Red hair laughed and again leant towards her. ‘Try the Swiss with a pickle, and mustard and mayo. You can’t go wrong.’ He winked at her as he grabbed his sandwich and went off to pay.
Meg turned to him with her mouth opening and closing like a fish. It wasn’t often she was rendered speechless.
Clutching her waxed paper parcel, she decided to eat her sandwich at the counter, to give her some energy for the walk back to the Inn on 11th. Climbing with effort up on to the high stool, she removed her scarf and bobble hat and placed them on her lap before unwrapping the paper. Meg held her first New York deli sandwich at eye level and she had to admit, it looked delicious.
Police sirens wailed and flashed in the gathering darkness beyond the window. Couples linked arm in arm strode the pavement purposefully, whether tired at the end of a busy day or in anticipation of a fun night ahead, she couldn’t tell. Meg looked at the shops opposite, all of them with apartments above, and decided that New York was a bit like an anthill, with only a fraction of life visible on the street and the rest going on way above your head. She tried to immerse herself in the comings and goings on Greenwich Avenue, doing her best to ignore the obnoxious queue jumper, who was now seated two stools away from her.
She heard the scrape of the stool’s metal legs against the tiled floor as he took the place next to her. Meg kept her gaze fixed on the window, not wanting to engage with him any further.
Please just go away.
‘I bet you are single.’ He was direct, his voice calm and she could tell from his delivery that he was smiling.
Meg shook her head and bit into her sandwich, which was just as good as it looked.
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ he pushed. ‘You aren’t married or even involved.’ He folded his arms across his chest as if to state that he wasn’t leaving any time soon.
Meg looked at her lonely supper and her single serving of milk as she flexed her ring-free fingers. ‘I don’t see that whether I am single or not is anything to do with you.’ She turned back to her sandwich.
‘You sound adorable. I could listen to you all night.’ He smiled.
Meg rolled her eyes. As if that was going to happen.
‘I’m right, aren’t I? Come on! Throw me a bone here. You’re single, I can tell.’
‘Why do you think I’m single?’ she asked, partly to hurry the exchange along and get it over with and also, she had to admit, she was curious.
He leant forward and she noticed for the first time his very, very blue eyes, a similar colour to his shirt. ‘It’s just a guess, but mainly I’ve come to that conclusion because you are really, really ugly.’
Meg coughed, nearly choking on her pickle. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.
‘I’m kidding! I’m kidding! Don’t asphyxiate, my Heimlich skills leave a lot to be desired.’ He wiped his mouth with the back of his palm and chuckled. ‘And why are you so tired, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘I do mind, actually.’ Meg folded her food back into its wrapper and decided to take it back to her room as originally planned; she was not in the mood for his approaches.
‘Hey, come on, haven’t you heard of friendly New York banter?’ He feigned distress, putting his hand on his heart.
‘Haven’t you heard of piss off and leave me alone?’ Her tone sharper than she had intended.
‘Aw, come on, I’m only messing with you, Mary. We’ve got a thing going on here, this is good!’ He grinned.
‘We definitely do not have a thing going on and my name isn’t Mary!’
‘Well, that’s easily fixed. If you tell me your real name then I won’t have to call you Mary any more, will I, Mary?’
Meg jumped down from her stool and walked quickly from the deli without looking back at denim-shirt guy, the idiot. She was tired, hungry and dreaming of her bed at home. It would take more than a pair of sparkly blue eyes to get around her tonight.
It took a full second for Meg to remember where she was as she slid reluctantly from between the crisp, warm sheets, reaching for her phone alarm as it pipped her awake. She had texted her safe arrival to Milly the previous night and now she desperately wanted to speak to Lucas, wanted to hear his breathy gabble down the line reassuring her that he was far too busy to talk. She checked her watch, which was still on UK time; he’d be at pre-school. Their chat would have to wait until later. It was going to be the most frustrating thing about being here, trying to schedule their contact around bedtime, work time and a five-hour time difference.
She groped, bleary-eyed, around the bedroom until she located the bathroom door. The hot shower was just the kick-start she needed. Meg stood with the outdated showerhead angled just so and let the water pummel her back. She dug her nails into her scalp, rubbing vigorously to rid her skin of the greasy film that built up after travelling. Then she wrapped herself in the white fluffy towel and combed her hair. After slipping into her fitted black wool trousers and her favourite grey polo neck, she twisted her hair up into a messy topknot and was ready to face the day.
Passing through reception, Meg spied Salvatore sitting in one of the leather chairs, immaculate as ever. He was scouring
The Villager
with his glasses in his hand hovering over the print, using them like a magnifying glass.
‘Good morning!’ she said cheerily, still trying to win him over, as she buttoned up her coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck.
‘Don’t know what’s good about it!’ He tapped the open page with the arm of his spectacles. ‘Are they going to pull down every goddam historical building and replace them all with flashy glass condos? The mayor’s a schmuck. They’re destroying the city, piece by piece. What’s good about that?’ Salvatore shook his head.
Meg paused as she got to the front door, unsure whether he wanted a response or was just venting his spleen. ‘I don’t know what’s good about it, you are right. But I hope something happens today to make you smile.’ She flashed a grin at the top of Salvatore’s head, but he continued reading and mumbling as though he were alone.
‘Well, I’ll be off then.’ She nodded and reached for the brass handle. It was time to get on with her day.
‘Don’t let the heat out!’ He waved his glasses in her direction and shouted at her disappearing form.
Meg laughed. How was she supposed to step outside into the frosty winter morning without opening the front door? Standing on the top step, she took a deep breath and ventured out on to the streets of Greenwich Village.
She liked this time of day in any city. It was a little too early for other tourists to have hit the streets and was the preserve of natives making their way to work and runners pounding the pavements in mismatched T-shirts and joggers. Here, the sun was yet to rise over the skyscrapers and the early haze of morning threw a bluey-grey veil over the cityscape. She let her eyes wander, watching as New York stretched and yawned, coming alive, full of all the wonderful possibilities that the day might hold.
Passing the Greenwich Avenue Deli, she resisted the temptation to go in and grab a coffee and one of the plump banana and nut muffins that sat so enticingly in the window, their crunchy crusts of dark brown sugar all but impossible to ignore. She didn’t want to arrive with breakfast in her hand, especially not a baked breakfast, feeling that would be disloyal to the Plum brand. She would simply have to wait. She hoped that they had at least managed to get the coffee machine working and had run off a batch of chocolate brioche. Meg inhaled their imaginary scent, which was enough to make her mouth water. She glanced at the stools and counter inside the window and shook her head, remembering the rude man in the denim shirt the night before. Mary Poppins? What a dickhead.
She fell into step with the other commuters and felt a rush of happiness as she considered her situation. Meg from London, Megan who had been in and out of care, quiet Megan who would never amount to much, here she was, strolling around New York, off to work as though it were second nature. If she could, what would she say to her seven-year-old self, who felt like the world was so complicated, when it took all of her strength just to figure out her place in it? She would say, ‘Hang on in there, Meggy. You might have a few bumps ahead of you, but I promise, it all gets a lot, lot easier.’ And she’d probably buy her a pair of pink fluffy earmuffs like Izzy Fox’s because she’d know how much she coveted them. She smiled at the idea.
Meg walked the few blocks quickly to try and prevent the chill of the frosty morning from creeping into her bones. She took a circuitous route, wanting to see some of this incredible city. Having passed through Washington Square and skirted the New York University building, she now stood watching Juno, the young manager of Plum’s New York branch, from across the street as she waited for a gap in the traffic.
Juno was nervous. She paced the pavement in front of the shop, smoothing her dark hair back into its immaculate ballerina bun and craning her neck left and right before returning inside and peeking regularly from the open door. Meg recognised her instantly from their many conversations on Skype. She sensed her anxiety and felt for her. She knew that until Juno had worked for the company for a while, she would be jumpy, uneasy about how she might be viewed when things were running less than smoothly. But everyone in London had confidence in Juno’s abilities. She had been awarded the ribbon for excellence on her course in pastry arts, cake- and bread-making at the New York Institute of Culinary Arts, and she had impressed at her interview. Her artisan loaf had wowed Guy, which was no mean feat, and her passion for the project was infectious, just what they needed for a new team in a competitive environment. Milly was right, it was important not to let her enthusiasm flag before Plum’s had even opened its doors for business, especially if there was a whiff of dissent in the ranks.
Juno came out on to Bleecker Street again just as the cloud seemed to lift and rays of sunshine pierced the sky. Shielding her eyes, she glanced up and down the busy street, wiping her palms down the side of her long black skirt, over which she wore her starched black atelier’s apron that buttoned on to her white shirt. The Plum Patisserie double ‘P’ logo stood out in gold embroidery. Meg had expected her to be in jeans, as they weren’t yet open. She waved from the other side of Bleecker Street, catching Juno’s eye immediately before a large truck with a shiny chrome fender blocked her from view. A gap finally appeared in the traffic and Meg took her chance and darted across the road.
‘Morning, Juno!’ She stepped forward, smiling. ‘It’s really great to meet you properly in person.’
‘Hey, Meg. You too. I’m really sorry about this.’ Juno looked close to tears as she gestured at the shopfront behind her. The gold ‘Plum Patisserie’ lettering shone handsomely against the bottle-green frontage.
‘What are you sorry for?’
‘For the whole mess and that you had to come out so near to Christmas to check up on things. I know how busy you must be. I told Milly things were getting sorted and they are, it’s just that we have hit a couple of roadblocks…’ She twisted her fingers inside her cupped palms and blinked rapidly.
Meg took a deep breath. ‘Listen to me, Juno, we are a team, a family and we will do whatever it takes to get things sorted, okay?’ She placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder and felt the tension leave her muscles.
‘Okay.’ Juno nodded, giving her first smile of the day, even if it was a little forced.
‘That’s better. And I’m here to support you, not check up on you. What kind of team would we be if we left you to sort out all the crap alone?’ Meg remembered Pru’s hand on her back when she had needed it most; the extraordinarily feeling that she wasn’t alone was one that she would never forget.
Juno nodded again. ‘Okay.’ She exhaled, relieved and determined.
‘Now, why don’t we grab a cup of coffee and we can go through where we are at. The shopfront looks marvellous, by the way. They’ve done a great job.’
‘They have.’ Juno beamed. This time her smile was genuine.
Meg stepped over the brass tread with its plastic wrap still in place and looked around at the spacious shop. The bakery occupied the back wall, with the café and counter at the front. The front door was wedged open by an improvised rough wooden block, allowing as much natural light as possible to fill the space.
The solid wood floor was a beautiful burnished oak, the honey tones of which made the whole room seem bright; it too was being kept under wraps beneath a layer of plastic that was taped down at the edges and corners. The counter stretched across the right-hand wall, along with glass display cabinets and blackboards. The walls had been beautifully panelled in dark wood and the ornamental brass rails and window seats were awaiting the standard button-backed cushions. Wooden bistro chairs were stacked in corners; on the tables, which had been pushed to the side, sat shallow packing cases full of crockery, glassware, cake stands and glass cloches, all nestling in white polystyrene squiggles. Everything from head height down looked to be near completion. The problem became evident when Meg looked up.
Long electrical flexes hung in loops from jagged fist-sized holes that had been roughly cut in the new ceiling. There were no light fittings; instead, bright bulbs sat inside round wire cages that had been pegged up on wooden splints, providing temporary lighting. They were plugged into cables that dragged along the floor and were criss-crossed into place with yellow-and-black tape printed with the words ‘Trip Hazard’.
No kidding
, Meg thought as she sidestepped one particular snaking cable that threatened to ensnare her ankle.
Dust fell at regular intervals, sending a fine mist of debris into the room whenever something was disturbed. It clung to Meg’s clothes and filled her nose and mouth with a grey, gritty soot that turned to paste on her tongue.
‘Oh dear.’ Meg shielded her eyes as she peered up at the ceiling.
Juno sighed. ‘Yes, oh dear. We have the mop out every hour trying to keep on top of the dust, but it’s not easy with all the cables and stuff in the way.’