Page 6 of Meet Me In Central Park

‘I’m an urban ranger.’ He pulled a face. ‘That makes it sound like something out of a video game, or like I should be wearing a spandex suit with a bolt of lightning on the front and a matching cape, but it’s far less exciting in reality. What it really means, is that I help maintain the park’s ecosystem and give talks to schoolkids about the nature that’s all around them in the city. Especially what they can see here, in the park, if they look up from their phones every once in a while, which, as you can imagine, takes a lot of persuasion.’

‘Have you always worked here?’ I must have sounded like I was interviewing him for a job or auditioning for the role of his stalker. But it was probably part of his job description to be nice to tourists, whatever inane questions they asked.

‘More or less, since I came out of college, anyway. I’m Harry by the way.’ He held out his hand, and, when I took it, there was that strange sense of connection again. If I’d believed in all that sort of stuff, I could’ve convinced myself we’d met in a past life. But there had to be a simple explanation for it – fate had never done much for me in the past. If he hadn’t said he’d always worked in the park, I’d have assumed I’d met him on one of my visits to the New York offices in my previous job. But I don’t think I’d have forgotten Harry in a hurry and it was bugging the hell out of me.

Maybe it could be explained by synchronicity, the coincidence of bumping into the same stranger, over and over again. I’d probably stood next to him in the queue for the Staten Island Ferry on my last visit, or sat next to him at a Broadway show. After all, he had a face I would have unconsciously committed to memory. If it had been three years earlier, I might even have given him my number, or asked for his. I was bold back then, convinced that life was for the taking and that somewhere out there I’d find my other half, just like Mum and Dad, and Nan and Granddad had found theirs. As it was, those sorts of feelings had died when my parents did. I no longer believed in happy ever afters and, the truth was, I was scared of allowing myself to love anyone else who I might end up losing. I already had to face the fact that my grandparents were getting older. If I started another relationship, the chances of it going all the way to the end were less than fifty/fifty, even if I made it as far as the altar one day. And that was just the chance of the relationship breaking down, it didn’t take into account freak accidents, or losing someone to an illness. I couldn’t risk it and, if that meant being on my own, I didn’t care. At least that way I’d be safe from further hurt. Not even the man standing in front of me, who had possibly the best smile I’d ever seen, could convince me to think otherwise.

‘So, I can hear the British accent… What brings you to New York?’

‘I’ve just taken a holiday job, working in my great aunt’s Christmas shop, until the end of the year.’

‘Not Candy Cane Lane?’

‘It is, actually.’ I wondered if he was going to give me a lecture about how many Christmas decorations ended up in landfill, or tell me that they took three million years to biodegrade. He’d already mentioned ecosystems, so he probably wasn’t the sort of person who’d have a replica Statue of Liberty hanging from his Christmas tree. Maybe I should just have kept my big mouth shut.

‘I used to love that shop when I was a kid!’ Harry smiled, and I found myself hoping for a bit more synchronicity. Besides, if chance meant I bumped into him, the situation was out of my hands. That was very different to taking active steps to make it happen. ‘I’ve still got a wooden nutcracker toy that my grandmother had engraved for me there, when I was about eight. And I carried on her tradition of buying one new decoration every December. I’ve pointed plenty of tourists in that direction over the years, too. My friends run the deli next door, so I’ve met your aunt several times. She’s quite a character.’

‘She is.’ It wouldn’t have surprised me if everyone on Manhattan Island knew who Dottie was. ‘I’m Libby, by the way, if you need any help picking out your new decoration for this year.’ It sounded like the worst chat-up line, ever and I inwardly cringed at just how awkward I was being.

‘I’ll bear that in mind. It’s nice to meet you, Libby.’ The poor guy must have been desperately thinking of a way to end the conversation. ‘I’ve got a school visit in a little while, but I’m sure I’ll see you in the shop at some point.’

‘Uh-huh.’ If that hadn’t been a very polite brush-off then I didn’t know what was, but explaining that I hadn’t been propositioning him would just have made things even more awkward. With any luck, the synchronicity had run out after all. One thing was certain, I was completely out of the habit of having a normal conversation with men of my own age, and suddenly the idea of gently rebuffing Billy’s hopeful advances back at the micro-pub didn’t seem so bad.

‘I really hope you enjoy your stay in New York, Libby.’

‘Thank you.’ I turned to look back across the lake below the castle, as Harry walked away. One thing that working in the shop might do, was to remind me how to talk to new people again. Nan had said I’d been hiding myself away for too long, and I was starting to think she might be right.

* * *

I didn’t want to leave the park, even though the rumbling in my stomach was more than capable of scaring off the flock of birds perched on the edge of the lake in front of the Loeb Boathouse. Re-energised after a buying a sandwich that could have fed a small family, I headed back towards the south end of the park, stopping to read some of the plaques on the benches that lined the main paths. Some of them were in memoriam, but there were lots of dedications of love, too. They were all touching, in their own way, but there was one that stopped me, a familiar burning sensation catching in the back of my throat.

To Grace ~ From Charlie

We fell in love in this park and shared our life in this city – through laughter, tears, and a million precious memories. She was mine before we even met, and I was hers. Always.

There was a love story – right there – on a plaque about the size of a postcard. Whoever Charlie was, he’d summed up his feelings for Grace perfectly. I could recognise it, even though I’d never felt that way about someone. Because I’d seen it in Mum and Dad. My only comfort, when I’d lost them, was that they’d gone together. It made the pain doubly hard to bear, for those of us left behind, but I don’t think they could have lived without each other. Wiping my eyes furiously, in a fruitless attempt to stem the tears, I turned and walked straight into Harry.

‘Libby! Fancy bumping into you again so soon.’ His smile slid off his face as he looked at me properly for the first time. ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’

‘I’m fine.’ Even as I said the words, I started to sob. I hated anyone seeing me crying, but, once I’d given in to the tears, there was no way I’d be able to stop.

‘You don’t look fine to me. Come on, let me get you a drink in the Ranger Center. I can find somewhere quiet, and you can stay for as long as you need.’ I just about managed to nod in response. This had to go above and beyond a park ranger’s job description, but somehow his kindness made it even harder to stem the tears that were coursing down my cheeks. He didn’t push me about what was wrong, though, and we walked in silence, except for the occasional half-sob that bubbled to the surface no matter how hard I tried to swallow them down.

Harry was true to his word, and he found me an empty office to sit in in the Ranger’s Center, while he made the drinks. My head was pounding, and I probably looked even worse than I felt. It had been almost two years, but something unexpected could still take me back to the same blindsiding level of pain I’d felt in the moment I found out about the accident. Anything could trigger it, but I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that it would happen here.

Harry returned with two steaming mugs of coffee and passed one to me. ‘I can leave you on your own,’ he said, then hesitated, his dark brown eyes suddenly anxious. ‘Unless you’d like some company? It might help to talk about it?’

I put my hands around the cup, warmth seeping into my skin. For some reason, I felt like I owed Harry an explanation; he was being so lovely and there was something about him that made me want to open up and talk. I never really did that, not even with my closest friends, but I semed as powerless to stop the words as I had been to stop the tears. ‘I… lost my parents and, I don’t know, the plaque just hit a nerve.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ His voice was gentle.

‘It happened nearly two years ago, and I wanted to punch people in the early days, when they said the pain would ease with time. Now I just want to tell them that they’re liars.’

‘I don’t think you ever truly get over losing someone you love.’ By now, Harry was probably wishing he’d just walked me out to the edge of the park. But maybe he was right. Maybe I did need to talk about it, even though I knew it wouldn’t change anything.

‘It’s even worse because I feel like all of this is all my fault.’

His brows furrowed slightly. ‘What do you mean it was your fault?’ For all he knew, I was a serial killer, and he was locked in an empty office with me. No wonder he looked uneasy. I’d have to tell him the whole story.

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