From Notting Hill to New York . . . Actually (24 page)

I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to argue with Peter, he seemed so calm.

‘But I don’t want to split up with Sean. I love him.’

Peter smiles, ‘I know you do, and I’m not suggesting for one moment that’s what you should do. I’m just saying you’ll find your own way through this hiccup in your life, and when you do, you’ll know that it all happened for a reason.’

I have to smile at him. ‘That old chestnut?’

‘It’s what you believe, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose so …’

‘Well then, you can’t stop now just because things have become a bit awkward or difficult to handle. I think you need to step back from everything. Find something to take your mind off all this.’ He thinks for a moment. ‘What are you doing right now?’

‘Mainly talking to you.’

‘Then come with me,’ he says standing up.

‘Where?’

‘Don’t ask questions. Do you trust me, Scarlett?’

‘Of course,’ I reply, standing
up too. ‘But the last time you said “come with me” I ended up in a room alone with Bradley Cooper.’

‘And that was a bad thing?’ he says with an amused expression.

‘OK, OK, I’ll come.’

Peter hails a cab outside the cathedral and we travel downtown and across the Brooklyn Bridge, eventually pulling up outside a large house in a fairly rundown part of Brooklyn. It’s amazing how just driving over a bridge can change the feel and look of a city. We’d left Man hattan with all its wealthy streets, extravagant buildings and beautifully dressed people, and arrived here in what many would call the ‘real’ New York, with its urban sprawl of buildings and colourful, passionate people.

‘What are we doing here?’ I ask as Peter climbs out and holds the door open for me.

‘You’ll see,’ he says as he pays the cab driver and asks him to wait.

He strides confidently up to a battered-looking front porch, then rattles very quietly on the doorknocker. As I follow him I notice there are a couple of rusty but well used children’s bikes leaning up against it, and a discarded baseball bat and mitt abandoned on the ground outside.

After
a minute or so the door is opened by a middleaged woman wearing track pants and a t-shirt with the logo
Friends – How you doin’?

‘Peter!’ she exclaims. ‘What brings you here at this time of night?’

‘I just thought I’d pay you all a quick visit, Kim,’ Peter says. ‘Is it OK to bring a friend in?’

‘Sure!’ Kim says with a broad smile and a wave of her hand. ‘Come on in, sweetie.’

I follow Peter into the house. Inside is a large hallway with several rooms leading off it, and a wide flight of stairs with a well-worn carpet leading up to the next floor.

Two boys of about ten years old come running through the hall, chasing each other.

‘Lucien, Marcus!’ Kim calls in a stern voice. ‘Now I’ve just told you it’s time for bed. Please do like the others and go and get into your pyjamas now.’

The two boys stop their game for a moment, turn and look at Kim, then race up the stairs. I’m not sure if they are heeding her instructions or continuing with their game.

She shakes her head at us. ‘Boys of that age; what can you do with them? Everyone else is either getting ready for bed or in bed already. Except for the older ones, that is.’

I’m beginning to wonder just how many children this poor woman has.

‘Is it
all right if I take Scarlett for a quick tour around?’ Peter asks. ‘She was very helpful at our charity ball the other night, and I wanted her to see the home in action.’

‘Sure, honey,’ Kim nods. ‘But there’s not much action at this time of night. Like I say, most have already gone to bed or are getting ready to go.’

So this is the children’s home we were raising funds for at the ball.

‘Do you want one of the helpers to show you around?’ she asks Peter. ‘Or will you be OK on your own?’

‘I think I know the place pretty well by now, Kim,’ Peter winks. ‘Scarlett and I will be just fine.’

Peter leads me upstairs first.

‘Why have you brought me here?’ I ask as we climb stairs that must have hundreds of feet stampeding up and down them every day by the look of the threadbare carpet and worn handrail.

‘You’ll see,’ Peter says mysteriously. As we reach the top of the stairs and cross a long hallway, Peter very gently pushes open a door and peeks inside, then beckons for me to come forward. ‘Take a look,’ he whispers.

I come up to the door and put my face to the gap. Inside the room I see six beds and two cots all with small children sleeping peacefully in them. The room is dimly lit by a teddy bear nightlight, but I can still make out a brightly coloured border going all the way around the inside of the room,
and there are toys scattered over the floor and beds.

‘This is the younger children’s room,’ Peter explains. ‘That’s why they’re all tucked up in bed already.’

‘Are they all orphans?’ I whisper, still watching the children sleep.

‘Some. Some are just here because their parents can’t look after them any more.’

‘But why?’ I ask, pulling my head away from the room to look at Peter.

‘Different reasons. Usually it’s drugs or alcohol abuse of some sort.’

‘Both their parents? How awful for them.’ I peep into the room again.

‘Not always both. Sometimes they’re from a single-parent family that just can’t cope, and they’re brought here.’

‘But what about the other parent? Can’t they be found?’

‘Not always, if they’ve been estranged from the family for a while.’

‘But aren’t there, like, government departments for that?’ I look at Peter hopefully.

He smiles. ‘Ever the optimist, eh? No, Scarlett, there just isn’t the funding these days for that kind of thing.’

‘But that’s terrible.’

‘Way of the world, I’m afraid. Come on – let me show you some more.’ Peter leads me across the
hall to another door. He knocks this time, and we hear a lot of scuffling in the room before Peter gently pushes the door open.

Eight beds are suddenly very quickly occupied as Peter and I stand in the doorway, and the room is very quiet; too quiet. Then one of the beds lets out a tiny giggle, followed by a second, and suddenly all the beds are shaking as girly laughter fills the room.

‘It’s all right, girls,’ Peter says. ‘It’s not Kim, it’s me.’

‘Uncle Peter,’ one of the beds shouts, and a girl of about ten years old leaps from it and bounds across the room.

‘Uncle Peter!’ Suddenly all eight beds are emptied as Peter is surrounded by females half his size all clamouring for his attention.

‘Shush, girls,’ Peter says, kneeling down beside them. ‘Or Kim will be up here telling me off for disturbing you. Now, I want you to meet a very special guest I’ve brought to see you all tonight. This is Scarlett.’

‘Hi, Scarlett,’ some of them reply, looking up at me with awe. Feeling very out of place, I kneel down beside them too.

‘Hello, I’m very pleased to meet you all.’

‘I like your hair, Scarlett,’ says one of the girls who has bright red hair tied up in tight plaits. ‘It’s very pretty.’

‘Thank you.’

‘How do you do it like that?’

I’d pulled
my hair up quickly into a loose chignon and stuck a few clips in it before I’d snuck out of the hotel room tonight. ‘It’s nothing special,’ I assure her. ‘It’s really easy to do.’

‘Will you show me?’ she asks, looking up at me with big green eyes.

‘Not tonight, Nicole,’ Peter says. ‘You’ve got to go to bed in a minute.’

‘Another time, then?’ Nicole asks hopefully.

I smile back at her. ‘Yes, sure, I’d like that.’

‘Right, girls,’ Peter instructs. ‘It’s bedtime. If Kim comes up here and finds you all like this she won’t allow me to come visit you again, or to tell you any more bedtime stories.’

‘Yey!’ they shout excitedly as they all run for their beds and jump under the covers. It’s almost like something out of an Enid Blyton book, as the girls snuggle under the bedclothes and wait excitedly for Peter to tell them a story. Only these are modern girls with earrings and t-shirts emblazoned with Justin Bieber and
Glee
. But a story is a story, whatever decade you’re from. I watch while Peter sits patiently at the end of one of the girls’ beds and makes up his own tale about a girl living in New York who’s successful and famous, yet independent and
modest at the same time. When he gets to the end of his tale, he stands up among moans and complaints that it’s too short, and bids them all goodnight, promising to be back again soon. He beckons for me to leave.

Outside in the hallway, I smile at him. ‘You’re very good at that, making up stories. You’ve clearly done it a few times before.’

‘Yes,’ Peter nods. ‘I’ve been coming here to Sunnyside for some years now, since TVA became one of their benefactors.’ He smiles. ‘And I was quite well practised with my own two until they got too old for Pop to be reading bedtime stories to them.’ He looks back thoughtfully at the door for a moment. ‘They appreciate time, you know – the kids. We can raise as much money as we like at these charity events, and that helps to keep places like this going, but it’s time they need more than anything else. People who’ll make them feel cared for, even if it’s just for a few minutes. I come as often as I can. But I still wish I could do more.’

‘It’s very sad.’ I look around at all the closed doors. ‘How many children do they have here?’

‘About thirty in this one, but Sunnyside consists of four homes across town, each with their own families of children living inside. But they’re not sad houses, Scarlett, far from it – the staff try to keep them positive and happy places.’ Peter looks down the hall. ‘Do you want to
see some more? The boys’ room is just down here, it’s likely to be a bit more boisterous than the girls’ room though.’

‘Go on then.’

We end up touring the rest of the house: the bedrooms, the downstairs living area, and end up in the kitchen with Kim again. Peter’s right, it’s not a sad house at all, it’s a very upbeat home with a wonderfully positive vibe about it, even with all the children in bed. I can only imagine what energy and buzz there must be when they’re all running about the place.

‘Enjoy your tour?’ Kim asks, lifting a coffee pot from the side. ‘Can I get you two anything?’

‘I’m fine thanks, Kim. Scarlett?’ Peter enquires.

‘I’m good, thanks. But don’t let me stop you if you’re having one. You must need it, running around after this lot all day.’

‘Ah, they’re a good bunch, and we have a great gang here to help me out. Most of them have gone home now, or you could have met them too. I think Janice and Zack are still about somewhere. They’re my main men, so to speak.’

‘Peter was telling me that some of the children are here because they’re separated from their parents when there are problems at home,’ I say as Kim pours her coffee. ‘Or they’re from single-parent families,
and the other parent can’t be traced when something happens.’

‘That’s right. It’s a real shame.’ Kim sits down at a large table in the middle of the kitchen. ‘Excuse me while I rest my weary feet for a bit, won’t you? Please take a seat yourselves.’

Peter and I pull out a wooden chair each and sit down.

‘Those are the kids that really shouldn’t be here,’ Kim takes a sip of her coffee, then continues. ‘If there’s a parent about somewhere, or even another family member, as long as they’re fit to look after the kid, that’s who they should be with in my opinion. This is a great place and we do our best, but we can’t take the place of a mom or a dad to these kids, no one can ever do that, they need a real family.’

I feel a large lump forming in my throat as Kim speaks.

‘The thing is, many of us have lost a parent we’ve known and had a chance to love. Sadly that’s the way of the world, and the Lord, he takes people from us when he sees fit, he has his reasons. But to never have a chance to get to know your mom or dad, to love them and find out what your real family is like. It just ain’t right.’

‘Are you OK, Scarlett?’ Peter asks, looking at me with concern. ‘You look a bit pale.’

I nod.

‘You do look a little pasty there, honey,’ Kim says, peering at me too. ‘Maybe you should
get some fresh air. The backyard is just through that door there.’

‘Yes, I think I might do that. Thank you.’

I dash over to the door and out into a backyard full of yet more toys and outdoor play equipment. As I stand looking up at the dark New York sky, I breathe in great mouthfuls of the cool night air.

I’m such a whiner. I’d been complaining earlier to Peter about all my very minor problems, when these poor kids had got nothing in their lives. At least I had people who cared about me; I had good friends, a boyfriend, a dad
and
a mum, and what had they got?

As quickly as thoughts of my problems vanish, they’re replaced immediately with an intense need to help these children. It washes over me, and fills not only my heart with hope, but my whole body with determination. But I was just Scarlett. What did I know of living in a children’s home, of being orphaned or living without parents? What could I do to help?

And then it hits me. Of course.

I turn around and hurry back inside the house.

‘Peter, Kim,’ I announce, more resolve and determination filling me than I’ve ever felt before in my entire life. ‘I want to help. I want to help the children of Sunnyside.’

‘I knew you would,’ Peter smiles knowingly up at me. ‘I knew you would, Scarlett.’

‘Tell me
again why we’re heading into downtown Brooklyn this afternoon, darling?’ Oscar asks, checking his look in a little compact mirror he always carries. ‘I thought we’d planned on hitting the shops again, then drinks in that cool bar at the top of the Flatiron Building.’

‘This will be so much better, Oscar. Well, it will give you more enjoyment, anyway.’

‘More enjoyment than shopping and cocktails, darling? There’s only one thing that gives me more enjoyment than that, and I really don’t think that’s likely to be on the menu in the back of a cab with you and Seany, now is it?’

I look over towards Sean, who is sitting on the other side of Oscar staring out of the window at the passing buildings.