Page 19 of Meet Me In Central Park

‘I studied The Canterbury Tales at high school and, unlike almost everyone else, I quite enjoyed it.’ Harry’s expression wasn’t entirely convincing. ‘But even if I wasn’t a total geek who finds medieval pilgrims fascinating, you’d be there. So why wouldn’t I want to visit?’

‘Well I could always introduce you to the delights of real ale at my grandparents’ pub. It’s only fair after you’ve shown me how good these pretzels are.’

‘So real ale’s good?’

‘Well, some people love it. And if you genuinely enjoyed reading The Canterbury Tales, then I think you could handle it!’

‘And you’re really going home on Christmas Eve?’ Harry wasn’t the first person to ask me that question, with a look on his face that suggested it was something only a mad woman would do.

‘With the time difference, I’ll be arriving in the afternoon and checking into a hotel, until I can get the train home. Missing Christmas like that makes it easier to deal with. When I agreed with Nan that I’d come out here, flying back on Christmas Eve was the only way I could cope with the idea. I couldn’t bear the thought of being here for the holidays without my parents.’ I still didn’t want to let the real world in, or put a dampener on Harry’s attempt to make me feel Christmassy, but I couldn’t lie to him either. I was learning to love the run-up to Christmas, New York style. Even without Harry’s intervention, I could hardly avoid it working in Candy Cane Lane. But I still couldn’t bear the thought of a real Christmas Day. As wonderful as it had been to relive some of the memories from my childhood, Christmas would never be the same again without one of Dad’s festive breakfasts, where the pancakes were cut into the shape of Christmas trees and somewhere along the line orange juice had given way to bucks fizz. I’d never wake up on Christmas morning again to find Mum excitedly hovering by the Christmas stockings, which she’d left downstairs the night before, and still pretending – right up to my last Christmas with them – that she had no idea what they contained. I could do all those things myself, but without Mum and Dad, it would just be a poor imitation. That’s why the run-up to Christmas in New York had been so good for me. There’d been no traditions I needed to keep, where the absence of my parents would be thrown into even starker contrast than usual. But I couldn’t stay here for Christmas either, or create new traditions, like always ordering the Swiss cheese bagel from Bryant Park. So an overnight flight from New York and twenty-four hours in a soulless airport hotel was as good as it was going to get.

‘Why don’t you just stay on until the end of the year?’ Harry’s dark brown eyes searched my face, and he was in danger of letting reality stamp all over our plans for the day. ‘It’s only a few more days. What difference would it make?’

‘It would just make it harder.’ I didn’t want to give Aunt Dottie any false hope by staying on, even for another week. She’d already started rubbing her hip and saying she was pretty sure she’d need the other one replacing before long, even though I knew for a fact that she and Brian had signed up for beginners’ swing dancing classes in the New Year. Despite that, I hated the idea of leaving the shop and I really wanted to stay around and help save the Community Center. There were so many reasons to stay, but an even bigger reason to leave. We weren’t a religious family, but on New Year’s Day we always had a family walk after lunch that took us through the churchyard where my parents had got married, and where their ashes were now buried. I’d been christened there too and it was even where my parents had met, at an after-school youth club, run by a forward-thinking vicar who believed the church should be at the heart of the community. Dad would stop us outside the building every New Year’s Day and say something about how the biggest events in his life were linked to that place. He’d tell us what he hoped the New Year was going to bring and ask us to do the same.

‘New Year’s resolutions are always broken by the middle of January, but this really works.’ Dad would lift up crossed fingers as he spoke, and I’d laugh every time at the way he seamlessly combined superstition with some kind of belief in a more powerful force. Whatever his logic, or lack of it, those New Year’s days were another of our traditions. I knew how much it meant to Dad for me to be there and, wherever I’d seen in midnight the evening before, I’d make sure I got back to Canterbury in time for our afternoon walk every first of January. So, the idea of not being with them, in that churchyard on New Year’s Day, was unthinkable.

Harry reached out and touched my hand. ‘I’m still hoping that today might change things.’

‘Thank you so much for arranging all of this. I’m having so much fun.’ It didn’t matter what else Harry showed me, it wouldn’t change my mind. But telling him that he was wasting his time would have killed the mood stone dead. Instead, I leant forward and kissed him, knowing I’d never forget what it felt like to be in Harry’s arms. I was just making memories after all, and surely one day of make-believe couldn’t do too much damage.

* * *

‘Has the market given you any ideas for the shop?’ Harry didn’t push me any more about going home as we walked on through the winter village. It was one of the things that continually amazed me about him – that he knew just when to back off. The ice rink was lined with kiosks, which looked a bit like Victorian greenhouses, and it must have been even more magical in the evening. But Harry wanted to be at the Rockefeller Center when it got dark, to see the tree in all its glory, and then we were going ice skating back in Central Park. But it was me who wanted that part of the day to be in the dark. The less light there was on me when I was skating, the better, and I had a horrible feeling I was going to humiliate myself. Especially as Harry had said he had his own skates. Some people had natural balance, but I wasn’t one of them. It was only due to Dad’s perseverance that I ever learned to ride a bike. I managed straight lines quite quickly, but as soon as I tried to turn anything resembling a corner, my bike would go one way and I’d go the other. So, the chances of me being able to stay upright, balancing on blades on a rink of ice, were almost zero. My only hope was that they’d have some of those penguin skating aids to lean on. If it came down to it, I wasn’t averse to the idea of wrestling one from a five-year-old. They were much closer to the ground than me anyway.

‘There are some lovely wooden ornaments on a couple of the stalls, and I’ve picked up some business cards so that Dottie can contact them in the New Year.’ There was nothing as beautiful as the snow globes, though, and I had to be strict with myself about buying too much stuff that I’d have to ship home. It was pointless buying tree decorations, anyway. We had a tree in the micro-pub, but my grandparents came from an era where it was impossible to have enough tinsel. So traditionally hand-crafted wooden ornaments would have been wasted.

My grandparents hadn’t put up a tree, in the flat above the pub, the Christmas after my parents had died – which was almost certainly more for my benefit than theirs. Sometimes I marvelled at their ability to keep going after losing their daughter. I knew it wasn’t because they’d loved Mum any less than I did, but a year after the accident their smiles began to look less painted on and I started hearing them laugh again. When I questioned Nan about it, she said she knew that’s what Mum would have wanted and that she felt as though she could hear Mum’s voice sometimes, urging her to get up and get on with life, because wallowing in sadness wouldn’t change anything. I would have given anything to hear Mum’s voice again, even if it was only Nan’s imagination talking. Since I’d got to New York, I’d started to understand what Nan meant far more clearly. I didn’t need to buy a suitcase full of decorations to remind me of what I’d found in the city, or to remember how wonderful Christmases with my parents had been, because New York had unlocked those memories for me too. I had the little tree in the snow globe and I didn’t need anything else. Which meant that tree decorations were nowhere near the top of my shopping list – from Candy Cane Lane, or anywhere else.

‘I’ve seen a couple of decorations I might get for my mom and sister.’ Harry picked up his mobile phone. ‘And my nephews have sent a list as long as my arm of the toys they want from Macy’s. If I do decide to fly across to San Francisco, I’ll have to work out what I can actually take. Although, if I shop early enough, I could get it sent out. I’ll have to do that, anyway, if I decide not to head west for the holidays.’

‘You’re not definitely going to your sister’s for Christmas then?’

‘It depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On you.’ I had to hand it to Harry – he might not push too hard, but he didn’t give up easily either.

‘Maybe we should start at Macy’s then, and you can get your order in.’ I’d almost said just in case. But there was no just in case and I think even Harry knew that deep down. Maybe he wanted that snow globe moment as much as I did.

‘Sounds good.’ Harry took my hand again and we wandered back into the crowd, merging with everyone else. I must have looked like a normal tourist wanting nothing more than to soak in the festive atmosphere and, just for one day, I was determined to feel like one, too.

* * *

‘They look gorgeous, don’t they? I had no idea people could get married at the Rockefeller Center.’ The newlywed couple, and a small group of guests, were posing for pictures by the Christmas tree. There seemed to be millions of Christmas trees in New York, and a lot of the other trees, which were mostly bare of their leaves, were wrapped in lights, too. It was almost as if every tree in New York became a Christmas tree for the holidays. But nothing came close to the Rockefeller tree. It lived up to all the hype.

Like so much of New York, I’d seen it on screen. As I stood there next to Harry, I could picture the moment when Kevin and his mum meet at the tree on Christmas Eve, in Home Alone 2, as clearly as if they were standing right next to me. Mum and I had watched that movie together every year when I was growing up, and I could almost hear the sound of her laughter as I looked up. The tree was so beautiful too, with thousands of multi-coloured lights, and a huge gold star on the top, which, by itself, was probably as tall as Harry.

‘I’m not sure that you can actually get married here, but I know a lot of people come here to pose for pictures, especially at this time of year.’ Harry was smiling as he watched the couple and I suddenly found myself wondering if he’d ever come close to a moment like that. For all I knew, he could have been married before. Maybe he still was. There was so much that I didn’t know and yet I’d felt an instant connection to him that somehow meant I’d trusted a total stranger, that first day in the park, with my deepest secret.

‘Are you married?’ The question came straight out in the end.

‘No.’ Harry laughed, as if it was the most absurd thing he’d ever been asked, but I’d have bet there were plenty of past girlfriends who’d imagined what it would be like to be married to him, or at least imagined building a life with Harry. I’d only known him for a month and, if I let myself, I could picture it too. It was a Sunday morning for me – the two of us grabbing breakfast from Dannie and Rob’s deli, before taking a long walk in the park, or catching the subway out to Coney Island and holding hands as we wandered along the boardwalk.

Harry stop laughing as he looked at me, a serious expression crossing his face. ‘Have you got something to tell me? Is there a husband or a boyfriend back in England you forgot to mention?’

‘No, and looking back now, I’m not sure I’ve ever really been in love before.’ I’d hated Ryan when he left, for abandoning me when I’d needed someone most, but he’d done the right thing for both of us. I didn’t love him, at least not in the way you were supposed to love someone you wanted to share your life with. The pain of losing him didn’t even register in the wake of my parents’ accident, but my throat felt raw when I thought about the fact that I’d probably never see Harry again once I headed back home. If I already felt his loss so keenly after such a short time together, it proved what Ryan and I had shared hadn’t even compared.

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