by C F Dunn
“Had enough?” he asked.
I nodded and he flicked back on to autopilot. The aircraft noticeably adjusted into a more stable pattern of flight; Matthew saw me pull a face.
“We’ll have you flying solo in no time,” he said, with an alarming degree of confidence.
“Hey, hang on a minute, I didn’t say anything about learning to fly!”
He chortled with that good-natured laugh I loved to hear because it meant he was happy.
There were hours ahead in which there were no interruptions, and we filled them with my curiosity and his answers as we wound our way through his life, and he questioned me about mine. Yet still I felt that he extracted more about me than I had about him. I barely scratched the surface, and there were questions he would not answer, deferring them until we were back in Maine; but it represented a start, and there was a sense that, for the first time, he began to reveal his true self to me.
At one point I became silent, and he asked me why, and I said that I had been gone so long without notifying the college that I didn’t know how it might affect my position. He smiled and replied that there was nothing to worry about, and when I pressed him he admitted that – as my doctor – he had put me on long-term sick leave, hoping I wouldn’t need it.
I took control of the plane several times more, each time a little easier than the last, until the pleasure of flying outweighed the apprehension, and I looked forward to the next attempt. I had just relinquished the controls to him again, when I saw that he examined the instrument panel closely, frowning slightly.
“What is it?”
“Nothing to be concerned about, I’m just plotting a course around that.”
He nodded towards the vast head of a cumulonimbus that lay in our path, its ominous anvil lit brilliant white by the sun in contrast with the bulging grey flanks of the cloud.
“Is that part of the storm you told us about yesterday?”
“No – it’s just an isolated thunderstorm, but we’ll do a detour, I think.” He didn’t seem particularly fazed and my slight nervousness wasn’t enough to prevent me from yawning; it had been a long day, made longer by the shift in time zones.
“Can’t we go above it?” I asked, trying not to let my voice give away my unease.
“No, it’s too high – about forty-five thousand feet or thereabouts.”
“It’s magnificent,” I couldn’t help but observe, the cloud almost boiling as it rose towering before us.
“Isn’t it.”
He spoke into the headset and I fell to watching the developing cloud and wondering what would happen if the aircraft came down in it. I would die, of course, but what about Matthew? Was he just long-lived or… and I almost laughed to think it… immortal, indestructible? I found it quite a comforting thought that he would live even though I died.
“Emma.” He called through a fog of sleep.
“Mmm?”
“Welcome back to America. Strap in – we’re coming in to land. We’ve just beaten the storm.”
Runway lights lit a safe passage down which the plane’s nose headed. Although the sun had shone strongly above the cloud, below it an obscurity lay upon the day, and the snow from the approaching storm hung above the encircling mountains, softening their outline. I watched him as he brought the aircraft in to land on an airfield barely bigger than the one we had left in England, his face eerily lit by the green lights on the instrument panel, his brow lightly furrowed in concentration, his mouth turned up at the corners even when he wasn’t smiling, giving away his innate good nature. Swallowing my desire, I sighed audibly. He didn’t take his eyes off the runway.
“Still tired?”
“Um, oh yes – a bit.”
“It’ll take an hour or so to get back – more if the snow doesn’t hold off. We’d better get you something to eat; do you mind eating in the car as we drive?”
I shook my head. The plane came to a smooth full stop; I had hardly felt the undercarriage touch the tarmac.
The first flakes of snow began to fall as we left the airstrip – softly, lightly at first, testing the resistance of the air, catching in the cobweb strands of my hair lifted by the wind. The claret of Matthew’s car was already muted as we drove out of the parking lot, a fine covering of frozen flakes whitening the road and verge. By the time we neared the campus, the distinguishing features of shrubs and rocks and road had been lost beneath the mantle of snow: anonymity its gift, given indiscriminately.
“Glad to be back?”
Matthew left my cases on my bed before coming back into the sitting room and opening the curtains to let more of the diffused light into my college apartment. The room had been rendered immaculate since I last saw it, and a new coffee table sat in front of the sofa where I had left the shattered remains of the old one in a state resembling my own. A world of difference lay between then and now: the difference between knowing and not knowing, between certainty and the mere apparition from his past that had kept us solidly apart. Now, back in this room once more, order had been restored to my life by the acquisition of knowledge. And knowledge was king.
I thought of being with him, and answered, “Yes.” Then, thinking of the possibility of a trial, I added, “And no.”
I joined him where he stood by the window. Together we watched the snow fall thickly, the cedar outside the barest shadow in the white. He put his arm around my waist and kissed my hair and I snuggled up to him.
“Will the snow mean we can’t go into the mountains?”
“No, this is nothing; we’ll get there. I have one or two things to do first; I expect you have too?”
Not really. I could certainly think of things I must do, such as contact my students, whom I felt I had neglected dreadfully; but not many things that I wanted to do, not without him. I shrugged under his arm in a gesture of non-committal.
“Yes, I have things to do.”
“Give me twenty-four hours, then I’ll come and collect you. Think you can wait that long? Emma?”
I studied my feet. “Yes.”
He bent sideways and looked into my face so that I couldn’t avoid his eyes, now cobalt in the snow-light.
“It’s only twenty-four hours.”
How could I tell him that his mere day was more than interminable for me, and that between us always hovered an uncertainty that a day might turn into forever. He read the anxiety in my face, soothing my frown with his lips.
“I know, my love, but it’s not long. Now…” he took a step back, looking purposeful, “… make sure you have plenty of warm clothes; we have hot water up there but no electricity other than a small generator to pump water.”
I made an effort to sound upbeat. “No electricity and no bears – what more could a girl want?”
He grinned. “I won’t answer that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And with the suggestion hanging in tantalizing suspension, he left me wondering.
I sat disconsolately on the edge of my bed, swinging my feet, and considered unpacking, but I had more pressing things to do, so I set about getting them done. First, I contacted my students and arranged to meet those still on campus in my tutor room first thing in the morning.
Second, I phoned my father, as promised.
“Emma,” he sounded relieved. “Did you have a good flight? What’s the weather like over there?”
“I didn’t manage to crash the plane, and winter looks like it should – lots of snow and very pretty. Look, Dad, I’m going to be away for a few days. If you can’t get hold of me – if you need to, that is – leave a message on my mobile; it’ll record automatically and I’ll contact you when I get back.”
“You’re going away so soon? Anywhere nice?”
“Into the mountains somewhere.”
I heard the sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line as he recalled the catastrophic aftermath of my last visit to the mountains.
“I hope Matthew knows what he’s doing.”
“He general
ly does, Dad.”
“Well, I don’t think that your mother need know. I’ll tell her you called anyway.”
“Dad, just one other thing… thanks for the marmalade – it looks like a vintage batch.”
He gave his deep, throaty chuckle. “You found it in your bag, then. I double-bagged it so it wouldn’t leak on your clothes. Hope you like it – I cut the Sevilles extra thick for you and there’s a dash of whisky in it as well. Have a good time, Em, won’t you.” In those few words, he left nothing unsaid. I smiled at this new side to my father, and let the warmth of it carry in my voice.
“Thanks, Dad.”
It wasn’t a long conversation but, as conversations went with my father, it represented the most relaxed we had exchanged in a long while, and only time would tell if it heralded the beginning of a renaissance between us.
The third thing I felt compelled to do was source some food, since my fridge had been cleared – probably by Elena – of what would undoubtedly have been green and black and growing furry bits by now. Here, I had a choice: either I could go on an expedition across campus to the store – a decidedly unwelcome option, given the depth of the snow – or I could seek out Elena and scrounge something off her. I had missed her over the last month, but more than that, I owed her.
“Emma!”
Elena flung her arms around my shoulders, knocking the breath out of me in the process.
“I love your hair,” I said, hugging her back.
She looked pleased but dismissive. “I do not care about my hair. When did you get back? How did you get back? Wait until I tell Matias – he will be most surprised.” Her accent sounded stronger because I hadn’t heard it for a while. “Come in and have some tea and tell me what has happened. Come on.” She almost dragged me across the threshold.
“I only came to scrounge – borrow – some food off you because my cupboards are bare. Don’t think I’m going to tell you anything interesting!” I teased her.
She waggled a finger. “No, no – you will get no-thing from me until you tell me everything.”
She hauled me over to a chair and pushed me into it, sitting opposite, her long legs crossed under her as she leaned forward.
“Agh, it has been so boring without you; I have no one to… gossip, you say? Da, gossip with, and no excitement. Look, your arms are better, no?” I waved them in the air as evidence. “But Matias worried after we phoned you. Have you heard from Matthew? Is that why you have come back – to find him?”
My voice lit with suppressed excitement. “Nope, I didn’t find him, Matthew found me! He flew all the way to England and brought me back – he flew me back, actually.”
She regarded my animated face thoughtfully, suddenly serious.
“Does this mean you and he are together again?”
Her grave demeanour sobered me. “Yes, it does – very much so.”
“Do you see your future with him now? You used to say you did not think about it, but I think this must have changed, no?”
“I think it must have, Elena, yes.”
I looked at her from under my eyelashes, not sure what the response would be, given her sombre expression of a moment ago, only to find her face spread in the widest beam. She clapped her hands in rapid succession, hardly containing herself.
“This is the best news; I cannot wait to tell Matias, he will be so pleased. Now you are with Matthew for the holiday, yes? You know what that means, don’t you?”
I could think of a few possibilities.
“No, what?”
“It means it is very serious. Will you meet his family?”
“His chil… his nephews and niece, of course, and possibly… er, I’m not entirely sure; Matthew’s been a bit vague about who’s going to be there.”
I made a mental note that I needed to be very careful in those unguarded moments where I might let something slip and, to be quite honest, I wasn’t sure who would be there at Christmas; something else I would ask him, since I hadn’t appreciated surprises ever since Guy’s untimely disclosure at my expense – and his wife’s.
Elena jumped to her feet, skipping about the floor in little steps akin to a complicated dance.
“I think we will have to go out and celebrate – a big celebration with much food and wine. Where shall we go? There is somewhere good in town and the men can pay. We go tomorrow or the next day, da? Before the holiday – I think it must be soon.”
Already planning, she clasped her hands in front of her, occasionally gesticulating as she framed another idea. Food and alcohol were wasted on me and worse than pointless for Matthew.
“Hold your horses, Elena – we can’t. Matthew and I are going away for a few days; let’s wait until after Christmas and then at least I’ll know how it’s gone.” She spun about on one foot, about to argue. I went on hastily, “Not to beat about the bush or anything, but I don’t want to count my chickens before they’ve hatched, just in case it’s all a storm in a teacup, so let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill and jump the gun, shall we?” I grinned at her look of horror.
“What are you talking about you crazy, mad girl!”
It achieved precisely the diversion I needed.
“I’m just saying that I would rather wait until after Christmas to celebrate because I don’t want to presume that everything will go well. Although I’m sure it will. I think. Maybe.” I chewed my lip and then decided to put aside my natural caution and the niggling doubt that had accompanied me all the way back from the UK.
“Anyway, can I help you with that tea? I’m gasping.”
“No, I do it. Stay there.”
Elena made for the kitchen and I heard water flowing, then the kettle switch on.
“Where is Matias, by the way?” I called after her.
Elena reappeared, looking wistful and drying a mug on a linen tea-towel depicting garish Russian dolls.
“At the lab – he’s been working on something. It keeps him awake at night too. Sometimes I think he doesn’t sleep at all. But he is very excited, so I do not mind so much.” I rather thought that she did because her mouth had turned down. She finished polishing the last drops from the mug with a final flick of the cloth. “What is all this ‘chickens’ and ‘storms’? I do not understand you sometimes.”
She went back in the kitchen and I raised my voice so that she could hear me over the rising note of the kettle as it came to the boil.
“It doesn’t matter; it’s just my ridiculous language. What are you and Matias doing for Christmas?”
The mugs chinked noisily. “We are going to fly to Finland first and then to St Petersburg.” There was a muffled gasp from the kitchen. “Emma, did you say that Matthew flew you back?”
“Uh huh.”
Her head popped around the edge of the doorframe, her dark, uptilted eyes betraying a smattering of Mongolian DNA tattooed into her family’s Belarus origins.
“He has his own airplane?”
“Yup.”
She leaned against the architrave, chewing a nail, looking at me.
“He must be very rich.”
I hadn’t thought about it; he certainly didn’t flaunt it.
“I suppose so. It’s not the sort of thing we’ve discussed. So when are you going to Finland?”
Elena roused herself from her trance and disappeared into the kitchen. A second later, I heard water being poured from the kettle and I went in to help her carry the mugs.
“We fly on Tuesday. So what do you talk about, Em? Or are you too busy making love to talk about anything?”
Narrowly missing the swipe I aimed at her, she held out a mug to me, her arched eyebrows framing playful eyes.
“I swear you are obsessed, Elena Smalova.”
She swung her hips suggestively as she walked back into the sitting room, taking a bite out of a biscuit.
“Da, I have a very good imagination.”
I took a biscuit from the packet and followed her. “Well, keep your imagination for Matias �
�� he’ll appreciate it more than I will.”
I sat back down and dunked my biscuit into the hot tea just long enough for it to have enough crunch without it collapsing in a soggy mass at the bottom of my mug. I couldn’t fault my imagination on that score, either, but it was proving a tad frustrating keeping it reined in at the moment, more so than at any other time in the last ten years.
“Have you and Matthew, you know…?” She looked expectantly at me.
“And since when have we had the chance? I only saw him yesterday for the first time in ages – or was it the day before?” I shook my head, trying to get around the perplexing subject of time zones, and realized I must be much more tired than I first thought. “Anyway, we’ve had a lot to discuss.”
She nodded sagely in an unspoken acknowledgment of the state of affairs, then brightened as her mind made the next logical step.
“Ah! Is that why you’re going away – a romantic time alone. How delicious!” She pronounced the word “de-li-ci-ous”, making it sound edible, wriggling on the chair.
“You have the underwear?”
“Er, yes. Elena – don’t go there; I’m not an entire novice, you know.”
“After ten years – you did say it was ten years since that man in England – what was his name…?”
I cringed. “Guy.”
“Yes – Guy – that’s it. Ten years is a very long time.”
“But Elena, it’s a bit like riding a bike – once learned, never forgotten.”
She giggled. “But, Emma, it depends on the bicycle, doesn’t it?”
I had to concede that one. “I’m sure it does. Anyway, as much as I would like to, we won’t be sleeping together as in… well, you know what I mean. That’s not why we’re going.”
We hadn’t discussed it, but somehow we didn’t need to, as there seemed to be a tacit understanding between us, although I felt that it wasn’t from a lack of desire on either side. On the contrary. Elena flicked her tongue over the chocolate-coated biscuit, all the while watching me.