Chapter 51
I don’t see Ellis at the airport either. He travelled independently, unlike me who’s now on her way to Liverpool, with a train journey back to London to look forward to.
I get into my window seat and check my phone before airplane mode is activated, and we all lose contact with the outside world for a whole three hours.
I’m greeted by a black screen. The battery must have gone flat.
I rummage around in my bag, hoping that my plug-in portable charger still has some juice.
It powers up to a barrage of message notifications.
OMG. Tell me everything!
I’m waiting. Hurry up.
Missed call.
Sophie, do not leave me hanging.
3 missed calls.
WTF? Bitch, where are you?
I’d laugh if I wasn’t so bummed out.
Sorry, my phone was dead. On plane leaving Palma. Call you when I land.
The shuttle from the airport to the station isn’t as crowded as it was on the journey there. Maybe people have stayed longer in Palma. I wouldn’t blame them. Grey skies and rain aren’t the welcome home that anyone needs.
‘Hey.’
‘You did not just leave me hanging all day, waiting for this important follow-up information,’ Naomi exclaims. ‘Even Philip’s invested.’
‘I probably shouldn’t have texted you in the first place,’ I reply. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘What do you mean? You’re still not giving me the details I quite clearly requested.’
‘You know that we’ve been hanging out all week. Getting on like a house on fire. Last night we went out. Karaoke—’
‘Oh God, you didn’t sing, did you? I’ve heard you sing. Like having a root canal in my eardrums.’
‘Yes, I sang. We both did. Also, mean.’
She laughs. ‘Sorry, continue.’
‘We ended up in a nightclub, drinking, dancing. Unbelievably fun night.’
‘Sounds great . . . and?’
‘We were outside, he just started rambling about how much he likes me, how he loves spending time with me, how he can’t stop thinking about me. I said I felt the same. And then we kissed.’
She gives a little squeal. ‘This is much better than The Love Boat. How was it? Is he a good kisser? He looks like a good kisser.’
‘It was perfect,’ I admit. ‘Slow, soft, deep. Honestly, ten out of ten, would recommend.’
‘And then? His room or yours?’
‘Neither,’ I reply. ‘We were drunk. Decided not to rush things.’
‘Rush things? Sophie, sleeping with someone seven minutes after meeting them would be rushing things. Seven days is just needlessly dragging things out. People have married, divorced and died in less time.’
‘I saw him this morning. Asked if he’d like to meet up when we’re back in London. See where this goes. He said no.’
The line is silent.
‘Naomi?’
‘I’m seething on your behalf. Give me a second.’
I wait.
‘I don’t get what his problem is. You’re single, he’s divorced, you’re both hot . . . Wait, it was the singing, wasn’t it?’
‘He’s not divorced. He’s a widower. His wife died eighteen months ago. He’s not ready to start seeing anyone.’
‘Oh,’ she replies. ‘Yeah, that would make more sense than the singing.’
‘When we met, he didn’t want to talk about her, so he said he was divorced. In his mind, that was more respectful to her than saying he was single.’
‘Ah, I get it. Sorry, Sophie, I could tell you liked him.’
‘It’s fine!’ I reply. ‘It was just a kiss. I’ve probably read too much into it anyway. That’s my bad.’
‘But are you OK?’
‘Not really.’
I take a deep breath. I will not tear up in the middle of Lime Street station.
‘What time is your train?’ she asks, sensing my discomfort. I check the departure board. Train is delayed by fifteen minutes.
‘Half four,’ I reply. ‘Should get home around eight.’
‘So just get the train here instead.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be—’
‘That wasn’t a request, Sophie. There’s a train for Whitby at ten minutes to five. I’ve just googled.’
‘That’s a five-hour journey!’ I protest. ‘And two changes.’
‘So what? Just buy some food and sleep. You’re not going back to work straight away. You’ll come here, spend a couple of days with us. We have a new chicken called Rihanna, you’ll like him.’
I agree to reroute my sad self in the direction of Naomi’s house. This saying yes shit is getting out of hand.
I reach Manchester and buy some sandwiches for the next leg of my journey to Thornaby, a place I didn’t know existed until now.
I mentally add this to my list of new places visited on holiday.
Despite now being an adept traveller of both land and sea, I can’t help feeling like I’m just as stuck as I was before I left.
All that effort, all that hope and nothing has changed.
I wish I’d never read that bloody article.
Time to let Alex Steward know that I’m officially out.
To: Alex Steward
Dear Alex,
This has been a disaster. After kissing me, the captain declined my request for a date.
I don’t think the two are related but I’m not ruling it out.
The cruise is over and I’m now on a train to Whitby to meet a fucking chicken.
I hereby resign. Good luck to the next person who thinks this might be a good idea. They’ll need it.
Sophie