Authors: Grace Wynne-Jones
I ring Gervaise and tell him that, much as I would love to talk
with him face to face about wall-mounted coffee units, I may need
to phone him about it from America. He is clearly waiting for an
explanation, so I say I’ve just found out I have to fly to San
Francisco because of a family matter. My voice gets trembly, and I
know if I don’t stop talking soon he’ll know I’m crying, so I say,
‘Bye,’ briskly and hang up. At least I have my laptop with me; I
wanted to type up the interview with Gervaise on my way home
and get it over with. And this evening I planned to have Swedish
meatballs for dinner. I even took them out of the freezer to defrost.
I should stay.
I can’t just leave; I have responsibilities,
duties
.
The ants
must be attended to, and I have to go to Milly’s christening. And
there are so many people I’d miss. This whole idea of leaving is d
aft; I don’t know how I can even have considered it. I want my mugs. I want my orange sofa. I want my view of the sea and the
sky and the gulls and the windsurfers. I want my mother’s chicken casserole. I want to watch Dad playing the cello, his eyes closed, a
deep peace on his face.
But I don’t rise from my seat. I can’t believe it, but I just stay
there, waiting for my name to be called. Did DeeDee feel like this?
What was she looking for? What hopes were in her heart when
she left? I don’t think I would even consider doing this if it
weren’t for DeeDee.
Will I even come back here?
I think as I look around me. Of
course I’ll want to – I’ll have to – but maybe not for a while;
maybe even years. And I will miss it so much. I try to memorise
the scene – Dublin airport; my home town. When the plane lifts
off, everything will seem so small and distant, so unlikely, as the
houses turn into tiny boxes. We might even fly over my home,
where there is a half-drunk orange mug of tea on the table. I feel
a stab of almost unbearable grief. Aggie – will I ever see Aggie again? Even though she isn’t that excited about seeing me any more. Fabrice has replaced me in her affections.
I blink hard to stop the tears. Erika and Fiona must come over
and visit me as soon as possible. I’ll miss them so much, but I think
they’ll understand. I’ll pay Erika to get the cottage ready for a new tenant. I’m sure Fiona would store my belongings if I asked her to. And when I get to San Francisco I must look up Astrid. I’d love to
know what became of her; I’d love to know if she still believes in
angels. There are plenty of people I’d love to see again.
I could write articles about America and
anything except interior decoration. That’s the great thing about
freelancing: it’s flexible. You can do it in different places.
I should phone people to say goodbye, but if I do they’ll try to
dissuade me. I must tell someone, though; I can’t just leave here
without telling anyone. The only person I’ve told is Gervaise. I feel a tug at my heart. I so wish I
could ring Nathaniel, but it would be just another ardent message
clogging up his answering machine.
I ring anyway, just to hear his voice. ‘Fred and I are out,’ the answering machine says. There is a loud woof; then Nathaniel
adds, ‘Please leave a message. If you don’t, we’ll never forgive you.’
Maybe that’s the last time I’ll hear Nathaniel’s voice.
Then I hear my name called. ‘Sally Adams,’ the sing-song voice says. I rise slowly from my seat and head towards the standby desk.
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
‘What’s your name?’ The
woman at the standby desk peers
at me. She is slim and tanned and has shiny blonde hair.
‘Sally Adams,’ I say. ‘You just called me.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Yes, you did. I heard my name called just now.’
‘Well, I didn’t call you. Maybe it was the information desk.’
I am about to explain that nobody knows I am at the airport, apart from her, but then I feel a shudder of dread. Has Gervaise followed me here? I did tell him I was flying to America. Is he going to follow me to the boarding gate talking about wall-mounted coffee units?
‘It’s just over there.’ She waves vaguely to the right. I suspect
the information desk is at the other end of the building and she
can’t be bothered to give me directions. I get a daft urge to explain
my whole situation to her. I want to look into her detached,
slightly bored face and ask her if she’s met other women like me.
When a woman marches up to her and says she wants to go to
San Francisco and doesn’t have any luggage, doesn’t she get ever
so slightly
curious
?
My name is called again. ‘Please go to the information desk,’
the woman’s voice says. Now that I hear it again, I realise that’s
what she said before. Perhaps April has heard my message and
phoned Marie, and a family delegation has come to persuade me
out of my idiocy. Maybe I
want
them to.
‘You’ll call me if you have news about a flight to San Francisco?’ I say to the woman.
‘Yes, of course. I’ve got your details here.’ She gives me a brief
smile. ‘You might be able to leave on the three o’clock flight. I’m
just waiting for confirmation of your seat.’
‘Thanks.’ I bite my lip and walk in the direction she indicated.
I don’t see the information desk, but… Dear God, it can’t be. Is that really
Nathaniel
?
‘Sally!’ He sees me at the same moment and bounds over. ‘I knew I saw you a while back, but then you disappeared on me. That’s why I had you called.’
‘I’ve been sitting on the same seat for almost an hour,’ I reply
primly, though I feel like tipping slowly sideways and lying down
on the floor.
‘No, you haven’t.’ His blue eyes hold mine. ‘I was going over
to talk to you, and then suddenly you weren’t there.’
That must have been the time I dashed into the loo
,
I think. But
I don’t say it. What on earth is he doing here?
‘What are you doing here?’ Nathaniel gets to the question first.
He is standing too close. I can feel his breath on my cheek.
‘I’m waiting.’ I look up at him; then I look away.
‘Waiting for what?’ He leans towards me. Our foreheads are almost touching.
‘For a flight to San Francisco.’
I can feel the words land on him. I can actually feel his surprise.
‘San Francisco?’
‘Yes, that’s what I said,’ I reply briskly.
‘Why?’ He is just standing there, amazed and bewildered.
‘I want to visit my sister, April.’
He absorbs this information solemnly. ‘When’s your flight?’ It’s
only now that I notice he has luggage with him, a compact leather
holdall. He must have just arrived back from his trip with
Fabrice. I look around anxiously. Thank goodness, she doesn’t appear to be with him.
‘I don’t know. It might be at three. They’re going to call me.’
As I say it, it sounds more and more improbable.
‘Where’s your luggage?’ His blue eyes have darkened. No one
has ever looked at me like that before. No one has searched my
face so hard for my secrets. I suppose all his women feel like that.
‘
He makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room. He
has such charisma
…’
I can almost hear them saying it.
‘It’s none of your business where my luggage is.’ I turn to leave – I can’t face explaining it to him – but he grabs my arm and holds
it firmly.
‘You just decided to go to San Francisco today, didn’t you?’ His
eyes are boring into me.
I try to pull away from him, but he won’t let me go.
‘Maybe.’
‘
We need to talk. You need to talk, Sally,’ he says firmly.
‘Let go of my arm.’
He does. I consider dashing away like a sprinter; then I realise
that’s ridiculous. This whole situation is ridiculous. Maybe I should just go home and have a long bath.
‘What’s happened to you, Sally?’ He brushes a stray strand of
hair from my cheek. ‘What’s made you so desperate?’
‘Nothing.’ The word trips off my tongue like it used to when I
was a teenager and I thought everyone, especially my parents, wouldn’t understand.
‘OK, so you’re just fine, are you?’ He is guiding me gently towards the café. ‘You’re just fine and dandy, but you thought you’d like a change of country.’
‘And I need to see my sister April.’
‘Why?’ he asks gently, softly. I wish he didn’t speak like that. I
wish he didn’t know how to lure these details out of me.
‘Because… because she wants to announce that my father isn’t
her father, at this stupid family get-together we’re having.’
I splurge it out in one breath and then slump onto a chair in the café. It isn’t a very comfortable chair. Nothing about this airport seems comfortable or tender. It should be, with so many people saying goodbye to things, to the people they love.
‘And is that true?’
I stare at him dumbly.
‘About April. Is she really your half-sister?’
‘Yes, of course it is.’ I sigh. ‘But she doesn’t need to make a scene out of it. She could… she could break it to people more gently. Or let my parents find a way to say it themselves.’ I feel
terribly tired suddenly. I feel like I’m already jet-lagged. This day
seems to have lasted an entire week, and it’s only 1.30.
‘And that’s the only reason you’re going to California?’
‘I don’t know.’ I drag the words out of myself. ‘Maybe. It’s complicated.’
‘You need a cup of tea, don’t you?’ Nathaniel looks at me so
sympathetically that I feel I might cry. Why did he have to turn up
now? It makes leaving so much harder.
‘Yes, a cup of tea would be nice,’ I mumble.
‘What kind?’
I just sit there for a moment. I have no idea what kind of tea I
want – herbal or Earl Grey, English Breakfast or Darjeeling. It
seems like a huge decision. ‘Just tea… any kind of tea. You decide.’