‘She must be as happy as a pig in shit,’ says Costa. ‘Sounds like heaven.’
‘Simply,’ I agree. ‘It’s broadening her horizons no end. And once every few weeks I pay someone to go in and serenade her with a Tom Jones medley just to keep her on her toes. We’re hoping she’ll last a good few years yet, she’s having such a good time.’
‘It makes me proud,’ he says. ‘You’re so loving and forgiving.’
‘I learned at the feet of masters.’
‘Why, thank you. What about the rest of them, then? Mary’s foot-soldiers?’
‘Oh, nothing much. Like you say, I’m the loving and forgiving type. It was sad, obviously, that they had to leave their grace-and favour houses, but, you know … when circumstances change and everything …’
‘Yes. Very sad,’ he says.
‘Poor Hilary. It’s hit him hard. All he can afford is a bedsit in Surbiton, and that’s done no good for his career. It’s weird, I know, but no-one seems to want an art investment advisor with more than one digit in their postcode.’
‘Snobbery,’ says Costa. ‘A terrible thing.’
‘Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.’
‘So I gather.’
‘Oh, look!’ I say. ‘It’s coming!’
The big bird rises up from the Gozo channel. Dark against the sun and rushing like a flying beetle. And my heart, still and calm all afternoon, swells with excitement. I slip off the wall, boiling tarmac burning the soles of my feet, and shade my eyes to watch her. There’s great romance about the approach of a helicopter. I always convince myself that if I look hard enough, I will see the faces of the passengers, staring down all lit up from the excitement of their trip along the Dingli cliffs.
‘Beaut, isn’t it?’ I bellow over the blat and thump of the rotors. My hair is flying out behind me and I have to drop my sunglasses down to protect my eyes from the dust.
‘Yeah!’ he shouts back.
Like a child, I jump up and down, wave both arms in greeting.
It passes over our heads and Costa starts to walk towards the terminal.
‘I’ll see you in there!’ I shout. ‘I’m going to go up and watch them disembark!’
I jog up the road to where the airfield is visible through a high chain-link fence. He’s here. Three days away from him, and I’ve got a heart that wants to burst with longing. I will never, ever leave you. I couldn’t. I clamber up on to the low stone wall, thread my fingers through the chain-link and watch. I am three years old again, waiting for Christmas. The ’copter sets down, rotors slowing from blat-blat-blat to thock-thock-thock to schtoof-schtoof-schtoof to silence and cicadas. I scratch the back of my calf with my big toe, try to stop myself jiggling with anticipation.
Luggage van. Little bloke in overalls wheeling steps up to the door. And here they come. Bloke in a suit switching on his moby and waiting for a signal. Middle-aged couple in matching safari shirts. Tall, generously upholstered woman with wild red hair whose smile is as big as my own as she pauses on the concrete and sups the air. Three teenagers sulkily herded by a harassed blonde mother.
And he is here. Lean and quiet and gentle and mine. I grip the fence, wait for him to see me. He hooks his fingers into the tab of his jeans and offers the other hand to an old lady as she wavers on the top step. And I will him: look at me, look at me, look at me.
He steps out of the shade, looks up. Sees me. Bathes me in his wide blue smile and raises a hand in the air. Holds it there for one, two, three seconds. I smile back, suddenly shy, raise my own in response and press the palm against the chain-link. Watch him as he bends to pick up his haversack, starts the walk to the exit.
And then I run down the road towards the terminal, so I can touch him.
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Epub ISBN 9781446456903
Version 1.0
Published by Arrow Books 2006
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Copyright © Serena Mackesy 2005
Serena Mackesy has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
First published in Great Britain in 2005 by Century
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ISBN 9780099414766
Simply Heaven Page 50