As the plane began to descend, l felt a tingling feeling rushing through my body from my head to my toes as the nerves and anxiety took over. My dirty finger nails tasted vile as I chipped away at them.
This is it Dave, you're so fucking close.
I continued to chew the nail of my index finger on my left hand.
I wonder if Dad is already there?
A slight crackle came from the speaker overhead and a severe shot of pain stretched along my head and down the side to my ears as the plane descended rapidly. For a second, as the Captain spoke, I mentally wandered in my own world and got caught within my thoughts.
Ladies and gentleman, this is the Captain speaking. We have a fugitive on the plane and I must ask you ALL to stay seated after we have landed.
I tried to the rub away the immense pain from my ears with the knuckles of my fists as the Captain spoke.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Captain speaking. I'm delighted to inform you we are on schedule and will be arriving at Gatwick on time. The temperature is seven degrees with a nasty westerly chill and a little drizzle. I would advise a jumper or jacket for when you step off the plane."
A jumper or jacket? If only…
There was a string of moans and groans from some of the passengers. "Typical bloody English weather," barked a man two rows down, sharing his frustration whilst speaking over the voice coming through the speakers.
"I hope you have enjoyed the flight, thank you for choosing our airline and have a safe journey to your next destination." His microphone clicked off and his colleagues strolled down the aisle for the final time with plastic bags collecting any rubbish, sweet wrappers, polystyrene cups and newspapers.
Above me the seat belt light sprang into action, informing us to buckle up, but there was no need — I'd had my belt wrapped around my waist throughout the flight. Somehow it had made me feel safer.
The male steward unhooked the microphone from its bracket. "We will be making our decent into Gatwick Airport in approximately six minutes. Please make sure your seat belts are fastened and your trays are clear and in an upright position."
"Six minutes." I repeated under my breath. "Six minutes."
The plane tilted slightly to the left and began a slow and steady turn. Down below, with the glittering of street lights, the ground looked like square plots on a map. Gradually, even in the darkening sky, everything began to come into view as we neared the ground — small cars with their bright lights heading down the motorways and through the maze of country lanes that weaved between various homes of different sizes and shapes.
A sudden bump told me the landing gear had been released. My ears popped as I opened my mouth to release the pressure. Trees and rooftops whizzed by as the aircraft made its final turn onto the waiting runway and there was a deep rumbling as the tyres seduced the tarmac. A loud rush of air giving pressure to the brakes slowly brought the plane to the speed of a motor bike, culminating into the final act of taxiing slowly into the arrival gate.
As the plane came to a standstill, I stared out of the window, watching the rain drops race each other down the glass pane.
Am I really here? I rubbed my face then squeezed my eyes until I saw a kaleidoscope of patterns and colours.
The flashing light above indicated that we could release out seat belts. People began to stand and open the overhead lockers to retrieve their hand luggage but I sat looking at the floor with relentless thoughts flying through my head. Drops of sweat fell and submerged into my jeans.
Come on Dave, one more hurdle, that's it, that's all. It sounded easy but I was so fucking scared — I had visions of the police waiting for me as I stepped off the plane.
The doors opened and people slowly moved down the aisle with their possessions and one by one thanked the aircrew before stepping into the dark and drizzly UK weather.
Still seated, I grabbed the rucksack from the floor and straightened my cap. Taking a deep breath of air, I rose from the seat, side stepped across the two people next to me and pigeon stepped behind the remaining passengers. I felt numb with fear. With every step I took towards the exit, my blood pumped violently into my limbs, the panic taking its hold.
"Thank you for flying with us," the steward said and I faked a smile, nervously looking to my left to see if any other uniformed personnel were waiting to show their appreciation.
As I took my first stride onto the metal steps, raindrops splattering onto my shirt, I looked around. Even in the low lit darkness I couldn't see any police, just fellow passengers and airport crew directing us to the waiting bus. We all got on and I mingled within the crowd. Trying to control my breathing as we were driven to the entrance of the airport, I was confused, unable to comprehend why I hadn't been grabbed.
They must be waiting for me inside.
The glass fronted doors slid open and like a pack of obedient dogs we followed the florescent signs through the corridors of the airport to passport control. I felt like turning back, even hiding behind a vending machine, but there was no turning back now, nowhere to hide.
Feeling a sudden surge in my stomach, I ran to the bathroom, kicked the cubicle door with my foot and threw the rucksack on the floor. Lifting the seat, I took a deep breath, opened my mouth as wide as I could and slid my finger down my throat. The acrid smell of vomit filled my nostrils as I heaved rancid, runny mucus into the toilet bowl. Saliva followed in dribs and drabs as I coughed and splattered nothing but liquid substance from my body.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand I stood at the row of basins. Running the tap, I cupped handfuls of water and splashed my flushed face several times, letting the coldness wash over me.
It's time to face the music, Dave.
I stared at my reflection, my pupils dilating in rhythm with my pulse dancing under my skin. I tucked my shirt into my jeans, closed the tap, removed my cap and stared again at my gaunt, frightened face in the mirror. All I wanted was to see Dad waiting for me in the arrivals lounge but I was terrified. I blew air in and out of my mouth, trying to control my breathing, then after drying my face and hands, I threw the damp paper towel in the silver bin and opened the door.
Fewer people were making their way to passport control. I trailed behind them, my mind bursting with unrelenting thoughts.
Let me through. Please… just let me through.
I stood nervously with a queue of people before me, waiting behind the white line. I felt like giving up, just giving in, as again, sickness began to form a solid mixture within me. The queue shortened as one by one the people were let through. And then it was my turn…my turn to step over the chipped painted line that ran across the width of the room.
"May I see you passport please," the uniformed man behind the glass said. His voice was stern, his face expressionless.
I pushed my passport through the gap and he opened it up and stared at my photo. I watched him, his eyes widening. Or was I seeing things? He looked up towards me.
"On your own sir?" he said.
I began to rub my moist hands nervously together. "Yes, just me," I replied as I smelt the stale lingering smell of smoke wafting from my clothes.
He must be able to smell it? He's bound to notice.
I watched him flick through the pages of my passport.
"Been away for some time, have you?" He turned each and every page, studying them.
"A month or so."
Just be cool, Dave. But I was far from being cool and I felt my whole body sliver into a furnace of heat. He knows something, he fucking does. Just get it over and done with and detain me…get me out of my misery.
"Thank you Sir. Have a safe trip home," he said, sliding my passport back under the gap.
Is that it? No police? No arrest? Nothing? My body shook with excitement as I strolled through the 'nothing to declare' section, but it was short-lived. I still had premonitions that the police would be waiting for me at the arrival hall and pounce on me as I reached Dad's outstretched arms.
The sliding doors opened and in front of me was a mass of people. I searched for Dad but couldn't see him, just taxi drivers with names in black thick lines scrawled across cardboard, people leaning against steel rails waiting to meet and greet their loved ones. Then I saw them; Dad and Pink.
"Yes my sister's here!" I said, punching the air, before realising I was drawing attention to myself. I lowered my head, waiting for something to happen, but it didn't. And then Pink spotted me. She pointed, and then nudged Dad, and their eyes never left me as I made my way over to them.
"Dave, you're here!" she said hysterically in between sobs, her tears running down her cheeks and taking her black mascara with them. She embraced me and kissed my ashamed face as I nestled my head on her shoulder. I didn't want to let go. My eyes were closed but I was still thinking that at any moment there'd be a firm hand on my back from the law. I finally pulled away, my tearful eyes looking into hers and registering the confusion of pain and happiness I saw in them. She said nothing; she didn't need to.
I turned to face Dad, seeing the concern etched across his tired, handsome face. "Bloody hell, look at the state of you," he said, pulling me from my sister, taking me in his arms and wrapping them tightly around me. "What the hell's happened to you?" Tears rolled from his eyes and down his face, dampening mine. I'd never seen him cry before. He held me for a few moments, sobbing into my shoulder and then I lifted my head to look at him. I held his face firmly in my hands, covering his wet cheeks, and wiped away his tears with my thumbs.
"Dad," I choked, struggling to get the words out as the emotion took hold of me. "I'm so sorry for putting you through this. I'm just so sorry."
He took hold of me again. "At least you're home, son," he said. "At least you're home."
TWENTY ONE YEARS
Rain lashed against the windows as I unwrapped the aluminium foil packet which Pink had handed me. It was a sandwich from Mum. "He'll be starving," Mum had told them. And she was right, I was.
"So how is Mum?" Even though I knew the answer, I had to ask.
Dad didn't say a word.
"She's not great Dave, but what did you expect?" Pink pressed the switch to open the passenger window slightly. "You know what she's like; she's been so worried about you." She turned to look at me. "When was the last time you had a wash or a change of clothes? In fact, where are your clothes? Where's your suitcase?"
I shoved my head in the gap between the two front seats, trying to block out the sound of the rain. "I had to leave the case with the owner at this hostel. I owed him rent, so he kept my case with all my stuff until I paid him. But I had no money, so I couldn't pay him and I lost the bloody lot."
She shook her head. "So what's in the rucksack?"
"Nothing; just an empty carton I used for water, and a map. That's it. I've been wearing these clothes for days…since the fire."
Sue turned to look at Dad, he looked at her, and they both shook their heads simultaneously.
There was a pause in the conversation as the heavy rain pelted against the windscreen. Sitting back and finishing off the sandwich, I lay across the seat, pushed the rucksack under my head and closed my eyes.
"Okay son, nearly home," Dad quietly said as he looked at me through the rear view mirror.
"Dad…about the ticket…"
His eyes met mine. "Forget it son. Anyone would have done the same."
The journey passed by in a blur. I was stretched across the back seat, doing my best to answer the questions Dad and Pink had for me. I told them everything that had happened and when the conversation lulled to a silence, I slept.
It was an hour or so later when Pink nudged me awake and I looked up to see the familiar apartment block where my parents lived.
Pink opened the car door, got out and covered her brown wavy hair with her coat to protect herself from the downpour. Opening the passenger door I felt nervous about seeing Mum. Dad was always the strict one of the two but now the tables had turned and on this occasion he was the calmer one. I liked that; I needed him.
As we walked to their apartment where Mum and Dad had lived for the past few years since selling the family home, I stood for a moment and looked up to the sky as the raindrops continued to fall. Strangely, I'd missed it, and with nothing but sun and heat for a month, I enjoyed it pleasuring my face.
Following behind Dad and Sue to the main door, I had a tremendous bout of remorse. I was shaking with a combination of emotions as I carried my guilt ridden body up the two flights of stairs to their apartment on the second floor.
"You okay Dave? You look like you've seen a ghost?" Sue said as I leant against the wall whilst Dad fumbled with the key in the lock.
"Not really," I said. "I'm knackered." I stared down at my feet. "I feel so ashamed about what I've put everyone through."
Sue wrapped her arms around my waist. I towered over her — she was only around five feet tall, just like Mum.
"I haven't even told you half the things that I went through."
"You're back now," she said, "with your family. No more tears, okay?"
Dad opened the door, hung his damp coat up on the hook in the hallway, went inside and left Sue and I talking.
"It's not over you know, Sue. I left…I did a bloody runner. They're bound to come looking for me. It's been in all the papers…people know me. Shit, it's never ending."
"We'll help you, okay? In time Dave, this will be all forgotten. You'll see… it will." She removed her arms from my waist and placed her coat on a hook next to Dads.
"Sue?"
She turned round to look at me, "Yes?"
"Is Mum okay? Really, is she?"
"As I said, she's been worried sick. You're her son and she's been crying bucket loads and at the same time trying to be strong. She's had to go to work as well through this — we all have — with people asking questions every day." She turned around, nodding her head towards the living room. "You coming?"
"Yep, give me a minute."
"Okay." She pushed the front door to. "I'll phone your brothers to tell them you're home."
"Thanks," I said. "Send them my love."
I threw the rucksack onto the communal hallway floor and wiped away the tears before looking at myself in the bronze mirror in the hallway. It belonged to Nan and Pop, Mums parents. They'd passed away about ten years before. They were beautiful people.
I studied my face, the face that I was ashamed of, the face that has caused so much sorrow to my family. I couldn't bear it — couldn't bear to see the person I'd become. I flicked my eyes to the left, away from my reflection, focusing on the ornate swirls in the mirror's frame. I'd always loved it, this mirror. It wasn't so much the design of it, but the thought that so many people I loved and cared about had stood before it, looking into it. I often thought about the secrets it held.
Something triggered in my memory, a faraway thought of words I'd spoken just a few months before. I thought of Mrs. Evans, the woman whose house I'd been selling, the one who was reluctant to part with her hallway mirror.
"It's just a mirror," I'd told her.
"But a rather nice one, don't you think?" she'd said.
"I guess it depends who's looking into it. I think a mirror is only as beautiful as its beholder."
I turned back to my reflection, half expecting the glass to shatter into a million pieces, unable to welcome my face. But the glass remained — solid, unwavering, accepting; just as my family had.
"I hate you," I said, looking into my own eyes before turning away in disgust.
When I opened the living room door and saw that nothing had changed, it made me smile. Sue was sitting with a cup of coffee on the three-seater settee against the wall under the large double glazed window. Mum was on the matching two-seater against the other wall and Dad was sitting in his chair between them both, his hot cup of tea on the small black shelf fitted on the wall above the electric wall heater. The three glassed-topped triangle coffee tables housed an array of nuts and raisins in mat
ching dishes. There were always goodies to eat at Mums.
Mum looked at me as I walked in and automatically burst into tears. "Oh my God Dave, look at you… you're all skin and bones."
I walked over and sat next to her, put my arm around her shoulder as my tears made another appearance.
"Mum, I'm so sorry, I really am." I tried to talk, tried to explain what had happened but I didn't know where to start, I couldn't think, couldn't get the words out. I was just so happy and grateful to be home. I kissed her on her cheek and gave her a big cuddle. "Mum, I love you."
"I love you too darling," she said, her soft, gentle voice barely audible between the sobs. "Thank God you're here, but Dave…we've been so worried. You in prison, the papers, you've really sha……"
"I know Mum, I know," I interrupted, not wanting to hear the words, not wanting to hear what I'd done to them.
A few minutes passed in silence, no one really knowing what to say, and no one really knowing where to start. Mum and I just held each other whilst Dad watched the snooker on the television, the sound at a level where he could just about hear what the commentators were saying.
Mum broke the silence. "I'll get you something to eat," she said. "It's ready in the fridge. We can talk after." She was just about to stand when Dad interrupted.
"No. Let him get it, you've done enough."
Dad was like that — he'd say his piece which we all listened to and then he'd sit in his chair in the corner, cigarette in hand, in a world of his own.
"Mum, he's right. Don't worry, I'll get it okay? You sit."
"No, you sit Dave. I'll get it." Sue stood up and walked to the kitchen and Dad rolled his eyes, sighing as he exhaled a large cloud of smoke.
I didn't know what to do or say and sat there for a few moments, unable to look at the TV that Dad was staring at, unable to look at the empty space in the middle of the room that Mum seemed to be staring at.
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