“This is the best day of my life, ever!” he cries.
The cabdriver looks at him like he’s crazy, then he sees our huge pile of luggage—we needed two huge cases just for the bridal-party outfits. “Geez!” he says. “You guys sure you don’t need a pickup truck?”
Mum smiles at him apologetically.
The cabdriver starts slinging the cases into the boot, muttering.
“Don’t worry,” Elliot says to me quietly. “New York cabdrivers have to be rude—it’s their thing.”
The cabbie straightens up and looks at Elliot. “What did you call me?”
Elliot practically jumps out of his skin. “Nothing. I was just saying, it’s all part of your act, as a New York taxi driver.”
“What’s part of my act?”
“Being—er—being—rude.” Elliot looks at the floor like he’s hoping it will open up and swallow him whole.
“That’s no act, son,” the cabbie growls. “Now get in.”
We all shuffle into the cab. I daren’t look at Elliot in case I start to giggle. I’m so full of nervous energy and excitement I feel like I might explode. As the driver pulls out of the airport, I catch my breath. Everything is so huge—from the wide-open highway to the gigantic billboards lining the roadside.
“So, had any snow yet?” Dad says to the cabdriver, doing that typical British thing of, when in doubt, ask about the weather.
“Nope,” the driver replies. “Where the hell d’you think you’re going?” he yells out of the window as a truck cuts in front of him.
I clench my fists so tightly my nails cut into my palms. Instantly, Mum and Elliot, who are sitting on either side of me, place a hand on my knee. I close my eyes and think of Ocean Strong.
Once we get to the heart of New York my head feels like it might actually burst from all the incredible sights it’s taking in. I’d expected the skyscrapers but I hadn’t expected them to be quite so skyscraping. And I hadn’t expected to see so many old buildings mixed in with the new. Every block we go past seems to have at least one old stone church nestled between the gleaming towers. And the people are even more fascinating. The sidewalks are crowded with business-people and Christmas shoppers. Just when I focus on one interesting-looking character, another one bursts into view. I watch as a beautiful woman in a charcoal-grey suit and bright blue trainers effortlessly weaves her way along the crowded pavement, suddenly disappearing into a juice bar. Then my eyes fall on a young Hispanic guy with purple hair coming out of a bookshop the size of an aircraft hangar and being swallowed up by the throng. There’s a cop biting into a hot dog at a traffic crossing and a nun in a dark blue habit, gliding through the mayhem as calmly as if she’s in a trance. Everywhere I look I see an epic photo opportunity. Even the noise seems bigger here, a chorus of sirens and car horns and shouting. Next to me, Elliot keeps squeezing my arm with excitement.
And then, finally, we get to Park Avenue. The road is so wide that the traffic lights are suspended over them on huge poles, swaying slightly in the wind. They’re the same yellow as the taxis that seem to make up practically every other car. My eyes open wider and wider as I take in the palatial hotels lining the street. All I can think is, I am going to take some amazing photos while I’m here.
When we pull up outside our hotel, even Dad looks speechless. The grey stone front seems to stretch up for miles. Two huge Christmas trees twinkling with red and gold lights are standing on either side of the large revolving door, like guards on duty. As I step out of the taxi, I feel something cold on the end of my nose. I look up and see that it’s starting to snow. Not heavily, just a few tiny flakes drifting down, as if they’ve sneaked out of a cloud to see what’s going on.
“Good afternoon, ma’am!”
I look over and see a doorman dressed in the smartest uniform ever, smiling at me.
I smile back shyly. “Afternoon.”
“Welcome to the Waldorf,” he says, coming over to help us with our cases.
I look at the Christmas trees and the twinkling lights and the snowflakes shimmering in the air like powdered silver, and I don’t feel like I’m in a movie anymore; I feel like I’m in a fairy tale. As we all follow the doorman into the hotel, I cross my fingers and hope it has a really happy ending.
Chapter Fourteen
Imagine the most incredible, beautiful, luxurious fairy-tale palace your brain is capable of conjuring. Then add more marble, more gold, more chandeliers, and more general shininess and sparkliness and then, maybe, you’ll have something close to the Waldorf Astoria.
“Wow!” Elliot exclaims, as he gazes around the lobby.
“Beats the Hastings Travelodge, eh, kids?” Dad says with a wink.
I’m too stunned to even giggle.
Mum looks slightly terrified. “This is huge,” she whispers to Dad. And I’m not sure if she’s talking about the lobby, the hotel, or the wedding she’s got to organize.
By the time we’ve been shown to our rooms, Elliot and I are doing a great impression of a pair of goldfishes—opening and closing our mouths but with no words coming out other than “Oh my God.”
We’ve been put in two adjoining rooms right next door to Mum and Dad’s.
“We need one of these back at home,” Elliot calls over to me from the adjoining door. “How cool would that be, if I could just pop over to see you without ever having to go outside?”