Take A Look At Me Now. Miranda Dickinson

to secure my career prospects, if you get what I mean …

      I need updates as often as you can send them. And for heaven’s sake, have FUN. Then at least one of us will be and I’ll have something to read other than my mother’s discarded copies of Star magazine. I’d rather obsess over your trip than whether or not Kerry Katona’s had Botox.

      Love ya lots

      Vix xxx

      It was so good to hear from my friend and the joy of reading her words coupled with my current fragile state brought tears to my eyes.

      ‘Hey early-bird.’ Lizzie’s smiling face appeared around the door. ‘I thought you’d still be dead to the world.’

      I wiped my eyes quickly. ‘I probably should be. But my body had other ideas. I was checking my emails – hope that’s OK?’

      ‘Of course it is. So, ready for your first day exploring San Francisco?’

      I nodded. ‘Absolutely!’

      The sun bathed Haight-Ashbury, making every colour brighter and giving the streets a carnival atmosphere. As we wandered along the streets and in and out of the shops, people stopped to greet us – Lizzie providing the introductions:

      ‘This is Anya – I teach her daughter piano … Marcella was one of my first students when I started teaching here … Stanley’s son Karl is my star pupil …’

      ‘Have you taught everyone in Haight-Ashbury?’ I giggled when the fifth person had stopped us to say hello.

      Lizzie blushed. ‘It looks like it, doesn’t it? This is a very close neighbourhood and I’ve had a lot of recommendations over the years. I’ve been very lucky.’

      ‘They’re certainly friendly,’ I said, still coming to terms with the very tactile welcomes of complete strangers. I had been hugged by four of the five people we had met that morning and was feeling a little out of my depth.

      ‘Ah yes, I forgot to warn you about that. It took me a while to feel comfortable with the hugs. People here have a different understanding of personal space than they do in London. Don’t worry, though, you get used to it.’

      I wasn’t convinced. Having my personal space invaded by random people was a shock to the system. Even the homeless guys – who were present on almost every corner and street crossing – would step into our path and say hello. The homeless issue was a surprise to me, largely because nobody had told me how overt it was in San Francisco. Mostly men, they were polite and not threatening but there were so many of them for such a relatively small area. Already today we had encountered four men shaking paper cups on the street and I found it unsettling when Lizzie advised me to walk past them. In London I would always stop to buy a Big Issue, but the sellers there were far less willing to follow you down the street than the homeless guys were here. After a couple of hours I ducked my head whenever I heard a cup shaking, feeling awful for doing so.

      I think Lizzie must have sensed my unease because she grabbed my arm when we had completed a large loop of the neighbourhood and were walking back towards her apartment.

      ‘Right. I’m taking you somewhere where you won’t be hugged, hounded or stalked. Come with me.’

      She had stopped outside the ebony-black frontage of a coffee shop, its windows dressed in swathes of purple velvet with the name Java’s Crypt painted in spidery silver letters above.

      I stared at it. ‘It looks like a funeral parlour.’

      ‘Appearances can be deceptive. You’ll love it.’

      Java’s Crypt was the kind of place you would run for the hills to avoid in the UK, but here in San Francisco its presence on Haight Street made perfect sense, despite being slightly scary to walk into at first. I could imagine Edgar Allan Poe feeling right at home in its black and purple interior, sipping his iced Java latte beneath silver spider’s web lampshades in booths bedecked with purple velvet and black lace. The coffee shop (or ‘caffeine lair’ as Lizzie told me its owner preferred) was buzzing with a diverse mix of clientele, from members of the Goth community to loudly dressed American tourists, Chinese families and kookily attired locals. It was a surprise to see so many people who ordinarily would avoid each other sitting together in apparent harmony.

      We approached the black ash serving counter and I jumped as a tall, black-haired man with a deathly pale face and all-black clothes rose from behind it, looming ominously over us. I was about to turn and run when his black-lined eyes wrinkled and a broad smile spread across his purple stained lips.

      ‘Yo Lizzie! Haven’t seen you in a while.’

      ‘Hey Ced.’ To my surprise – and amusement – my cousin and the happy Goth greeted one another with a respectful fist-bump. ‘I thought I should introduce my cousin to the delights of your establishment.’

      His pale blue eyes flicked to me. ‘Hey, Lizzie’s cousin.’

      ‘Hi – I’m Nell.’

      He held out his fist, the black leather and silver bangles wobbling around his slim wrist. Following Lizzie’s example I offered a tentative fist-bump. It certainly made a refreshing change from the over-friendly hugs I’d been receiving.

      ‘Good to meet you. I’m Ced. Welcome to Java’s Crypt. What can I get you?’

      ‘We’ll have two of your Peruvian filter coffees please,’ Lizzie smiled.

      ‘Cool. Listen, find a booth and I’ll bring it over.’

      ‘Come here often?’ I whispered to Lizzie when we were sitting down. ‘I didn’t have you pegged as a Goth.’

      She laughed. ‘I’m not – as most of the customers in here aren’t. Ced’s wife Autumn is one of my piano students. And they’re good friends.’

      Five minutes later, Ced arrived with our coffee, together with a huge slice of white and dark chocolate-swirled baked cheesecake. ‘From Autumn,’ he explained, sitting next to Lizzie. ‘She said she’d been telling you about it?’

      Lizzie’s expression was one of pure joy and I had to laugh despite my slight unease in Ced’s company. ‘She did! We spent most of last week’s lesson talking about this amazing recipe.’

      ‘Your weapons of choice, ladies.’ Ced produced two forks and presented them to us. ‘So, Nell, how long are you visiting for?’

      ‘Eight weeks.’

      He seemed impressed by this. ‘Big US adventure, huh?’

      I took a forkful of delicious cheesecake and nodded. ‘Something like that.’

      ‘Nell just lost her job in the UK, so she’s come out here to have fun,’ Lizzie offered, which surprised me. I must have been staring at her because her smile suddenly vanished. ‘Sorry hun. But that is why you’re here.’

      ‘It’s fine, I’m just –’ I looked at Ced. ‘Forgive me. I’m still getting used to how forward everyone is here.’

      The Goth smiled. ‘It’s cool. And hey, good call. I’m in this city because I lost my job, actually.’

      ‘You are?’

      He nodded. ‘Ten years ago this July. Believe it or not I used to be a lawyer in New York City.’

      The thought of Ced as a suited lawyer was incredible, given his appearance. ‘Wow.’

      He waved a pale hand. ‘It’s OK, Nell, you have my permission to laugh. I find it hilarious myself. Hard to believe I was the golden boy of Jefferson Jones and Associates on Wall Street for two years. Golden in more ways than one, actually. This,’ he wound a strand of jet-black hair around his fingers, ‘is, unsurprisingly, not my natural colour.’

      His dry sense of humour made me smile and I began to