I watch, strangely disconnected as Lila takes the shots she needs for her social content before finally returning to my side.
‘Look down,’ she says. And when I do, I see that where we are standing, a thick sheet of glass is all that holds us both suspended a thousand feet above Madison Avenue. I feel my heart raise an inch higher in my chest at the realization. Lila holds my gaze playfully and starts to crack her high heel against the glass beneath us, grinning the whole time.
I am not scared of heights, but my limbic system, millions of years old and incapable of understanding the modern world, causes my blood pressure to drop ever so slightly. I feel the woozy vertiginous rush I am supposed to.
Lila must feel it too, because the reactive sounds around us seamlessly mellow, soften, to the slow, pulsing beat of rain drumming on a roof. Through the glass, New York City is laid out in lines and blocks. So tidy and easy to understand from up here.
The Empire State, Top of the Rock, and the Chrysler Building. Model skyscrapers made by men like Robert Holbeck – the building we’re standing in now just the same.
‘This is a good test,’ Lila says with a chuckle.
‘Of what?’
‘All sorts of things. But it’s good to know,’ she answers simply. ‘You don’t scare easily.’
16 Krampus is Coming
Monday 12 December
On my way back to the apartment, my phone rings in my bag. It’s an unknown number. It’s too early to be hearing back from my publisher about the book; I only sent it last night. Curiosity piqued, I answer.
It’s a female voice I don’t immediately recognize. ‘Oh, hi, Harriet. Is this a bad time? Are you still working? I wasn’t sure if you would be. Sorry, it’s Fiona here. Fiona Holbeck.’
‘Fiona? Oh, hi.’ Weird that Fiona is calling me, I think, given I have just left Lila. For a second, I wonder if they’re all in constant contact on some kind of family WhatsApp group, but then realize the thought of Robert Holbeck on WhatsApp is ridiculous. Plus, Fiona has been trying to get hold of me for a few days now. ‘No, I’m free, now is fine,’ I tell her, slipping into a shop doorway to better hear her. ‘What’s up?’
‘Wonderful. I’ll cut to the chase,’ she says conspiratorially. ‘It’s a mad house here,’ she adds. ‘The boys are taking part in the end-of-term show at their school and it’s like wrangling cats trying to get them to practice.’
I can’t help but smile at the idea of little Billy in a tiny costume, singing, and the logistics involved in that. ‘It sounds very cute, though,’ I say, in what I hope is a supportive way.
‘Ha. Never have kids, Harry,’ she chuckles wryly, in the way that only mothers can. ‘Now, listen, I’m calling because every year we have a thing at the house, a party, and I was wondering if you’d like to come along to this one? Billy has been especially insistent about me asking you,’ she adds.
‘Oh, really?’ I ask, a sliver of pride in my voice.
‘Oh, yes. He’s been asking if you can come since the Thanksgiving dinner. To be honest I don’t think he’s going to stop asking until I give him a definitive answer. And, of course, we all want you there too.’ She breaks off for a second, her attention elsewhere, her tone of voice changing as she talks to someone beside her. ‘I’m asking her now, honey. Yes: Auntie Harry. I’m asking her now. Okay, then. No, let Mama talk to her first, okay?’
It’s Billy. I get a fuzzy aunty feeling followed by an odd ache which I guess must be broodiness. Thank God that just kicks in at some stage; I had thought it might not for me.
‘Okay, Harriet,’ Fiona singsongs. ‘Are you free on the sixteenth of December? You and Edward, of course?’
‘Um?’ I answer hesitantly, suddenly wary of being tricked into another unwitting Thanksgiving situation. It occurs to me that this invitation might be a slow preamble towards Eleanor’s Christmas. But perhaps that’s not so bad. ‘Sorry to ask, Fiona, but the sixteenth isn’t some big American holiday I don’t know about, is it? Nothing like that?’