Take A Look At Me Now. Miranda Dickinson

where my after-school kids’ club meets. I think his exact words to me were, “we have another crazy Brit here you should meet”. Of course, he expected me to know Eric simply by virtue of the fact we both hailed from the same country. You’ll notice Americans think that a lot. As it turned out, we got on instantly and he became a really good friend. Actually, it was because of Eric’s work with the children that I was inspired to start the club, so I have a lot to thank him for.’

      Restaurants and food stalls selling fresh crab, clam chowder, hot dogs and seafood lined the seafront, the scent of cooking food surrounding us as we walked past gift shops (stacked with jokey t-shirts, souvenirs and cheap sunglasses), brightly painted coffee stalls, bicycle hire companies and electrical goods stores. I breathed it all in, feeling decidedly more positive than I had yesterday, the innate sense of fun making me grin like a big kid.

      On every street corner, we passed buskers playing. Their music styles were as varied as the food stalls they were often performing beside: reggae by the clam chowder stands, classic rock by the coffee and pretzel stand, jazz by the Italian pizzeria unwisely named ‘Pompeii’s Grotto’, funk by the twenty-four-hour breakfast diner and even classical opera next to an Asian-Japanese restaurant. It was my first introduction to the two major things that seemed to underpin everything in San Francisco: music and food.

      ‘The restaurant Eric recommended is over there,’ Lizzie said, putting a dollar in the bucket of a reggae-playing dreadlocked busker who appeared to be working his way through the Bob Marley Songbook on a battered synthesiser. She pointed towards a cluster of wooden tables beside a fish restaurant.

      We ordered steaming clam chowder served in bowls made of hollowed-out bread loaves and settled down for a great lunch.

      ‘I read one of Aidan’s emails yesterday,’ I confessed, blowing on a hot, sweet spoonful of buttery chowder.

      ‘You did?’ She made no attempt to disguise her reaction. ‘And what did he have to say for himself?’

      ‘That he’s sorry. And he loves me. He said the experience of making me redundant made him realise how much he wants me in his life.’

      ‘He actually said that?’ Lizzie shook her head. ‘Oh well, how nice for him. How do you feel?’

      ‘I don’t know. I mean, when he called me into his office I thought he was going to ask us to get back together, so in one way knowing that’s how he feels confirms what I’d been thinking for a while. But that was my life before and losing my job has called everything into question. And I’m still angry with him. He said he tried to save my job, but that’s easy to say after the event, isn’t it? When I thought about it this morning I came to the conclusion that I’m just not ready to go down that road again yet. Not until I work out which direction I want to go in.’ I stirred another handful of crunchy oyster crackers into my chowder. ‘Does that make sense at all?’

      ‘Yes, absolutely. This trip should be about you, not about Aidan’s guilt.’ She held up her hand. ‘Not that I’m saying he doesn’t love you. I’m sure he does. But you need to focus on yourself, not him. It’s like when I first moved here. I got involved with a bloke a couple of years ago who was enthusiastic one minute then cold as ice the next. I’d been battling to keep the relationship going for six months when Eric pointed out that the guy was demanding so much time from me that I never had any for myself. I argued with him about it for a couple of weeks, but he had totally summed up where I was. I pulled back and the guy disappeared.’

      It was so good to find that Lizzie understood what I was feeling and also to share in more details about her life. I was intrigued by the fact that Eric had been the one to dissuade her from her previous relationship. Seeing how close they had been last night made me wonder if their friendship was a precursor to more. ‘Eric seems like a good friend.’

      ‘He is.’ Her expression gave nothing away.

      ‘And you have Ced and his wife, too. And who was the principal guy you mentioned? Tom?’

      Lizzie gave a self-conscious giggle. ‘Tyler.’

      This was too good an opportunity to miss. ‘What’s that giggle for? I think you need to tell me about Tyler.’

      She shot me a look but her smile was as bright as the seaside sunshine. ‘Nothing to tell, thank you very much. I’ve known him about four years. He’s thirty-five, one of the youngest principals in the area and he’s a great friend. I asked for his help with the cross-city education programme I’ve been writing and he’s been amazing with it. And that is all.’ She looked down at her watch to signal the subject was closed. ‘Right, we’d better head to Pier 39.’

      We made our way along the seafront past the multicoloured vintage trams of the F-Line system, the crowds of tourists with their cameras and matching anoraks and the lines of bicycles waiting for hire towards Pier 39. We reached the entrance, flanked by colourful flags flapping in the Bay breeze and a giant sculpture of a crab made from iron and clad in growing plants.

      ‘Where does Eric perform?’ I asked Lizzie.

      ‘Right in the middle of the pier’s boardwalk. But we’ll hear him before we see him.’

      ‘What does that mean?’

      My cousin smiled. ‘You’ll see. We’re a little bit early but I reckon we should just head straight there.’

      We walked onto the dark wooden boardwalk and as we rounded a corner a familiar Essex voice called out above the hum of the crowd.

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen, roll up, roll up! Fifteen minutes to the show of the decade, a plethora of pluck, a phantasmagoria of feats! You do not want to miss this, people! Come and see me by the carousel at two p.m. sharp!’

      I turned to Lizzie. ‘Eric?’

      ‘That’s him.’

      We followed the sound of his voice until we saw Eric, dressed in black t-shirt and baggy red streetdance trousers, wheeling around amused tourists on a unicycle. When he saw us, he raised his hand and pedalled over.

      ‘You came!’ He wobbled between us, planting a kiss on my cheek then Lizzie’s. ‘Are you having a better day, Nell? Was I right about this place or what?’

      I smiled back – but then with Eric around it was impossible not to. ‘My day is much better, thank you. And I love your office.’

      He chuckled and spread his arms wide. ‘Beats a stuffy accountancy firm, eh?’

      ‘Can I get you anything before your show?’ Lizzie asked. ‘Do you have water?’

      Eric’s eyes shone. ‘Darlin’, you read my mind. I’m good for water but I could murder a coffee. I didn’t get the chance for one this morning. Would you mind?’

      ‘Not at all.’ My cousin opened her bag and searched around its considerable depths to find her purse.

      ‘Why don’t I get them?’ I offered. I was enjoying the atmosphere and wanted to say thank you to Lizzie and Eric. ‘What can I get you?’

      With their coffee orders, I made my way back through the crowds to the boardwalk entrance where I’d seen a coffee kiosk. The friendly lady behind the counter asked where in England I was from and wished me a pleasant stay in the city as she handed over cups of steaming coffee. Popping plastic lids on the paper cups, I fitted them into a cardboard carrier and turned to leave the kiosk – just as somebody’s elbow caught under mine and sent the carrier and three cups flying into the air. Shocked, I jumped out of the way to escape the hot liquid’s rapid return to earth and turned to confront the person who had knocked into me.

      And that was the first time I saw him.

      His eyes were shaded behind sunglasses and his dark wavy hair was being blown about his tanned face by the chilly breeze gusting in from the Bay. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans with a khaki jacket – and he looked utterly horrified.

      ‘Man, I’m so sorry,’ he said, his voice deep