Maisie Manhattan

Prologue: Happy Ever After

I’m standing in the middle of a room full of people, half of whom I have never met before in my life, dancing with the man who (and I know this is clichéd, but it has to be said) not only owns the key to my heart, but has gifted me with the key to his. I twirl in his arms and laugh as he winks at me, I never want this moment to end but I know no camera could capture the look of love in his eyes and the only place this moment will live on is in our memories. Yes, I am being soppy, but give a girl a break, if she isn’t allowed to be soppy on her wedding day then when is she ever going to be allowed to wax lyrical about the love of her life?
         Just so you’re forewarned, the tale of how we got to our happy ever after is long, confusing and miserable in places. It reads like something out of a fairy tale so I will fully understand if you don’t believe a word of it- sometimes I have trouble believing it myself. This is why I’m telling you about our happy ever after at the beginning; so you know it all turned out ok- more than ok actually, more like absobloodylutely fantabulous.
         But back to my wedding day, I’m standing on golden sands after the reception, staring out across a gorgeous deep blue sea, hand in hand with the man I love, preparing to spend the rest of my life with him. He leans over, slides a hand round my waist and pulls me up against him until my stomach bangs against his hips.
         ‘Ready for your wedding night princess?’
         I reach up and kiss him, I am ready for my wedding night and I am his princess, in every sense of the word.


Chapter One- A Morning in the mind of Maisie

I clatter down the stairs, school bag banging noisily against the banisters and threatening to take large chunks out of the paintwork, scarring the white with gouges of brown wood. I hop up and down as I pull on one sensible black leather school shoe, eyes frantically scanning the floor for the other; I hear mum coming down the stairs and grab at my other shoe (which was in the dog’s basket in case you were interested) and make a bid for freedom.
         ‘Maisie, have you eaten? You haven’t, have you? You were going to go out without any breakfast I know you were. It isn’t healthy, I’ve told you before, I won’t have you getting like all those anorexic girls on the telly. Maisie! Are you even listening to me?’
         ‘Mum, I’m going to be late if I don’t get a move on. I do usually have breakfast. One day won’t hurt. I’ll see you later. Bye.’
I dash out of the door, slamming it slightly behind me so that mum won’t think about coming after me waving a slice of toast, now that would be embarrassing. I do love my mum but sometimes her concerns are misplaced- me anorexic? I love food far too much to try and give it up. Me and Charley tried a diet once because she was going on holiday to Spain and wanted a bikini body and I was going to go on it too, for moral support. We got a ‘Get a summer body in six weeks’ diet out of a teen magazine and planned to follow it religiously- but it recommended wheat germ bread and natural yoghurt for lunch and stuff like that and mum refused to buy it. Charley’s dad would have bought all the stuff for us, until he saw how expensive it was, he’s a struggling musician he said and couldn’t afford all that namby pamby food and that we’d be better off just taking up a sport. We tried swimming but it made Charley’s hair smell of chlorine and running turned out to be a bad idea too, I slipped in a puddle and broke my ankle in two places. Thankfully by the time I was out of plaster Charley had given up on the idea of a diet and had moved onto finding her inner self, reading books about enlightenment and self-discovery. Her room stank of incense for months and her dad forbade us from lighting the scented candles in case we set the house alight, neither Charley nor I was flexible enough for yoga so Charley’s fad didn’t last long, they usually don’t and I forget what the one after the inner self project was. I think it may have been feminism or customising your own clothes, something like that.
Anyway, I’m late for school because I overslept again. I stayed awake last night because I was planning various scenarios for the moment Paul will tell me he loves me and cannot stand to be without me. Of course, I’d done the obvious, the moonlit horseback ride, him rescuing me from various perils before declaring that the thought of losing me had driven him crazy with grief. I was just working my way through the more kooky ideas; a present from him every day for a month spelling out a message from him to me- professing his undying love, naturally- when I remembered that I had a mock Geography GCSE the following morning and knew nothing about the case studies we were supposed to have learnt, (mainly because I’d spent the whole year gazing at school stud Paul who sat two rows in front of me) and that I should probably have a quick look at them instead of mooning over Paul. Having stayed up until three in the morning looking at facts about floods and volcanic eruptions, I overslept and was therefore flustered, a sure guarantee that I would forget everything I had spent the wee hours of the morning learning and fail anyway.
I groan as I reach the school gates, Charley is standing outside talking to Paul and he leaves just as I approach. As if this day couldn’t get any worse, I have just missed out on talking to the love of my life.
‘What did he say?’
Charley glances at me and raises one eyebrow ever so slightly; I wish I could do that. ‘He just wanted to know if we’d got a test this morning and what I thought was going to come up.’
I groan again, Charley is super-smart and everyone always asks her advice on everything, I don’t know why Paul bothers though, he’s clever too. He has the irritating ability to remember almost everything he has ever been told, of course I don’t find this irritating, I just acknowledge that other people who don’t know him as well as I do might think that. Charley can’t stand him and I think that’s why, she was the top of every class until he moved here from the States; now she has to compete with him for everything and I know for a fact that she doesn’t like it. She called him ‘an arrogant little boy who is so cocky, I’m sure he must be compensating for something’. He isn’t cocky or arrogant though; just confident in his own abilities, besides showing off is a part of all boys’ natures, not just Paul’s. I think Charley is silly and prejudiced, it’s just because she’s jealous because he stole her top spot, not that I’d ever tell her that. Secretly I’m glad that Charley doesn’t like him, she’s clever and gorgeous and I wouldn’t want to lose her in a fight over Paul; plus he might be blinded by her intelligence and beauty and forget that my inner beauty and witty character are actually more suited to his subtle tastes. I know that he won’t mind that I have frizzy hair and braces; he is so much better than that. He doesn’t feel the need to have a tall, popular blonde on his arm- he is perfectly happy with his own image without feeling the need to boost his own ego by pulling one of those kinds of girls. Someone of his intellect knows that they are all feather-headed and that they couldn’t possibly hold his attention for long, mainly due to their complete inability to carry a conversation that doesn’t involve the word manicure.
Personally speaking, I cannot stand these girls, but Charley says they’re probably just insecure and feel the need to doll themselves up so they can survive the cutthroat world of the popular kids. It is a testimony to Paul’s strength of character that he has not been drawn into this world and doesn’t believe he is God just because he is an award-winning goalie. He is so much more culturally diverse than any of the other boys- he plays ice hockey and has bagels or waffles for breakfast! All the other boys are way immature too, I caught Harry and Tony stuffing Twiglets up their noses yesterday and then daring each other to eat them; Paul would never do something like that and when he was discovered by one of the girls in his year there’s no way he’d laugh and ask if she wanted to taste his Twiglet. I honestly despair of any of the other boys ever growing up, I really do think that they’ll remain at a mental age of eight until the day they die.
Mind you, I seem to have an intellectual age of about that, I totally failed my geography test. We marked it in class and I got an absolutely mortifyingly low score, of course Paul and Charley both got near enough full marks, I think Paul beat Charley by two marks. I sigh now Charley’s going to be grumpy for the rest of the day. As soon as Miss Orson dismisses us I leap out of my chair and charge after Charley who has already managed to fight her way through the crush of people to the door. I’m nearly there when someone grabs my arm pulling me abruptly to a halt. My breath catches in my throat when I realise its Paul and I almost forget to breathe – not cool.
‘Umm, Maisie isn’t it? I just wondered if you’d tell Charley congratulations and no hard feelings from me? I know she likes to win and I only beat her because they asked about Katrina. Tell her for me please.’
Without even waiting for an answer he swings his bag over his shoulder and strides out of the classroom to catch up with Jordan and Alex, his two best ‘buds’. I stand shell-shocked in his wake, unable to move, not only did he know my name, he asked me to be his spokesperson. I finally convince my feet to move and run to the girls toilets where I know Charley will be waiting. She is standing in front of the mirror viciously curling her eyelashes with a savage look on her face.
‘Two marks Maisie! Two marks! I swear Miss Orson favours him. Either that or he cheated. He has to have cheated, don’t you think?’
‘He told me to congratulate you and to tell you that he only won because they asked about Katrina.’ I move to the mirror nonchalantly, waiting for her squeal of excitement that shows she knows how much his speaking to me means.
‘Huh! Coward, why couldn’t he tell me that himself, eh? And yes I know he used to live in New Orleans, he doesn’t have to rub it in my face- I know he’s more well-travelled than I am. Congratulations indeed.’
‘Aw Charley come on, he was being nice. I think it was very thoughtful.’
‘You think the sun shines out of his arse.’
‘Doesn’t it?’ I ask mischievously, knowing the only way to break her dark mood is to joke her out of it. I’m right and seconds later a grin spreads across her face and a guffaw erupts from her belly and out though her mouth.
‘You are priceless Maisie Manhattan.’
I wince at the sound of my full name, my mother, in all her wisdom gave me an alliterative name that makes me sound a) about four years old or b) like a character from a children’s cartoon. Even my teacher struggles not to laugh when she reads out my name, it doesn’t help that if you say it fast enough it sounds a bit like the title of that movie with J-Lo in it – Maid in Manhattan. Of course, none of this is as bad as my given name which always reminds me of little old ladies with perms, moustaches and flats that smell like cat wee. Margaret. Margaret is a perfectly suitable name for someone over sixty, just as it is a perfectly unsuitable name for someone who is not yet sixteen. Margaret Manhattan makes me think of a smiling American politicians wife, a trophy wife with fake boobs and inch long talons for nails. My middle name is Isabelle and I do actually quite like this name; which is how my nickname came about: Margaret Isabelle. Maisie is also a tad easier for a four year old to say than Margaret. My mother really didn’t think my name through and by the time I was old enough to realise what she had done, it was too late because my birth certificate had already been officiated or whatever it is that is done to these sorts of things. I have thought about changing my name by deed poll, but I have no idea what to change it too, I dithered between a zany name like Sapphire or a romantic name like Brianna (one of the girls at school has an Irish cousin called Brianna) or just something normal like Louise or something sophisticated like Katherine. As I couldn’t decide I came to the conclusion that I was better off, but only marginally so, sticking to my own name, as awful as it is at least it is my name.
Charley has a cool name like Charlene, it’s quite individual and smacks a bit of a plastic pop star making loads of money with a cute little song about love or drugs or something. Charley hates it when I say that, goes on about how degrading it is for female singers –a remnant of her feminist fad I believe. Charley likes to think that her name smacks of sophistication (I caught her in her room one day holding out her hand and simpering ‘Oh do call me Charlene darling’). Charley has always said she is going to marry a rich man and if he’s upper class she’s going to insist everyone call her Charlene but that if she marries a footballer or a young rock god then she’s going to be known as Charley. I only have a choice of Maisie or Margaret or Maggie, which reminds me of the Simpsons. Not that I intend to marry a rich man. I shall marry for love and we shall be as poor as church mice but as happy as swallows in summer time.


Chapter Two –A Comparison of Charley Winston and Maisie Manhattan

Charley was an enigma, I later told Oscar that I had no idea what a contradiction she was when we were younger, but that was a lie because I think I always knew on some level that Charley was not your average kind of girl and that there were two sides to her that warred with each other and it depended on which side won to which Charley you got. One of the Charley’s, the one I liked the most was clever, confident and sympathetic in a brisk and realistic way; the other was obsessed with her appearance and would trample anyone who got in her way when she shopped. However, this second Charley did have her good sides, she was great to borrow clothes from and to advise you what to wear on important occasions, she would give you makeovers and giggle about boys with you until you were both breathless and rolling around on the floor. Both these Charley’s were extremely complicated, as all people are, but I felt that I knew and could cope with them both, after all we had known each other since we were five.
Charley was everything that I was not, she was clever, she knew about clothes, was tall and tanned with long straight blonde hair and a huge chest. She was the kind of girl (by the time we reached fourteen) that boys bent over backwards to date and would have swum with sharks for had she asked them to. She had the longest legs in the school and the way she walked, with a ramrod straight back, made her boobs jut out even more than their natural D-cup suggested they should. Her big blue eyes were rimmed with eyelashes of startling proportions, so long and lush that she had more hairs around her eyes than some men did on their head; when she batted those curled lashes at boys they nearly passed out from the heat it sent rushing to their brains. Charley was the prettiest girl in our year, I have absolutely no doubt about that, but she was also smart which put a lot of the boys off because they were intimidated by her, plus she always gave them a look which suggested that they were too far beneath her for her to even consider dating them.
I on the other hand was short, petite my mother said, and what kindlier people would describe as curvaceous; my hips were wider than most peoples and I had an ample amount of boobs. My father was half-Spanish and from him I inherited a slightly tanned complexion and black hair; I also inherited the frizziness of my mothers hair and her crooked teeth. At fifteen Charley outshone me in every possible way, she looked like a model, I was short with frizzy hair and braces; she was clever and I was less so; her father was cool because he was a musician and my mother was not because she was merely a teacher in the other upper school. It is no wonder then really that Charley got everything she wanted, I gave Charley everything she wanted and so did most other people because they were in awe of her- apart from the popular crowd who felt so threatened by her that they shunned her at every opportunity. I always felt lucky that Charley had decided to be my friend, we had more in common than most people realised, despite our differences, both of us came from single parent families and both of us were only children. We understood far earlier than many of our peers what it truly meant to be independent because we had to make do with one wonderful parent who try as they might could not offer everything that two parents could. We never lacked for love, but we were only half as likely to get a lift to a friends because it was twice as likely that our parent would have a commitment and be unable to take us and we had no other half to fall back on.
Charley found it especially hard because her dad was a struggling musician, he didn’t struggle to make a living like many artists did, but he did struggle with the ogre that is a longing for recognition- he was a great composer, but not in the same league as many of the others in the world at the time. Charley struggled too because her dad worked irregular hours and though he always found time for her, it was never quite enough and as she grew older their relationship became more…difficult. It didn’t help that her mother wasn’t around, Charley needed a mother far more than most people, for one reason or another but her mother had eloped with a sculptor when Charley was barely two years old. My father died in a car accident before I was born, it wasn’t an instantaneous death, which my mum said she was always glad of because it gave them a chance to say goodbye to each other; a morbid thought I know, but my Grandpapi always said it was because they loved each other very much and couldn’t live without the closure that was their final words to each other. It was only when I got older that I understood, my father’s last words became a sort of talisman that my mum held on to, repeating them to herself when things got difficult.
         Money was always tight in both our families, although we never really struggled, neither Charley nor I ever got pocket money when we were at school and we went without things that other children our age took for granted. I-pods, new trainers, the newest clothes and new games consoles. That all changed in our final year at school, I will never forget the day Charley told me, we had just finished our French exam and were walking home from school, when Charley’s dad pulled up in his car and told us we were going to collect my mum and go out for dinner. What he told us over dinner that night sent shockwaves ricocheting through all of our lives and we never quite recovered. It took a moment to digest and in that moment the potential for all of us to become completely different people was born; good things did come from his announcement, but sometimes I wonder if the price we paid was maybe a little too high. Whether we would all have been better off if it had never happened, if the changes had never come to pass.

Chapter Three – The Devil’s Own Luck

‘OK ladies, guess what I was told today. Go on guess.’ Charley’s dad waved his wine glass around in the air, we’d just finished the starter and he had still refused to tell us what we were celebrating, but from the look on his face he couldn’t contain the information a moment longer. ‘My work got accepted by one of the big record companies! The Director of the Philharmonic Orchestra wants to look through my compositions and I’ve just received a huge advance on my first CD, the one I recorded myself back in August last year.’
We all stared for a moment, dumbstruck by the sudden announcement and the implications that it would have, Charley (although the one with the most to take in) was the first to recover from her shock.
‘Oh congratulations Dad! That’s really good, I always said you were the best composer ever, now even you’ll have to admit that I was right.’
Her dad laughed, leaned over and hugged her to him; she didn’t even squirm with embarrassment as she usually did when he hugged her in public and in fact she hugged him back. As mum and I uttered our startled congratulations he burst out laughing and called for champagne in a voice that clearly told the waiter he was a happy well-off man. The little waiter scurried away and came back with a huge bottle of champagne and even though Charley and I were underage, we were given a glass in order to toast her dad’s good fortune. The first sip was deliciously bubbly and the gas shot straight up my nose, I nearly spat the champagne out again and I looked at Charley expecting her to laugh with me. Instead she sat there looking at me disapprovingly and I suddenly began to wonder whether I had become the poor friend who was to be dropped now she was rich. I immediately chastised myself for this thought, Charley was a good friend and I shouldn’t be prejudiced because she was rich now, what kind of friend did that make me?
‘The only thing is Charley honey, we may have to move up to London for a bit. A lot of my work’s going to be based in London itself and I really need to be up there, it’s a bit far to commute everyday but they have really great sixth forms up there. There’s far more of a range than there is here. I understand that you need time to think about this, so don’t feel you have to give me an answer now. And Maisie can come and stay whenever she likes…’
‘Oh Daddy, yes, I would love to live in London and of course Maisie must come and stay.’
         I smile shyly at Charley and nod my agreement, all of a sudden our world has changed and I’m not quite sure how to cope. My best friend of eleven years is moving to London, maybe forever and I’m supposed to be happy? Of course the idea of having a friend in London to go and stay with does sound really grown-up and sophisticated in a way, but I don’t think I shall ever be able to fill the void I know that she is going to leave. The images I hold in my head of the two of us in thirty years time has changed from two women chatting in a garden about ‘the children’; to two women who once knew each other inside out, nodding in the street at each other in the rain. I don’t know how to put this feeling into words and I’m not even sure if I should try to voice it, so I disguise the tone of worry in my voice.
         ‘That’ll be cool, we can go shopping and go to Buckingham Palace, maybe we’ll see the Queen. I can go, can’t I mum?’
         My mum smiles at me, the special little smile she has just for me, and I know that she is going to say yes. Charley knows that she is too, squeals and leans over to hug my mum, thanking her profusely and squeezing my arm with her other hand. Charley’s dad leans back in his chair, the calm in the middle of the storm he has created, smiling benevolently at us and looking relaxed for the first time since I can remember. The other people in the restaurant are staring at us, startled by Charley’s squeal, something I’d normally resent her for- but today is a different matter. Nothing is quite ordinary today.