Meet Me In Manhattan: A sparkling, feel-good romantic comedy to whisk you away !. Claudia Carroll
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Her whole expression changed, the way everyone’s does around me whenever the subject of Christmas comes up.
‘Oh hon,’ she said gently. ‘I know it’s a rough time for you, but …’
‘I mean, it’s not like I have a big family to go home to at Christmas, like you do …’
‘You’re welcome to stay with my family anytime,’ she said firmly. Same as she does every year, bless her. ‘You know that goes without saying.’
‘Of course I do and I couldn’t be more grateful. But you’ve got to stop giving me a hard time just because I’m chasing after a bit of romance this time of year. You know the reason why – you know everything there is to know – so come on now, would you really blame me?’
‘Well … when you put it like that … then I suppose not, no …’ she said, a bit doubtfully.
‘Plus, when it comes to men, the Olympics is more regular in my life than a proper boyfriend is, and then all of this love bombardment? Who wouldn’t cave, just like I have?’
‘I know,’ she said, ‘but still.’
‘And would you just have a read of some of his messages?’ I said, plonking her down into a desk chair in front of my laptop so I could scroll up all his emails.
And believe me, there were dozens of them by then; as though neither of us was able to put the brakes on this hypnotic little spell that had been woven between the pair of us. Emails from him just to say good morning, how are you today? Little short, snappy one-liners sent from this airport or that, telling me funny stories about grumpy passengers or flight delays.
And then my favourite emails of all: the ones where he chats all about Logan. The play dates Andy regularly takes him on, the fun they have on their father-son days out together and the lovely stories about how supportive Andy’s mother has been towards Logan ever since Andy was widowed, and how he couldn’t ever manage without her.
Melt-your-heart emails. Almost-know-them-off-by-heart-at-this-stage emails.
There’s silence as I watch Joy’s face while she scrolls down through them, one after another, waiting on her reaction. Because I challenge anyone without a heart of stone to read Andy’s own words and not just … melt.
A long, long pause and eventually she leant back, arms folded and threw me that look.
‘OK,’ she eventually said. ‘Well I’ll give him this much at least. He sounds … likeable.’
‘That’s the best you can say? Likeable?’
‘Although I will add this small caveat. He does lay on the Southern accent a bit thick for my taste. All this, “write back real soon now!” And “gotta fly!” Don’t know why he doesn’t just throw in “y’all!” at the end of every sentence for good measure and start singing a few verses of Sweet Home Alabama while he’s at it. Jeez, you can practically smell the Southern Comfort off the screen.’
‘Oh, now you’re just nitpicking. Besides, I like it. In fact, I can almost get a feel for what Andy sounds like just from the way he expresses himself online.’
‘Yeah, but aren’t you at all concerned at the whopping great howlers you’re peddling him? You told him you were reporting on a murder trial live from the Four Courts?’
‘Yeah, I know but …’
‘You don’t need to do any of this, Holly. Any guy in his sane mind would adore you just as you are. So come on then, time to choose. Come to the movies with us or stay home? Real life or keep spinning make-believe illusions?’
I think we both already know my answer to that one though.
And, sure enough, the very minute she was out the door, wouldn’t you know it I was straight back online. Fingers trembling, I attached the most passable photo I had of myself, taken on my birthday all of, ahem, five years ago. I was in Paris with Joy at the time on a girlie weekend, and it’s just that the background to the photo looks so Parisian and cool. It was taken at night (hence far more forgiving lighting), and I’m sitting on the Pont Neuf with my feet dangling over it, while Joy screeched at me from behind the camera to pose like something out of a Fellini film. As it happens though, I’m just trying to sober up and not fall in.
I clicked ‘send’. And then waited.
And waited.
Just past midnight and I was all snuggled up in bed, half dozing off, but with half an ear open, just in case. And then, thank you God, a blessed ping as a message came through to my phone.
Him. Andy. Back to me already.
From: Guy_in_the_Sky
Well hey there Holly,
I sure hope this message isn’t waking you up from your beauty sleep? I know it’s the wee small hours over there in the Emerald Isle, but I just had to get in touch to say I got your photo, safe and sound.
And wow. I knew you were pretty, but honey, in this photo you’re a total knockout. A real belle, as we say down here. I’m just looking at you right now, swinging those long legs off the edge of a bridge in old Paree, and marvelling at my good fortune in meeting a lovely, genuine lady like you. And I sure know it’s tough, all this messaging back and forth again and not actually getting to meet each other in real time, but that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.
See, I just got my work roster for the next month, and as good fortune would have it, I’m flying on the ATL-DUB route right at the end of the week. That’s right, honey, Atlanta to Dublin … I’m coming right to your home town!
So I guess, here’s my question. Would you do me the great honour of having dinner with me? And if your answer is yes, then maybe you’d give me your phone number, so I can call you to arrange?
So that was pretty much it for me then. No more sleep for the rest of the night and come to think of it, for the whole rest of the week ahead.
The following day, I was back to work in a blurry haze from sleep deprivation, but was I complaining? Far from it. Instead, I almost skipped round our huge open-plan office, beaming and smiling at the world. I let all the small stuff that normally bugs the arse off me slide, and at one stage, even insisted on bringing back an Americano for Maia Mars, seeing as how I was passing by Starbucks anyway.
‘Look at you, the Smitten Kitten,’ Dermot teased, perching on the edge of my desk and blocking my computer screen, so I’d no choice but to give him my undivided attention.
‘Well?’ he said probingly.
‘Ask me what I’m doing this weekend. Go on, just ask me,’ I told him, all excited.
‘You’re meeting up with this mystery man? That’s fabulous news!’
‘Dinner,’ I told him proudly. ‘He wants to have dinner. Not just drinks where he can skedaddle off if he doesn’t like the look of me; full-on dinner. He’s even calling tonight to arrange it.’
‘I’ll even forgive your adolescent excitement. After all, there have been three popes and counting since the last time I even heard you use that sentence.’
It was an absolute gold star, red-letter day in work too. We went live on air with the idea I pitched about long-distance relationships and, I’m not joking, the response to it was phenomenal. The segment was originally only intended to run for about fifteen minutes max, but we were so inundated with callers that it ended up stretching to a full hour, which, in a show like Afternoon Delight, is roughly the equivalent of striking a gold mine.
Throughout the show, all the gang in work kept coming up to me to