A Home at Honeysuckle Farm: A gorgeous and heartwarming summer read. Christie Barlow
diner she was working at has just closed down and I know she’s in a similar situation. I didn’t want to go worrying her.’
Molly gave me a concerned look and pulled out a chair and sat down at the table opposite me.
I thought back over my last three jobs and blew out a breath. I’d handed out leaflets in Times Square for a pittance, worked unsociable hours in a twenty-four-hour burger joint which was usually frequented by drunks and undesirables, and currently I was employed as a cleaner at a theatre on Broadway. The money barely covered my rent, never mind extras for food or nights out. I couldn’t afford new clothes and every day was a struggle. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
Last night had been a turning point for me, I’d decisively told myself that something had to change. I needed to take control.
‘I had dreams once Molly, and look at me now. Can you remember when we first met?’
Molly smiled, ‘Of course I remember.’
Molly and I had met three years ago while doing an impression of a tin of sardines on the subway. It had been rush hour and we’d been travelling in the same direction towards Times Square, holding on to the same metal handrail. We’d both noticed him at the same time.
‘Look at those lashes, jealous!’ Molly had whispered to me and I’d chuckled.
I couldn’t help but stare at his bright-blue eyes, his rugged cheekbones and those eyelashes. Molly had been right, they were incredible. Any girl this side of the city, actually any side of the city would have died for those lashes. His attire, which consisted of a bright-purple velvet suit, a brown top hat and a gold bow tie, was causing a little commotion with another group of girls sitting nearby. And I was mesmerised too, he had a certain aura about him.
The train slowed down and he jumped off at 42nd Street. But just before he did, he’d turned to us with a twinkle in his eye and whipped out two golden tickets to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.
As we hopped off the train close behind him, we watched as he disappeared through the hordes of people.
‘It’s not every day you get a ticket to chocolate heaven,’ Molly sighed, and I laughed, stuffing the ticket inside my handbag. We walked and giggled all the way to Times Square.
In that short walk, something between us just clicked and we got on like a house on fire. I told her I’d just graduated from performing arts and about my dream to perform on Broadway.
Molly invited me for a coffee and we strolled up 6th Avenue in the New York sunlight towards the radio station, the place where Molly had worked since leaving school. She told me she’d started off as a general dog’s body, answering the telephone, making endless cups of coffee and generally avoiding the wandering hands of the guy on the news desk. But now, with her quick wit, hard work and determination she’d secured a place behind the mic and worked the afternoon show between five and seven o’clock on weekdays.
I was in awe of her, and as we walked through the glass doors of the studio, it felt like stepping into a different world. In the foyer were signed photographs of numerous famous people that had been interviewed at the station and Molly told me that she’d met most of them. It was exciting to think she’d rubbed shoulders with the rich and famous and was becoming successful in her own right. I too wanted my name up in lights, I wanted to be interviewed by radio stations and see my name splashed across magazines.
Now that I’d graduated, there was a fire in my belly. I was searching for jobs on Broadway and was excited for what the future would hold.
After the coffee, Molly invited me to join her in the studio and sit in on her radio show. The excitement kicked in as she gestured for me to sit opposite her. I watched in amazement while she put on her headphones and pulled the mic towards her and got the show underway. After the first song had played, Molly snapped a photo in the studio with us holding up the golden tickets and tweeted #findwillywonka. Within the hour, Twitter had responded and the actor Joe Tucker had replied.
That same evening Joe had invited us to one of his shows. It had been sensational, the performance out of this world. He’d met us for a drink afterwards and in his kindness arranged numerous auditions for me, but time after time the competition had been fierce, and I just hadn’t been good enough to secure a part, and the rejection letters littered the door mat. As each month passed, I felt stardom slipping further and further out of reach and I began to feel like a failure, struggling to fulfil my dream career. That’s when I’d begun to take any job, work any hours to pay for my own place and how I’d found myself in the situation I was now in …
Molly took a sip of her water. ‘Come on then, what happened last night?’ she asked, dragging me from my memories.
I shot a look around the dingy kitchen. Wallpaper was peeling from the damp spot in the corner of the room, the brown lino was curling at the edges and there was barely any light seeping through the kitchen window. Every surface seemed to be piled with flyers, newspapers and unpaid bills.
I exhaled, then took a breath.
‘I needed time to think, so took a walk along 5th Avenue, until I found myself looking up at the Empire State Building. You know …’ I paused, ‘I’ve never been up to the top of that building until last night. I was standing there, looking up towards the lights at the top, when I heard someone calling my name. I couldn’t believe it when I saw Madison, a girl I went to college with. She was selling tickets outside and slipped me a free pass to the top. And as I was making my way towards the 86th floor I could feel myself becoming teary, something inside changed,’ I began to explain.
‘What do you mean?’
I blinked back the tears and swallowed down the lump in my throat. ‘The view was spectacular, and in all the time I’ve lived here, in New York, I’ve never seen anything like it. I stared out across the city … at the million lights sparkling in the night sky, and it was simply breath-taking. And it might be the most beautiful place in the world, Mol … but,’ I prepared myself as the words left my mouth, ‘I’m not happy.’
Almost immediately, Molly reached over the table and grasped both my hands.
‘Oh, Alice,’ she said softly, ‘what can I do to help?’
I could tell by the look on her face she’d no clue to how I was feeling. Of course, living in New York had its good moments, but there was something inside me telling me I just didn’t belong here anymore, I didn’t fit in – and I never really had. Even at school, I was the girl with the pale freckled face, the English girl with the funny accent who always stood out.
Mum would never talk about the reason we moved to New York, and as time went on it became even more difficult to broach the subject with her.
My voice quivered, ‘I’m not sure there is anything you can do … I must have been standing at the top of the Empire State Building for ages, lost in my own thoughts, staring out over the city. And then, all around me, applause erupted. I looked round to see a crowd of people had gathered around this couple. There was a man bending down on one knee looking up at a woman grasping a burgundy box. You could see how much he loved her and right there and then, he proposed! What a proposal, Molly! It was so romantic, all hearts and flowers, something out of a fairy-tale but … it just made me think, what have I got here?’
‘You’re not too shabby,’ she gave me a half-hearted smile, trying to lighten the mood. ‘I know loads of men who’d give their right arm for a date with you … except maybe I would lose the eighties rock make-up first.’
‘I’m lonely Mol, sat here in this dingy flat with hardly any money, working any job I can to make ends meet. Surely there’s got to be more to life than this?’
Over time I’d begun to resent this flat more and more. In the last week alone my sleep had been disturbed nearly every night. Music pounded through the wafer-thin walls from the flat above, the lampshade shaking from the vibrating drum and bass. Often, I’d spend my nights shouting expletives and banging on the ceiling with the handle of the broom, and when that didn’t work