Free From Notting Hill to New York . . . Actually by Ali McNamara Page A

unique!’
    ‘Well, you certainly are!’
    Oscar spins around on the carpet. ‘And proud of it. Now get in this wardrobe and find a unique first-night-in-NYC outfit to wear, girlfriend. We’re going Out On The Town. And I don’t mean like that lame movie the cab driver was singing us the score to!’
    When I’ve changed into what I think is an appropriate outfit – black jeans, black boots and a cowl-neck River Island top – we set off into the evening.
    The doorman smiles as he holds the door open for us to leave.
    ‘You’ve made a friend for life, there,’ Oscar winks as we set off into the street.
    Oscar, who has visited New York before to see Jennifer, leads the way down Park Avenue.
    ‘Ooh, what’s that?’ I ask, looking up at a large ornate building which dominates the junction at the bottom of the road.
    ‘That’s Grand Central Station. If you think it’s grand on the outside, wait until you go inside. Train travelback in the UK will never be the same, darling, I promise you! But not now – I’ve got more important places to take you tonight.’
    As we walk along 42nd Street – just the name alone sends a little thrill through me – with bright yellow taxis constantly swarming by us like noisy canaries flying low along the street, and an equally large number of people bustling past us on the sidewalk, the reality that I’m actually in New York suddenly hits me. In wonder, I tilt my face upwards, gazing at the soaring skyscrapers above my head that seem to stretch endlessly up into the now darkening night skies, and just as quickly snap it back down again when the rest of my body suddenly collides with something round and soft.
    ‘I’m
so
sorry, officer,’ I say as an NYC policeman retrieves his cap from the sidewalk and begins dusting it down. ‘I was just looking up at the buildings.’
    ‘Tourist?’ he enquires, eyeing me warily.
    ‘Yes, I just arrived this afternoon.’
    ‘Well, miss,’ he says, placing his hat back on top of his thinning brown hair. ‘Let me give you a little tip while you’re here. Keep your eyes in front of you, behind you and to the side. But definitely not up above you, because there’s a lot more to worry about down here on the streets than there is up in them there skies!’
    ‘Yes sir, thank you, sir,’ I say, hurrying tocatch up with Oscar, who is waiting a few paces ahead of me, grinning from ear to ear at my embarrassment.
    ‘I don’t know, Scarlett,’ he says as I reach him. ‘You’ve only been here five minutes and you’ve already had a run-in with the cops!’
    ‘Stop it, Oscar. It’s late and I’m getting tired. Well, it’s late in the UK.’ I glance at my watch and add on five hours. ‘It’s one in the morning back home!’
    ‘You need to forget about that,’ Oscar says, linking his arm through mine, ‘or you’ll never get on US time and you’ll be permanently jet-lagged while you’re here. Right, let’s find somewhere to eat.’
    We wander farther along 42nd Street and then –
so
exciting! – turn onto Fifth Avenue.
    ‘Ahhh,’ Oscar sighs, almost curtseying before the steps of a large building which has two stone lions, much like the ones in Trafalgar Square, guarding the entrance. ‘The New York Public Library …’
    I feel like I’m supposed to know what the
Aaah
is for.
    ‘Why are you aaahing?’ I ask bluntly.
    Oscar looks horrified. ‘Scarlett, have you watched no
Sex and the City
?’
    ‘Not this episode, obviously.’
    ‘You of all people should know this one. It’s from the firstmovie. The New York Public Library is where Big jilts Carrie on their wedding day.’
    ‘Ah, I see.’ I look up at the strikingly ornate white building. ‘Can we go inside?’
    ‘Not now,’ Oscar says, looking at his watch. ‘It’s too late. But we will, if only to glide down the heavenly marble staircases.’
    We find an Italian restaurant just off Fifth Avenue, although Oscar assures me the best Italian food is to be found in