Lindsey Kelk 5-Book ‘I Heart...’ Collection

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‘Yes,’ I called, checking nothing was flashing in the mirror and staggering across the room to let her in. ‘Of course.’

‘I wasn’t sure that you would have all your essentials,’ she presented the trolley with a flourish. It was stacked with piles of giant cookies, boxes of cereal, a kettle of steaming water, hot milk, cold milk, pancakes, toast and a big box of beauty products. ‘And, you know, you mentioned a break-up and no one should be on their own after a break-up. This is our complimentary “All Men Are Shits” break-up service.’ She picked up a cookie, snapped it in half and grinned.

‘God, thank you, and it’s Angela, please,’ I said, feeling incredibly English. I took the half cookie she offered and stood awkwardly, taking it in. ‘This is wonderful, thank you, I was starving.’

‘Well, we’re a whatever, whenever hotel, and I’m a whatever, whenever kind of a person,’ she said, hopping on to the bed. ‘Say if you want me to go though, I’m totally overstepping my concierge boundaries. I just thought, if I’d come to New York after a break-up with one tiny travel bag and no hotel booked, what would I want? So I hit the supplies room, dug out some pyjamas,’ she pulled out a pair of white cotton button-up PJs from the bottom of the trolley, ‘slippers, socks, cleansing stuff, sewing kits – I don’t know, everyone seems to need a sewing kit – and all the food I thought I would want if I was post-break-up. And tea, because, you know, you’re English.’

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but I was more than happy for this girl to keep talking until I made a decision. ‘Thank you again, I suppose I do need pyjamas, I hadn’t thought about it really. About anything, actually.’

She mixed a hot chocolate for both of us and broke up another cookie. ‘They’re the first thing I need when I break-up with someone, I just take to my bed for like, a week or something, and then I eat until I’m over him. So, that’s why all the food. I’m guessing it was a bad break-up if it sent you all the way across the Atlantic, huh?’

I took the pyjamas and instinctively made towards the bathroom, but I had a feeling this girl wasn’t going to mind me putting them on in front of her. She had already flicked on the TV and was nodding to a music video. I slipped the bottoms on under my robe and quickly dropped it to slide on the top. They felt great, like the coolest, softest sheets I’d ever slept in.

‘Too bad to talk to a stranger about?’ she asked. ‘It’s OK, I am the hotel’s resident shrink.’ She patted the bed and I flopped down, like the pyjamas, it felt completely luxurious and inviting.

‘Well, I haven’t talked to anyone so far,’ I sighed sipping the hot chocolate. ‘I literally just found out my boyfriend is cheating on me so I decided to take a holiday to sort my head out.’

‘Seriously? What a douche. How did you find out?’ Jennifer asked, moving on from the cookies to a bowl of Lucky Charms.

‘I caught them having sex in the back of his car at our best friends’ wedding. Our friends all knew. Just me the moron that hadn’t noticed.’ I paused to accept a bowl of cereal. So much sugar in one bowl. Amazing. ‘We always said we would just walk away if either one of us cheated, so … I think I’m single.’

‘Ouch,’ she said, crossing her legs under her and shifting a couple of pillows. ‘That sucks. But you’ve got friends in New York?’

‘Nope.’ I munched on mini marshmallow pieces and watched the milk turn green. Eww and yum. ‘I sort of got on the first available flight at Heathrow that met my criteria of English-speaking, full of shops and really fucking far away from Mark.’

‘You picked good. New York is like Mecca for people that have had horrible break-ups, trust me, I’m president, treasury and social secretary of the local broken heart society. But not many people just get up and leave the country though honey, you’re real brave.’

‘Not really,’ I confessed. ‘I couldn’t go back home and I just really can’t bear the idea of talking to my friends now and finding out they’ve all known for months. And well, when you break the groom’s hand and make the bride cry all before the first dance at their wedding when you are the maid of honour, you think about leaving the country.’

‘Wow,’ she said, staring at me. ‘You’re my new personal hero.’

She looked so genuine, I burst into tears. Seriously, I’m not a crier, but this had been a tough twenty-four hours.

‘God, that’s so sad,’ I mumbled through the tears. ‘I’m almost twenty-seven, I’ve been cheated on, I’m homeless, my friends are all arseholes and I’m alone in a city with one tiny travel bag, a pair of £400 shoes that double as a weapon, and half a Toblerone. That’s not my definition of a hero.’

‘Nope, I think you’re a hero. You confronted a life changing situation head on, you challenged people who were negative influences on your life even though they were cornerstones in your social system and you came to the best city in the world to rediscover yourself. And, you’re not alone now, you’ve got me whether you like it or not,’ she said, smiling broadly and scraping her mass of dark brown curls back into a loosely contained ponytail. ‘Jenny Lopez, New York’s number one free psychiatrist. Make the most of me before I cost you a billion bucks an hour. And don’t laugh at my name. And can I see those shoes?’

‘I won’t make fun,’ I said, wondering how I could drink the milk out of my bowl without her seeing. Proof that E numbers are addictive. ‘And thank you, for all this and for listening and well, talking. And yes, the shoes are by the bed.’

‘Oh, never thank me for talking,’ she laughed, hopping up off the bed and picking up a shoe. ‘Wow, Hyde Park Louboutins, nice. Well, I’ve got to get back to the desk and I would guess that you need to sleep, the jet lag must be kicking in about now.’

I nodded, she was strangely insightful. When I tried to stand up to see her out, my legs were like lead.

‘Don’t get up,’ she said, opening the door. ‘Just enjoy the food, watch some shitty TV and get ready for tomorrow.’

‘What’s tomorrow?’ I asked, cracking into the pancakes. I was so hungry and everything was so good.

Jenny grinned from the doorway. ‘Lots of things. It’s my day off, it’s the day I’m taking you out so you don’t spend a second longer than necessary alone watching cable, and it’s the first day of your New York adventure. Be up and in reception by nine-thirty.’

And she was gone.

I sat on the bed, slightly shell-shocked. Opposite the bed was a large mirror, six feet high, leaning against the wall. I could hardly believe it was me staring back out. Me in New York. Me, single. Me with a friend, (albeit a pity friend) taking me on a tour of the city in twelve hours. The jet lag was starting to make me feel as though I’d drunk a lot more vodka than I really had and all the food on the trolley was starting to blur out of focus. Pushing backwards and kicking the covers down around me, I collapsed into the feather bed. Happily, the remote control surfed to the top of the quilt and found its way into my hand. I flicked and flicked until I found something familiar. Ahhh, Friends. Perfect. The insanity of the last twenty-four hours flitted around in the back of my mind as I tried to relax. The sun had started to set outside, casting long shadows across my room.

Aren’t you feeling lonely? You should go home and confront things, the dark room whispered. I had always hated how things seemed ever so slightly worse, ever so slightly more insane at night. I defiantly stuck my hand out and fumbled around on the trolley for another cookie, the final act of exertion that pushed me over the edge. I collapsed into a dreamless, jet lag induced sleep before I even got it to my mouth.