16
The arrivals hall at Heathrow shimmered with the usual blur of movement – luggage trolleys rattling, voices echoing, and a smell of coffee hung in the air.
The three women had already agreed to make their farewells as quick and painless as possible. They all hated goodbyes and in any case, they knew they’d be in touch soon and planned to arrange a reunion.
Cleo hovered for a moment with Maya by the arrivals gate and watched Tash hurry to the station to catch a train to Reading.
‘I’m going to get the tube,’ Maya said. ‘Coming?’
Cleo shook her head. ‘I think I’ll grab a coffee first. I want to gather my thoughts before heading home. Have a safe journey.’
Having lost her phone in the earthquake, she’d barely managed to speak to Danny or Erica. All she’d done was send the odd text on someone else’s mobile to say she was OK.
To some extent, out of sight had been out of mind, especially as she’d been so busy. Now, though, the problems she’d been having with her daughter came crashing back and seemed to settle on her shoulders like a dark, heavy cape.
Straightening up, she told herself to be strong. She’d discovered an untapped source of strength in Crete and she was going to need to find it again now she was back in England.
Her hands tightened round the handle of her bag as she made for the exit barriers. There was quite a crowd waiting there in anticipation, watching the automatic doors slide open and passengers spill into the hall.
Some were taxi drivers no doubt, holding up boards with names on them, others looked like excited loved ones.
All of a sudden, through the throng, she spotted a familiar face and her heart seemed to stop.
Erica.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun, she had a slight tan and she looked a little older, perhaps, a little more herself.
Their eyes met and for a few seconds, neither moved. Then Erica pointed to a gap in the barriers – and ran. Cleo ran too, opened her arms and caught her daughter in a fierce embrace.
The familiar scent of her soap and shampoo and the feel of her slender shoulders shaking undid Cleo completely.
‘Oh, Mum,’ Erica whispered, her voice thick with emotion. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Thank God you’re safe.’
Cleo’s throat closed. She cupped Erica’s face in her hands and brushed away the tears.
‘It’s all right. You’re here. That’s all that matters.’
For a while they just stood there, clinging to each other as the crowd moved around them. It was as if the airport, the noise, the bustle and fluorescent lights had vanished, leaving only the two of them and years of love that had never really gone away.
When they finally broke apart, Erica smiled through her tears.
‘You look… good. Different somehow.’
Cleo smiled. ‘It’s been the most extraordinary experience. Terrible in some ways, amazing in others. Life-changing, really. Someday I’ll tell you all about it.’
They didn’t speak as they walked together to the car park, but the silence felt comfortable rather than strained. Outside, the air felt cool, even though it was summer, and it had just started to drizzle with rain.
‘Ah! Good old England,’ Cleo said to herself with a smile. She’d swear it always rained when she returned from holiday.
Erica unlocked her ancient, black VW Polo and threw Cleo’s bag in the boot.
‘I’ve missed you,’ Cleo said quietly, as London passed by her window in a greyish blur.
‘I’ve missed you too,’ Erica replied, her eyes fixed on the road. ‘I was so angry. I thought if you’d just taken Dad back, everything would have gone back to normal. But it wasn’t fair to put that on you.’
Cleo looked at her daughter’s profile – the strong line of her jaw, just like her father’s, and the warmth in her grey-blue eyes.
‘You were hurting,’ she said gently. ‘We all were. But some things can’t be put back the way they were before.’
