by Beth Thomas
I couldn’t imagine why anyone would find this sort of thing daunting. I followed the signs to the correct departure gate, waited for the call to board, identified myself as the lone minor to the woman at the entrance to the plane and found my seat. While I was putting my bag into the overhead locker, I took a moment to have a quick look round. I was at the front of the cabin in a special seat for lone minors apparently, so I had a perfect view of the strange phenomenon that is the travelling public. There was a middle-aged woman with a laptop sitting in the seat next to me, so I smiled and said hello as I sat down. She looked up briefly in my direction, made a verbal noise that sounded a bit like ‘hello’ then went back to Candy Crush Saga, or whatever she was doing. The stewardess who had directed me to my seat was standing at the open door, checking boarding cards and telling people which aisle to go down, depending on the location of their seat. But it made no difference, they all just wanted to follow each other.
‘Seat 12A, straight down here; 12B, follow straight down; 26F, use the far aisle, please; 32G, far aisle. Oh, no, Madam, not this aisle, you need to use the far aisle for 26F; 13H, far aisle. No, sorry, that’s the far aisle.’ On and on it went, no one listening, the poor stewardess repeating herself over and over, people bumbling down the wrong aisle then snarling everything up by trying to come back. I smiled the first few times it happened, then started giggling, and eventually Karen the stewardess and I wound up playing a little game with each other, guessing whether or not the person would be listening. She kept completely calm the entire time, which was so impressive in the face of being blatantly ignored while trying to help people. But she didn’t give up and she didn’t get cross.
‘How do you stay so calm?’ I asked her. ‘They’re all such idiots.’
She smiled. ‘They’re not, Daisy, they’re just preoccupied.’
The take-off was the most exciting thing I had ever done at that point in my life. Just when you thought the plane was already whizzing along the runway as fast as it could go, it sped up even more and flattened you into the back of your seat. I watched the entire thing out of the window, amazed to feel the rumbly, bumpy road surface suddenly give way to floaty air. The fields and traffic shrank away below us so very fast and I was higher than I’d ever been before in about fifteen seconds. I was exhilarated, thrilled, impressed and shocked. But I was not scared.
During the flight I read my book; watched Toy Story 2 and The Haunting; enjoyed a delicious coq au vin with duchesse potatoes and green beans followed by chocolate orange pudding, crackers and cheese; and snoozed on and off for a couple of hours. A baby further towards the back screamed virtually the entire time and the woman next to me sighed and squirmed and spent a considerable amount of time and energy looking back over the top of her seat. I went for a stroll up and down the plane a few times, rotated my ankles, wore the eye mask. It was fantastic.
When the plane landed, I watched in amazement as countless so-called mature adults refused to obey the rules. What was an innocent, impressionable child like me supposed to learn from that? The seatbelt sign was on throughout the descent and landing, but as soon as the plane’s wheels touched the tarmac, the cabin was peppered with the clacking sound of seatbelts being undone. Some of these idiots even stood up and started getting their bags out of the overhead lockers, obviously thinking that the seatbelt rule didn’t apply to them. My new friend Karen went on the intercom and reminded us all ever so sweetly that the seatbelt sign was still on and could everyone therefore please remain in their seats with their seatbelts done up until the captain deemed it safe enough for it to be turned off. As one, the passengers remained standing and continued to collect up their bags. Karen said it again a few minutes later, but it wasn’t working.
‘The problem is,’ I said to the almost silent lady in the next seat, ‘that they’re not allowed to use an angry voice.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Maybe if they shouted into the mic “SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” they might get a better response.’
Dad was really pleased I was there and excitedly showed me a timetable of activities and sight-seeing, complete with drawings, that he’d clearly spent hours preparing. We rode bikes in Central Park, shopped on Fifth Avenue, did a walking tour round Greenwich and went on a ‘Food on Foot’ tour, a mammoth American eating extravaganza that started off better than it ended. But most significantly, we went up to the Empire State Building Observation Deck. I knew what to expect – I’d seen sets of it plenty of times in films – but even knowing that, I remember that I felt no fear, no anxiety, no stress. In the lift on the way up I was not dizzy, I was not shaking, I did not feel an almost overwhelming sense of imminent death. I was just excited and happy, looking forward to peering out at the incredible view. It was an amazing experience and a fantastic trip, marred by no stress, no worrying, no fear and only one lot of vomiting.
‘You OK?’ Felix says now, after a few minutes of silence.
‘Mm-hmm.’
‘So Miss Daisy Queen of Ducks, now that you’ve conquered your fear of heights, what are you going to do next?’ He’s using an abrasive American accent and thrusts an imaginary microphone in front of me with a massive toothy grin.
I glance at him with a smile, then lean down into the imaginary mic. ‘I think I might take up flying.’
He puts his hands up. ‘Whoa, that’s a big leap! Wait a minute, do you believe you can–?’
‘No of course I don’t, fool. But yeah, OK, you’re right, maybe not flying. But I feel … unfettered for the first time in ages. Like I could almost float off the pavement and start swooping around.’ I just stop myself from spreading my arms out into wings and sprinting along the pavement going ‘nnneeeeeeeeeeoooowwwwwww’. My fingers twitch, but propriety stops me.
As we approach the Lovely Lawn some time later, the pavement is a little too narrow to walk shoulder to shoulder, so I go in front, automatically pushing aside the overhanging plants, then holding them back for Felix to follow.
‘Wow,’ he says as he takes hold of the branches. ‘Look at that.’
I stare at the plants. ‘What about them?’
In response, Felix takes a firm grip of one of the stems and I wait for him to do everyone a favour and break it off. But instead he brings it up to his nose, pushes his face into it and breathes in deeply. ‘Wow,’ he says again. ‘Have you smelled these? They’re gorgeous.’
He holds out the blooms to me and I hesitate a moment before leaning forward to take a tentative sniff. My nose fills with a heavy, luxurious, floral scent and I’m instantly transported back to my childhood. I breathe in more deeply and close my eyes. It’s not a specific memory, not an immediate apparition of a smiling Mum holding up a huge bouquet, or a blissful summer’s evening in a garden somewhere; but a feeling, a strong sensation of what it felt like to be a child, how the world fitted around me. How comfortable and right everything was. There’s no fear in that place, no anxiety, no misery. The worst thing about it seems to be a deep, subconscious understanding that I’m not in charge, but that’s no bad thing. I want to stay there in that moment, inside the scent, feeling warm and safe again, loved and protected. But then I realise that I’m standing on a pavement with my face stuck in some flowers being held by a virtual stranger, and it’s getting a bit weird. I withdraw and look up at Felix. He’s grinning at me like a nan at a nativity.
‘Wow,’ I say inadequately.
‘I noticed you enjoyed them. Did they take you back?’
I stare at him. ‘What?’
He moves the branch gently back to its original position and releases it, then jerks his chin towards the pavement ahead of us. ‘Shall we?’ He sets off but I’m still looking at the blossoms, wondering why I’ve never stopped to smell them before.
‘What did you mean, take me back?’ I say, jogging to catch up.
He shrugs. ‘Nothing. Just the way smells do that, don’t they? Kind of recreate an entire life you used to have, in your head.’
I’m spee
chless.
‘Hey,’ he says suddenly, as if he’s only just noticing, ‘I only live round the corner. Fancy a drink? I’m gasping.’ And he strides off ahead of me, over the road.
This is by far the weirdest walk I have ever been on, including the one with the remote control car and the Malteser. Long story. But while I’m dithering on the pavement not knowing whether to follow him (could our tentative friendship withstand a non-walking encounter?) or try to find my own way home (unlikely, let’s face it – got lost in one turn, remember?) Felix has rounded the corner ahead and disappeared. A small panic grips me and once again I’m back in that maze with nothing but identical fences on every side. I cross the road quickly in Felix’s direction, not wanting him to have to come back to get me, only to find me crying on the pavement. I spot him standing by a garden gate a few houses up and walk quickly to join him.
Daisy Mack
is wandering yet again into unknown territory. Literally, and figuratively. Physically, and metaphorically. Bodily, and mentally. Wish me luck.
Suzanne Allen This sounds exciting. I’m not wishing you luck, you don’t need it. Just enjoy yourself. xx
Georgia Ling Wot r u on about loooolz <3
Nat ‘Wiggy’ Nicholson Your be fine hunni take care xx
As he opens the front door I hear a phone ringing somewhere in the background and he breaks into a sprint up the hallway towards the sound.
‘Come on through,’ he calls back over his shoulder. ‘Be right with you.’
I follow at a more moderate pace down the cream-painted hallway, past a couple of closed doors, into a very elegantly simple living room at the end: black leather sofas, hardwood flooring, large flat screen telly. Very modern, very masculine. Very attractive. I wander around, taking a good look at the photos on the walls and cabinets, absorbing information about my host. There are plenty of pictures of him with various people – smiling and shaking hands with another man in identical black morning suits and buttonholes; standing by a barbecue with three other people; cheek to cheek with an old lady, both in woollen hats and scarves; wearing a Santa beard and holding a little girl of about three on his lap. It’s definitely him – I can easily recognise those dark eyes. There is also a single large frame with a collage of pictures of Felix in it, mostly in a wetsuit and sometimes just in shorts and flippers. I linger over these particularly, because the scenery behind him is so exotic.
‘Sorry about that,’ he says, suddenly coming into the room. I jump quickly away from the pictures.
‘’S’OK, people get phone calls all the time, it’s the curse of modern existence.’
He grins and walks over to me. ‘No, I mean the photographs of me with hardly any clothes on.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Wha—? You …? Oh, you mean …?’ I want to pretend I hadn’t noticed, but it seems a bit pointless as I practically had a magnifying glass held up against them.
‘It’s my great aunt Winnie’s fault,’ he says.
‘Ah, she likes taking photos, does she?’
‘No, she just loves Instagram.’
I blink. ‘Instagram? Did you say your great aunt?’
‘Yeah, she’s got loads of apps. Shall we have a drink? Lemonade? I’ll get them. Walk this way.’ He turns dramatically round and strides off like a giant across the land towards the hallway, so I scuttle behind him.
The kitchen is ultra-modern, with high gloss black doors, a dark glittery floor and state-of-the-art appliances strewn across the marble work tops. Coffee maker, water purifier, designer microwave, chrome juicer, they’re all there, gleaming and apparently untouched. Felix is pouring out two pale green drinks from a jug which he replaces in the stripey Smeg fridge.
‘Wow. Gorgeous kitchen,’ I remark, taking it all in.
‘Oh thanks but I can’t take any credit. It’s all Aunt Winnie.’
‘Oh, right.’ I’m slightly curious but starting not to be surprised. This room is so Aunt Winnie. ‘What’s this all about?’ I incline my head towards a series of about six photographs in heavy wood frames on the wall by the door, mostly of people doing various dangerous things. There’s a hand reaching out over a gaping shark’s mouth; a group of people in life jackets and helmets sitting in a dinghy; someone swinging on a rope across a ravine; someone else – or maybe the same person, it’s difficult to see properly – standing on a rocky path with a bicycle over his shoulder. I lean in closer. They all look like Felix.
‘Wow. Are these all you?’
He comes to stand at my side, our shoulders just touching. ‘Yeah. My year of living dangerously.’
I’m standing very, very still. ‘Good God. Are you actually feeding your hand to that shark?’
He laughs. ‘Actually, great whites have had a bit of bad press. They’re nothing like as vicious as they’re made out to be.’
I stare at the rows of enormous, razor-sharp teeth, exposed to view as the flesh around them is skinned back in a giant snarl. ‘You know what, I can see that now. He just wants to be loved.’
He laughs deeply, looking at me the whole time. Eventually I find myself grinning, in spite of myself. And deep down, in a place that I thought no longer existed, I feel something else. It takes a moment for me to identify it but finally I realise with a start that I’m enjoying myself. I’m enjoying being in Felix’s company. More than that, I like him.
‘Aha,’ he says, ruining it, ‘she smiles. It’s a miracle!’
I return instantly to scowling.
‘Look,’ he says, pointing at a different picture, ‘that’s Aunt Winnie. Love her.’ Aunt Winnie is a tiny, frail-looking, very very old lady. In the picture she’s sitting under a blanket in an armchair smiling weakly, her feet up on something in front of her. Her eyes are watery and red and her skin reminds me of talcum powder. Sticking out of the bottom of the blanket are two huge, hairy black gorilla feet. Felix peers at the picture for a while, a smile on his face. ‘She’s hiking round Australia with her grand-daughter at the moment.’
I blink, struggling to resolve the two images. This tiny, fragile woman with candy floss hair, waving at the camera with transparent skin, striding briskly across the outback, kicking rattlesnakes out of the way.
‘Here we are then,’ Felix says, holding out one of the lemonades.
‘Thanks.’ I take a large gulp, suddenly realising how thirsty I am. The lemonade is absolutely delicious. Sweet, with a strong tartness, making the glands in my jaw throb. Which feels incredibly familiar. I hold up the glass and peer at the liquid, as if it might hold some answers.
‘You’ll never find any answers at the bottom of a glass, you know,’ Felix says darkly. ‘Many have tried; none succeeded.’
‘This is delicious.’ I look up at him. ‘And familiar somehow. I’m sure I’ve had it before, but it’s not the sort of thing I usually buy.’ (No need to tell him that I don’t usually buy anything right now.) ‘Where do you get it from?’
‘Have you?’ He looks puzzled for a second, then beams. ‘Oh, I know, I gave a batch to Abby a while ago. Is that where you had it?’
‘A batch?’ I frown. ‘Why did you give her lemonade? Most people give wine or chocolates.’
‘I know but she asked me specifically. It’s my own recipe so it’s kind of exclusive. You like it then?’
Felix made it? Felix made it? I nod enthusiastically. ‘I love it. I can’t believe you made it. It’s extraordinary.’
He seems to swell just a little bit, and grins. ‘Just one of my many talents. Are you hungry?’
‘Um …’ I examine my innards and notice that there’s a growling sensation there that I haven’t felt much for months. Even after eating a few decent meals with Abby my appetite hasn’t come back properly. But now, after months of eating mostly rubbish, it’s like my insides are waking up after a whole season of hibernation and are storming around my internal cave roaring and clawing at the air. I smile and look up at Felix in a kind of wonder. ‘Yes, I find that I am.’
He spins dram
atically and strides over to the fridge. ‘Piri-piri chicken wrap, tomato salad, warm pitta bread and roasted red pepper houmous?’
‘Wow. Sounds lovely.’
‘Yeah, it’s Aunt Winnie’s favourite.’ He starts pulling things out and bringing them over to where I’m sitting. Flour tortillas, tomatoes, salsa in a jar.
‘Really?’
He looks at me. ‘No, Dozy, not really. She’s eighty-one. Piri-piri sauce would probably finish her off.’ He’s standing on the other side of the counter top and now puts his elbows on it, and his chin on his hands. ‘She’s more of a shepherd’s pie girl, to be honest.’
‘Of course she is.’ I sip the lemonade as he turns back to the fridge. ‘So why are you here, in her house?’
There’s a long silence, during which I start thinking ‘Shit, shit, shit.’
‘I’m just house-sitting while she’s away,’ he says eventually, and although I can’t see his face properly, I know he’s hiding something.
‘Oh, right. Nice for her, knowing that you’re here, looking after things.’
He nods. ‘Yes. I suppose it is.’
‘So who’s house-sitting for you? While you’re here?’ I ask this in a soft voice, to try and convey the message ‘you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to’ at the same time. But he does.
‘No one.’
‘Oh.’ God, this is frustrating. Who leaves their own home empty to go and house-sit in someone else’s? There’s so much more to this than he’s giving me, but he’s not volunteering information, and I can’t keep asking. ‘That works out nicely for both of you then,’ I say in the end, so that he can either say more, or let that be the end of it.
‘Absolutely,’ he says with a distinct air of finality. ‘Now, help me find a lime-zester will you?’
Winnie is obviously one organised lady as we find the zester very quickly on a shelf with a garlic press, pestle and mortar, and apple corer. We also find a drawer containing a torch and spare batteries, bandages, a full first-aid kit, a variety of medications and ointments and, inexplicably, flares.