Chapter 8
8
I’m sitting at the table with my parents, practically shovelling my dinner into my mouth – weirdly, going to the gym has made me hungry, not that I did anything while I was there.
I’ve just been telling them all about Priya’s accident – if we’re calling it an accident – and how she needs an operation, so won’t be going on the Italy trip.
Obviously, first and foremost, my concern is for my friend and all that matters is that she gets better. That said, I’m really not looking forward to this trip now that I won’t have my ally with me. Priya is my friend, the one I have a laugh with, the one who sticks up for me. I can’t even imagine what it’s going to be like without her – although I’m sure it’s preferable to an operation, so I’ll give it a rest with that particular pity party.
‘Oh, poor Priya,’ Mum coos sympathetically. ‘She must be in agony – and devastated she’s missing out on the trip to Italy.’
‘I think all she cares about right now is just not being in pain,’ I reply with a shrug, stabbing a chip and popping it into my mouth. I mentally tick myself off for continuing to eat when I’m already full, because if I keep going like this, the plane might struggle to lift off the runway. What is it about visiting your parents that turns you into a bottomless pit? Perhaps it’s a nostalgia thing, something about your mum’s cooking taking you back to when you were a kid, or perhaps I really am just working overtime to try to pretend I’m a kid again today.
‘That Liz sounds just awful,’ Mum continues, her brow furrowing as she shakes her head – it takes a lot to rattle Mum.
‘I honestly don’t know what her problem is,’ I reply with a sigh. ‘I don’t know how to get her to back off.’
‘Push her in the sea,’ Dad suggests, causing a momentary silence to fall over the table.
For a second, I just stare at him, surprised by his sudden input – I didn’t even know he was actually listening. He’s been quiet throughout dinner (as he often is through conversations I have with my mum), so his suggestion catches me off guard.
‘I’m sorry, what?’ I finally manage to utter.
‘Colin!’ Mum practically squeaks.
‘Push her in the sea,’ Dad says again, his tone still so matter-of-fact, as if this is a perfectly reasonable course of action.
‘I can’t believe I’m even engaging with this,’ I start, laughing to myself. ‘But why?’
‘When I was at school, there was this kid, Willy Lawn, who used to pick on me all the time,’ Dad explains. ‘And my father said to me: “Son, you need to show that kid who is boss and that he can’t mess with you.” So, we were on a school trip to Blackpool, and he was giving me a hard time, so I pushed him into the sea. Never bothered me again.’
Once again, I fall silent as I try to process my dad’s unconventional advice.
‘You know I’m in my thirties, right?’ I finally reply, my sheer disbelief evident in my voice.
‘Yeah,’ Dad responds simply. ‘Sorry it’s taken me so long to think of it.’
‘Ignore him,’ Mum interjects. ‘You’re a mature young woman – continue to rise above it, but make sure you land this client. That will really hit her where it hurts.’
‘And if not, you know…’ Dad’s voice trails off as he mimes shoving someone into the sea.
Unbelievable.
‘Well, thanks for dinner,’ I say, chuckling to myself. ‘I’m going to go upstairs and get my things ready.’
‘Do you not want to watch a movie?’ Dad asks. ‘I thought I’d put Con Air on.’
‘Dad, what the hell?’ I blurt in response.
My mum drops her jaw theatrically.
‘Colin, do you honestly think it’s a good idea to show your daughter a movie with a plane crash when, not only is she terrified of flying, but she is doing so in a matter of hours?’
‘Oh yeah,’ Dad says, laughing to himself. ‘That must be what made me think of it – sorry.’
He giggles like a naughty schoolboy.
‘Okaaaay, so I’ll go get my things ready and try not to panic about the plane crashing,’ I say, pushing my chair out and making my way to the door.
‘There probably won’t be any convicts on your plane, if that helps,’ Dad quips, attempting to lighten the mood – it does not.
‘Try not to worry about that, my love,’ Mum adds with a reassuring smile. ‘I’ll be up to see you shortly – I’ll bring you a cup of tea.’
I head up the stairs to what was once my bedroom but is now repurposed as a guest room. All my things are stashed in the loft now, and the room looks so different, but I can still see the remnants of my time here, if I look closely. My formerly pink walls have been repainted to a very light cream but, if you know where to look, you can still see these faint marks from where I had my posters stuck up with thumbtacks. Also, and I’m not even sure if my parents know about this one, but there’s a dent in the ceiling, from a sleepover that got out of hand. It’s right above the bed and lying back and looking up at it makes me smile. In a weird way, I hope no one ever fills it in, because it feels like I’ve quite literally made my mark on the world.
Despite the changes, and all of my things being boxed up in the loft, this room still feels like the warm, nostalgic hug that I’m in need of right now.
The fact that I’ve been sending emails back and forth with Andrea all evening has also felt like a trip down memory lane – although emailing with her is significantly faster than posting actual letters back and forth, so I’m happy to accept that change.
Talking to her has been a welcome distraction from the chaos of the day, and I’m loving hearing about what she’s doing now, compared to what she told me she wanted to do when we were kids.
I couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness for Andrea when she told me that she was actually a chef, just like she’d always dreamed of. She may not be in her dad’s restaurant, or her own, but the fact that she’s creating recipes for products is still pretty bloody close. I remember how we used to talk about our future, and that for a good chunk of time I dreamed of becoming a radio presenter, although I can’t recall why that ever appealed to me, and what I’m actually doing isn’t even close. Not that I think Andrea is judging me for it, because what does it matter really?
What does matter is the excitement in Andrea’s emails, her genuine joy at hearing from me and her eagerness to catch up. It’s heart-warming to know that our friendship – one that only ever really existed on paper – has stood the test of time.
She is genuinely buzzing about me visiting Bari finally, asking for all the details, so I’ve told her my plans and asked for some good recommendations of places to eat and visit.
My phone dings with another email. Oh my gosh, she’s asking if I want to meet up. She says, if I want to, she will pick me up from the airport, we can go for a drink and a chat, and then she’ll take me to the resort where I’m staying with work. Oh, what a sweetheart.
The butterflies in my stomach kick off at the idea of finally meeting Andrea in person. For some reason, it fills me with a mix of excitement and nervousness. After all this time, I never thought our paths would cross, especially after our exchange trips were cancelled. This is my chance to right a wrong, to finally meet her – just years and years late.
A gentle knock interrupts my thoughts. It’s Mum, bringing me that cup of tea she promised me.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say, reaching for the cup. ‘I just had another reply from Andrea – she offered to pick me up from the airport. She said we could go for a drink, hang out, and then she’ll take me to the resort.’
My mum’s eyes light up.
‘Didn’t I always say she sounded like a sweet girl?’ she muses, a hint of ‘I told you so’ in her voice. ‘Are you going to accept her kind invitation?’
I pause for a moment, considering the offer.
‘Yeah, why not?’ I reply with a shrug. ‘I mean, she seems lovely, and she says she’ll pick me up from the airport, which saves me having to figure out public transport. And even if she’s a nightmare, and we don’t get on at all, well, it will only be a couple of hours, and it will be great practice for dealing with Liz later in the day.’
Mum just laughs.
‘And there’s always pushing her in the sea,’ she adds sarcastically, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. ‘If you survive the plane.’
It’s impossible not to laugh along with her.
‘Honestly, he’s my dad, and I love him, but I don’t know how you haven’t pushed him in the bloody sea yet,’ I joke, shaking my head at the thought.
‘Which reminds me,’ she says, reaching into her pocket, eventually retrieving a small packet which she offers to me. ‘These are for you. Your Auntie Irene gave me them when I was worrying about the dentist. They’re supposed to relax you.’
I take the packet from her, examining it curiously. Auntie Irene, who isn’t really my auntie, is all about the herbal remedies.
‘Did it help?’ I ask, intrigued by the prospect, and desperately hoping for a solution to my irrational fear.
‘It really did,’ Mum confirms with a nod. ‘Just take one an hour before you fly.’
‘Thanks, I’ll give it a go,’ I reply gratefully, tucking the packet into my bag. ‘And I’ll tell Andrea that I’d love to meet her.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Mum says, her smile warm and encouraging. ‘Maybe this could be the start of a new you – one who takes chances?’
‘Hmm, maybe,’ I say, returning her smile.
Perhaps I should take her advice. Maybe I do need to be more bold, to take more chances – I might even impress Rick in the process.
Yep, I should listen to my mum. Well, it’s that or listen to my dad and push people into the sea willy-nilly. Somehow I can’t see that being all that well received by anyone.