Christmas at Tiffany's (4 page)

They had argued all the way to the airport, no one able to edge ahead of anyone else because, in truth, nobody, not even Cassie, knew what kind of life she really ought to be living, much less where. In the end they’d hit on a compromise. Just as their mothers had implored them as toddlers, they were going to share.

Share Cassie. She was to spend four months in each city, living with them in turn. She would stay at their apartments – Anouk and Suzy had guest bedrooms; Kelly had a truckle bed – not only because the shortest rental period would be for six months, which was too long, but also because she wouldn’t be able to afford anything. Cassie had no money of her own, just a joint credit card which Gil could cut off at any time, and although she had inherited a modest trust after her father’s death, the girls were unanimous, in this at least, that she shouldn’t touch it until she knew where she was going to settle. It was going to be months before the divorce settlement came through, but here again the girls could help. Both Kelly and Suzy ran their own businesses and could feasibly bring her in on a temporary basis. Anouk was self-employed as well, although her business was too niche to employ anyone without specialist training, but she promised to work on some of her contacts and get something lined up for Cassie when she arrived in the new year.

So that was the plan – a city with a friend in it, a bed to sleep on and a temporary job. The girls would rebuild her from scratch, and each friend would get her turn to exercise her own influence. Cassie had agreed to give herself up to them completely, and had promised she wouldn’t protest or refuse any of their ideas for her. After the year’s end, she would know which was the real Cassie and how she was going to live; her life would be up to her again, but she would be a
new
Cassie by then – confident, sexy, worldly and full of purpose.

It was getting started that was going to be the hard part, and she’d had to plead for a day’s grace between lives. The girls hadn’t wanted to leave her alone for a minute, but Cassie had insisted that she needed a few hours to herself before this new chapter in her life began, and they had reluctantly booked her into a drab airport hotel room with a hard bed and a well-stocked minibar. Kelly had flown out that night, Anouk and Suzy had caught a train back to London together, and by midnight on the tenth anniversary of her wedding, Cassie was alone and sobbing where no one could see. And when the tears were still falling on the plane twelve hours later, she simply comforted herself that anonymity brings with it the shamelessness of being able to cry very loudly in public.

She looked out through wet eyes at the famous skyscrapers closing around her, the big sky folding down into smaller parcels of blue as the plane prepared to land. She might as well be landing on the moon as in Manhattan, and she felt a cold chill of panic surf through her as reality bit.

Cassie had left her husband and her home, her past and her future. Her life was in Kelly’s beautifully manicured hands now. She could only hope her friend had more idea of what to do with it than she had.

The cab pulled away with a squeal, absorbed within seconds into the yellow stream travelling south down Lexington Avenue. Cassie looked down at the crumpled piece of paper in her hand, which she had been clutching more preciously than her passport. The pen had rubbed into her palms and she absent-mindedly wiped her puffy eyes with grubby hands.
Apt 16, 119 East 63rd Street, between Lex and Park, 10022.
It meant nothing to her. She could navigate her way over sixty-five thousand acres of grouse moor, but the Manhattan grid? Not a chance.

She looked around at the crossroads and saw a sign saying East 53rd Street to her left. The buildings, all light stone and mid-height, were grimy to her eye, but Kelly had told her proudly that this – the Upper East Side – was Manhattan’s most prestigious district. Who was she to disagree? She’d spent the past ten years in bog.

Ahead of her, awnings in bottle green, claret and navy were stretched taut like limbs towards the road, and doormen in caps and grey braided uniforms loitered upright near the revolving doors, occasionally stepping to the kerb to help elderly residents out of cabs and limos. She noticed that miniature dogs were carried around here like bags, no doubt to keep them from interfering with the eyes-dead-ahead pedestrian traffic which wove and swerved down the pavements in a perfectly synchronized dance.

The buildings were all of rather stately bearing. She was pleased to see Kelly’s block had a new bright red awning – that would be easy to remember at least. The doorman – silver-haired and slim, probably in his fifties – greeted her as if he’d been waiting for her specifically, although she hadn’t missed the quick up-and-down he’d given her as she’d approached the building. She knew she looked a bedraggled mess. Her muck boots still had peat on them, and her ancient pink and grey Woolworths anorak which had always seemed so cheery in the Scottish rain now seemed garish and gauche.

Taking her bags, the doorman held the doors open for her and she walked into a smart lobby with wood-panelled walls and a limestone floor. Everything was gleaming and polished, clean and new – all the things she wasn’t. The doorman handed her an envelope Kelly had left at the desk for her. There was a key inside and a note.

‘Be sure to let me know if there’s anything I can do to assist you, ma’am,’ he said, smiling at her as he pressed the floor number for her in the lift. ‘Ask for Bill.’

‘Thanks,’ Cassie managed, hiccupping inelegantly and no doubt confirming his impression of her as down-at-heel.

The highly polished doors eased shut on his polite smile and she unfolded the note:

Great, she thought, folding up the note and putting it in her jeans pocket as the doors opened on to a small landing. It was six-thirty now. Hopefully she would have just enough time for a shower and freshen-up – cheer-up, sober-up – before Kelly got back.

Finding number 116, she opened the door – and gasped. The building was so imposing and grand downstairs. But up here? Her understairs cupboard at home was bigger than the entire flat! She walked into the hallway, which was tiny and square and demarcated only by a token mat that read ‘
I am not a doormat
’.

‘You don’t say, Kelly,’ she mumbled to herself.

To the right was a bathroom, very metropolitan, with white brick tiles, a plastic shower curtain and glass shelves groaning beneath the weight of toiletries. Adjacent to it was a bedroom. She peered in. There was just enough room to walk around the white leather button-pocketed princess bed, which was covered with a mink-coloured waffle throw and so many plumped-up cushions they practically reached the footboard. A small grey and white gingham bedroom chair was covered with clothes, mainly black, and an entire wall was given over to shelving exclusively for shoes. Her mouth dropped as she took in the rows upon rows of them. It was like Gil’s gun room!

Back down the hall, the sitting room was similar in size to the bedroom, with just enough room for a sofa and two armchairs – no TV, she noticed – and the in-out kitchenette was squeezed between the sleeping and living areas of the apartment like a room divider.

Cassie stood looking at the pathetic kitchen. She had bigger towels. It was pristine, that was about the best thing she could say about it: two black gloss wall units and a single floor unit, all without a smudged fingerprint anywhere. There wasn’t a grain of sugar or puff of flour or even a single crumb beneath the toaster because . . . she looked along the metre-long worktop – there
was
no toaster.

Okay, she knew Kelly wasn’t big on wheat. It figured she wouldn’t have a toaster. But the thought of forgoing her customary marmalade on toast first thing in the morning was enough to trigger a panic attack.

In fact, it alerted her stomach to the past twenty-four hours’ liquid diet and, rummaging in her handbag, she unwrapped the chocolate muffin she’d bought on the flight. As she munched nervously, her eyes began to tune in to another absence as well. Where was the kettle? She opened a wall cupboard – and found a towering pile of jeans. She opened the other one, already sensing that it would be too much to hope for cups, and, as she thought, found a jumble of bras and knickers inside.

She looked down suspiciously at the oven, one hand on her hip. It was doll-sized, with only a single ring on the hob. It didn’t seem likely that she was going to find the kettle in there.

She heard a key in the lock just as she opened the oven door to discover stacks of colour-coded cashmere jumpers.

‘. . . Obviously,’ she said wryly, turning round to greet Kelly and motioning towards her discovery. ‘Although, if you’re trying to get rid of moths, I hear it’s best to put them in the freezer.’

Kelly dumped her bags on the floor and gave her a bear hug. ‘You made it! You actually made it!’

Cassie nodded, somewhat amazed herself. ‘I guess I did.’

‘So what do you think, huh? Like it?’ she asked, taking the half-eaten muffin from Cassie’s hand. ‘No carbs.’

Cassie watched as the muffin was dumped in the bin without further comment. ‘Uh . . . it’s so . . . cosy.’

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Kelly called behind her as she marched towards the bedroom, wiping crumbs off her hands. She sat on the bed and took off her shoes, placing them tenderly on the shoe wall. ‘Small. Not what you’re used to.’ Cassie heard the sounds of zips and buckles clattering to the floor.

‘Well, no, it’s certainly not . . . what I’m used to,’ Cassie admitted. ‘But it’s . . . charming.’

‘You
say
charming, but “poky” is what you mean,’ Kelly said, grinning as she came back out into the hall in a wheat-coloured cashmere all-in-one jumpsuit.

‘Oh my God!’ Cassie cried. ‘You look like one of Jennifer Lopez’s babies!’

Kelly elbowed her, but she was giggling. ‘You’ll be begging for one of these once winter starts to bite! Just you wait.’

‘Oh yes, me in a Babygro! I can see it.’ Cassie giggled even harder. ‘And I can see the face Gil would make if he saw me in it even more.’

Kelly considered the prospect for a moment and then she began to laugh even harder, setting Cassie off until both women were doubled over and leaning against the wall for support. Their ability to give each other the giggles had been legendary at school – earning them both numerous detentions – but Kelly stopped when she realized that Cassie was no longer crying with laughter but just crying. She put an arm round her and they slid down the wall together, Cassie resting her head on Kelly’s shoulder as she stroked her hair, just like they always had done when they were younger.

They sat like that for a long time.

‘Oh dear, that’s not the start I was hoping for,’ Cassie sniffed finally. ‘I was expecting to hold out for at least
half
an hour before the wailing hysterics took over.’

‘Well, it’s going to be like that for a while,’ Kelly said quietly. ‘It’s all got to come out somehow. How were you on the plane?’

‘Oh, utterly mortifying – louder than most of the toddlers. You’d have left by parachute.’

‘Don’t doubt it,’ Kelly nodded, beginning to get up. ‘Come on, let’s run you a bath. You need to unwind. I’ll pop out and get dinner while you soak.’

‘Oh no, I’m fine. I’ll come with you.’

‘Plus you stink,’ Kelly said, walking into the bathroom and opening the taps. ‘There. I’ve poured my favourite Jo Malone in for you.’ She pulled on a pair of knitted Uggs and a sleeveless puffa jacket. ‘Put your pyjamas on after. I’ll be back in a little while.’

The door clicked softly and Cassie climbed into the bath, letting the water fill up around her. She realized she hadn’t showered or washed at the airport hotel. After drinking her way through the minibar, she’d collapsed fully clothed on to the bed and on being woken by her pre-booked wake-up call had simply stood up, grabbed her bag and staggered out of the door to the departures terminal. She wiped an eyelid and a smudge of bronze shadow came off on her finger. God, she was still wearing the party – literally wearing the makeup, the body cream, the shock and horror of that night . . .

Taking a deep breath, she slid below the surface of the perfumed bubbles, desperate for their cleansing, transformative effect. It meant she was being submerged in someone else’s scent – perfumed, sophisticated, unfamiliar – but that was okay. That was what she wanted. So long as she could be anything but herself.

When Kelly got back, she was wearing a pair of green checked flannel pyjamas – an ancient pair of Gil’s, her warmest pair for cosying up in front of the fire on those long evenings alone when he’d been working in Edinburgh during the week. A chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, which she’d picked up at Duty Free, was sitting on the table in front of her, with two coloured water glasses beside it.

‘You don’t have any wine glasses,’ Cassie said as Kelly eyed the tumblers suspiciously.

‘That’s because I don’t drink wine,’ Kelly said, picking up the bottle and reading the label as if it were dry-cleaning instructions. ‘Although I’m going to have to make an exception tonight. This is an expensive bottle and it is your first night in Manhattan.’

‘Why don’t you drink wine?’

‘Cass, the calories! That bottle adds up to the same as dinner,’ she said, holding up two steaming white paper bags which were slightly soggy at the bottom. ‘We may as well eat twice!’ She smiled forgivingly. ‘But it doesn’t matter too much. We’ll be running it off in the morning.’