Desperately Seeking - By Evelyn Cosgrave Page 0,28

apparently there was no end to the activities we could get involved in. I kind of switched off as he went on; all I wanted was a week of sun and nothingness. In the end it hadn’t been difficult getting the time off: my boss simply reminded me that I had already used up a considerable portion of my annual leave, and were I to need any more extensive periods of time off this year, it might prove difficult. He was skirting round the issue of the wedding, of course, but I had never said it was going to be this year. Nobody had set a date. Keith, on the other hand (who is really good at his job and whose boss hates to let him go), had had to practically beg for the time. (I think he had to leave one of his kidneys in storage.) But he was determined. He was in need of this holiday even more than I was. His love affair with my family had plateaued and he was in need of time away to refresh. It was just as well – I was a little tired of him never seeing things as they really were.

When we pulled into the long-term car park we were well ahead of Keith’s schedule. He had worked out that by arriving an hour before our check-in time we would avoid the queues and have plenty of time for a leisurely breakfast and shopping in Duty Free. Even though the value isn’t as good as it used to be I can’t help picking up a few essentials from Dior and Chanel, so I was happy to go along with it. But as we were placing our luggage on a trolley, Keith began to hurry me along insisting that queues were forming even though he couldn’t possibly see through the brown glass. As we approached the entrance he was banging his coat pockets to check he still had our essential documents.

‘You have them,’ I insisted. ‘You’ve already checked twice.’

But he kept stopping to pull them out and go through them one by one. I was getting a little impatient, but he was fine again once we were in the (four-deep) queue at the check-in desk.

Our breakfast wasn’t as leisurely as I had anticipated. We had been looking forward to a full Irish but as soon as we sat down to eat, Keith lost his appetite. Then he was hopping up and down to the toilets. At this rate I’d never get any shopping done. The third time he got up to go, I actually shouted at him: ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I snapped, ‘what is the matter with you?’

I don’t think I had ever spoken a cross word to him before.

‘Nothing! Nothing’s wrong,’ he said, and ran.

When he came back I told him I was going on into Duty Free and he could follow me when he was done going to the toilet. And that was when he broke down. ‘Oh, God, no, no! Don’t leave me here!’ he whimpered. ‘I’ll never make it if you leave me.’

‘What?’ I said, aghast.

‘Oh, Kate,’ he said, sitting back down at the table (he seemed to need the support), ‘I never told you… Well, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to…’

‘Never told me what?’ I asked, unable to keep the note of impatience out of my voice.

‘Well,’ he said, covering his face with his hands, ‘ahm… I, ah… I don’t fly very well…’

‘Oh!’

The idea of someone not flying well had never occurred to me. From a very early age I had been on and off planes regularly. Flying didn’t cost me a thought. Of course I had heard of people being afraid of flying, but I had always assumed them to be slightly hysterical women looking for attention. It had never crossed my mind that a man, a steady, sensible, grounded man like Keith, might have a problem becoming airborne.

I sat down beside him and emitted a large, unhelpful sigh. ‘How bad is it?’ I asked, wondering if we were going to get away at all.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s been ages since I flew.’

‘And what happened then?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Come on,’ I said, bundling him up, ‘let’s go to the bar and have a drink.’

‘It’s a quarter past eleven,’ he protested feebly.

‘Well, it’s drinking time somewhere,’ I said (I didn’t have any other ideas). ‘Anyway, we’re on holiday. People do daft things when they’re on holiday. A drink will do us both