style="font-size:15px;"> I’ve also made my first trip to a real-life American diner. Lizzie took me to Annie’s – and seriously, Vix, it’s like something out of a movie. The food is phenomenal and it has a fantastic atmosphere. It really brought the spirit of the city home to me today and even though I’ve not yet been here twenty-four hours, I know I was right to come to San Francisco. If nothing else, I’ll have happy memories to look back on when I start job-hunting again.
Talking of job-hunting, how’s it going? Any luck on that front? And have you heard from any of the others? Really hope things are looking brighter for you, hun. At least you have Greg and gorgeous little Ruby to make you smile. I’m keeping everything crossed for you.
Better go. I’ll email again tomorrow.
Love ya
Nell xxx
It felt strange to think that my friend was so far away – along with everything else in my life. Thinking about home made my stomach tighten. I had eight weeks to figure out what I was going to do and all of a sudden that felt like an inordinately long time to be away. I was just beginning to panic when a new email flashed onto the screen:
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Stop worrying – I’m here!
Woo-hoo!
I am so glad you made it safely! I’ve been driving Greg mad since you left, listening to the news in case there were any reports of air crashes or earthquakes. You know me: always cautious. The thing is, I need you to have a good time but most importantly I NEED YOU TO COME HOME IN EIGHT WEEKS. Being unemployed is doing my head in and I need our chats.
I have an appointment with a careers advisor tomorrow. A careers advisor, Nell! At 32! It’s like being 16 again and I’m dreading it. I feel like such a failure. Even though I could’ve been Britain’s best planning officer and it wouldn’t have made any difference to me losing my job. Apart from Brown-Nosed Connie, I don’t think any of us could have done it differently. And I wasn’t willing to get carpet burns on my knees to secure my career prospects, if you get what I mean …
I need updates as often as you can send them. And for heaven’s sake, have FUN. Then at least one of us will be and I’ll have something to read other than my mother’s discarded copies of Star magazine. I’d rather obsess over your trip than whether or not Kerry Katona’s had Botox.
Love ya lots
Vix xxx
It was so good to hear from my friend and the joy of reading her words coupled with my current fragile state brought tears to my eyes.
‘Hey early-bird.’ Lizzie’s smiling face appeared around the door. ‘I thought you’d still be dead to the world.’
I wiped my eyes quickly. ‘I probably should be. But my body had other ideas. I was checking my emails – hope that’s OK?’
‘Of course it is. So, ready for your first day exploring San Francisco?’
I nodded. ‘Absolutely!’
The sun bathed Haight-Ashbury, making every colour brighter and giving the streets a carnival atmosphere. As we wandered along the streets and in and out of the shops, people stopped to greet us – Lizzie providing the introductions:
‘This is Anya – I teach her daughter piano … Marcella was one of my first students when I started teaching here … Stanley’s son Karl is my star pupil …’
‘Have you taught everyone in Haight-Ashbury?’ I giggled when the fifth person had stopped us to say hello.
Lizzie blushed. ‘It looks like it, doesn’t it? This is a very close neighbourhood and I’ve had a lot of recommendations over the years. I’ve been very lucky.’
‘They’re certainly friendly,’ I said, still coming to terms with the very tactile welcomes of complete strangers. I had been hugged by four of the five people we had met that morning and was feeling a little out of my depth.
‘Ah yes, I forgot to warn you about that. It took me a while to feel comfortable with the hugs. People here have a different understanding of personal space than they do in London. Don’t worry, though, you get used to it.’
I wasn’t convinced. Having my personal space invaded by random people was a shock to the system. Even the homeless guys – who were present on almost every corner and street crossing – would step into our path and say hello. The homeless issue was a surprise to me, largely because nobody had told me how overt it was in San Francisco. Mostly men, they were polite and not threatening but there were so many of them for such a relatively small area. Already today we had encountered four men shaking paper cups on the street and I found it unsettling when Lizzie advised me to walk past them. In London I would always stop to buy a Big Issue, but the sellers there were far less willing to follow you down the street than the homeless guys were here. After a couple of hours I ducked my head whenever I heard a cup shaking, feeling awful for doing so.
I think Lizzie must have sensed my unease because she grabbed my arm when we had completed a large loop of the neighbourhood and were walking back towards her apartment.
‘Right. I’m taking you somewhere where you won’t be hugged, hounded or stalked. Come with me.’
She had stopped outside the ebony-black frontage of a coffee shop, its windows dressed in swathes of purple velvet with the name Java’s Crypt painted in spidery silver letters above.
I stared at it. ‘It looks like a funeral parlour.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive. You’ll love it.’
Java’s Crypt was the kind of place you would run for the hills to avoid in the UK, but here in San Francisco its presence on Haight Street made perfect sense, despite being slightly scary to walk into at first. I could imagine Edgar Allan Poe feeling right at home in its black and purple interior, sipping his iced Java latte beneath silver spider’s web lampshades in booths bedecked with purple velvet and black lace. The coffee shop (or ‘caffeine lair’ as Lizzie told me its owner preferred) was buzzing with a diverse mix of clientele, from members of the Goth community to loudly dressed American tourists, Chinese families and kookily attired locals. It was a surprise to see so many people who ordinarily would avoid each other sitting together in apparent harmony.
We approached the black ash serving counter and I jumped as a tall, black-haired man with a deathly pale face and all-black clothes rose from behind it, looming ominously over us. I was about to turn and run when his black-lined eyes wrinkled and a broad smile spread across his purple stained lips.
‘Yo Lizzie! Haven’t seen you in a while.’
‘Hey Ced.’ To my surprise – and amusement – my cousin and the happy Goth greeted one another with a respectful fist-bump. ‘I thought I should introduce my cousin to the delights of your establishment.’
His pale blue eyes flicked to me. ‘Hey, Lizzie’s cousin.’
‘Hi – I’m Nell.’
He
