The Rise and Fall of the Queen of Suburbia: A Black-Hearted Soap Opera. Sarah MayЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘So good, in fact, that we’re thinking of emigrating to New Zealand and –’
‘New Zealand? When?’
‘I don’t know, I –’
Laura turned abruptly away, tripped over a suitcase somebody had parked in her path, then broke into a run.
Dominique watched her go, feeling unsettled. Something about the way Laura was running made her think she was crying at the same time. She rejoined her friend and the two women in uniform disappeared through the sliding doors that led to the car parks, the friend taking one last look at Dominique before the doors shut again. Dominique stood there wondering what either of them had to show for all those air miles they’d clocked up between them – after how many years of service? And even if there was anything to show – who was there to show it to? She started to make her way to the observation deck, thinking about the food stain on Laura’s lapel. Was Laura happy? Were women like Laura happy? ‘Women like’ – had she really thought that? There were no other women like Laura. There was only one Laura: Laura was unique. Just as she, Dominique, was unique.
She got into the lift, and a few seconds later the doors opened onto a lobby whose floor was covered in rubber matting. Through the lobby doors she saw Mick standing outside in the persistent dark in his overcoat and a pair of gloves. The gloves were thick woollen ones that made his hands look disproportionate to the rest of him, and his pilot’s cap was on the wall beside him.
When the automatic doors opened the wind nearly blew if off. A plane flew over and Mick turned his head to follow its undercarriage.
‘Your hat’ll blow off the wall,’ she said, stepping outside.
He turned round and smiled at her. ‘Hey, you.’
They stood looking at each other.
‘How’d you find me?’ he said at last.
‘Just did. Aren’t you cold?’
‘Maybe.’
They stayed where they were, not moving any closer.
‘Sad?’
‘Maybe.’
She wished she hadn’t said that. It sounded as though she was attacking him in some way. Her clearest, most instinctive thoughts always came across as aggressive when she articulated them.
‘I was waiting for you downstairs in Arrivals.’ She thought about mentioning Laura. ‘I didn’t know where you were.’
‘I was watching the planes.’ He broke off.
For some reason this seemed like a stupid thing for a pilot to say.
‘Was the flight okay?’
‘The flight was fine. How are the girls?’
‘The girls are fine. I left them both asleep. They missed you, but they’re fine.’
‘So everything’s fine.’ He reassured her with a smile, but it wasn’t enough to make her want to cross to him. ‘You know what I was thinking up there? I was thinking – I can’t remember the last time a child asked to come into the cockpit. We never get children up front any more and I was trying to work out why that was; why the fact that aeroplanes stay up in the sky at all doesn’t interest them any more. So I came up here.’
‘To watch the planes?’ she said.
He smiled at her. ‘To watch the planes.’
‘You look tired.’
‘Maybe I am.
‘You sure you’re okay? Nothing happened on the trip, did it?’
‘The trip happened. The flight happened, and the thing I’m still waiting to happen hasn’t yet – so I’m waiting.’
‘What’s meant to be happening?’
‘I’m meant to have some sort of feeling – definitive feeling – about the fact that I’ve just flown a plane for the last time. I don’t seem to be having that feeling.’ He paused. ‘I called you from …’ another plane went over ‘… Florida,’ he shouted. Adding, ‘Don’t worry – everything’s fine.’
‘It’s probably the jetlag.’
‘The jetlag. Probably. It always makes me maudlin.’
‘Well don’t be maudlin – when you’re maudlin you make other people sad,’ Dominique said.
‘So.’ Mick smiled then grabbed hold of her hand, pulling him towards her. ‘Come here.’
‘I am here.’
‘No. Come here.’ He kissed her. ‘I missed you.’
‘I missed you.’
‘I mean I really missed you.’
Dominique laughed. ‘There’s a lot of kissing going on here.’
‘I kissed you once.’ Mick put his arms round her, picking his cap up from the wall.
‘Why aren’t you wearing that?’ she asked.
‘No idea.’ He kissed her again, on the forehead this time. ‘Come on, let’s go home.’
They left the observation deck and got into the lift, walking out a minute later into high-voltage airport lighting. They were holding hands and the world around them was moving rapidly.
The green Triumph made its way down the layers of multi-storey, through the barrier at the bottom and out into the morning.
Mick spoke to the woman in the car-park kiosk, calling her Barbara and asking her when her shift ended. Dominique knew that if she asked him in an hour or even three hours’ time when Barbara’s shift ended, he would be able to say three o’clock without any hesitation. Mick wasn’t just talk, he took people to heart. He listened to them, and they trusted him. Dominique didn’t ask – because the subject bored her – but she was pretty certain Mick had all the data on Barbara: husbands, lovers, children, other jobs. Mick would have the whole Barbara panorama at his fingertips because Mick understood that although Barbara’s life and death meant nothing to him personally, there were a lot of other people to whom it did. This was a leap of faith she herself had never been able to make. She didn’t give a shit about Barbara or how long her shift was, but Mick did.
For a while the road followed a metal fence with runway the other side, then turned off at right angles. She stared at the web of runway and lights and couldn’t ever imagine knowing what they meant.
‘I missed you,’ Mick said, turning to look at her.
‘You said. I missed you too. I think I already said that as well.’
‘One hundred and forty-four hours is a lot of hours to spend away from you.’
‘You were counting?’
‘I always count.’
She smiled and rested her head on the seatbelt. ‘You’ll never have to count again.’
By the time they parked the car outside No. 4, dawn was at last streaking highlights through the remains of night, diluting it with an early-morning grey. Stephanie answered the door in her gymnastics leotard, preoccupied.
‘Hi, Dad – can you make pancakes?’ she said to Mick. Then, turning to Dominique, ‘And can I take the mirror off the wall in the downstairs toilet?’
‘If you want –’
As they walked into the house the phone started to ring. ‘I’ll get that.’ Mick disappeared into the study and Dominique wandered into the kitchen where Delta was sitting drawing at the table.
‘Where’s Dad?’ she said.
‘On the phone.’
‘Somebody called for him a few minutes