Chapter 13
A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
LAO TZU
That day I met Adam, I spectacularly misread the signs.
Instead of it reminding me of how it was possible to feel, I saw it as proof that Adam and I would never be together; ignored the truth that there wasn’t enough between Gareth and I.
Time would tell, leaving me two decades later, alone; about to embark on an adventure that should have felt like the trip of a lifetime, but instead felt like the biggest wrench from everything I’d always known.
The day of my departure arrived and after a night of fragmented sleep, I was awake long before my alarm went off. There were two hours to spare before my taxi arrived – I’d turned down Elena’s offer to drive me to Heathrow. It felt important to me to do this alone.
I got up, trying not to think too much as I dressed, then packed up the last of my things.
But I was aware of a change in the house, almost as though overnight it had emptied itself of us.
After dragging my case downstairs, I made myself a cup of coffee, my eyes filling with tears as I wondered when I’d be coming back; or whether the house would be snapped up.
Unhelpful thoughts that were interrupted – thankfully – when the taxi turned up.
Now that I was actually doing it, there was a significance I hadn’t anticipated to be closing the door for the last time – and doing it without anyone there to shore me up. Mistake number one, as it happened, because in the event, it didn’t quite go like that.
‘Blimey. How long are you going for?’ As the taxi driver heaved my suitcase into the back of the taxi, I was already wishing I’d stuck to the rucksack.
‘I don’t know.’ The words stuck in my throat.
He looked at me anxiously. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘Yes… No… Yes…’ I howled into a handful of already sodden tissues, dragging my eyes away from the pale pink New Dawn rose growing up the front of the house, a present from my parents when we’d first moved here. ‘There’s just so many memories in that house… It’s really difficult…’
‘Here.’ He handed me a dry tissue, as though he’d seen it all before. ‘You can’t go off on a trip in a state like this. Sort yourself out. There’s plenty of time.’
Mistake number two was believing him. By the time I’d redone my minimal-for-travelling make-up and we’d actually set off, the finest layer of mist was settling in the air.
Sitting back, I watched it thicken to form fog, the landscape suddenly eerily monochromatic, as a shocking thought struck me.
What if the fog was really bad and the airport closed?
‘Jolly good thing aircraft can auto-land these days.’ The taxi driver read my mind. ‘Back in the day, you wouldn’t have been going anywhere.’
‘Lucky for me.’ But as I looked outside, barely able to see the other cars, I was apprehensive. ‘Are we nearly there?’
‘Six miles to go,’ the driver said cheerfully. ‘Told you we had plenty of time.’
I sat back, fantasising briefly about the duty-free shopping I’d built in time for and the bottle of perfume I’d planned to treat myself to; relaxing for all of a few seconds until we left the motorway and on the slip road, the traffic ground to a halt.
‘Probably been an accident,’ the driver said, fiddling with his radio.
But as nothing moved, I was starting to panic.
Then suddenly I was wondering if maybe this was a sign – that I shouldn’t have been going; that Rick was right about things happening too quickly.
That if I stayed, Gareth would leave Olivia, our lives would go back to how they used to be.
‘Seriously, if we don’t get there soon, I’m going to miss my flight. ’
‘You won’t be the only one,’ he said unhelpfully. ‘Why don’t you look on your phone? Heathrow departures? Check if it’s still leaving on time – if you’re worried?’
I couldn’t believe I hadn’t I thought of that. Fumbling, I brought up the British Airways flight status page, my heart jumping for joy as my flight came up. ‘It’s delayed! Yay! Looks like there’s plenty of time! I’m going to make it!’
The traffic eventually started crawling, the final mile seeming to take longer than the rest of the entire journey.
But no matter. We reached the terminal building.
Getting out, relief filled me that I was there.
And so, by the looks of it, were thousands of other people, all milling around on their phones or looking at their watches.
While the taxi driver lifted out my suitcase, my relief vanished and a sinking feeling took me over as I realised, it looked like none of us were going anywhere.
‘Good luck,’ the taxi driver said. Frowning, he glanced around, scratching his head. ‘Though I must say I’ve never seen it quite like this before.’
Which didn’t exactly make me feel any better as I dragged my case through the crowd and found a check-in desk, where I joined the queue of outraged people behaving as though the airline itself was responsible for the weather.
I was still trying to stay hopeful – that the weather would change; that when it came to fog, British Airways planes had super powers.
Then I reached the front and it was my turn.
The check-in person looked apologetic. ‘I’m afraid your flight’s been cancelled.’
My heart felt like a plummeting rock. ‘It can’t be. Don’t you have auto-land, or something? It’s only a bit of fog.’
He frowned. ‘The problem is the aircraft operating your flight has been diverted to Paris. The whole of the UK is fogged out. The only flights getting in are those that can auto-land, as you said.’ He gave me a look. ‘I’m very sorry but yours isn’t one of them.’
So much for super powers. I stared at him stupidly. ‘So what do I do now?’
He shrugged. ‘Go home and come back tomorrow. There’s another flight at the same time, and another to San Francisco a little later. Hopefully, the weather will have cleared by then. We’ll try to get you on one of them.’
Suddenly I felt helpless. ‘What if you don’t? Get me on it, I mean?’
‘You can apply for a refund. I’m sorry, madam, there isn’t anything else I can do right now…’
I couldn’t believe this was happening. Not now – to me.
Not given everything else that was going on in my life.
‘You don’t understand,’ I said quietly. ‘My husband has left me, I don’t have my job…
This was supposed to be an adventure. The biggest adventure of my life.
’ Words were bursting out of me. ‘And your stupid, horrible airline, not to mention the stupid, selfish fog, have completely ruined everything…’ I broke off, knowing I was being unreasonable; my voice wavering.
‘I really am very sorry, madam,’ he said in a way that made it clear he wasn’t remotely interested in my life. Then he passed me a leaflet. ‘This tells you everything you need to know about claiming a refund. Have a really nice day.’
Not sure if he was being sarcastic, I crumpled up the leaflet and shoved it into one of my pockets.
I briefly thought about going home, then of the empty fridge, before remembering the estate agent was due there this afternoon.
Then I thought of my boys, waiting to hear where their mother had made it to and I felt a new surge of resolve.
I wasn’t going to let them down. I wasn’t going to let me down, either.
If planes were out of the question, I was getting a train!
Where to? The question stopped me in my tracks.
There was rather a large body of water between here and San Jose.
But it didn’t matter. I could go anywhere, as long as it was away from this grim, fogbound little country; from Gareth and his floozy.
After all, I wanted an adventure. No way was some minor trifle like the weather going to stop me.
Anyone who knows me would say, I am not known for being impulsive. This new, spontaneous Tilly was someone I was unfamiliar with. But I had to say I was getting to like her.
For the second time, I was cursing myself for not sticking to my guns and travelling light as I made my way through the airport to the Underground.
While the train sped towards London, I googled routes to Paris and booked a seat on the Eurostar from St Pancras station, then sat back and tried to decide what next.
With San Jose out of the picture, at least for now, I contemplated heading for the C?te d’Azur, Barcelona, Italy, even Greece, a surreal feeling taking me over knowing I could pick any one of them and in a matter of hours, a day or two tops, actually be there.
The closer to London I got, the more crowded the train became. But then the chances were I wasn’t the only one who’d been forced to change their plans. After arriving at St Pancras and checking in for the Eurostar, I found my seat and it wasn’t long before the train set off.
As the Eurostar headed south towards the coast, for the first part of the journey the landscape was blanketed in fog, but just a short way into France on the other side of the English Channel, I took it as a sign that I was on the right track when it rapidly cleared.
Gazing out of the window, I watched the fields and little French towns flash past, aware of the miles falling behind me, the two hours it took passing rapidly before the train slowed down as we arrived in Paris.
Another time, I would have thought about spending a day or two here, but today, after British Airways almost managing to scupper my escape plan, it was about putting maximum distance between me and Gareth.
Finding a taxi, I headed for Gare de Lyon, where I bought another ticket – another impulse purchase – this time to Barcelona.
Then with remarkable ease, I found the platform and waited for the train.