Chapter Sixty-Three
They sit closer together on the plane.
William is sticking to Diet Coke. Although, considering what has happened to him this week whilst remaining relatively sober, he can’t imagine that alcohol could make him feel much weirder.
Yet he needs his mind to be clear, as he takes out from his laptop bag the brand-new notepad he has just bought in the airport.
He smiles as he briefly wonders what else he might discover in there; books he has never read?
Photographs that have magically altered? A small, waxen ball? The Holy Grail?
Luisa watches him as he begins to scribble. It doesn’t appear to be work, or at least not the work he usually does, which is almost always on his laptop.
“Ladies of the Argentinian night?”
He has the grace to laugh. “Possibly!” A young child leans round from the seat in front of him. William smiles back.
Some time later, while the muse has a break, William looks across at his wife of thirty years. Her eyes are closing, the large handbag lies open on her lap. Trying not to disturb her, he leans across and very gently pulls out the small photo album.
Luisa notices but simply smiles to herself. And softly, instinctively, she touches the shiny new cross at her throat.
*
They can see the dark clouds cluster, like a welcoming committee, as they begin to land. The anticipated rain won’t be far behind.
By the time they emerge together onto the tarmac, the passengers in front have their phones out and their brollies open to protect them.
It takes forever to trudge through passport control and pick up their bags but Luisa notices how sanguine – well, comparatively sanguine – William is.
Finally they shuffle off, hand in hand, William dragging the heavier case and suddenly yearning for a Pablo. He sees the line of waiting minicab drivers. “We should have booked,” he grumbles. “I just forgot. Still, there’ll be plenty of cabs. No mad rush.”
“Mum! Dad! Over here!”
They spin round to see Claire and Marcus, waiting nervously. Each holds up a white card, as cabbies do, one reading MAMA and the other PAPA.
“Did you know they were coming?” says a delighted William.
Luisa shakes her head. “They want to see which one of us has killed the other.”
“Aye, fair enough. Going to have to be a wee bit kinder to Marcus, aren’t I? Maybe buy one of his godawful pictures… Or at least be kinder.”
William stops and turns away, to shift the suitcase to his other hand. So he doesn’t see what Luisa is staring at when he hears her say, “Ay, Dios mio! William!”
He spins around. And stops, open-mouthed.
Claire and Marcus have adapted their cards, using white cardboard flaps that they’ve clearly stuck on. The cards now read ‘GRAND-MA’ and ‘GRAND-PA’. And they’re beaming like loons.
William and Luisa Sutherland find themselves both tearing up.
“Oh, William,” murmurs Luisa.
“Away ye go!” says William, with moist-eyed predictability.
He takes his wife’s hand and they scoot, heavy cases and all, to embrace their children.
As they walk out of the airport together, William dumps his umbrella in a nearby bin.