No 1 – Call gas, electricity and phone companies and have all disconnected.
No 2 – Give lava lamp to Mrs Smith next door (she’s had her eye on it for ages).
No 3 – Find foster home for Fish and Chips (my goldfish).
No 4 – Pack up belongings and ship boxes to Kate’s garage.
No 5 – Find new frock for my leaving party.
No 6 – Give credit cards a practice run by paying for party frock.
No 7 – Inform bank manager that due to me losing my mind, I may require a sudden overdraft.
I recruit Carol for the shopping trip and Jess for the organisation of the removals. I like to play to people’s strengths.
Kate staggers back into the kitchen, looking pale and faint. I decide to go for it while her resistance is low.
‘Kate, darling,’ I ask, tentatively, ‘how would Zoe, Cameron and the bun in your oven like to foster two goldfish?’
10
Goodnight Girl – Wet Wet Wet
The week before I left for Shanghai, I decided to have a quiet night in for many reasons. I’d had five going-away parties the previous week and I now felt the need to tumble-dry my liver. My eyes needed serious attention after bawling them out every night over Tom. I wanted to spend yet another night on the phone, pleading with him to change his mind, in the vain hope that, unlike my previous twenty attempts, this time I’d be successful. And finally, Clive James was on the TV.
Now, much as Clive is gorgeous, funny and has a devilishly attractive twinkle in his eyes, I wouldn’t normally make a special effort to catch his show. However, tonight’s programme was entitled Postcard From Shanghai and I wanted to see exactly what I’d let myself in for. Since Jack had offered me the job, I’d read loads of books on China’s second city. ‘The Paris of the Orient’, they called it. Despite my searing heartbreak, I was so excited to be going there. I could picture myself at grand balls, in taffeta and tiara, mingling with ambassadors and other windswept and interesting people.
As the programme started, I settled down on the sofa with a coffee and a box of chocolate eclairs. The titles rolled and Clive was off investigating the glorious, cosmopolitan, elegant Asian city. Only it wasn’t. It looked grey, dull, overcrowded, dirty, depressing and corrupt. My eyes widened in amazement as he proceeded to show Shanghai in a very different light to the glitter ball I’d imagined. Where were the windswept and interesting people? Where were the ambassadors laden down with trays of Ferrero Rocher?
I tried to calm down and think rationally. Television programme makers always exaggerated things, didn’t they? Clive James should be ashamed of himself, focusing on one tiny negative aspect of the city and sensationalising it like that, omitting all the fabulous aspects of what I was sure was a vibrant and exciting place.
Optimism kicked in. It couldn’t be that bad. It was just a one sided view. I would love it, I was sure I would. I had a good mind to write to the government and demand the return of my TV licence. In hindsight, I should have listened to Clive.
As for my fruitless phone call to Tom, I can’t remember who slammed the phone down first, but there was a tidal wave in the North Sea caused by the resulting earth tremor. Once again, I thought about changing my mind and trading my one-way ticket to Shanghai for a Dublin shuttle, but why should I be the one to compromise? For the purposes of that argument, I conveniently forgot that it was me who had changed the plans in the first place.
Right up to the last minute, I thought he’d wander through the door, bag over his shoulder ready to go, but no. Flight ticket for one.
Jack McBurnie met me at the airport late in the evening. Or should I say the collection of hangars in a big field which masqueraded as Shanghai International Airport. I was excited but apprehensive. I was twenty-three and other than Clive James’ programme, all I knew of China was that I was a fan of the cuisine.
As we left the airport, a sign on some scaffolding caught my eye. ‘SORRY TO BOTHER YOU. WE ARE A BUILDING.’ Obviously the message had been lost in the translation. It suddenly warmed me. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
We made our way to the hotel, my face pressed against the car window, looking for signs of life. But there were none. It seemed that the city was in almost total darkness. There were very few street lights. The roads were bumpy and seemed to collide in a haphazard fashion, and if the driver of our car didn’t choose a side of the road to drive on soon, then that’s exactly what we would be doing too. It was chaos. Thankfully, there were not many cars to be seen, but the ones that were there were driving with no lights, criss-crossing the roads like they’d drank the fuel instead of putting it in their vehicle. I feared for my life. Had I written my will?
I glanced at Jack, but he seemed calm and nonplussed by the whole experience. I decided he must be meditating to take his mind off his terror.
We arrived at the hotel. Based on the airport and the highway systems, I was now expecting a warehouse building containing bunk beds and a canteen, but as we drew up outside it, I gasped. It was stunning. The building rose like a kaleidoscopic palace from the very old and basic structures surrounding it. There were glass elevators going up and down the front of the marble exterior like lasers, stopping at a huge gold entranceway leading to the foyer. Inside, there were fountains and man-made rivers weaving around the reception area and
