremely talented girlfriend, and he probably didn’t even give me a second thought when I wasn’t around – but I knew exactly why it mattered to me, which made things even more awkward than the unforgiving way the lycra clung to my body.

‘I haven’t seen you in the park for a while.’ Harry gave me no choice but to look at him.

‘It’s been crazy in the shop.’ It wasn’t a lie, but I’d still managed to fit in a walk every morning before work. I’d just avoided the park. Seeing Harry stirred up unwanted feelings, and I really liked Paula, so being attracted to her partner felt wrong. It was pointless anyway and, if I was finally going to regain my ability to feel something for someone new, I didn’t want to waste it on someone who lived three and a half thousand miles away.

‘I’ve missed you.’ Harry’s voice was warm, and I might even have believed what he was saying, if his girlfriend hadn’t been sitting six feet away from me. Maybe it was for the best. The fact that he was willing to blatantly flirt with me, when Paula could so easily overhear, ought to be enough to put me off him, but for some reason when I caught his eye, an unwelcome jolt of attraction hit me all over again. He must have felt uncomfortable when I didn’t answer, though, because he changed the subject. ‘Have you heard about the wall art under the Greywacke Arch? Paula and I were just going to check it out. Why don’t you guys come, too; maybe we could all grab a coffee afterwards?’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be working?’ There was an accusatory tone to my voice, as if I’d suddenly turned into his boss, but it was a form of defence. I didn’t want to allow myself to become as friendly towards Harry as he was being towards me, not if I was going to keep these stupid unwanted feelings in check.

‘No, I’m all done for the day.’ Harry smiled, turning towards Paula and Dannie. ‘So, what do you think? Shall we go and check it out?’

‘Sounds great!’ Dannie answered for both of us. ‘Is it something the park commissioned?’ He didn’t look at all disappointed to finish our run.

‘Apparently not and everyone seems to think it’s a Parsy.’ Paula widened her eyes as she spoke, and I tried to work out what that meant. There were still quite a few Americanisms I was struggling to get to grips with and there was some truth in us being separated by a common language. I had no idea what a Parsy was, but Dannie hadn’t missed my blank look.

‘A Parsy is a bit like a Banksy, only less political. They’ve been appearing in places all over Manhattan for the last couple of years, and no one knows who’s doing them. It’ll be really exciting if it is one. There’s been a bit of copycat stuff, but there’s a Twitter account where he confirms whether it’s his or not. Although I think you can tell if it’s the real deal, he’s brilliant.’

‘Or she,’ Harry said, as we quickened our pace to keep up with Paula. ‘No one knows and I think that’s part of what’s built the artist’s reputation.’

There was a crowd gathered by the arch, but Paula was obviously an old hand at clearing a path, and it wasn’t long before we got to the front. Dannie had been right when he’d said that Parsy had a similar style to Banksy, but the image was softer and more colourful. It had a row of green benches, like the ones in the park, with replicas of some of the plaques I’d seen on my first day there, and couples of all ages and genders sitting on either side of the plaques. Above the picture were the words: ‘Love stories. Every one.’

‘How did someone manage to do all this without anyone seeing?’ The words caught in my throat. I didn’t profess to know anything about art, but it was truly breath-taking. Parsy had captured exactly what I’d thought when I was reading the bench plaques. Every one of them was like a mini love story, or a love letter to someone lost. Whoever the artist was, they clearly thought so too.

‘It’s amazing what he’s done on the side of buildings without being spotted. Apparently, that wall, where he painted the forest scene, is going to be auctioned off. I read that they’re expecting it to make at least a million dollars.’ Dannie let out a long breath. ‘What I don’t understand is how Parsy gets his hands on any of that money. If he’s anonymous, how does he get paid?’

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