Cath Staincliffe - Half the World Away

2015

Lorelei is leaving. Tom, my ex, and I drive her to the airport. A bright, blustery September afternoon. The sky a high dome of blue, chalk-marked with jet trails, the trees along the roadside heavy with leaves.

A cold, jittery feeling in my stomach, my jaw tense.

Youve got your passport? I turn round from the front seat, an excuse as much as anything to see her, to see more of her.

Yes.

Money? Tom says.

Da-ad.

Well, it has been known, babe, he says.

Once, she huffs, once I forgot things.

Everything, he says. Not so hot on the house keys either, as I recall.

Lorelei laughs, a sudden peal of delight, then mock-outrage. Like, youre so organized, she says to him.

Im here.

Late, Lorelei says.

Ten minutes, he says. Youve got plenty of time your flights not till eight.

Eight forty-five, she says.

Jo you said eight. He glances at me.

I lied, I say, to account for your pitiful time-keeping.

Lori laughs again.

The short-stay car park is busy; we find space on the very top, open to the elements. Lori insists on carrying her rucksack herself. It is nearly as big as she is. She looks like shell topple backwards, be stuck like a turtle. Tom takes her hand luggage.

Photo, I say.

She poses, hands on the rucksack straps. Her hair chocolate, shoulder length, with shocking-pink tips, choppy fringe. Leather jacket, pink T-shirt, skinny black jeans on skinny legs, purple Doc Marten boots. I take some pictures.

Tom?

He stands beside her, dwarfing her. Hard to believe theyre related. Tom as fair-haired as she is dark, but they both have olive skin that tans easily. Down to some Maltese ancestor of his. I burn and peel at any lick of sunshine. Her dark hair, her petite frame, shes inherited from me. Though Im no longer skinny after having three kids and many years in a sedentary occupation.

Now you, Mum, Lori says.

We swap places. Tom does the honours. I chat away, fighting an urge to weep that makes my cheekbones ache.

You got your tickets? Tom says, in the lift down to the terminal.

She sticks her tongue out at him.

I promise myself I will not cry. It isnt the first time shes left home, after all: shes been away at uni for three years. Back every ten weeks with washing and empty pockets and a ravenous appetite. Nocturnal, living in a different time zone from the rest of us.

But she has never been so far away. Tom is all for it. Big adventure, he says. And hes lent her the airfare, with no expectation hell be getting it back anytime soon. His latest venture is doing well.

Id wondered if it might be better for her to try to get some work experience first. Lori wasnt having it. If I go now, I can travel with Jake and Amy. I dont want to go on my own later.

As we wait at Check-in, the departures hall teems with travellers, queues snaking around the pillars, the clamour of conversation, of crying children and Tannoy announcements. Thailand, her first stop. Then Vietnam and Hong Kong.

Her phone trills. She reads it. Amy. She grins. Theyll meet me at the airport.

Her bag is two kilos over.

Shit, she says, looking at me in panic.

I thought youd weighed it, I say.

I did. Those scales dont work.

How much? Tom asks the check-in clerk.

Thatll be eighty-eight pounds.

God, says Lori.

Tom has the cash. Crisis averted.

Thanks, Lori says.

Make sure its lighter coming back, I say.

I will.

Yeah, no Christmas presents, Tom says.

We could get a cuppa? I nod towards the caf, eager to delay our parting.

Lori screws up her nose. Ill go through, she says.

The pressure rises in my chest. Dont go, I want to say. Stay, come home with me, dont leave. Why cant I just be pleased for her, excited?

Tom opens his arms and she walks into them. He bends and kisses the top of her head. Itll be great, Lollydoll. Youll kill it, yeah?

I look away, swallowing hard, eyes skimming the crowds.

Bye, Dad.

He lets her go and she turns to me. I hug her tight. When I try to speak my voice turns husky: Have a wonderful time. I want to say more. I love you. Be careful. Keep your money out of sight. Stay safe. But my throat is locked, my head full of tears. So I just hug her tighter, sniffing hard, breathing in the smell of her orange-blossom shampoo and mint chewing gum and something like salt.

Bye-bye. She does that funny wave, like her hand and arm are rigid, no wrist joint. And all I can do is nod vigorously and smile, lips closed, teeth clamped together.

We watch her walk away, her tote bag over one shoulder, a quick stride as if shell break into a run at any moment.

She pauses where the ramp leads down to Departures and waves again. I wave back. Tom gives her a thumbs-up and a peace sign.

Then she is gone.

Oh, God. I let my breath out.

Shell be fine, he says.

Its not her Im worried about, I try to joke but it comes out all squeaky. I find a tissue, dab at my eyes.

Jo?

I shake my head. Its OK.

Back on the top of the car park, the sky is changing: a red blush tints shreds of cloud to the west. The end of the day is coming. The hotels around the airport are visible, as is the railway station and, further away, the skyline of the city.

Its just- I get no further. Tears come hot on my cheeks, making my ribs heave.

Tom puts his arms around me. I stiffen momentarily, the contact unfamiliar. Then I let go. The release helps, easing the heaviness in my chest, leaving me feeling raw and exposed.

Sorry. I blow my nose.

Home?

We drive back into the city, against the flow of commuters leaving after their days work, the sunset a blaze of copper, the sky to the east darkening purple.

Tom drops me at mine, and once hes gone, I sit on the front step for a moment, readying myself to go in to Nick and the boys.

Almost dark, and the insects are still busy among the carnations, cosmos and honeysuckle. The perfume from the flowers is sweet above the city smells of stone, exhaust fumes and food cooking. The evening star is rising. Higher above, I see a moving light, white then a flash of red. A plane. Not Loris, not yet. Shell be through security control now, waiting in the departure lounge. Maybe doing some shopping.

A cat yowls in the back gardens and I hear Benji answer with a bark from inside. Further away there is the sound of glass breaking, then a slam. Someone putting their bottles in the recycling.

All I want to do is indulge my sadness, get drunk and pine for Lorelei, weep and eat more than I need to, sleep late.

Fat chance.

So I go back in to my husband and help get Finn and Isaac settled in bed and answer all their questions about their big sisters big adventure for the umpteenth time.

And lie awake all night like an idiot.

Lori texts just as Im starting work. All good. Just got thru Customs. Knacked. Love you L xxx Im relieved. I cant imagine Thailand, only images culled from pictures in the weekend magazines or movies like The Beach. All vegetation, palm-fringed sands, endless hills and deep diving pools. What it might be like, the atmosphere, the day-to-day life, the cities, socializing Ill be relying on Lori to broaden my horizons.

This morning I listened to the first jets taking off every few minutes from the airport, growls climbing to a roar, then fading. Im still bereft. Lori going seems to fuel the grief Ive been coping with since my mother died in June. The two things are muddled up.