Chapter Four
The next day, I pull up to the house and beep the horn.
I spent all morning doing the van up. Liam did a brilliant job of getting it clean, to the point where I just did all the fun stuff.
I had plenty of help, too. Elsie took it upon herself to be in charge of building a blanket fort in the back and Mairead let me borrow some decorations to give the space a festive touch.
The end result is charmingly ramshackle, but undeniably perfect.
I haven’t stopped smiling since I saw it.
Another beep, and Andrew trundles out, whistling when he sees me. “Cool,” he says. “Where’s Scooby-Doo?”
“Shut up.”
“It looks great,” he says, and I shrug, pleased, as Molly and Mam rush out.
“Everyone helped,” I say graciously as Molly peeks inside.
“Hannah, this is amazing.” She opens the side door and steps into the main area.
It’s not big by any means. Two seats up front.
A small double bed in the back. The toilet works, and so does the refrigerator, but we didn’t have any gas for the cooker and let’s just say I won’t have any problem sticking to the speed limit.
I strung battery-operated lights and holly along the cab section and hung glittering snowflakes from the ceiling.
The bed is made up with a large red and white quilt with cushions to match and, most importantly, it no longer smells of sheep.
“What time does she get in?” Molly asks.
“This afternoon,” I say, checking my phone. “Which means I better get going. I just stopped by to show it off.”
“Get going where?” Andrew asks.
“To the airport. I’m picking her up.”
“I thought you were just going to camp,” he says, suddenly worried. “You’re going to the airport? In that?”
Mam looks confused. “Why shouldn’t she?”
“Because she’s a bad driver,” Andrew says.
“She drives just fine.”
“You’re only saying that because—”
Molly bumps him with her hip.
Andrew sighs. “I’ll drive you,” he says to me.
“No,” I say firmly. “The whole point of this is that none of you are there.”
“Right.” Andrew nods. “Great. I’m really feeling the Christmas spirit.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m just so glad we flew three thousand miles to not spend time with my family.”
“We’re going inside now,” Molly assures me, taking him by the arm. “Have a safe trip and we’ll see you when you get back.”
“Unless we change the locks,” Andrew calls and waves as he’s dragged inside the house.
*
I’m not a bad driver. I’m not a good one, but I’m definitely not a bad one.
I mean, I passed my test. It was on the ninth attempt, but I still passed it.
And it’s not like I get into accidents or anything, I’m just weirdly cautious when it comes to being on the road.
But, surely, being too scared to merge is better than hitting someone.
And I don’t need to nose or reverse into a parking space when I can simply find somewhere along the curb with no other cars anywhere near me.
That being said, I’ve never driven a van before. I was fine getting back to the house because the roads were empty and there was no one to yell at me, but once I’m on the motorway, it gets a little harder.
And again, not my fault that the speed is not speedy. Even in the inside lane, I get overtaken and beeped at, but I pretend not to notice, moving stubbornly along and not meeting anyone’s eye. Honestly, I think I’m doing pretty well by the time I reach the outskirts of Dublin.
But then the rain comes.
It’s slow at first. A big gray cloud overhead. I’m not too worried when I see it. I mean, it’s winter and Ireland. There’s usually a big gray cloud. And it’s not like I’m on horseback, so a shower or two won’t hurt me.
Only it’s not just a shower. Once it starts, it doesn’t stop, cascading down like a waterfall on the earth.
It makes everything ten times slower. Not to mention the fact that road spray is terrifying.
And that the wipers don’t always move fast enough.
I’m so focused on not crashing the van that I don’t think about the fact that I’ll have to be outside it soon.
And it’s not until I reach the airport that I realize how much of a problem that’s going to be.
A digital billboard flashes a message in red as I crawl down the road, telling me I can’t even panic about getting into a parking space because there aren’t any. Full up. Booked out. Tough shit.
I maybe should have anticipated this so close to Christmas, but I hedge my bets like everybody else, driving around just in case the billboard is lying to us.
It’s not.
I eventually find a Hannah-friendly space in a housing estate a fifteen-minute walk away, but have no umbrella and only a hoodless winter jacket to protect me as I flat-out run to the terminal.
Not that there’s any point in hurrying. I’m drenched almost as soon as I step out, and a security guard gives me a yikes look when I finally stumble panting through the automatic doors.
I usually like airports. I like people-watching. I like buying miniature versions of things and having a pint at ten in the morning. I like going places and I like coming home. Especially at Christmas. Airports are wonderful at Christmas and Dublin is no different.
There are decorations everywhere, and a live band plays festive tunes as people wait by the double doors carrying homemade signs and balloons.
Some of them are in costumes. Dressed as Santas and elves and snowmen.
Ready to welcome their loved ones. But I can’t drum up the energy for a smile as I catch my breath and try to avoid the television cameras filming homecomings for the news.
I push my damp hair back from my face and move slowly through the crowd, my shoes squeaking with each step.
I think about slipping into the toilets and using the hand dryers to dry off, but one glance at the screen tells me Daniela’s flight has already landed.
And then one glance towards the arrivals gate tells me she’s already here.
I spy her immediately, standing out of the way next to a luggage cart and scrolling on her phone. As though feeling me watching her, she glances up, her eyes going wide as soon as she sees me.
Her mouth screws up like she’s trying not to laugh, but she must not be trying very hard because a strange, strangled noise bursts out of her as I approach.
“What happened?” she asks.
“It’s raining.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, full-on grinning now. “It is.” She steps toward me with her arms outstretched, but I back away.
“I’m soaked.”
“I don’t care,” she tells me and hugs me tight.
Finally.
I close my eyes as I breathe her in. My heart used to beat like crazy whenever I saw her.
She just needed to walk into a room for it to go a mile a minute.
Literally to the point where I was like, do I need a doctor?
But now it has the opposite effect. I just feel like the world is slowing down. Like everything is finally at peace.
“Are you crying?” she asks when I sniff into her shoulder.
“No,” I lie, and she laughs.
“Missed you too,” she whispers, kissing me hard on the lips before she steps back. There’s now a large wet patch on her hoody and several more on her sweatpants, but she doesn’t seem to mind as she beams at me. “I got Wordle in three!”
“Amazing.”
“And read five pages of a book before I fell asleep.”
“So productive.”
“Right?” She grabs a small suitcase from the cart, and I look around for her other bags. There aren’t any.
“Is that all you brought?”
Daniela follows my gaze and shrugs. “Sure. It’s only a week.”
Some of my joy disappears, but I try not to let it show as I nod. Only a week.
“So …” Daniela purses her lips, taking another look at my sopping clothing with a hopeful expression. “Did you park close?”