Journey to the Centre of Myself (4 page)

‘Right, I think we should end this con—’

We stop talking as I get an incoming text signal
.

Chapter 4

Karen

At the airport, I dodge other passengers as I stride through the foyer. I wonder if I’m magnetic as they all seem to be moving in my direction. I need people to back off.

Wow, I’m really doing this. My heart beats faster, making me a little light-headed, a little dizzy. I cough in the hope it might settle my palpitations. I consider getting a coffee but decide against it. The last thing I need is to be more jittery. My suitcase is cabin-sized so I pass through security and wait for boarding. At the gate, they have those uncomfortable metal seats. I sigh as I move towards one. You’d think with how long they make you wait before you board that they could, at least, cushion their seats.

Time passes as I take turns between reading and glancing around. I see businessmen dressed in their dapper suits. Every one of them with a laptop bag. Some are working while they wait. I watch a family where a mother doesn’t take her eyes off her two children for a second while her husband’s head never comes up from his newspaper. There are other solo travellers like myself. I explore my bag for my Top Ten travel guide and lift it out. A few receipts come out with it. I push the papers back in my bag. Before long my feet will be touching German soil and it seems fortuitous that I can celebrate my own freedom where the wall came down.

‘Is it your first time going there, love?’

I turn to my right where an oldish lady is seated.

‘Yes.’ I keep to monosyllables. I don’t wish to encourage chit chat.

‘Me too. My grandson lives out there. It’s the first time I’ve visited him.’

‘Nice.’

‘Only I lost my husband a couple of months ago.’

I place my book in my bag. She’s going to keep talking. I listen as she pours out her grief, keeping myself numb apart from a nod of my head in the right places. When she gets up to board she wishes me a good journey.

‘Yes, same to you. By the way,’ I say, ‘my name’s Karen.’

‘Oh right,’ she replies and walks to the gate, without introduction.

I want to shake her. I’ve just listened to her life story and she doesn’t even want to know my name. I’m learning fast. No more letting others in. This trip is for me alone.

My flight to Berlin goes via Frankfurt which means it’s going to take a couple more hours than usual, but I figured I wasn’t in a rush. The first part of the journey is brief, but I enjoy the ascent, watching England get smaller and further away. I pass snow topped mountains; the snow spreads across the peaks like bird feathers. Mostly, though, the journey is spent amongst cloud. A scene of bland whiteness, like the world has been wiped out. As we descend into Frankfurt, snow hits the windows of the aeroplane like darts. I peer out.
It’s difficult to make out what’s happening through the tiny window but I can see the runway is covered in snow. There are no other planes but ours. The white-out is alien against the greenery of home and makes me feel uneasy. The captain has made announcements all the way through the flight in three languages: German, then in a language I don’t recognise, and finally in English. As before, he makes the first announcement in German as we prepare to leave the plane and I watch several people groan at each other, making me wonder what’s happening.

It’s an agonising minute later before I hear the English translation. The airport is closing due to snow. No flights are leaving Frankfurt airport for the rest of the day. We are advised to head to Customer Services to make alternate arrangements. An icy blizzard whips my face as I transfer from the plane to the terminal.

The queue at Customer Services winds like an unravelled hosepipe around Gate Three. I’m going to be here a while. This is so not what I had in mind. My back aches with all the standing around and I need the loo. I’m not reassured when they start handing out bottles of water and chocolate bars to those of us in the queue. Why did I not book somewhere with a direct flight?

After an hour and forty-five minutes, I reach the front of the queue. The customer services representative informs me that they will put me up in a hotel near the airport for the evening and I am re-booked onto a flight at nine twenty-five the following morning. She points out where the bus will pick me up to take me directly to the hotel. I ask what time and she says not to rush as they are every fifteen minutes.

I pop to the loo and decide that as I’m on German soil, the adventure starts now. I pull up a chair at a bar and drink my first German bier, a Warfteiner. It’s so tasty after the plain water I’ve been drinking on the flight and in the queue. I toast myself a silent cheers. I’m not yet at my destination, but I have arrived somewhere along the way.

Thirty minutes later, I find myself outside the airport building where hotel buses pull up alongside the taxi rank. I join the queue for my hotel and I’m informed by the lady in front of me that they’re putting on a large coach as there are so many of us. It will be thirty more minutes. We wait. We ask other hotel bus drivers. It’s on its way. It’ll be another ten minutes. The queue grows long and impatient. I may not know all the different languages, but the tone of voice and facial expressions tell me everything. An hour later the coach finally turns up. We are herded on to it like cattle and I’m fortunate to gain a seat.

Due to crowding and so much breathing, the windows steam up. I wipe part of the window with my hand, but there’s no visibility with the heavy snow and lack of light. We are supposed to be staying at a hotel near the airport, yet fifteen minutes later the coach is still travelling. I feel my heart pick up again. A hot, pins and needles sensation travels up my spine and I can’t breathe. I loosen the pashmina from my shoulders to try to cool myself down. The guy in the seat next to me frowns when I accidentally elbow him. I wipe beads of sweat from my forehead. Wet pools in my armpits. I hear a commotion at the front of the coach—cheering. We’re heading up a driveway. Thank goodness, we’ve arrived.

We enter the hallway of the hotel which seems clean and pleasant. There is another thirty-minute queue to book in and get the keys to my room. By this time, I could almost cry with the pain in my back and the ache in my feet. We are informed there is a complimentary meal waiting for us. My stomach rumbles as they hand me my key. I thank them and head into the dining room.

I swear someone is taking me for a fool. There are silver platters laid out, but only the scraps of a meal remain. Everyone wanders around the room looking for a waitress, looking for more food. No-one seems to be coming. I put two half-mashed potato croquettes on my plate and scrape around a bowl until I have a spoonful of paella. This is my meal. I sit and eat it. Three mouthfuls and I’m done. While I drink a coffee, I wait to see if any more food is forthcoming. I see six men built like rugby players, well over six feet, they look at the servers and at each other. Finally, a waitress comes through. She carries salad—lettuce, tomatoes and carrot. The men grudgingly spoon salad onto their plates and sit down.

I’ve had enough. At least I have a room to myself. I’ll just get some sleep.

I’m pleasantly surprised. It’s a little on the small side, but perfectly fine for me, although I try hard not to think of the deluxe room I should be sleeping in tonight in Berlin. The bed is a double and I grab hold of the quilt to unfold it. It moves across, uncovering the left side of the bed. Perplexed, I see it’s a single duvet on a double bed. I’m only allowed one side of the bed? What if I wish to starfish? I can’t believe I’m still being restrained.

I set the alarm on my mobile phone for five-thirty, ready for airport pick up at six-fifteen. Breakfast opens at six so I’ll have time to grab something quickly. As I walk to throw some rubbish in the bin, I see a small bottle of red wine and a packet of ready salted kettle chips on the table. I have no idea whether they are complimentary or not and I don’t care. In an act of defiance, I decide I will not pay a single penny. They promised me a dinner and here it is. I change into my nightshirt, grab my Kindle and climb into bed. I open the crisp packet around three edges for easy access and drink the wine straight from the bottle. It’s delicious; the dark fruits melt on my tongue while the salt on the crisps makes it tingle. Warmth hits my stomach. In contrast, I watch the snow fall outside the window. I spend an hour or so reading, drinking and eating, and checking out the snowflakes getting thicker under the light of the hotel lampposts. I wonder what tomorrow will bring. I’ve very deliberately not allowed myself to think about Adrian since getting on the plane, but now, as the quiet intrudes and I grow weary, his face comes to my mind. The wine takes hold and I succumb to sleep.

It seems like the briefest moment before my mobile goes off. No time for a snooze as the wine presses on my bladder. I quickly shower, pack up my things and head for breakfast.

Standing outside the restaurant, I can see the food spread. It’s a continental feast. However, there’s a queue outside, and as a gentleman walks in he is told it’s not ready yet. I check my watch; it’s two minutes past six. My coach is coming in thirteen minutes. I shuffle from foot to foot, looking at the clock behind the bar which shows the same time as mine. At five past, I walk through the barrier, saying to a couple I pass, ‘They said six. I’m going in.’

Everyone follows me. The staff look surprised but say nothing. I can’t believe I’ve led the anarchy. I have a quick glass of orange and eat a croissant. I wrap another in a napkin.

The ride back to the airport takes three minutes. Where the hell did we travel around last night?

Just after eight my mobile rings. Oh my God, it’s Steve. I totally forgot to call him.

‘Where the hell are you?’

‘Sorry, sorry, I forgot.’

‘I wanted to ring last night but daren’t in case you were sleeping. Are you there?’

‘No, I’m still in Frankfurt. We got snowed in, my plane leaves just before nine-thirty. Listen, funny story—’

‘I don’t have time, Kaz. I just wanted to check you were okay. Please keep in touch.’

My teeth clench.

‘I’ll call you when I get to Berlin, but I won’t be ringing often, Steve. I’m here for some alone time.’

‘To get away from Adrian.’

‘To get away from everybody.’

I hear a sigh. ‘I don’t have time for this right now. I’ll speak to you later.’

He hangs up the phone.

My brother works as a Sales Rep for a Pharmaceutical company. He has to travel a lot, sometimes for hours around the region. It’s hard work, but he is rewarded for it with a huge salary. He’s developed a thick skin and a pushy attitude to get where he is. I reckon he got his experience through being a bossy big brother.

On the plane at nine-thirty, I smile as we set off. We travel around a hundred yards and stop. People look around at each other and then out of the window as if the tarmac could tell us why we’ve stopped. A few minutes later the tannoy starts, again with the German first. I watch as people stand up and put on their coats.

‘Engine problem,’ translates the guy next to me before it’s announced in English.

‘Are you kidding me?’

‘Ah, happens all the time in the winter, you get used to it. Part of my job now.’

He smiles and I smile back.

‘So what do we have to do now?’

‘Wait at Gate Twenty Eight.’

I gather my belongings once again. It would seem I’m holidaying in Frankfurt airport.

Chapter 5

Amber

I peer at my phone. It’s a text from Will.

‘It’s my
husband
,’ I say, delivering the word slowly to Mirelle.

She places her hand over her mouth and mock yawns. ‘Boring.’

I read the message. Will has invited Olly, Sam and Alfie for tea. Thanks for the notice. Now after work I’ve to cook dinner for everyone. Well, they’ll have to take the house as they find it. I’ve no time to tidy up.

‘So what’s Mr Stockley want? Other than your ovaries.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘Nosy much?’

She shrugs. ‘Whatever, I was merely making conversation.’

I feel guilty. ‘He’s invited his friend, their wife and child over for tea.’

‘Eww, poor you. That’s why I’m staying single. How much fun can you have with a kid around?’

I bristle though she doesn’t notice.

‘How old is it?’

‘
He
is two.’

‘I’m off to The Hula Bar tonight. Wouldn’t you rather come out with me?’

I stick out my tongue.

‘So what about my challenge?’

I fold my arms across my chest. ‘Your challenge is both stupid and juvenile and I won’t be taking part in it, or answering any texts. I had one drunken moment of madness and that’s it, over.’

She bites her lip. ‘But why do you think you did it? It’s not usual behaviour for a happily married woman, is it?’

‘You can’t let it go, can you? What is your problem?’

Mirelle shrugs again. ‘I guess it was nice to consider I wasn’t alone in my misbehaviour. I’m sorry, you’re right, I’ve overstepped the mark. The challenge is a stupid idea.’