for other than a nice room in my papa’s villa for a half decent rent, so why not? Why the hell not?
All I have to do is press the button, buy a ticket, get on a train.
I press. My finger presses the screen in front of me and I wait.
Nothing happens.
I press again, a little harder, but it’s quite obvious that the goddamn screen has locked. I look over my shoulder, trying to find a station attendant, somebody to help me. The screen flickers, briefly, and it seems like it might be working now.
‘Buy tickets’.
I hover. Again.
Attempting to pull myself together, I feel a brush across the heels of my suede sneakers. A faint apology ensues. I turn, but nobody is there. Twisting around the other way, I see a lady mopping the station floor, cleaning around the bottom of the self-service machine beside the one I’m standing at.
A mop.
How did such an object, used to eliminate crap off the ground, once play a major role in my life? The fire in my belly is drenched, sodden. I can see the front door to the house on Clifton Crescent opening, those little girls staring at my witch’s broom. I can see Abi’s cold recognition of who I must be. I can see Nick. Greg. The story I’d participated in. The happy ending I’d gotten oh so wrong. And I see George, laughing; another story I’d read back-to-front.
I won’t do this again.
I won’t turn Jim into another story, one to tell Katie and the latest gang of expats. I won’t ridicule myself in the Irish pub, drowning myself in enough tequila shots to feel confident, to be funny. I can just picture it, the drunken rounds of pitying applause, Katie howling, ‘You did it again, Zara! You hopeless fecking romantic!’
Hopeless.
It has to stop.
I have to stop.
A beep beeps from the machine and my card ejects. I’ve hovered too long.
I back away, avoiding the lady with her mop, and meander down the escalators, deep into the London Underground. Just over an hour later I’m at Heathrow again, and this time I check in. I’m handed a boarding pass for the next Emirates flight to Dubai International Airport. In the departure lounge, I buy my second tuna melt of the day and pick away at it, sitting amongst the crowds and wiping the tears that fall down my cheeks with a brown paper napkin. On the plane, I read a few chapters about the early life of Judy Garland, drink more red wine and, inevitably, cry.
Night turns into the brightest of mornings as the grand A380 touches down onto the hot, dry runway. The Dubai sky is so perfect, such a beautiful, confident blue, that there’s nothing to dislike about it. The warmth outside is delicious. November is the expats’ favourite month. Inside the airport, a member of the ground staff catches my eye, smiles and says, ‘Welcome, ma’am.’
Maybe I am home after all.
Maybe.
28
Jim
The seat in my toll booth today has seen better days. The yellow sticky sponge is emerging from the plastic faux leather cover. My high-vis jacket scratches my neck, something that’s perhaps always happened. I can’t quite remember.
‘Y’never heard of a barber, mate?’
It is – of course – the fella in the Ford Focus. Connie and Carl’s laughter about something not likely to be funny blasts through his speakers and I’m reacquainted with that aftershave; too many spices for a Monday morning.
‘Have a good day, mate,’ I reply, handing over the change.
‘Nice one.’
And with that all-too-familiar unnecessary rev, the Focus speeds through the tunnel. I’m doing my utmost to deliver decent customer service today, but I’m forced to multitask, exchanging coins while reading messages appearing on my phone from my sisters.
Jim! Landed. We’ve hired cars. On the motorway. Emma and co in the car behind. Heading straight to the hospital. ETA 9.40 rush hour traffic permitting. Meet us there. Love you. Lisa
Hey little bro!! We absolutely can’t wait to see your hairy face. Sienna, Mason and Bree can’t believe they’re going to meet you in the flesh. Well, Bree doesn’t really understand but we think she’s got a high IQ for a 6 month old. A bit like her Uncle Jim, eh?! She slept for the whole flight. If only she’d do that on land haha. See you soon. Love ya loads. Em x
Oh, I forgot to say Jack’s super excited to catch up with you. Like you, he’s from a whole family of sisters haha. Love ya loads. Em