Homesick

New York is wonderful. Fantastic. London and Manchester rolled together and then some. The buildings. The people. The buzz. I love it.

But, for some reason, it’s made me homesick. I look at the Empire State Building and think about Urbis. I see the shops and long for the Trafford Centre. Whenever I turn on the tv I wonder what’s happening in Corrie and Big Brother 7. I have to go home. Soon.

I’m not saying I regret coming here. It’s been great. Sunday was fantastic (after I got some birthday emails.) I went along to the opening of Helium’s installation. The crowd were well impressed when they took the cover off this enoooooormous balloon and the night sky appeared on a sunny New York afternoon. I’d hoped Brim would show but he didn’t, although I really thought I saw him in a tree at one point.

Then Helium, and some of his arty friends, took me to help celebrate his success at a bar that was all glass and shiny chrome. They toasted my birthday too. I stayed a bit longer than I intended and had more to drink than I should have.

Afterwards, I went to another bar to meet AP and Morgan. (AP never mentioned the cookout and I didn’t like to bring it up.) This bar was very dark and we sat in a booth away from everyone else. Morgan’s a dark haired, dark skinned little man. Shorter than me even. He talked a lot but I didn’t take in everything he said. Or maybe I did at the time and some of it was lost in the journey back to soberhood. Anyway, there was lots of talk about protocol and levels of security and responsibility and missions. I felt like I was being led down some sort of a maze with no exit. It was clear that Morgan wanted me to go back to Picar but I was very firm. Manchester is home and where I intend to go. He said there are things I can do in Manchester for him but it won’t be as lucrative as Picar. That’s fine with me, I said, I’ll have my nursing when I get back.

I seem to have packed a lot in during my time here. Seen the Statue of Liberty from the air and up close. Went to a recording of the David Letterman show. Actually managed to get a ticket to see The Colo(u)r Purple tonight. But I’m ready for home. Going to try for a plane for Thursday or Friday. It’s time I faced up to my problems. At long last.

In New York

Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday dear me,
Happy Birthday to me.

Well, no one else was saying it, not even Jez, so I thought I'd say it myself.

On my way

Here I am in Reykjavik with three hours to kill. Tiny airport with hardly any shops to wander around but, luckily, there’s a couple of computers that accept dollars. Had to so something to stop going crazy.

There’s a man at the other computer who keeps looking at me. He’s wearing a coat with an enormous hood that comes right over his face. In England they wouldn’t let him into a shopping mall, never mind an airport. And his hands on the keyboard have a green ti “Oh my God he’s coming over.”

He’s gone now, thank goodness. I was scared, I can tell you. The only bit of his face that I could see was his tiny red eyes from within the darkness of his hood. He didn’t say anything apart from, “Toni Hutton?” I answered to my name in the hope it would make him go away. Which it did but before he left, he gave me a card. On one side there are the name and address of Cochrech Industries in Picar and, on the other it says, “Toni, give me a call when you get back to Picar, Tristan.” There’s a telephone number underneath. Yeah, right, like I’d do that. Even if I go back to Picar, which I doubt.

Whoops, gotta go, they’re calling my flight. Talk to you soon.

Stranger and Stranger

I’ve got my ticket to New York. Paid for by my first money order from AP’s ‘people’. I leave from Kallarackel Airport at 3pm on Friday and arrive at La Guardia at 6pm Saturday (New York time). The actual journey will be 38 hours with time differences and all that. It’s made worse by the fact I have to fly via Reykjavik; God knows why. Even the travel agent said he’d never heard of anyone flying via Reykjavik. Anyway, it’s all booked and I’ve started to pack.

Jemima keeps saying that it will be difficult to go. Or rather to stay away. She says I’m a person who belongs in Picar, even though I’ve only been here a short time. There’s something about this place, some force that lets you leave but soon makes you come back. And then she went on about a cave and vampire tides and K3 coming for me. Strange!

Talking about strange, I went with her to see Leo yesterday. It felt weird right from the start. Jemima packed a bag for him. It held, and this is the honest truth, an Adidas shoe (size 10), a miniature trunk, a story about a couch arguing with a rug and something she called a mollydoll. She added a pot of jello (you can never have too much jello she’s always telling me) and a Kallarackel cake.

As we left the Golden Chain, there was a man in front. “That’s Charles,” she said and, handing the bag to me, she ran after him. But she didn’t catch up with him. “Totally disappeared,” she told me, adding, “That was Horace’s brother.” It took quite a while to get to the hospital, it’s hidden out in the countryside somewhere quite far from here. It seems to be some sort of mental institution, very forbidding outside but friendlier inside, apart from the locked doors. And the nurses! Not like any nurse I’ve ever seen before! A bit too friendly with the patients if you ask me. Actually saw one on a patient’s bed, lying next to him. They wouldn’t put up with in Manchester, I can tell you.

Anyway, they talked for ages. Very intense it seemed. I couldn’t catch most of it, I was in the corner out of the way, but the odd word came to me. I caught K3 (again!), Cochrech and Tristan. They talked about Lucy too. And then we came back here. Not sure why I was there really.

When I came in I checked my emails. There was a sweet one from Jez, saying he’s back at home sorting things out and, if I go back, maybe we could meet up for a chat and a coffee some day. But there wasn’t one from Brim which worries me. I’d emailed him asking if he wanted to come to see this Helium thing in Central Park. I hope he’s alright. He’s so vulnerable – perhaps someone’s hung him out to dry.

There was one from AP. Talking about maybe having a cookout while I’m there and about me having a serious chat with someone called Morgan. I don’t know if that’s a first or last name.

So, I’m off tomorrow to the big Apple. Wonder why they call it that? Talk to you when I’m over the jet lag and the journey.

Another One Gone

Horace has disappeared. Gone in the night. No message or anything. I'd been getting worried about him. He kept saying, “I’m being watched, I’m being watched,” and refusing to look at the window in case it was true. I never noticed anything but, I was so tired by then, I probably wouldn’t have noticed an elephant even if it stood on my toe. Just before he left, he told me he’d found something, a clue, about where Lucy is but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. Now I’ll never know.

And there’s another thing. When we discovered he’d gone, Jemima turned to me and said, “I know where Leo is.” There’d been a phone call from a nurse (another nurse!) telling her that he’s in some sort of hospital. She’s talking about visiting him and she wants me to go with her for moral support. I’ve said yes but that it will have to be quick because I’ll be getting out of here soon. My life just gets more and more complicated.

Jez's Gone

Jez’s gone. Left. I’m devastated but, in a way, I don’t blame him. We tried to make it together in an artificial situation, in a place where neither of us belonged, when neither of us was settled. So no wonder it didn’t work.

And the last week has been absolutely chaotic. There’s Horace for a start, all over the place, going on about finding Lucy and Leo when none of us knows where they are. I knew he was getting on Jez’s nerves and I’m not surprised. Expecting him to do stuff on the computer that he really wasn’t able to do. I did my best to help Horace, tried to find out information for him. Asking everyone questions, looking through the cellar, things like that. Have to say I’ve got quite close to old Horace. He’s had a tough life really, lost contact with his twin brother, Charles, and now he’s looking for his twin children, especially Lucy, and getting nowhere.

And the other thing is, I’m doing some work for AP, well not directly for AP, there are other people in charge but he’s the one I’m sending information to. Don’t understand it really, what I’m doing, but it seems to be going OK, no complaints yet anyway.

So, all in all, I’ve been running round like a fool for a week. No time to post in my blog or anything. Life should be a bit easier now. Jez’s gone, which is a shame, but now I don’t even have to pretend to respond to those come-to-bed eyes. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested, it was just that I didn’t have time.

My job for Jemima finishes this week as well. Holber’s coming back to work on Thursday. And I think Horace will be going soon too, I think he’s learnt all he can and it’s obvious Jemima doesn’t want to be around.

I think it’s coming to decision time. Do I stay here? Do I carry on working for AP when I know there’s more to it than appears on the surface and there might come a point where I’m involved so deep that I can’t get out? Sometimes having money isn’t worth the price to pay. So maybe I should go back to Manchester and being a nurse. My four weeks unpaid leave is nearly up and my job and my flat are waiting for me.

But the other thing is, I’ve had an email from Helium. He’s doing one of his balloon installations in Central Park soon. It will be an enormous balloon that reflects the sky for most of the time, but when it changes it will show the night sky (in the day) and the day sky (in the night). So one minute there’ll be a seemingly empty blue sky and the next there’ll be a big chunk of nighttime in the middle of it, complete with shooting stars and the moon. It starts on 28 May, which is my 36th birthday and I’m thinking that, maybe, I could go over to New York to see it. I could make that crunch time, time when I decide finally, home or carry on with this lucrative but suspicious deal AP’s sorted out for me. Maybe I could even meet up with him, talk face to face, find out more about what’s involved. I think that’s what I’ll do.

I’ve never been to Central Park. Or to New York if it comes to that. I wonder if there are bears in Central Park? Probably, because I’m pretty certain there’s gorillas.

Twins

Yesterday afternoon I went to the hospital with Jemima to visit Holber, the woman whose job I’ve been doing. It was weird to be back in hospital again, my feet squeaking on the lino floor surrounded by the antiseptic hospital smell that had an occasional undercurrent of urine and boiled cabbage. I felt like I should be in my uniform, bustling down to A & E ready to face the scared, the belligerent and the intoxicated. But instead I followed Jemima to Holber’s bedside and sat quietly while Holber told us that she was hoping to come home soon and, after a week’s convalescence, she would be fit to work again.

When we arrived back at the Golden Chain there was a strange man sitting on the doorstep. Well, he was strange to me but Jemima knew him. It was Horace, the husband who’d left 10 years ago. No one had seen him since, but from the way he talked to Jemima, you’d think he’d just popped out for a packet of jello. At first, when he started asking, “Where’s the twins?" I thought he was talking about me and Ann and I suddenly felt a huge pang of homesickness.

Jemima told him that Lucy had gone away to help a friend and she hadn’t seen Leo for about 7 years. He tended to find life difficult and she suspected that he’d had some kind of breakdown just before he left. “Left suddenly,” she said, “I came home one evening and he was gone. No note or anything.” She glared at Horace. “Like father, like son.”

Horace paced up and down asking, “How do you know he’s not dead?” but not listening to the answer Jemima gave, which was that Leo sent the occasional postcard saying, “Don’t worry, I’m doing OK.” She offered to get them for him and went into the house to find them. Horace followed her in and within minutes I heard raised voices in the kitchen. “You should have looked after them,” he shouted, “I left you in charge of my twins and when I come back, I find you’ve let them go off God knows where.” “They’re adults,” Jemima said, “adults!”

I went upstairs out of the way. Jez was on the computer. “Hey, look at this,” he said as soon as I walked through the door, “They did a virtual funeral in an online game for one of the players who really died.” “Yeah?” I said, not really listening. “And a bunch of other players raided the funeral,” he went on, “and it all ended up in chaos.”

I sat down on the bed and said, “Holber’s coming back to work soon. I’ll lose my job.” “Hmm?” said Jez, still looking at the screen. Then the door burst open and there was Horace, his face all red and angry. “Clues,” he said, “I need clues about where Lucy is. I’ve got to find her. Maybe she knows where Leo is.” He pulled the pictures down off the wall and stuffed them in his pocket. He took the books down off the bookshelves, flicked through them then tossed them on the floor. When the bookshelves were empty but the floor was piled up, he searched through all the drawers, most of which had mine and Jez’s stuff in. Any letters or documents, including the one from Aliss, he slid inside his shirt because his pockets were full. Then he turned to the computer. “Get off there,” he said to Jez, “I need to look for clues.” Jez hesitated before standing up and letting Horace sit down in front of the computer. He put his hands on the keyboard and then looked up at Jez. “How do you work this damn thing?”

I left them to it and went to sit out in the garden and try AP again. It was still his answerphone and I left another message. What’s up with these people, saying mysterious things and then never having their mobile turned on?

The Picnic

Went for a picnic with Jez on my day off. We walked up to the top of Isagor hill, it was very steep and we were knackered when we got there. It was a windy day but we found a sheltered spot where we could look down on the waves crashing on the shore below us. We’d made sandwiches, Marmite for Jez (he has a thing about Marmite) and ham for me. Jemima had made us two pots of jello which, unfortunately, had become a bit scrambled with the journey but they still tasted good. And of course we had Kallarackel cakes. They aren’t really a cake, more like a flapjack made from a mixture of oats, honey and cinnamon. They are deeeeeeelicious!

We did a lot of talking while we were up there. I was glad because Jez had been pretty quiet since he arrived. We both came clean about what was bugging us about our old lives and what we wanted to do for the future. We haven’t made any decisions yet but one thing’s for sure, we won’t be doing anything hasty.

I told Jez about a strange thing that happened with AP, the bloke who came for the conference. I was talking to him again on Tuesday and he gave me his card, saying, “it's not that hard to get out of debt if you're open to the right kinds of opportunities.” That was weird because I hadn’t mentioned my debts to him. I wondered if Jez had said anything because he and AP were having a right old chinwag the other day. Jez said he’d never mentioned me. They were talking about techie type things and then, suddenly, AP started talking about fires. Man’s obsessed if you ask me.

And there’s another weird thing. I helped Jemima out with cleaning the rooms and I did AP’s room. He’d left some things in there. Obviously packed in a hurry. There was a bottle filled with clear fluid which I emptied down the sink. It stunk the room out, a chemical sort of smell. Maybe it was dry cleaning fluid. Anyway, I had to open the windows because the smell was making me dizzy. Then I found a length of cord, about 2 feet of it I think. I was going to hang on to that because it could come in useful. Then I found the other stuff. In the bottom of the wardrobe there was a single shoe, bit big for AP I would have thought. And on the bedside table there was a notebook with lots of tiny writing in it. I couldn’t read most of it, but on the last page it said, “TS, PNS, GP, BSU, P68, 05.09.06.” Me and Jez kept trying to explain it. The best one we did was – the Scandinavians, playwright no sex, granny panties, black silk underwear, Paris 68.

Jez said I should call AP. Let him know what I’ve found and then maybe we could sort out sending it all off to him. And I could ask him what he meant about getting out of debt. I think I’ll do that.

Jez and King Kallarackel III

Jez arrived late last night. He was exhausted poor thing. It’s a long journey and it was made worse by the hassle he had at the airport. Then, of course, he’d had passport problems before that. So all in all, he’s had a tough time. I had no idea when he’d arrive but I just happened to look through the window as a battered old taxi drew up and he staggered out. He looked totally lost as he stood there, searching through his pockets for the money to pay the driver but when I ran out of the door his face lit up and he held out his arms for a hug. Magic!

We carried his bags in together and I made him some coffee. He didn’t want anything to eat, although I offered. Then we sat on the sofa for a chat but his eyes kept closing and he couldn’t follow what I was saying. “Time for bed,” I said and he didn’t protest. As soon as he lay down his eyes closed and he’s still asleep now, even though I’ve been up for hours. So I thought I’d come and do my blog and then see if he’s ready to wake up when I get back.

As soon as he’s fit I’m going to show him round the town. It’s an interesting place is Picar. Jemima’s been telling me some of its history. The English were here for about a hundred years but it’s not a time the locals talk about fondly. They’re more interested in what happened before the English were here, particularly the king that the English deposed, King Kallarackel III. He was a really good king, benevolent is the word they use. No one ever went without in this area, even beggars who wandered into town soon found themselves with a roof over their head and food in their stomachs. It’s a philosophy they’re keen to carry on, although in these modern days it’s obviously not as easy.

But the most important effect that King Kallarackel had on this town is his interest in dolls. He was obsessed with them. They had to be a particular shape, long and thin, like him, but apart from that, they could be as individual as the maker wanted. “I don’t like bland dolls,” he used to say, “Anything but bland.” This area became famous for its dolls and they still export them world wide.

One of the things that people always said about King Kallarackel was that he wore his heart on his sleeve and so the dolls often had a heart-shape stitched on the left sleeve. After the English left that began to change. The doll makers wanted to make a more impressive statement about King Kallarackel’s heart, about how important it had been. They started to make the left arm in an actual heart shape - the upper arm would be made like an aorta, the elbow would be the heart itself and the forearm would be the inferior and superior vena cavae plaited together. The hand would be veins intertwined for the palm and separate for the fingers. They still make the dolls like this to the day. Sometimes they mark veins all over the doll’s body, all leading to the aorta at the shoulder. I’ve seen some of the dolls for sale in shops. For some reasons they remind me of Tug Christ, the doll that Kevin bought for my mother’s birthday. I think it’s because they are the sort of doll that gets inside your head and you keep thinking about it.

Anyway, I’d better get back and see if Jez has woken up. Talk to you soon. Oh, and I’ll tell you about Kallarackel cakes next time.

Jez and a Job

I’ve had a couple of emails from Jez. He was all ready to race over to see me (bless!) but he hasn’t got a passport. He’s going to Liverpool on Friday to try to get one as quickly as possible. I can’t wait to see him. I’ve told Jemima he’s on his way and she’s quite happy for him to stay at the guest house.

And the other good news is: I’ve got a job! I’m a washer-upperer. Jemima stopped me on my way out the other day. The woman, Holber, who usually does the dishes for the guest house, has gone into hospital and so Jemima needs a replacement for a while. She said that, as I’m staying in Lucy’s room and not one of the guest house rooms, she’s willing to give me free bed and board if I help out in the kitchen. I agreed and started straightaway. There are a few other tasks, such as clearing tables, but it didn’t take me too long to do the work, and then the rest of the time’s all mine. It gives me something to do and will help out with the finances.

It’s going quite well really, apart from this morning when the toast stuck in the toaster. Both me and Jemima were out of the room at the time and it was billowing black smoke by the time we went in. One of the media analysts (here for the conference) came out to ask what was going on. His name’s AP – I don’t know what that’s short for. He ended up telling me about a big fire there’d been in New York recently. Then we talked about the difference between English, American and the local breakfasts which focus heavily on fruit and yogurt. Nice guy. Then Jemima walked past and raised one eyebrow at me and I knew I needed to get back into the kitchen.

It's all very different from nursing but I think that's what I need for a while. That's why I've changed the template for my blog. Now it really is a Smooth Blue blog!

Second Thoughts

I’m back here sooner than I expected. I’ve just discovered Jez left me a comment for my post last Friday. I missed it before. He’s talking about giving everything up and coming over to find me. It’s weird, I never really thought about how my coming here would affect other people. Imagine him being willing to give everything up for someone like me. And Brim has written some wonderfully sensible stuff in his blog about how he suffered similar debt problems in the past and recovered. He says that it was slow going but it’s possible and he says I shouldn’t be using another credit card because it will only make things worse. He is so right.

It’s made me stop and think about what I’ve done and what I’m going to do in the future. I’m not ready to make any definite decisions just yet but I’ve done a couple of things just to leave some doors open. I’ve sent an email to the hospital, saying I’ve got some problems and asking if I can take one month’s unpaid leave. I don’t think they’ll say no, I’m a good nurse and it won’t cost them anything. I’ve also sent an email to my brother Kevin asking him to tell the family that I’m OK, although I haven’t told him where I am.

Finally, and most importantly, I’ve sent Jez an email telling him exactly where I’m staying. I’ve also said that he must think long and hard before he comes over. It’s not that I don’t want him to come, it’s just that I don’t want to risk ruining his life if he’s not 110% certain. My head is saying he should stay where he is, my heart is longing for him to find me.

Journey's End

I arrived in this seaside town at about 8 am on Saturday morning. It had taken another fifteen hours after my last posting. It was raining heavily as I walked along the seafront, searching for somewhere to stay. Most places were full; there’s a big conference centre nearby and there’s a media analysts conference on. I ended up at a guest house called The Golden Chain run by a woman called Jemima. She too was full but she looked at me, exhausted and soaking wet, and offered to let me stay in her daughter Lucy’s room. Lucy’s away. Jemima told me she’d set off for Las Vegas but apparently ended up somewhere else, helping a friend of hers.

I was grateful for a place to rest and I slept for a long time, only waking up in the middle of Sunday afternoon and, even then, I didn’t feel like doing much. I went out for a burger and then back to the room. Lucy seems to be an interesting person, with an extensive range of CDs, including many by Ezra Kire, and photos all over the walls of places she’s traveled and people she seems to have met, as most are signed. One is of a girl called Aliss H and there was a letter from Aliss lying on the windowsill. I tried not to read it but my curiosity got the better of me and I pulled out several sheets of delicate lavender paper, covered in tiny writing. I won’t break Aliss’s confidences but I will tell you that the last line was, “I’ve got to get out of here.” I know that feeling so well.

Later on I went for a walk on the promenade. Up on the hills, the white painted houses glowed pink from the rays of the setting sun and I thought that this was a good place to take a break from my problems. Back at the hotel I found a book on the bedside table by Mary Robison, “Why did I ever.” It’s not a style of book I’ve ever read before (the cover describes it as minimalist) but it kept me interested until late last night.

Today I’m exploring the town a bit more. That’s how I found this internet café and decided to do a post. Now I’m off to check my emails. I’ll tell you more soon.