a different question at Ted. ‘A number between one and twelve?’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Six.’
Six. It’s as good as any. ‘Thank you, Ted,’ I say, feeling a bit awkward, as if I should hug him or something. ‘I should, er … you know. Go.’
He steps aside and waves me along. ‘On your way then,’ he says. ‘And don’t forget to call home.’
I nod. He’s right; I should call Mum at least, but I daren’t yet for fear of her talking me out of it before I even get off the ground. Tomorrow is soon enough – Mum’s more than busy right now trying to get home from the Lakes to see her new granddaughter.
Right. Six. I approach the wall of kiosks and walk along, ticking them off in my head as I go. Kiosk one, United Airlines. I don’t think I can go to the US without visas and all that gubbins, so that would be a non-starter anyway. Two, Air France. Bit too close; I can’t guarantee Mum wouldn’t come and get me. Besides: Paris. Three, Qantas. Too far away. I want to get away, but not as far as I can possibly go. Four, Emirates. Hmm. I don’t think the bling and glitz of Dubai is what my soul needs right now. Aer Lingus is at five; another no-go purely on proximity. Okay. Kiosk six glows orange and red, welcoming me. Beckoning me, almost. Air India. Nerves grumble low in my gut. I’d sort of imagined myself heading out to the Balearics or Portugal, but something about the thought of India feels suddenly appealing. It’s far enough away to put me out of Mum’s reach, and it’s different enough to be exactly what I need – not that I knew it until this very second. I’ve never imagined myself travelling anywhere alone, let alone somewhere as unknown to me. Some of the desks have been closed up for the night, but as luck would have it, there’s a guy perched at the kiosk who looks up and catches my eye.
‘You need some help?’ he asks, smiling at me. It’s welcoming, and I move nearer.
‘I think I’d like to go to India,’ I say, ever so slightly slower than usual, as if I’m testing the words out.
‘Excellent,’ he says. ‘Where in India were you planning to fly to?’
‘Oh,’ I say, feeling foolish. ‘Right. Well, where can I fly to soonest?’
If my answer surprises him, he’s professional enough not to show it. He taps his keyboard and I wait, crossing my fingers under the desk that he doesn’t tell me there are no imminent flights.
‘There’s a flight to Delhi in two hours and twenty-seven minutes,’ he says.
‘That one,’ I say, gripped.
‘But it’s full, I’m afraid,’ he says, arranging his features into a sympathetic smile.
I’m crushed. I’ve known about the flight for less than thirty seconds, and already it’s a missed opportunity.
The attendant checks his watch. ‘The next flight after that is at two nineteen, but it’s to Goa.’
He looks at me as if that might be a deal breaker, but whether it’s Delhi or Goa makes no difference to me. ‘Is there a seat?’
A few more taps, a thoughtful twist of his mouth, and then a decision. ‘There is.’
My credit card is out of my bag and on the desk before I speak again. ‘I’ll take it.’
For the smallest of microseconds, his ultra-professional expression falters. ‘You’re sure now?’
‘Do I look like someone who isn’t sure?’ I ask. ‘I have a suitcase and my passport right here.’
‘And your visa is in order?’
My heart sinks. ‘I need a visa to go to India?’
His sympathetic expression is laced with irritation now. ‘Of course, but you can obtain it easily online.’
I have my phone in my hand, hopeful again. ‘Now? I could do that now?’
‘You certainly could, madam, but it takes two days to process.’
I could cry. In fact, I think I’m horribly close to it as I slide my credit card back into my purse.
‘Thanks, anyway,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘But I need to get away tonight.’
He looks genuinely regretful as I wheel my case away, probably at the loss of commission.
The next desk is one of the major holiday operators with their own airline, so I drag my case up to the bored-looking girl behind the desk and, wiser from my India disappointment, I try a new, more targeted tack.
‘I’d like the next available seat on the next available flight to a warm country that doesn’t require a visa, please.’
Her eyes