They were in their early forties, which made them more than a decade older than Ruth and me, and I was instantly charmed by them. Jack was a professor of psychology at Columbia and Mona was something called a ‘domestic wellness coach’, which meant she told rich people how to rearrange their homes to make themselves feel less stressed out. As far as I could tell it mostly involved chucking stuff away and folding your clothes neatly. But they drank Martinis and talked about summers in the Hamptons, all mixed in with yoga and mindfulness and veganism. If F. Scott Fitzgerald were alive today, I imagine he’d be writing about people like Jack and Mona.
Ruth got along well with them too. She was as passionate about spirituality and meditation and all the rest as they were, and they had been fascinated to hear about her acting career. Jack and Mona came to see her performance two or three times – and when she told them Sally Klay had offered her the lead role in her new Broadway play, and that we would be coming to New York for the summer and beyond, they had exchanged a look of delight.
‘You should stay at our place in Brooklyn,’ Mona said.
‘That’s right,’ agreed Jack. ‘We’re going away for the summer, to this retreat in New Mexico. We were going to look for house-sitters anyway. What do you think?’
We had agreed on the spot. And now here we were, coming towards the end of our stay. It hadn’t been as idyllic as I’d hoped, but it had still been better than staying in a hotel. Or remaining in London while Ruth took on the world alone.
‘So, what are you planning to do when Jack and Mona get back?’ Eden asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ I replied.
‘I’m sure they’d be cool with you staying,’ she said. ‘They’re such nice people. So welcoming. That’s why I’m here. Last time I saw them Mona said I could come and stay with them any time I want.’
‘That sounds like them,’ I said.
Eden smiled but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. ‘It’s stopped raining,’ she said, wandering over to the window. ‘I should get out of your hair.’
‘Where are you going to go?’ I asked. ‘Do you know anyone else in the city?’
‘Not really.’ She stared out at the wet street. I could see her frown reflected in the glass. ‘But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.’
I got the feeling she didn’t have much money, that any room she could afford would be a fleapit. And she had come all this way, clearly needing to get away from the wreckage of her relationship, only to find a couple of strangers inhabiting the place where she thought she’d be able to stay. I felt bad for her.
I glanced at Ruth to see if she was thinking the same as me. Back in London, we had a cat called Willow who we had taken in as a stray. The cat was vicious and peed everywhere, but Ruth always forgave her, saying she’d had a hard start in life, that we just needed to be patient. This was a very different situation, but I could tell from Ruth’s expression that we were on a similar wavelength.
‘Why don’t you stay here?’ I said.
Eden turned from the window. ‘I couldn’t. I don’t want to get in your way.’
‘You wouldn’t, would she, Ruth?’
‘No. Not at all.’
‘There’s a second spare bedroom that we aren’t using. I’m sure Jack and Mona wouldn’t want us to turn you away.’
Eden brought her thumb to her mouth and chewed on the nail. ‘Maybe you should call them, check it’s okay.’
‘We can’t get hold of them while they’re at the retreat. They’re not allowed phones there.’
Eden took a step towards us. ‘Are you sure?’
I looked at Ruth, who nodded. ‘We’re sure.’
‘Oh my God, that’s so kind of you.’ Her mood changed like a switch had been flicked. She bounded over and wrapped me in a hug – she smelled of rain and, faintly, of cigarettes – then bent down and embraced Ruth, who smiled at me over Eden’s shoulder.
Eden stood up straight and said, ‘Wait here. Let me buy you dinner. What are you in the mood for?’
‘There’s no need,’ Ruth began, but I had already started to say, ‘There’s a taco truck on the corner.’
‘Tacos coming right up. Let me grab some cash.’ She ran up the stairs.
‘Do you think we’ve done the right thing?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, I like her. And it’ll be nice for you to have company while I’m at work.’
‘It will,’ I said.
Ruth went back to the kitchen to pour herself more wine. Eden was still upstairs, and I went over to the front window.
There was a man standing across the street, holding an umbrella which obscured most of his face, but I could see that he had a grey beard. He appeared to be staring straight at the house. Straight at me. And as soon as our eyes met he put his head down, pulled the umbrella lower and hurried away.
Weird, I thought. But when Eden came running back down the stairs, clutching a fistful of cash, I didn’t say anything to her about it.
Chapter 3
I emerged on to Eighth Avenue wondering if there was a manhole I could jump into. Sam Mendoza, the producer I’d just met, hated my play. He hadn’t used those words, but it was obvious. He had said it had ‘some potential’. And then he’d turned the conversation to Ruth, asking me how rehearsals for Dare were going. If I knew what kind of role she was looking for next. That, I realised, was why he’d wanted to see me. Not because he was interested in me or my writing, but because my girlfriend was a hot up-and-coming actor.
I was used to rejection and lack of interest. It went with the territory. After all, writers are as commonplace as rats. The world needs another one like it needs an extra hole in the ozone layer. I hadn’t been expecting miracles from this meeting.
But it still stung.
I got out of the Theater District as quickly as I could and walked towards Central Park. The city was as hot as hell, and crowded with tourists. In desperate need of a break from the heat, I popped into a Starbucks and bought an iced latte.
As I came out, I saw a familiar figure going into a jewellery store.
‘Cara?’ I called.
She stopped, looked around, then spotted me. ‘Adam?’
I reached her and we exchanged a quick hug. ‘This is a coincidence,’ I said.
‘Small world,’ she replied with her customary smile. It was the first time I’d seen her since we’d been in New York.
Cara had been on the cruise, the only other actress in the company. Miranda is the only female part in The Tempest, and Cara, an Australian who had something of the young Nicole Kidman about her, with strawberry-blonde hair and a cute smattering of freckles across her nose, had been Ruth’s understudy.
‘Why aren’t you in rehearsals?’ I asked.
‘I’m not needed today. Sally keeps reworking the script and my part has shrunk from tiny to infinitesimal.’
‘Oh dear.’
She shrugged. ‘That’s showbiz.’
‘But you’re still Ruth’s understudy, right?’
‘Yeah. Again. But unless she gets struck down by a mystery virus . . .’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, I’ve gotta run. I need to buy a birthday present for my sister. She’s sent me a wish list full of words like Tiffany’s and Saks. But why don’t I give you my number? We could go for a drink or something.’