‘You either love it or you hate it. I don’t love it.’
‘I’ve never been good with balls.’
He laughed. ‘God, I hope no one else can hear this conversation, because if they can, they might have some serious questions for you.’
It took me a while to get what he was saying and, when I did, I blushed.
‘Golf balls!’ I clarified. ‘And tennis balls – especially tennis balls. Soccer, squash. I have no ball–hand coordination.’
‘I think it’shand–eyecoordination. You don’t want to say ball–hand. That implies something quite different.’
I blushed again. ‘I’m going to stop talking now,’ I said, and kept quiet. I dealt with a few other planes while waiting for him again, as well as one of my least favorite pilots, Flightbird Seven Niner. He was always so slow to repeat instructions back to me that sometimes I had to desperately fight the urge not to scold him like a teacher might. Or worse, jump in and repeat my own instruction back to me just to move things along.
Andrew’s voice came through again. ‘Established ILS. Runway zero seven! It’s my lucky day again. I always seem to have luck with you, City Tower.’
I felt something warm and giddy build up inside me, but I tried to shake it off.
‘You are cleared to land on your lucky number seven runway, Flightbird Six Zero Zero.’
‘Copy, City Tower, cleared to land on runway seven. Flightbird Six Zero Zero.’
I tapped my fingers against the table, feeling nervous about what I was about to ask.
‘City Tower, how’s the weather down there? Flightbird Six Zero Zero.’
‘Wind is two five zero at two knots.’
‘Thanks, City Tower. Wind two five zero at a pleasant two knots. Chat soon. Flightbird Six Zero Zero.’ I watched his plane guide down once more and, as soon as it had, he was back on the radio.
‘City Tower, that was definitely a hundred per cent landing from Flightbird Six Zero Zero.’
‘Ninety-nine per cent. Always room for improvement. Please vacate right onto Alpha taxiway, and contact Ground Control on one two one point zero.’
‘Copy, vacate right onto Alpha taxiway, and contact ground on one two one point zero. Flightbird Six Zero Zero.’
‘Wait, before you go . . . I kind of have a request for you, but I’ll tell you after you take your right.’ I waited for the plane to take its turn, all the while tapping my fingers anxiously. It felt like the plane took for ever to turn.
‘Will you have dinner with me at my parents’ house this Saturday evening? I know dinner with my parents wasn’t part of our initial arrangement,’ I blurted out the second his plane had come to a standstill.
‘Sure, I’m not busy.’
‘Oh. It’s at seven. I’ll message later with details.’
‘Can’t wait. Chat later, City Tower.’
‘Okay, Flightbird. Chat later.’
‘Chat soon.’
That had been so much easier than I’d thought. In retrospect, I had no idea why I’d been so nervous about it. I suppose, since the dinner fell outside of the parameters of our initial arrangement, it did have a peculiar feeling to it, as if I was inviting him on a real date. I shook my head. It wasn’t real dating though. This was fake dating.
CHAPTER25
It was Saturday night, and I drove to fetch Andrew. As I drove, despite the fact that the roof was down and the wind was blowing through my hair, an anxious feeling rose in my stomach. Introducing Andrew to my parents felt very real – a little too real. And the realness of it all made me nervously pick the side of my cuticle. No,nervouswas not the right word at all; it would beagitated, afraid, skittishandshaky. Those were the words that were making me pick.
Dermatillomania, that’s the scientific word for it. The word the psychiatrist always uses, which makes it sound so much worse than just a nervous inclination to pick the skin around your nails. I always felt so ashamed of this habit; after all, isn’t nail-picking something only children are supposed to do? Aren’t adult women supposed to have gorgeous-colored manicured nails, not little stumps with plasters on because you’ve picked so hard the cuticle was now bleeding. I hadn’t picked my fingers that badly in a long time though – in fact, I hardly picked any more – so this picking I was doing right now was very upsetting.
I dived into my handbag for my fidget toys, and when I found the bag empty panic seized me.I’d left them at home.I could see them next to my bed; I’d played with them last night while going to sleep and left them there. The fact that they were not in my bag – where they should be, where they always were – made the need to pick my cuticles even greater.
