Chapter 5
FIVE
My dad drives me to the airport, recounting tales I’ve heard many times before about the work trip he took to London in 1997. Decades later he remains traumatised by eating something called ‘black pudding’ at a hotel breakfast, and discovering it was made of pig’s blood.
‘They don’t have air conditioning, you know,’ he says, sternly.
‘I know. But it’s winter, I’ll be okay.’
‘And they’re obsessed with tea!’
‘That’s all right. I like tea.’
‘And there’s a language barrier. Technically, they all speak English, but the accents, Cassie, the accents! You won’t be able to understand a word of it, and they’ll just think you’re deaf and talk louder. And the money is weird. And you’ll be alone – thousands of miles away!’
I laugh as he makes his way into the parking lot, and know he’s just worried. Suzie and Mom were worried too, but for different reasons. When I broke the news, Suzie stared at me over her wine glass and suggested it might be a better idea to spend the money on a good therapist. Mom looked horrified, and held her hand to my forehead, checking for a fever.
Some of their concern is genuine – I know they love me – but they also hate not being in control. I’ve done something unpredictable, and that makes them nervous. Maybe they’re expecting a viral video of me running naked through the grounds of Buckingham Palace, or wondering if Hugh Grant might have to take out a restraining order.
‘Dad, being alone thousands of miles away is part of the appeal. I’ll miss you, but I need the change. I’m stuck in a rut here. How about you tell me something good about the place?’
He looks a little misty-eyed as we walk, and says: ‘The pubs. The pubs were great. And the cursing – they curse at everything!’
Mom makes him put dollars in a swear jar at home, which is a shame, because he loves a good swear – it’s one of his greatest pleasures in life. Sometimes you overhear him in his den, cursing away just for the fun of it.
We make our way into the building, him walking so slowly I suspect he’s trying to make me miss my flight.
‘Don’t forget to offer people tea,’ he says suddenly, as we stare at the information screens. ‘Even if they just walk past your door and say good morning, offer them tea, or they’ll take it as a snub. And the weather – you’ll need to talk about that, a lot. That, and traffic. Talk about weather, and traffic, and offer tea, and you’ll probably be fine.’
‘Probably?’ I ask, grinning up at him. ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘That’s not a sensible question to ask a man who watches as many true crime shows as me. Be safe, okay? Don’t forget to look in the wrong direction when you’re crossing the road. And make sure you come back. I think maybe that’s the worst that can happen – you’ll like it so much you’ll stay, and I’ll never see my baby again.’
‘I’m thirty-seven, Dad.’
‘Makes no difference. Still my baby. Now go, off with you, before I change my mind and bundle you back home again.’
I hug him, and he waves me off with his golfing umbrella. The last thing I see of him is his grey-red hair, as ever a head-and-shoulder higher than the rest of the crowd. The O’Haras tend to run on the tall side.
The trip starts well, with a free upgrade to first class – the kind of random stroke of good fortune that makes me wonder if Nanna Nora is not only up there, but has managed to charm her way into the possession of a magic wand. I luxuriate in the lie-flat bed and the free Champagne, and imagine how glamorous I look. Lone female traveller, off on a first-class adventure. The trip of a lifetime.
I have such a good feeling about it all, and can’t wait to get there. To my little slice of English paradise.