Chapter 6
6
The spicy lentil and sweet potato pasties sold out within three hours. Admittedly, I’d only made a dozen, but what I’d not accounted for was how many customers relished the opportunity to sample a new flavour. The verdict? Well, the security manager, Tim, who held as much disdain for a meatless meal as my mother did for high-heeled shoes, came back for seconds. He’d only bought the first one because his assistant manager dared him.
I skipped lunch at the food court, as, unable to face any more lentils, I’d decided to go home and make a sandwich, get an early start on the prep for Thursday and then possibly read another letter before it got too late. As I pushed open the main airport door, a woman was struggling on the other side. She had a baby in a pushchair, a bawling child around four or five swinging off one arm and a large toddler flat out on the sopping wet concrete, as rigid as a dead slug.
The toddler was wearing nothing but a filthy T-shirt, socks and a Superman cape.
The automatic door wasn’t working so I stood and held the other door open for a few seconds, in case she managed to miraculously find a way to get three children, a pushchair, four cabin bags and a giant stuffed panda to go through them.
‘Thank you,’ she muttered, starting to nudge one suitcase towards the door an inch at a time.
‘I’m not going!’ the oldest child screamed. ‘I won’t leave Sausage and you can’t make me!’
As she yanked down with all her strength, her mum let go of the pushchair, the bags hanging from the back causing it to tip over and catch the leg of a man in an expensive suit trying to dodge past.
The only one of them not crying now was the toddler. I dashed over to right the pushchair, lifting a rucksack onto one shoulder and hurrying back to the door to prop it open again.
‘It’s no good,’ the woman said with a jerky sob. ‘Boarding closes in two minutes. We’ll never make it.’
‘Hooray!’ the girl shouted, letting go of her mum and punching the air with both arms.
The next plane to leave was for Vienna. If Leandra was on the gate as usual, then it might not be too late.
‘No, not hooray!’ I said, loudly enough to get her attention. ‘Your mum has organised you a lovely holiday, and from the looks of things, she really needs it.’
‘She should have brought Sausage, then!’
‘Isobel, darling, I told you, you’re not allowed to take snakes on a plane.’
‘Yes, and I told you that’s a stupid rule because corn snakes aren’t even venomous and I could have hided him in my shorts and no one would have known.’ Isobel stuck both hands on her hips, thrusting her pointy chin forwards.
‘Corn snakes don’t like strange places. He’ll be much happier in his own tank with all his favourite things and lots of lovely crickets to eat.’
‘I don’t care. I’m not going and neither is Oscar!’
‘Okay. Fair enough,’ I said, my head scrambling. If I’d spoken to my mother like that, she’d have stuck me in Sausage’s tank for the duration of the holiday and force-fed me crickets. ‘But now you’re here, don’t you want to go to the special room and see the aeroplanes take off?’
Isobel’s eyes narrowed.
‘You even get to go through the secret special supervillain detection machine. And your shoes and bags and everything else have to go through the X-ray scanner in case you’re sneaking in a bomb or a corn snake.’
‘Do they ever find a bomb?’
‘I heard a villain might be sneaking a bomb through this very afternoon. I work here, so I would know.’
I steered the laden pushchair through the doors while the mum grabbed the bags, encouraging Isobel to see if she could find the secret scanner. The second Isobel gave a decisive nod, saying, ‘I think it might be that way,’ Oscar sprang up and ran past all of us, his bare bottom bobbing.
Due to everyone else having boarded, and the next flight not being due for another three hours, we had a clear run to the gate. Strictly speaking, I shouldn’t have been allowed with them, but Kamal and Kaleb worked enough early-morning shifts to simply wink as they waved the best source of caffeine in the airport on through.
‘Nah-ah.’ Leandra, who was about to head onto the plane, looked at the bedraggled, half-dressed, tear-smeared family and folded her arms. ‘Boarding closed five minutes ago.’
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘You’re not on the plane yet. It’ll hold things up by only another couple of minutes.’
She waved a hand at the bags. ‘That pushchair needs to go in outsized baggage.’
The woman grabbed her baby out of the seat, wrenched the bags off the handles and kicked the pushchair so hard, it crashed into the nearest bin.
‘Please, I can’t tell you what it’s taken to get us here. We’re going to see their grandparents for the first time since Lola was born. I can’t afford to book another flight, and I really, really need this break.’
‘Five minutes late, Leandra.’
Leandra pointed to the clock. ‘Six.’
‘And yet, you’re still not on the plane.’
‘I want Daddy,’ Oscar whimpered.
‘You know Daddy can’t come because he’s shooting bad guys in his big army tank,’ Isobel said.
That caught Leandra’s attention. Her son had completed his basic army training a few weeks ago, and she was terrified about him getting deployed.
‘He’s in Somalia,’ Isobel’s mum said. ‘It’s not the easiest, managing all this while he’s away.’
Leandra sighed at how quickly she’d caved, then waved them on through, grabbing two bags as they passed. ‘That child needs a nappy on before he sits down, though.’
I was turning back the way we came when someone pressed something into my hand.
‘It’s probably nothing, but I don’t have anything else. If you get lucky, promise me you’ll take a holiday of your own.’
I spun around to see the mum beaming at me.
Before I could respond, she’d sprinted back through the door that led to the aeroplane.
I opened my hand, finding a creased lottery ticket.
‘Okay,’ I mumbled, ‘I promise.’
An easy promise to make, when sure I wouldn’t have to keep it. I stuffed the ticket into my trouser pocket and hurried home.
That evening, as I chopped, stirred and seasoned in the kitchen, my thoughts kept drifting upstairs to the box. Taking this as a sign that I was ready for the next letter, once everything was ready, I procrastinated a bit longer by changing into pyjamas, sticking on the load of washing that I should have done the day before and vacuuming the living room, then retrieved the box. This time, thinking it might help me feel less as if Mum’s ghost was judging me, I took the stash of letters downstairs.
Settling into my spot on the sofa with a mug of decaf tea and a plate of cheese and crackers left over from Blessing’s visit, I carefully opened the second envelope. This one had been posted to Nell Brown, at a Nottingham suburb.
6 August 1985
Dearest Nellie,
Is it too soon to write? I know we agreed I would call, but there’s always a queue at the telephone box, and I prefer to speak without whoever’s next in line spreading my words across the island quicker than a blaze through the barley fields. I tell you, I’m feeling that frustrated at Da’s resistance to anything modern. Nothing gets me accused of mainlandering like my request to install a phone. You’d have thought I’d dumped a pile of pig manure in the living room when I bought a television for the farm. Da reckons they’re for ‘people with nothing better to do than sit about watching people with nothing better to do than act like utter clowns.’ I moved it into my bedroom so I could watch the test match in peace.
Besides, I wanted to try writing something down. Words spoken can blow off on the wind and be forgotten.
If this is the start of forever, whatever I say deserves to last.
And after that rambling introduction – what can I say? Except that yesterday was almost perfect. I say almost, because at the end of it, we had to say goodbye, which was harder than I could have imagined a week ago.
With every passing minute, I grow more convinced that this is that indescribable, mysterious force which others name ‘true love’. You’ll have noticed I’m not one for grand words, but I understand now why good men will abandon their duty, cast off all common sense and attempt the foolhardiest of feats for a mere woman. Because to them, there is nothing mere about her. She is everything. You, Nellie, are everything, now. I find myself aching for some daring quest to not only prove my love, but that I might earn your love in return.
And now I have made an utter nerk of myself, how would it be if I booked a flight to Nottinghamshire?
I will call once I’m certain this letter has reached you, and somehow try to carry on until I hear your sweet voice again.
With faith, hope and love
G x
I dreamed I was walking through wheat fields again. Only this time, Mum was there. Or rather, the younger version of her, in the wedding dress, pacing along several hundred metres in front of me. No matter how fast I hurried, I couldn’t catch her, and when I tried to call out, the sound died in my throat.
I woke several minutes before the alarm, the events of the past few days churning into a vague restlessness that made it difficult to focus. I crimped pasties, skidded the van around corners and dragged the trolleys to the kiosk with an urgency that did nothing to settle my nerves.
At the mid-morning lull between flights, I put on my jacket and left the kiosk, hoping a quick break outside would help me settle. For reasons that were probably all to do with letters and lentil pasties and lunch with a man who was about to leave forever, my eyes kept welling up, and the last thing I wanted was to burst out crying in front of a customer.
It was when I passed the Travel Shop, my agitated gaze roaming the windows, that I noticed the Lotto sign. Stopping, I reached into my jacket pocket and found the crumpled ticket that the woman had given me the day before.
My usual instinct would be to throw it in the bin, but nothing about this week was usual. I pictured vast blue skies, forget-me-nots dancing in a salty, summer breeze and walked straight into the Travel Shop.
Gregory spotted me while I was waiting in the queue, veering inside to talk to me.
‘Emmie. I saw the kiosk was unmanned and thought there must have been another emergency.’
‘I’m just taking a quick break.’
‘Right.’ He rocked back on his heels a couple of times. ‘Have you had a chance to look at the contract?’
I nodded. ‘I read it last night before I went to sleep.’
‘And?’ His gaze dropped to my hands, as if expecting me to be holding the envelope.
‘I haven’t signed it yet.’
‘Is there a problem? Like I said, it’s the exact same terms as the current one. Everyone else has to be open far longer hours, seven days a week. This is the same lease your mum was happy with for, oh, longer than I’ve been here.’
‘Yeah.’ I shuffled forwards in the queue. ‘I think that might be the issue.’
‘Okay.’ Gregory looked confused. ‘Would it help if we discussed it in my office later on? Because if you don’t get this sorted, management will replace it with a standard lease.’
‘Not really.’
I knew that the popularity of Parsley’s had enabled Mum to wangle a ridiculously good offer, back in the days when it was possible to get away with more flexibility. The problem was me.
His frown deepened.
‘But I’ll do my best to get it to you first thing tomorrow.’
‘Hey, Emmie.’ Barb smiled when I reached the counter. ‘It’s not like you to be roaming free before three o’clock.’
‘Just stretching my legs. Can you check this for me, please?’ The Lotto draw had been last night.
I held out the ticket, which she scrutinised with arched eyebrows before scanning it in the machine.
‘Not like you to gamble. Were you feeling lucky?’ Barb had an amazing gift to make the most innocuous phrase sound like juicy gossip.
‘Someone gave it to me.’
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Looks like you owe that someone a drink.’ She waved the ticket in the air. ‘That chime means you’ve only gone and won.’
‘What?’
All the blood in my body plummeted straight to my feet.
‘I mean, not the whole thing. But four numbers. That’s one hundred and forty big ones.’
‘Oh. Right. Great, thank you.’
I gripped the counter for support, willing my vital organs to restart functioning while Barb faffed about, making sure everyone in the shop and whoever happened to be loitering about nearby knew that it was ‘someone’s lucky day!’
‘Here,’ she said, preening at the clump of people now waiting behind me. ‘Your winnings, madam.’
She then slowly counted out seven twenty-pound notes.
‘Congratulations, love,’ someone called, prompting a general murmuring of similar sentiments.
‘What are you going to spend it on?’
‘Knowing this one, she’ll treat herself to a food-court flapjack.’ Barb snickered. ‘Maybe a new apron?’
‘What? Young lass like her should be treating herself properly,’ an older man said. ‘You should do something nice. Buy a new frock or have a night out with your fella.’
‘Oh, she hasn’t got a fella,’ Barb said, sounding as sad as possible while still smirking.
I didn’t tell her that I was having lunch with a man in a few hours. She’d be even more brazen about sharing that titbit than the Lotto win.
‘Or book yourself a holiday,’ the older man’s companion said. ‘You’re in an airport; why not?’
Why not indeed? I thought, hurrying back to the kiosk. I’d promised the woman who gave me the ticket that I’d go on holiday if I won. What neither of us had clarified was how much money counted as winning.
The notes now safely zipped inside my jacket pocket were enough to buy a flight to somewhere. Maybe even to bring me back again. But not much else.
And yet.
As I got on with placing pasties inside paper bags, serving drinks and handing out napkins, I couldn’t help thinking about the other money sitting in a savings account for a rainy day.
It was supposed to be my back-up fund, to be used in a crisis.
But, honestly, with my relentlessly predictable life, these past few days might be as close to a crisis as I’d ever get.
I was still thinking about it when Blessing came over at two, offering congratulations while picking up her regular order.
‘We are definitely going clothes shopping now.’
‘Can you get much these days for a hundred and forty pounds?’
‘You can if you’re with me.’ She pulled out her phone. ‘How about Tuesday morning? If we hit the shops the second they open, we could squeeze in lunch before my shift starts.’
‘Yeah…’
‘What?’ Blessing narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me Barb’s strong-armed you into one of her mojito nights.’
‘No. Ugh. Definitely not. But I might not be here on Tuesday.’
‘I know you’re not here on Tuesdays. That’s why I suggested it.’
‘I mean I might not be anywhere here. I might be somewhere much further away.’
Blessing’s eyes went round, her coffee mug frozen halfway to her mouth.
‘You’re going on holiday?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Do it.’
‘But what’ll happen to Parsley’s?’
‘Nothing! Small independent retailers still go on holiday. They put a sign up saying, “back on whatever date” and people deal with it. It’s not like there’s anyone to steal your custom while you’re away.’
‘I know. But I have two giant fridges full of food and fourteen mint plants to water. The meat delivery is scheduled for tomorrow.’
I stopped to serve another group of customers, and then found Blessing brandishing a napkin in one hand, a blue eyeliner in the other. ‘Write it all down.’
‘What?’
‘Write down everything that needs doing if you go away for a couple of weeks. I have the perfect solution.’
I saw the gleam in her eyes and instantly cottoned on to her plan.
‘You’re going to house-sit for me?’
‘I will even pay you rent.’
‘Really?’
She shrugged. ‘Mates’ rates, obviously.’
I served another couple of customers.
‘Who knows? When you come back, I might just stay.’
‘Really?’
I loved Blessing, but the thought of her there, in my space, all the time, made my eyelid twitch.
‘What do you say?’
‘Can I have more than two minutes to think about it?’
‘Fine. I need to get to work, anyway.’ She checked the time on her phone. ‘Let me know after your hot farmer lunch date.’
She stopped then, mouth dropping open. ‘Oh, my goodness, Emmie. You’re going to the island, aren’t you? You’re going to buy a ticket to Siskin and have a rip-roaring, heart-thumping holiday romance with Pip.’