And she was gone.
The mirror on the left of the elevator did me no favours. I wished I had a time lapse of my years at West & Barnes. My life would flash before my eyes with one photo from every morning and every evening in the elevator mirror. I was certainly more worn out come the end of the day, as could be seen when the little cracks around my eyes appeared; they were covered so delicately by concealer in the morning but had nowhere to hide come evening. My mum tells me they’re just laugh lines, and Paula pointed out they’ll be a lot worse when I’m her age, but that didn’t stop me looking at the brochure for the aesthetics boutique aroundthe corner.
Today my eyes looked drawn and duller than normal. I was tired, I guess. My life had been work, some more work, and even more work, for the past two years. Work had become my coping mechanism. My brown hair looked okay. I’d treated it to a cut and blow two days prior, so it wasn’t as tatty as it had been. My stylist advised me to purchase a strengthening conditioner; I took offence, but split ends were no joke.
Every day I put on a smile and pretended not to notice the sadness behind my eyes. As I observed my reflection in the mirror, I saw it. Part of my life was never the same after Brooke left, and I wasn’t sure it ever would be.
*
The airport felt more crowded than usual. The perks of flying first class allowed me to skip the queues and head straight to the dedicated check-in desk; much to everyone else’s dismay. I felt embarrassed, but only temporarily. Once I was through the fast-track security and into The Concorde Room I feltcomfortable.
The room was filled with business men and women. Luckily, I’d not changed from my work attire, so I didn’t feel out of place. I’d gone for my black jersey suit that morning because it was unstructured and felt like wearing a tracksuit; coupled with a pair of trainers and a white T-shirt, it was my textbook “smart/casual” look. I had a hoodie in my backpack to change into on the plane once the dreaded air-conditioning kicked in. I took a seat in a discreet booth in the corner; within seconds a waiter arrived.
“Hello, welcome to The Concorde Lounge. Can I get you something to drink, Miss?”
I quickly scanned the menu, but the choices were unusual. “What do yourecommend?”
“The Barton cocktail is my favourite. It contains gin, elderflower, dandelion and burdock, soda, and rosemary. It’s sublime.”
It sounded interesting. “Do you havea martini?”
“Yes, the Libecans Martini. It’s basically a bigger, slightly richer take on a standard martini. It’sdelightful.”
The waiter was sweet; he had a delicate voice and calm demeanour. I could tell he wasa kind man.
“Both sound amazing. I’ll try the first one and maybe the martiniafterwards.”
“Amazing. I’ll get that fixed for you. Can I get you anything to eat?”
“Not just yet,thank you.”
“No problem. My name’s Ryan. If you need anything else don’t hesitate to ask. My colleague, Brooke, is serving today as well if I’m not available atany point.”
“Who?” My tonewas abrupt.
“Brooke, she’s the dark-haired girl by the bar.” He pointed to a young girl, maybe twenty years of age, with a French plait and large circular glasses.
“Oh right, of course.I’m sorry.”
Ryan looked at me with uncertainty, probably weighing whether I was tired or just peculiar. He smiled politely and headed back to the bar. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that name and automatically thought about her. My heart sank, as it so often did.
Immediately after she left, people told me, “Time is a healer”, but I didn’t believe it. Time brought distraction, and I learnt new ways to cope, but loss left a re-occurring reminder of what used to be. It could happen suddenly. I could be stood in a parking lot and see a car like the one she used to drive. I could be walking in the underground and see a woman with blonde hair loosely curled the way I loved hers, or I could be sat at my desk at work and I’d see her silhouette in the doorway. That’s all it took, and the memories came flooding back.
Throwing myself into work was a welcome distraction, but I knew deep down the real reason I hadn’t been on vacation for three years; I was scared to say it out loud or admit my fears to anyone. They would neverunderstand.
Whenever I had a moment of weakness and broached the subject with Paula she didn’t understand why I wasn’tover her. Why hadn’t I moved on with someone more suitable? Why did I keep the picture of her in the top drawer of my desk? They were all valid questions, but I couldn’t explain.
I just had to bein England.
I had to be available.
Because—what if she came back?
CHAPTER TWO
The first-class cabin was sleek and modern. It felt a lot more intimate than the other two times I had flown first class—those times had been business expenditures and made no difference to my bank balance. I’d had the internal debate with myself as to whether it was worth the hefty price tag, but as soon as I stepped on the plane, I felt extremely comfortable with my decision. The flight attendant presented me with a glass of champagne. She smiled softly, greeting me with what seemed like a genuine messageof welcome.
My aircraft was a 1-2-1 configuration, and I was a solo passenger, so I had opted for the seat against the window, three rows back from the front of the plane. The seats didn’t line up, so it felt private. Once I eased into my stylish herringbone chair, I realised nobody could directly look into my little suite from across the aisle.
