‘We can ask about turbulence when we get to JFK, Molly,’ says Mum. ‘Put your mind at rest. Come with us – it’s the safest way to travel, your father looked it up.’
‘It’s not just the storm,’ I say. ‘I want to stay for KT. Help the police some more. I think if I fly home tonight they’ll prioritise some other case, some missing person or a new homicide. I just need another week here to get my head straight and help Martinez.’
Mum meets my eyes and she realises I’ve made up my mind. She sees there’s no point in debating this.
‘Molly, this is not—’
‘She’s twenty-two, Paul,’ interrupts Mum. ‘I want her to come but we can’t force her.’ She puts her palms to my cheeks, cupping my face. ‘I love you, Molly Raven.’
‘I love you too, Mum.’
She gets into the cab and Dad places the box next to her and helps the driver lift the suitcases into the boot.
Dad looks confused, but doesn’t try to argue any more. He says, ‘I can’t force you to come. But please stay in the hostel until this storm is over, don’t go out and about tonight.’
‘I won’t.’
‘We love you, your mum and me.’ His voice cracks. ‘We think the world of you, Moll.’
‘I know.’
He gives me a brief hug and says, ‘Call if you need anything,’ then gets into the cab.
Mum winds down her window and yells, ‘You got money for the hostel for a whole week?’
‘Violet Roseberry says I can sleep on her sofa,’ I lie.
‘Violet’s a good girl,’ says Mum.
‘Fly safe,’ I say.
Mum blows me a kiss and Dad winds up the window and their cab disappears into the wet, shiny streets of Midtown Manhattan.
Chapter 24
I sleep for sixteen hours straight.
When I wake up the storm has gone; it has passed right over me and blown itself out.
I stretch and feel like a brand new person. My eyes are clear and my breathing is slow. I am calm to the core. Renewed.
The first thing I do is check the news notifications on my phone, then the BBC News app, then Twitter, searching for any sign of a lost plane or a crash. Thank goodness there is nothing. And then a text comes through from Mum. Landed safely. Back home now. Dad sends his love.
I am in New York all alone and it feels truly wonderful.
After a hot shower I step out on to the street and the air is still. No wind at all. I pace over to Jimmy’s food cart.
‘Morning, stranger.’
‘Hi, Jimmy. You didn’t get blown away, huh?’
He shakes his head and smiles, ‘I told you it wasn’t a big deal, not like Sandy. This was a fart in a paper cup.’
‘I need some advice.’
‘And you come to me?’
‘Do you ever go back to Afghanistan?’
‘I thought you wanted advice?’
‘You ever go back, Jimmy?’
‘I don’t go back,’ he says, starting to prepare a tropical fruit smoothie. ‘It’s not like it would be for you, I don’t think. I fly back to spend a month with my cousins, catch up with my old neighbour, my best friend he was, and then who knows if I get let back through customs at Newark, you know? I’m a US citizen now, but who can say? Really, for sure? So, I stay right where I am and I work and I live my life. Regular customers. A wife who loves me, and three good boys. I’m lucky to be alive, Molly.’
He hands me the smoothie and I hand him a ten-dollar bill.
‘You never ordered it, you don’t pay for it.’
‘I want to pay.’
He shakes his head. ‘Advice, though, now that you might have to pay for. What you wanna know, Molly?’
I eye the smoothie. I didn’t see the ingredients, which fruits he blended, but maybe I should take a sip anyhow. Just for the hell of it. Be adventurous.
I sip the drink and it is sublime. I hold it up with a questioning expression.
‘Guava, coconut, pineapple and a little ginger root.’
‘It’s delicious.’
‘Of course it is, I made it. You want advice on something or don’t you?’
‘Best place in Manhattan for lunch under ten bucks. I’m flat broke.’
‘Who isn’t?’
‘Best place?’
He smiles and sucks air through his teeth and looks into the middle distance. ‘Ten bucks, really?’
I nod.
He sniffs and says, ‘Head down to 37th Street, then walk east to Third. Place called Sarge’s Deli. Now, it doesn’t look like much from the outside but that’s the whole point, right? You walk in there and get yourself a booth, nice and quiet. Hot pastrami on rye with pickles. Dunno if it’s exactly ten bucks but it won’t be a whole lot worse. Thank me later.’