As the flight attendants prepare for landing, I feel a shiver of excitement mixed in with my fear. As the plane descends, the people in the window seats start peering out but I stay staring straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of me. I am strong just like the ocean, I say over and over in my head. And then suddenly there’s a slight jolt and we’re on the ground. I’m so happy and relieved I want to cry.
“We made it,” I whisper to Elliot. “We’re here.”
As we get up to go, I glance out of the plane window and catch my breath. Everything looks so American—from the long-nosed silver trucks to the men working on the wheel of the plane next to ours, with their navy-blue baseball caps and cargo pants.
Elliot’s grin is so wide it practically reaches his ears. “We’re in New York,” he whispers excitedly. “We’re in New York!”
Even having to wait almost two hours to get through customs doesn’t dampen our enthusiasm. As we join the queue for a taxi, Elliot and I keep grinning at each other and shaking our heads in disbelief.
“I can’t believe we’re really here,” Elliot keeps saying again and again, clapping his hands together.
As I watch the bright yellow taxis speeding off with their passengers, I feel as if the plane has plonked us down right in the middle of a movie set. Everything looks so different—and yet so familiar. Poor Mum doesn’t look very excited, though; pretty much as soon as we landed she had to start making calls to people about the wedding. Right now she’s on the phone to Sadie Lee—the woman in charge of the catering. Apparently there’s been some kind of problem getting the quail for the Downton Abbey–style menu.
“OK, well I suppose that will have to do,” she says, pacing up and down beside us. “And don’t forget the custard for the bread pudding.”
Dad goes over and places a hand on Mum’s shoulder. She leans into his shoulder. In all my fear and excitement, I’d kind of forgotten that Mum is actually here to work. I go over and join them for a group hug.
Finally, we reach the front of the queue.
“Where to?” the driver says, jumping out of the cab. He’s dark and swarthy and wearing a black jumper, jeans, and a serious scowl.
“The Waldorf Astoria, please,” Dad says, causing Elliot to have another clapping fit.
“This is the best day of my life, ever!” he cries.
The cabdriver looks at him like he’s crazy, then he sees our huge pile of luggage—we needed two huge cases just for the bridal-party outfits. “Geez!” he says. “You guys sure you don’t need a pickup truck?”
Mum smiles at him apologetically.
The cabdriver starts slinging the cases into the boot, muttering.
“Don’t worry,” Elliot says to me quietly. “New York cab-drivers have to be rude—it’s their thing.”
The cabbie straightens up and looks at Elliot. “What did you call me?”
Elliot practically jumps out of his skin. “Nothing. I was just saying, it’s all part of your act, as a New York taxi driver.”
“What’s part of my act?”
“Being—er—being—rude.” Elliot looks at the floor like he’s hoping it will open up and swallow him whole.
“That’s no act, son,” the cabbie growls. “Now get in.”
We all shuffle into the cab. I daren’t look at Elliot in case I start to giggle. I’m so full of nervous energy and excitement I feel like I might explode. As the driver pulls out of the airport, I catch my breath. Everything is so huge—from the wide-open highway to the gigantic billboards lining the roadside.
“So, had any snow yet?” Dad says to the cabdriver, doing that typical British thing of, when in doubt, ask about the weather.
“Nope,” the driver replies. “Where the hell d’you think you’re going?” he yells out of the window as a truck cuts in front of him.
I clench my fists so tightly my nails cut into my palms. Instantly, Mum and Elliot, who are sitting on either side of me, place a hand on my knee. I close my eyes and think of Ocean Strong.
Once we get to the heart of New York my head feels like it might actually burst from all the incredible sights it’s taking in. I’d expected the skyscrapers but I hadn’t expected them to be quite so sky-scraping. And I hadn’t expected to see so many old buildings mixed in with the new. Every block we go past seems to have at least one old stone church nestled between the gleaming towers. And the people are even more fascinating. The sidewalks are crowded with business-people and Christmas shoppers. Just when I focus on one interesting-looking character, another one bursts into view. I watch as a beautiful woman in a charcoal-grey suit and bright blue trainers effortlessly weaves her way along the crowded pavement, suddenly disappearing into a juice bar. Then my eyes fall on a young Hispanic guy with purple hair coming out of a bookshop the size of an aircraft hangar and being swallowed up by the throng. There’s a cop biting into a hot dog at a traffic crossing and a nun in a dark blue habit, gliding through the mayhem as calmly as if she’s in a trance. Everywhere I look I see an epic photo opportunity. Even the noise seems bigger here, a chorus of sirens and car horns and shouting. Next to me, Elliot keeps squeezing my arm with excitement.
And then, finally, we get to Park Avenue. The road is so wide that the traffic lights are suspended over them on huge poles, swaying slightly in the wind. They’re the same yellow as the taxis that seem to make up practically every other car. My eyes open wider and wider as I take in the palatial hotels lining the street. All I can think is, I am going to take some amazing photos while I’m here.