New York City, thirteen years later …
Hearing a knock on the door, I knew immediately it would be Molly, you could set your watch by her. Molly Gray had been my best friend for the last three years. She was a proper city girl, born and bred in New York and living in a second-floor apartment near the corner of 57th Street and 9th Avenue on the west side of town. I, on the other hand, had arrived thirteen years ago as a terrified and bewildered child, and I had always felt I struggled to fit in. I was now living in a dingy flat in a less salubrious area of Manhattan, a place full of unfamiliar sounds and smells and where everything and everyone were constantly on the move. It was a million miles away from the country village upbringing I’d had, and often, I’d long to hear the familiar sounds of a cockerel or the bleat of a lamb. Occasionally I’d dream that I could freeze the constant motion and walk the streets silently, at my own pace.
Every Sunday morning, come rain or shine, Molly would power her legs around Central Park for a good hour or so before grabbing a coffee and a catch-up at mine when she’d finished.
‘The door’s open,’ I shouted, ‘I’m in the kitchen.’
Molly soon appeared in the doorway, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks aglow.
‘Morning,’ she panted, switching off the latest gadget that was measuring her performance and heart rate. ‘Not a bad time,’ she muttered to herself.
Her slender body was poured into the tightest, most flamboyant running gear you’d ever set eyes on and an abundance of rust-coloured hair was escaping her pony-tail as she hooked it behind her ears.
‘This was sticking out of your mail box,’ she said, placing the flyer down on the table in front of me before slumping on to the chair. ‘That’s right up your street,’ she said, sneakily pinching a piece of buttered toast from my plate then grinning at me.
Auditions for Wicked
The Majestic Theatre
Broadway, New York City
‘What, are you saying I’m a witch?’ I smiled up at her, hugging my third mug of coffee of the morning.
‘A good witch,’ she chuckled, ‘but this morning looking more like one of those English eighties rock stars. What’s with the make-up thing?’ she waggled her finger towards my face before standing up and sliding her Nike-swathed feet over the brown tatty lino that had seen better days towards the coffee pot.
‘It wasn’t the best night I’ve ever had, let’s put it that way,’ I answered, placing my mug on the table and looking up at Molly.
‘I’ll pour us both a coffee and you can tell me all about it. It can’t be that bad.’ Her tone was sympathetic.
‘Sorry, but there’s no more coffee, I’ve run out … again.’
Molly peered at the coffee pot then back to me, her expression a mix of surprise and sympathy, but she had no idea how difficult things really were. I immediately felt guilty for not sharing my woes with her, but the last thing I wanted was pity.
‘You can have this one,’ I offered, sliding the mug over the table towards her.
‘It’s okay, you look like you need it more than me. I’ll grab a water from the faucet.’
‘I don’t get paid until tomorrow.’ I sighed, ‘But there’s a couple of slices of bread left if you fancy some more toast.’
Molly gave me an inquisitive stare before pulling open the door to the refrigerator. Every shelf was bare except for a mouldy block of cheese wedged right at the back.
‘What are you planning on eating today?’
I shrugged, feeling totally helpless. I hadn’t even thought that far ahead yet. I didn’t want to think that far ahead.
‘Dunno, I’ll probably end up with a couple of Twinkies,’ I replied partly in jest, but deep down I knew if things carried on the way they were this could become reality.
‘Have things really got that bad?’ Molly’s tone was now a little more serious.
‘Oh Molly, I just can’t make ends meet, no matter how hard I try,’ I answered, not meeting her gaze. ‘It’s really difficult to find work, with a decent wage, working decent hours. Every job I go for has already been filled or the salary only just about covers my rent, leaving nothing for anything else. I don’t want to be working dead-end jobs; I want a career, I want to work in the area I’m trained for, but I just don’t get past the auditions. Something has got to give. I can’t carry on like this.’
Molly shut the refrigerator door before squeezing my hand, but stopped short of telling me it was going to be all right. It wasn’t. In fact, it hadn’t been all right for the last few years, but lately things had been slipping further out of my control and I was unable to hide it any more. There was a pile of unpaid bills sitting on the table in front of me and to make matters worse, I was already a month behind with my rent.
‘Let me help you.’
I didn’t realise I was holding back the tears, but I clearly was, as her kind gesture soon had them flooding down my cheeks.
I shook my head, ‘Thank you, that’s a kind offer but no, you have your own bills to pay. This is my problem, not yours.’
‘Don’t be crazy Alice, you’re my friend, my best friend. I can stretch to some groceries for you and help you sort out this mess. Have you told your mom?’ she probed lightly.
‘No,’ I confirmed, ‘the diner she was working at has just closed down and I know she’s in a similar situation. I didn’t want to go worrying her.’
Molly gave me a concerned look and pulled out a chair and sat down at the table opposite me.
I thought back over my last three jobs and blew out a breath. I’d handed out leaflets in Times Square for a pittance, worked unsociable hours in a twenty-four-hour burger joint which was usually frequented by drunks and undesirables, and currently I was employed as a cleaner at a theatre on Broadway. The money barely covered my rent, never mind extras for food or nights out. I couldn’t afford new clothes and every day was a struggle. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
Last night had been a turning point for me, I’d decisively told myself that something had to change. I needed to take control.
‘I had dreams once Molly, and look at me now. Can you remember when we first met?’
Molly smiled, ‘Of course I remember.’
Molly and I had met three years ago while doing an impression of a tin of sardines on the subway. It had been rush hour and we’d been travelling in the same direction towards Times Square, holding on to the same metal handrail. We’d both noticed him at the same time.
‘Look at those lashes, jealous!’ Molly had whispered to me and I’d chuckled.
I couldn’t help but stare at his bright-blue eyes, his rugged cheekbones and those eyelashes. Molly had been right, they were incredible. Any girl this side of the city, actually any side of the city would have died for those lashes. His attire, which consisted of a bright-purple velvet suit, a brown top hat and a gold bow tie, was causing a little commotion with another group of girls sitting nearby. And I was mesmerised too, he had a certain aura about him.
The train slowed down and he jumped off at 42nd Street. But just before he did, he’d turned to us with a twinkle in his eye and whipped out two golden tickets to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.
As we hopped off the train close behind him, we watched as he disappeared through the hordes of people.
‘It’s not every day you get a ticket to chocolate heaven,’ Molly sighed, and I laughed, stuffing the ticket inside my handbag. We walked and giggled all the way to Times Square.
In that short walk, something between us just clicked and we got on like a house on fire. I told her I’d just graduated from performing arts and about my dream to perform on Broadway.
Molly invited me for a coffee and we strolled up 6th Avenue in the New York sunlight towards the radio station, the place where Molly had worked since leaving school. She told me she’d started off as a general dog’s body, answering the telephone, making endless cups of coffee and generally avoiding the wandering hands of the guy on the news desk. But now, with her quick wit, hard work and determination she’d secured a place behind the mic and worked the afternoon show between five and seven o’clock on weekdays.
I was in awe of her, and as we walked through the glass doors of the studio, it felt like stepping into a different world. In the foyer were signed photographs of numerous famous people that had been interviewed at the station and Molly told me that she’d met most of them. It was exciting to think she’d rubbed shoulders with the rich and famous and was becoming successful in her own right. I too wanted my name up in lights, I wanted to be interviewed by radio stations and see my name splashed across magazines.
Now that I’d graduated, there was a fire in my belly. I was searching for jobs on Broadway and was excited for what the future would hold.
After the coffee, Molly invited me to join her in the studio and sit in on her radio show. The excitement kicked in as she gestured for me to sit opposite her. I watched in amazement while she put on her headphones and pulled the mic towards her and got the show underway. After the first song had played, Molly snapped a photo in the studio with us holding up the golden tickets and tweeted #findwillywonka. Within the hour, Twitter had responded and the actor Joe Tucker had replied.
That same evening Joe had invited us to one of his shows. It had been sensational, the performance out of this world. He’d met us for a drink afterwards and in his kindness arranged numerous auditions for me, but time after time the competition had been fierce, and I just hadn’t been good enough to secure a part, and the rejection letters littered the door mat. As each month passed, I felt stardom slipping further and further out of reach and I began to feel like a failure, struggling to fulfil my dream career. That’s when I’d begun to take any job, work any hours to pay for my own place and how I’d found myself in the situation I was now in …
Molly took a sip of her water. ‘Come on then, what happened last night?’ she asked, dragging me from my memories.
I shot a look around the dingy kitchen. Wallpaper was peeling from the damp spot in the corner of the room, the brown lino was curling at the edges and there was barely any light seeping through the kitchen window. Every surface seemed to be piled with flyers, newspapers and unpaid bills.
I exhaled, then took a breath.
‘I needed time to think, so took a walk along 5th Avenue, until I found myself looking up at the Empire State Building. You know …’ I paused, ‘I’ve never been up to the top of that building until last night. I was standing there, looking up towards the lights at the top, when I heard someone calling my name. I couldn’t believe it when I saw Madison, a girl I went to college with. She was selling tickets outside and slipped me a free pass to the top. And as I was making my way towards the 86th floor I could feel myself becoming teary, something inside changed,’ I began to explain.
‘What do you mean?’
I blinked back the tears and swallowed down the lump in my throat. ‘The view was spectacular, and in all the time I’ve lived here, in New York, I’ve never seen anything like it. I stared out across the city … at the million lights sparkling in the night sky, and it was simply breath-taking. And it might be the most beautiful place in the world, Mol … but,’ I prepared myself as the words left my mouth, ‘I’m not happy.’
Almost immediately, Molly reached over the table and grasped both my hands.
‘Oh, Alice,’ she said softly, ‘what can I do to help?’
I could tell by the look on her face she’d no clue to how I was feeling. Of course, living in New York had its good moments, but there was something inside me telling me I just didn’t belong here anymore, I didn’t fit in – and I never really had. Even at school, I was the girl with the pale freckled face, the English girl with the funny accent who always stood out.
Mum would never talk about the reason we moved to New York, and as time went on it became even more difficult to broach the subject with her.
My voice quivered, ‘I’m not sure there is anything you can do … I must have been standing at the top of the Empire State Building for ages, lost in my own thoughts, staring out over the city. And then, all around me, applause erupted. I looked round to see a crowd of people had gathered around this couple. There was a man bending down on one knee looking up at a woman grasping a burgundy box. You could see how much he loved her and right there and then, he proposed! What a proposal, Molly! It was so romantic, all hearts and flowers, something out of a fairy-tale but … it just made me think, what have I got here?’
‘You’re not too shabby,’ she gave me a half-hearted smile, trying to lighten the mood. ‘I know loads of men who’d give their right arm for a date with you … except maybe I would lose the eighties rock make-up first.’
‘I’m lonely Mol, sat here in this dingy flat with hardly any money, working any job I can to make ends meet. Surely there’s got to be more to life than this?’
Over time I’d begun to resent this flat more and more. In the last week alone my sleep had been disturbed nearly every night. Music pounded through the wafer-thin walls from the flat above, the lampshade shaking from the vibrating drum and bass. Often, I’d spend my nights shouting expletives and banging on the ceiling with the handle of the broom, and when that didn’t work I’d bury my head under the pillow in an attempt to block out the sound.
‘I’d never realised things had got this bad,’ said Molly, her attention unwavering. ‘Let me see if there’s anything at the radio station.’
‘It’s too late,’ I said softly, ‘it’s too late.’ Casually leaning both my hands on the table, I sighed.
Molly gave an infinitesimal nod, taking in what I was saying, and we sat there in silence for a moment.
‘In time, you’ll meet the right man,’ she offered.
I managed a smile. ‘It’s not just that.’ There had been something on my mind for a while, a niggle, an itch that needed scratching, but I just hadn’t said the words out loud.
I took a deep breath. This was the time to clear my conscience and confess all while I had Molly’s full attention. She was my best friend and I’d no idea how she was going to react to my next bit of news. But I managed to splutter the words out: ‘I’m thinking of going back to England.’
I watched as the words registered on Molly’s face. Her expression changed then she sprang upright in her seat like a jack-in-the-box being unleashed for the very first time.
‘Alice, England’s over 3,000 miles away,’ she finally said, breaking the silence. It was difficult for her to keep her voice steady.
‘I know, but it’s been playing on my mind for a while,’ I answered truthfully.
Molly’s bottom lip wobbled. ‘How long is a while? And why didn’t I have any idea about any of this?’ She fiddled with the strap of her Garmin with a grief-stricken look on her face.
‘Maybe the last six months or so, but even more so since I received this,’ I admitted, exhaling slowly and turning my laptop towards her so she could read the message I’d received at the beginning of the week via Facebook from Grace.
Grace Anderson and I had known each other from the year dot. Our mums had been the best of friends and as children, we’d gone everywhere together. Not only were we in the same class at school but we’d shared a passion for dance and drama, and every Saturday, dressed in all things pinkish, Grace’s mum Connie had dropped her off at Grandie’s ballet school, where my mum had worked as a dance teacher. Everyone thought we were sisters as we twirled with our identical long plaited coffee-coloured hair, blue eyes and a string of freckles across our noses. Back then, we had been inseparable, the best of friends until the day I left.
When I’d left, I remembered Grace clinging to me on the step, making me promise to write to her as soon as I could. I never broke that promise and never lost touch. Over the years, staying in touch had become easier. We’d followed each other’s lives on social media and I’d been thrilled to see that she was living her dream, starring in the theatre in Birmingham, even though I had to admit I was a tiny bit jealous that her career had worked out much better than mine.
I felt my pulse quicken as Molly began to read Grace’s message:
Dear Alice
I hope you’re behaving in that big old city and it’s treating you well.
Please forgive me for the late-night message, I’ve toyed for the past twenty-four hours about whether to say anything at all but decided that if I were you, I’d want to know. I’m afraid your grandfather isn’t well. His health has been deteriorating over the last couple of months and he’s been admitted to the local hospital. Mum is still cleaning and acting as general housekeeper up at Honeysuckle Farm. He’s mentioned to her he would like to see you one last time, which I know may be difficult in the current circumstances, but I feel you needed to know.
If you decide you want to come back, there’s always a spare bed at mine. I would love to see you too!
Grace xx
‘Does your mom know about this?’ Molly’s eyes were wide as saucers as she tucked her feet back underneath her.
I swallowed hard and shook my head.
‘You’ll have to tell her you are going back to England. You can’t just up and leave without saying a word.’ Molly managed a glimmer of a smile, ‘You need to go, Alice.’ Her voice faltered as she handed the laptop back to me and I slowly closed the lid. ‘You need to see your grandfather. They don’t live forever, and time is precious.’
I knew Molly was right, I didn’t have any intention of just upping and leaving but I didn’t relish the idea of telling Mum either. I’d no clue how she was going to react. Grandie’s name had not been mentioned for years, in fact it was never mentioned again after the day we left. My stomach was churning just thinking about it.
‘Don’t worry, you have me to help you through it,’ Molly said, giving me a reassuring smile.
‘Thanks, Mol, it means a lot.’
‘Are you definitely sure about this?’
I nodded, ‘Definitely sure. I need to see him again. It might be my last time.’
‘I know,’ Molly’s voice was barely a whisper.
‘Grace wouldn’t message me if it wasn’t serious and something inside me is telling me I need to try and put this situation right.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked tentatively.
‘I loved Grandie, I still love Grandie, but at the time we left, I didn’t have any choice, I was ten-years-old. But I do have a choice now. I’m my own person and whatever went on between him and Mum is not my argument.’
Molly gave a brief nod of understanding. ‘Do you have any idea what the argument between them was about?’
‘No,’ I shook my head and felt myself tremble, remembering back to that day. ‘I’ve no idea, all I know is that Grandie was angry, shouting she’d betrayed him in some way.’ The pain twisted in my stomach just thinking about those words.
‘Do you remember much about England?’
I nodded and smiled, and a warmth filled my heart just thinking about it. ‘Grandie lives at Honeysuckle Farm, and we lived in the annexe attached to the farmhouse.’ I hadn’t realised how much I missed him, until now.
‘Sounds very grand.’
‘It is,’ I cast my mind back, remembering the three-storey building full of exposed brick, wooden beams and huge stone fireplaces which roared every winter. ‘And there was a secret spiral staircase at the back of the house.’
‘Very quaint, like something out of a romantic novel.’
I smiled. Honeysuckle Farm was idyllic, set in acres of land with stone walls, ponies and chickens. ‘One day, you need to come and visit.’
‘I’d love to.’
‘Then there was the dance school where my love of ballet and drama began. Mum was a teacher there and helped to run the business. The idea was that she’d completely take it over from Grandie when he retired.’
Molly frowned at me with concern, ‘Do you know what happened to it? Is it still up and running?’
‘I’m not sure, I’m assuming eventually it closed down.’ My tone was pained, thinking about it. I’d never even asked Grace whether it was still there. As time passed it had never really crossed my mind what had happened to it, but it was that little place that had moulded my dreams into becoming a performer. I’d loved dancing there.
‘Such a shame.’
I nodded, ‘You’d love Brook Bridge; it’s a pretty village, a typical idyllic setting with lovely tea shops too, all things rustic.’
‘Very England!’
I felt a sudden warmth surge through my body, a feeling of belonging at my memories.
‘It was a wonderful place, but I’ve no idea what it’s like now.’ I began to wonder if it had changed and how different it might be.
Suddenly Molly’s mood dampened. She bit down on her bottom lip and her eyes drooped. ‘If nothing else, moving here meant we met.’
‘Mol,’ I exclaimed, ‘I’m going back for a short while, a few weeks at most. I need to recharge my batteries. I think I need a change of scenery, and hopefully I’ll come back with a new lease of life.’
‘So, when are you going to tell Rose?’ asked Molly as though she was reading my thoughts.
I exhaled and took a deep breath. ‘I’m just trying to work that one out,’ I said, turning it over in my mind.
‘And when are you thinking of leaving?’
‘I’m going to look at flights today. I applied for a credit card and it came through yesterday. The quicker I go, the quicker I’m back.’
‘Alice Parker, I’ll be counting the days until you return.’ She threw open her arms and I fell into them, hugging my friend tight.
As much as I’d miss Molly, the thought of going back to England by myself caused a feeling like excited fireflies exploding in the pit of my stomach. Was this a chance to get my life back on track? I couldn’t wait to see Grandie and Grace, and of course Honeysuckle Farm. The only pang in my heart was that Mum wouldn’t be going with me.