Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect (24 page)

“Why thank you, young Sir,” I say, standing up and leading him to the bedroom.

*

On Thursday, I ring Holly for a final chat before going.  “So … how’s the lovely Ben, then?  Any developments?” she laughs down the phone.

“Well,  he’s stayed …”

“Wow, Mum!  Get you!  That’s brill!  So … I take it, things have moved on a bit, then?”

“Yes, you could say that.  I’ve even met his little daughter, Daisy.  Did I tell you his ex is taking her up to Manchester to live?”

“No … poor guy.  That’s awful.  What’ll he do?”

“There’s not a lot he
can
do.  He’ll just have to do a lot of driving, I suppose.”

“What was she like, the daughter, I mean?”

“Oh my God, she’s so cute.  It was great to be with a little one again.  I hope you’re going to hurry up and make me a grandmother soon?” I laugh.  “How
is
Jed?” I add.

“Yea, he’s great.  Actually … he told me he loved me the other day, Mum.  I’m so happy, sometimes, I feel like I’ll burst.  You don’t think there’s a catch, do you?  It just seems so incredible that two people can feel the same for each other – how lucky is that?”

“There definitely isn’t a catch, Holly – I could see, right from the start, that you two were made for each other.  I’m so happy for you.  Don’t get married while I’m away, will you?”

“Well, he hasn’t asked me yet but … if he does, I promise we’ll wait till you come back!  But, more to the point, when am I going to meet Ben?”

“You’ll have to come down to Bath for the weekend and I’ll introduce you, if we’re still together after Oz.”

“Of course you will be …”

“It’s early days, Holly.  It’s a shame I’ve got to go, really, as we’ve only just …”

“I’m sure he’ll be there when you get back, Mum.  And if he isn’t, then he’s not worth having …”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“Have you got a picture you could send me of him, just so I can see …”

“Yes, I’ve got a couple.  I’ll send it when I put the phone down.”

“Cool.  Can’t wait to see him!”

After we’ve said goodbye, I scroll through the pictures I have on my phone.  There’s one lovely one of Ben, posing with Gaz, their two faces together.  I can’t send that, it would upset Holly.  There’s another one of him holding Daisy.  He’s looking at her, laughing.  I try to look at it objectively.  What would Holly think of him, if she saw this one of him?  He looks so devoted in this and he is a father of a young child – it would show him as he is
. 
Maybe there’s one, just on his own? 

Then I come across a silly selfie we took on a walk – we’re both grinning like loonies into the camera.  The perspective’s a bit odd, but it’s a natural photo and I feel proud when I look at it.  Proud of myself and proud that someone like Ben could be interested in me.  I select that one and attached it to a message. 
Here he is!  Taken last week in a park.  I think you’d like him … Will text from departures.  Love you, Mum.

A text came winging back almost immediately. 
Mum … he looks SO lovely.  Fabulous eyes.  And you look SO happy.  I KNOW I’ll like him.  Love you, Holly.

*

When we get to the airport, Ben insists on coming in with me.  I tell him to drop me off, but he wants to come and wave me off, he says.  We’ve ended up being really early.  The traffic at that time of the morning was clear and there were no holdups anywhere.

We park the car in the car park and Ben gallantly carries my case for me.  I can feel the excitement bubbling around inside me as we walk along the moving corridors, past huge advertisements.  Being a slow walker, I get a buzz out of pretending I’m walking really fast as the conveyor whizzes me along towards the departures hall.

We join the long queue to drop off my large case.  I read all the notices about things that shouldn’t be in a case and start to panic that I might have inadvertently packed a knife, a bomb or a stack of drugs.  The rather beautiful girl at the desk takes everything in her stride, quickly dealing with my paperwork and attaching the long sticky ID on my case and it jerks off, through the plastic strips.  I find it hard to believe that next time I see it, I will be so far away. 

“Have a good flight,” she says and I take my passport and boarding pass from her.  How can anyone look so immaculate, I wonder?  Her make up looks as if it’s just been applied, every hair on her head is in its place and her uniform appears to have just come out of the packet.

“She makes me feel thoroughly underdressed,” I laugh to Ben, as we walk away with my hand luggage.  There are hoards of people everywhere and we push our way over to a café.  I haven’t got to go through yet – I’ve got at least half an hour before I need to even think about it.

“That was all very straightforward, anyway,” says Ben.  “Let’s hope the rest of the journey is that easy.  It says ‘On Time’ on the board, anyway.”

“I wish I could have got an upgrade.  People say, if you’re on your own, sometimes it’s easy to …”

“You should have asked.”

“Oh, I’ll be okay.  I intend to watch lots of films and I’ve got a sleeping pill if I get desperate.”

We order coffees and sit down in the corner.  It doesn’t seem long ago that I was saying goodbye to Adam and now it’s me.  I swallow the coffee, but when it hits my stomach, I feel sick.

“Will you text me when you get there?” says Ben.

“Of course.”

We’re both silent for a while.  Then Ben says, “Will you miss me?”

“You know I will,” I say and reach over the table for his hand.  “You’ll get bored with the number of texts and messages I’ll send you …”

He reaches into his jacket pocket and comes out with a small wrapped object.  “This is for you.  I thought you might find it useful.”

I take it, looking in his eyes.  “Thank you.”

I unwrap it and discover a small, very high-tech camera.  “Ben, that’s fantastic.  I was just going to use my phone.  Now, I can take some really great shots.  Thank you so much.  That’s so thoughtful.”  I lean over and kiss him.

“I thought, the smaller the better.  I didn’t think you’d want something big and heavy to carry around.”

“No, it’s perfect.  I’ll treasure it.”

We finish our coffee and walk over to the gate, where we must say goodbye.

“Thanks for everything,” I say.  I don’t know what else I can, or should say.  He hugs me hard and we stand there, unable to leave each other.  His arms grip me so hard, I can feel their strength around me.  Why did I arrange this holiday now?  I want to stay here …

“Have a wonderful time … and I’ll be here when you come home.”  He kisses me on the cheek and squeezes my hand.  “Off you go,” and he grabs my shoulders and turns me to face the right direction.

Picking up my small case, I walk towards the tapes that make you walk up and down, up and down, until you reach passport control.  I enter the zig-zag maze and when I reach the desk, I turn to see if he’s still there.  He’s waiting, he smiles at me, lifting his hand, shoulder height, to wave. 

I show my passport and then it’s time to go behind a wall.  I wave, he waves, and I’m gone.

Chapter Twenty

Being on my own in departures is strange.  It’s as if I’m in another world, which effectively, I am.  I’m in limbo – not officially in England any more – and not in another country, either.  I think that it’s a suitable metaphor for my life at the moment (typical English teacher) – in a no man’s land, where I wander, not knowing whether to go back to my homeland, or forge forward into new territory.  My homeland has been denied me, though.  No visa to get back into the life I had.  I have no real choice.  It’s new territory or … be shot, trying to breach the barbed wire back.

I lose myself in the duty-free, fending off over-helpful assistants, who try to spray me with the latest Dior product, as I walk past.  I smile politely and keep my wrists to myself.  I contemplate buying some high-priced face cream that claims it can miraculously convert my fifty-five year old face to one of a twenty year old, and then think better of it.  Let’s be honest, you can’t hold back time; it marches on relentlessly and it’s better to accept it.  People who go that one step further with Botox or surgery, end up looking like freaks with blank expressions.  Like most women, I want to look my best, but I don’t believe the hype of these creams.  You age – get over it, I say.

Having saved myself £70 on a pot of promises, I escape the shops and retire to a restaurant where I order an omelette and salad, an orange juice and a latte.  I’m working on the principle that I don’t know where my next meal’s coming from, so I might as well stock up, while I can.  I read the paper while I’m eating and relax into the situation I find myself in – enforced waiting.

I make my way down to the gate at the appropriate time and feel relieved I’ve given myself so much time – it’s a huge hike, and I feel like I’m never going to get there.  The moving corridors stretch on into what looks like infinity.

We then all wait in a holding area and I gaze out of the window at the plane I’m catching.  It’s the biggest plane I’ve ever seen – an A380.  It’s size and power are overwhelming – it’s beautiful, I admit, but the thought of it actually being able to fly is terrifying – how can something that big, possibly take off?  I take a picture of it with my phone and as there’s 3G in the terminal, I upload it to Facebook. 
My taxi awaits!
I write as a caption.  It’s not long before people are ‘liking’ my picture – Adam writes a comment –
See you soon!
  Holly writes,
Byeeeee!  Have a safe journey and an AMAZING time.
 

Modern technology is so weird, sometimes – it really does make you feel connected.

We enter the plane through Business Class, which seems a bit mean – is it designed to put us mere ‘economy’ people in our place?  Huge seats which lie flat and that appear to have their own space around them, sit there, flaunting their opulence.  Only a couple of them are occupied and I consider sliding into one, thinking the staff may not notice me.  I really regret not asking for upgrade now.

However, I’m pleasantly surprised when I eventually get to my seat.  It’s large, spacious, comfortable and a good-sized screen is in front of me.  I’d booked myself into an aisle seat, with a view to easy access to the loo.  I hate that feeling of being trapped by some large man, who looks as if he’s dead, never mind asleep.

The plane fills up and I wait to see who will be next to me.  The last stragglers come in and finally, I realise no one is coming – I’ve got the row of three seats to myself.  I can’t believe it.  I look around and there are several empty rows.  This is turning into a good flight.

All the stewardesses are as beautiful and well turned out as the one behind the desk in the terminal.  I wonder how they get away with only recruiting slim, attractive people?  They walk seductively along the aisles, checking we’ve all fastened our belts and making sure the overhead lockers are secure, and then we run through the farce of the safety film.  I always think that if it’s got to the point that we’ve landed on water, I will have died of fright by then, so putting on the safety jacket and blowing my whistle, won’t be an option, so I try not to listen to the film – deliberately blocking it out, except for the ‘brace, brace’ bit, which somehow penetrates my brain.  Will the ‘brace’ position really make any difference when we’re landing on water (or land) in a thing the size of high-rise building?

I love the tone of voice of the pilot – they must all go on training courses on how to sound authoritative, confident and in complete control.  He makes it all sound so simple – we’re just going to cruise along at a certain height and have a jolly time.  His voice convinces me that he’s done this so many times, he could do it in his sleep, and as we taxi along, I do indeed, ‘sit back and relax’ as he told me to do. 

As we surge forward down the runway, with what feels like enough thrust to get us to the moon, I realise I really
am
on an adventure.  I can’t remember ever going on a plane on my own – crazy to have got this old and be so inexperienced.  The wheels leave the ground and our ascent is smooth and quiet.  The 380 must have new sound proofing – it’s positively peaceful.  And I feel peaceful too – I’m in the hands of the airline.  I can make no contribution to the outcome of the journey; I have no responsibilities, nothing to do.  I have no one to worry about.  It’s just me.  I’ve left Ben, David, Holly, school, Bath, my flat … my
life,
behind. 

I feel a release, as if for the first time in years, I can think about … me.

*

The quietness of take-off is replaced by the penetrating hum of the engines, as we settle down into the flight.  The hours pass – I read my Kindle, a Hello magazine, The Times – and then I go through their entertainment system, which is full of hundreds of films, TV programmes, documentaries and music.  Fortunately, Adam told me to bring my own ear-phones and I plug myself in and watch a good movie.  Meals come and go, I wend my way down the aisle a few times and still there are three hours to go to Dubai.