Page 34 of Meet Me In Central Park

‘Are you coming down, or do I have to send DeShawn up there with a sack and instructions to kidnap you, if he has to?’ I’d finally answered my phone to Paula after the third missed call.

‘I feel like death warmed up, and I’ve already told Dannie and Rob I won’t make it to the deli today. I just can’t do it.’

‘Bullshit.’

I almost laughed. I’d heard of tough love, but I couldn’t help thinking Paula must have gone a lot easier on her clients than this. ‘I’ve been up all night, and I feel like I’ve been kicked in the buttocks by a whole herd of donkeys.’

‘Yeah and I’m sitting out here in a wheelchair, freezing my ass off. So, are you seriously going to tell me that you’re going to leave me out here, while you spend all day sobbing into your pillow?’

‘Actually, that’s exactly what I was planning to do.’

‘How about we make another deal? You come down and take a walk with me, just a half hour out of your jam-packed day of misery, and then you can go back to it. I won’t bother you again, and I’ll tell the others not to try and persuade you to change your mind about coming out for Christmas lunch either. How does that sound?’

‘You promise it’s only half an hour?’

‘I promise.’

‘I’ll be down in five minutes.’

‘You better be, or I’ll start telling people you’ve taken the battery out of my chair and left me here to freeze.’

* * *

‘Okay, that was six minutes. You’re lucky I’m so patient.’ Paula laughed, and set off along the sidewalk before I had a chance to answer her.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Central Park.’ She was going so fast, I was having to half-run to keep up with her wheelchair, and she knew it too. If I’d known how to take the battery out, I might even have done it at that point – anything to avoid having to go back into the park.

‘Why there?’ I asked.

‘Call it immersion therapy. You might as well face your fears, and get them out of the way, or you’ll never move on.’ It sounded like the conversation I’d had with Nan, when she’d told me she was sending me to New York. I hadn’t wanted to move on then, but I definitely wasn’t ready to move on from Harry yet.

‘What if I refuse?’

‘Then I’ll go and pick up the spare keys to the shop from Madison, and we’ll all take it in turns to come in and make you talk about Harry. All day if we have to.’

‘Is that technique in the American Psychology handbook?’

‘No, it’s one of my own.’ Paula finally slowed down as we got to the edge of the park and I noticed flecks of blue paint on her chair. I suppose it was an occupational hazard, in her line of business, but it made me think about that day at the art jam with Harry, when I’d thought he might be Parsy. He still might be for all I knew, but I didn’t care. It didn’t matter if he was a famous artist, an urban ranger, or if he got rejected from every publishing house in America. I loved him, simple as that. I just hadn’t realised until it was too late.

‘I don’t know what you think this is going to achieve, other than the potential for pneumonia.’ I felt like a sulky teenager, who’d been forced out on a boring family trip that they couldn’t see the point of. So it was hardly surprising that I sounded like one.

‘Just stop complaining and follow me.’ Paula picked up the pace again, until we reached Greywacke Arch, where I’d seen the first Parsy. And then she stopped. ‘There’s something you need to see in there.’ The pathway to the arch was cordoned off, but she led me through a gap in the barriers.

‘Is it more street art?’ My heart was thudding again. If Harry really was Parsy, maybe that meant he was back from Florida. I turned to face the arch, but I wasn’t sure I could go under it. If he wasn’t there, the disappointment was going to crush me.

‘Paula.’ I turned back to speak to her, but she was already heading in the other direction towards where DeShawn was standing, about thirty feet away. She waved her hand in the air, and the huge diamond on her ring finger caught the light. I suppose technically she’d kept her end of the deal. If I stayed in New York, she’d accept his proposal, and here I was. I might not have Harry, but I still had New York if I wanted it.

‘Libby.’

I’d know that voice anywhere and I didn’t want to turn around to face the arch again in case I’d imagined it, but I knew I had to.

‘Harry, I’m so sorry, I…’

‘It’s okay, I know. Paula told me everything.’ He held out his hand and I walked under the arch towards him, drawing level with a new piece of artwork in Parsy’s now familiar style, opposite the one of the benches that he’d painted before.

‘Did you do this?’ I watched his face, looking for a flicker that would give his secret away. My heart felt as if it was beating ten times faster than normal, but it wasn’t because I might be standing next to a world-famous artist. It was because I was standing next to Harry and there was every sign that he might be able to forgive me. Part of me was still scared to ask, so talking about the painting felt safer for now.

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