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She was here. In Australia! A land of endless beaches and blue skies, of sunshine and adventures. Already through the windows the bright afternoon sun greeted her, casting a heat shimmer on the tarmac and glinting off the wings of the planes. So different from grey English winter skies.
The airport wasdinkycompared to Heathrow, which thankfully meant less walking, the walls covered in photos of bikinied women swimming with dolphins in impossibly clear waters, and hikers gazing up at palm-fringed waterfalls.
As she reached the passports queue—not really a queue, not by British standards, even though a few people were grumbling about the wait—she got her phone out of her bag to check for messages.
Nothing happened. Oh, bollocks, the battery must have gone flat. Not to worry, Alice had her arrival details, she’d be here.
Through baggage collection and customs in no time, the automatic doors of arrivals whooshed open. She scanned the waiting faces. Scanned them again. No sign of Alice’s heart-shaped face and big round glasses. Maybe Aaron was here instead? But no… you couldn’t miss his perfectly styled blonde hair.
Slowly, Felicity wheeled her pink suitcase past all the hugging families. She got out her phone and stared hopefully at the screen. What did she expect, that it would magically have recharged in her pocket? Another minute passed, then two, then five. The crowds were dispersing, leaving her feeling like a worried meerkat in a strange new land. Still no sign of Alice, but there was a gift shop close by. She could ask them if there was a recharge point somewhere. As she drew closer her eye caught on a stand of hats. She’d forgotten to bring a hat, she realised, and with the look of that sun and her fair skin… a bright pink floppy one in a soft fake straw fabric drew her like a magnet. She slapped it on her head, gave a quick glance at her reflection in the mirror nearby and decided it was perfect.
“Suits you,” the shop assistant smiled. “Do you want a bag?”
“Oh no, I’ll wear it.” Felicity presented her credit card and gave herself a liberal squirt from a perfume tester while she waited for the sale to go through. “Can you believe I forgot to bring a hat with me?”
The woman handed back her card “You’ll be a stand-out on the beach in this. Don’t forget to slip, slap, slop.”
“Sorry—what?”
“Slip on a T-shirt, slap on a hat and slop on the sunscreen. Cancer prevention. Gotta think about that with your lovely skin.”
“Oh—yes, I’ll remember to slop and… slip…” She fished out her phone. “Is there anywhere in the airport I can recharge this?”
The woman pointed to a café on the other side of the airport. “They’ll a have charging point you can use for sure.”
Thanking her, Felicity stuck the hat on her head at a jaunty angle and made her way towards the café.
* * *
Oliver loathed being late.And yes, he was aware it was illogical to the point of neurosis to be so strung up about it. But now, as he sat in the bumper-to-bumper traffic, the familiar twitch started up in his jaw.
The one that seemed to have got worse since Leonie and he—
Shut that thought down.
Grinding his molars, he focused on working the clutch, edging the Porsche forward another few centimetres. For Christ’s sake! Perth was supposed to be a big country town, not vying with Sydney and Melbourne for international city status.
He’d texted Felicity to let her know he was running late. Nothing had come back. Maybe her flight had been delayed. Except he’d checked before leaving, and the plane was scheduled to land exactly on time. He reassured himself that passports, baggage collection and customs would all take a while, so he’d probably get there as she walked out. A tad more relaxed, he finally swung the Porsche into the airport and headed for the pick-up zone, where he knew from bitter experience that a ticket collector prowled like a rabid dog and booked you the moment you went over your five minutes.
This once, he was prepared to take a gamble.
As he strode into the terminal, he glanced up at the arrivals screen.
Flight QA 344 had landed. The arrivals area looked ominously empty. There was no-one waiting at the gate, no passengers streaming through the glass doors.
Okay, all he had to do was find a redhead in bright clothing. Hardly rocket science. As if on cue, he caught sight of a woman in a bright blue and yellow geometric patterned dress standing next to the hire car sign. Her auburn hair was swept into an elegant bun, and she was talking on her phone. With her back to him, he couldn’t tell how old she was, possibly late twenties. He strode over and gently touched her arm. “Felicity?”
She turned and he realised she was well over forty. “No.”
When he apologised and backed away, she called out after him, “Wait, aren’t you the finance guy? Oliv—”
“Definitely not,” he growled and took off for another lap of the arrivals hall.
This was exactly why he always made sure he was on time. To stop things turning pear-shaped. He used to hate how Leonie insisted they wait in the car before functions so they could be what she liked to callfashionablylate. He’d pretend he was all breezy and casual about it, but inside he’d feel like a pressure cooker ready to explode.
Now he stalked across the tiled foyer towards a group of shops selling stuffed koalas and hats with corks around the rim and bumper stickers that said “I’ve done Down Under”. Pulling out his phone, he started to stab in another message as he walked.
Boooph.
