Wish You Were Here

by Mike Gayle

  We made our way through to the luggage carousels and waited patiently for our bags to arrive. Once again I spotted the girl-in-the-cowboy-hat pushing a trolley with her equally attractive friends but on seeing me she steered them to the opposite end of the carousel.

  It took over half an hour for our luggage finally to emerge, by which time most of the passengers (including the girl-in-the-cowboy-hat) had claimed their bags and disappeared through customs. I could feel all the good work that my seven days of relaxation had achieved slowly beginning to unravel. And as we finally pushed our luggage through the brightly lit ‘Nothing to Declare’ channel at customs, I was gloomily convinced that by the time we reached the long-stay car park, I would be back to my usual hassled and severely stressed state of mind.

  Stepping through the large doors from customs into the arrivals lounge, Tom and I were forced to walk the gauntlet of waiting husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, parents and minicab drivers all scanning constantly for a glimpse of the people who mattered to them most. We had no one waiting for us. Or so I thought. But right at the end of the crowd queuing behind the security barrier was Donna.

  It was odd seeing her in the flesh, here. As I walked towards her, I was forced to readjust the picture of her in my head that had grown somewhat blurred these past few days. She was prettier than I remembered, and her hair was different. And while I was still wearing shorts and a T-shirt appropriate to summer in Crete she was wearing jeans and a coat more appropriate to autumn in England. The oddest thing of all was that she was wearing glasses.

  ‘You hate them, don’t you?’ said Donna, as I came to a halt in front of her.

  ‘What?’ I replied.

  ‘My glasses,’ said Donna. ‘All day I’ve been agonising over whether to wear them or my contacts. Nina said contacts because she’s pretty vain, so that immediately made me want to go for my glasses.’

  I didn’t know how to respond to her glasses, the know ledge that she had been preparing all day to meet me from the plane or the fact that she was here at all.

  ‘What are you’re doing here?’ I said, eventually.

  Donna opened her mouth to reply but paused and looked expectantly over my shoulder where a clearly embarrassed Tom was lingering with our luggage trolley.

  ‘I just wanted to say that I’m going to get a coffee,’ said Tom.

  ‘Cheers, mate,’ I replied. ‘I’ll see you in a bit.’

  As Tom headed off in search of a café, Donna and I stood watching the people around us: an elderly man pushing a trolley piled high with suitcases; a young couple kissing next to a newsagent’s; and a group of young lads taking photos of each other with their mobile phones.

  ‘I’m sorry about leaving like that,’ said Donna quietly. ‘There was no excuse for it. I should have been more honest with you.’

  ‘So why did you do it?’

  ‘Do you want the truth? Because you seemed more sure of me than I was.’

  ‘So it was my fault?’

  Donna shook her head. ‘I got scared, Charlie. Really scared. I was beginning to feel things for you that I haven’t felt for anyone in a long while. I just wasn’t sure that I was ready for anything this big this soon. Sadie’s dad and I were together a long time. And we had a child together. And even though everyone thinks I should be moving on and looking for something new I couldn’t do it. I felt like I was stuck in the past and I just couldn’t find a way of moving forward.’

  ‘So what changed your mind?’

  ‘You did,’ said Donna, looking into my eyes. ‘You changed my mind. I don’t know how you did it but you did. You’ve been in my head every second since I left you. I’ve replayed the time we spent together a million times and that’s when I realised that the feelings I have for you weren’t going to go away just because you weren’t there. So last night I called my sister to get Andy’s number and called him to find out what time you guys were landing at Gatwick. And now here I am. That is, if I’m not too late?’

  It was a good question. Was she too late? Did what had happened between Lisa and me make a difference? Had my feelings for Donna just been a holiday thing? All I had was questions and not enough answers that I could be sure of.

  ‘You met someone else, didn’t you?’ whispered Donna, observing my indecision.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ I replied. ‘But yes, I was with someone else after you left. It was a real mess and it’s over now.’

  ‘So why do I feel like there’s something you’re not saying?’

  ‘Because there is . . . being here with you . . . having you here right now . . . hearing you say these things. It’s like having my dreams come true in an instant. But the thing is, Donna, we’re not on holiday any more. We’re back in reality. And when I left seven days ago the one thing I wanted most of all was to come back different . . . to come back changed. And I’ve done it. I’m not the person who went on holiday any more.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Donna. ‘So what’s the problem?’

  ‘The problem’s this.’ I let go of her hands and pulled off the top I was wearing. I rolled up the right sleeve of my T-shirt to reveal the cottonwool dressing fixed over my tattoo. I pulled it away gently and showed Donna what was underneath.

  ‘It’s a question mark,’ said Donna. ‘I still don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m not sure I do either.’ I shrugged. ‘I’ve never tried to reduce myself down to a symbol before . . .’ I paused and peered down at the black ink of my bold 18pt Helvetica question mark ‘. . . and looking at this I don’t think I’ll ever do it again.’ I taped the dressing back in place, rolled down the sleeve of my T-shirt, then looked at Donna. ‘The thing I need you to understand is that once upon a time I used to think I was an okay boyfriend . . . but then Sarah left and I realised I was wrong about that. I used to think I was a pretty good friend, too, but things have happened this holiday that have made me rethink that too. The truth is: I actually have no idea who I really am any more. Not in a real sense. I can’t guarantee that the guy you met on holiday really is me and not just some faker. I can’t guarantee that you won’t wake up one day and hate my guts. And what hurts most is that I can’t even guarantee that I won’t do something that might hurt you one day. I can’t offer you any guarantee of any kind at all, Donna. So why would you want to get involved with someone like that?’

  ‘Because I don’t need your guarantees,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got my own.’ She paused. ‘I know I don’t know you that well. And maybe you’re right about what you’re saying. But what I do know is this: you’re the first person I’ve met in a long time who has made me feel like wanting to trust again.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘So where does this leave us?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s up to you,’ she said.

  So there it was, right in front of me. A big decision that, as Donna had pointed out, was indeed ‘up to me’. And I wanted to do the right thing . . . whatever that might be.

  ‘This is all wrong,’ said Donna, interpreting my reticence as the awkward silence before the delivery of bad news. ‘I feel like I’m crowding you into making a decision, which isn’t what I want to do at all.’ She sighed. ‘I should go.’

  ‘Maybe you should,’ I replied with a smile.

  Donna looked confused.

  ‘You drive, don’t you?’ I asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘And you know Brighton pretty well too?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘Good.’ I rummaged in my pockets and pulled out the keys to my car and my flat. ‘Well, I don’t know what your plans are for tonight but I’d really like it if you’d take my car back to Brighton and stay at mine.’

  ‘While you do what exactly?’

  ‘I’ve got something I need to sort out. I’ll tell you everything when I get back in the morning. But for now you’ll just have to trust me.’

  Donna smiled softly and looked at the keys in her hand. ‘Just like you’re trusting me?�
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  ‘Exactly,’ I replied. ‘Sometimes you’ve just got to have a little bit of faith.’

  I gave Donna the details of where the car was parked and how to get to my flat and told her to ring me if she needed anything at all. With that done we made our way outside and joined the queue for the shuttle-bus to the car park. It was raining and cold and I realised why Donna was dressed so warmly. Though it was technically August, the weather was more late September. I began to shiver as the cold quickly made its way through my thin summer clothing. Donna put her arms around me. As she pressed her body against mine she looked up and we kissed. While part of me was sure this was a bad idea, given we still had so much to sort out, most of me was simply happy to be caught up in the moment.

  As we parted from the kiss Donna bit her lip guiltily and without saying another word, jumped on to the shuttle-bus. As she settled into a seat at the rear of the bus, I was conscious of being scrutinised by her fellow passengers as though I was part of some new form of reality television. I didn’t care though. Standing my ground, I shivered patiently until the bus finally pulled away and then, taking in a long, deep breath of cool night air, I made my way back inside the terminal to find Tom.

  Five hours and forty minutes and counting

  ‘How did that go?’ asked Tom when I found him sitting at an empty table in the only café still open.

  ‘Okay, I think. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve sent her off to mine in the car. I thought we could wait here to make the call if that’s okay?’

  ‘Here’s as good a place as any.’

  ‘We could always get a hotel or something,’ I added. ‘There must be loads around here.’

  ‘Here’s fine,’ said Tom. ‘I doubt I’ll sleep much anyhow.’

  ‘So we’ll just sit here until morning?’

  ‘Probably not here, exactly,’ replied Tom. ‘The guy at the counter said he’s shutting up shop pretty soon.’ I looked at my watch. It was twenty minutes past three. ‘Five hours, forty minutes and counting,’ said Tom meeting my gaze. ‘Doesn’t seem all that long since I woke up this morning,’ he paused and laughed. ‘I guess time really does fly fast when you’re having fun.’

  I told Tom everything that had happened with Donna. When the café finally shut we ended up moving from the arrivals concourse to departures and eventually set up camp on a bench overlooking rows of closed check-in desks. Other than the occasional cleaner pushing large industrial floor sweepers back and forth no one took much notice of us and so we were free to sit and talk uninterrupted for the rest of the night. We talked about our university days, reminding each other of several embarrassing occasions best forgotten, we talked about what we both wanted from life and how we might get it, and then finally as night turned into early morning, we talked about Tom’s beliefs and my own. It was an interesting and at times heated discussion and Tom made a number of points to which I genuinely could find no retort. I can’t say that he changed the way I thought about religion, because he didn’t; what he did was change the way I thought about him. Regardless of my opinions, Tom’s faith worked for him in a way that I truly envied. And that’s not to say that he didn’t seem scared about how the call to the doctor’s might go, it was more that I could see in his eyes that – even if the news was bad – the things he believed in would somehow give him comfort.

  The café reopened at 6.00 a.m. and we were its first customers of the day. But as the hours passed things gradually became busier until sometime around 8.00 a.m. the café reached critical mass – every table occupied, huge queues at the tills, and the café staff beginning to look hassled.

  With only twenty minutes left before Tom made his call, he decided to phone Anne and the kids.

  I wondered whether I too should use this opportunity to make a call. The events of the early hours seemed so far away that I almost feared they were an elaborate dream. Though I was happy imagining Donna asleep in my bed, part of me (possibly all of me) wanted to call her and wake her up just to say good morning. Now that a new day had begun I wanted to make a new form of connection with her. But even though I took out my phone several times I just couldn’t bring myself to make the call, for fear that things wouldn’t be the way I hoped.

  When Tom returned to our table he looked even more tired and drawn, as if he had suddenly driven headlong into a brick wall of mental exhaustion.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  Tom shook his head and for the first time I thought he was going to break down. ‘I just can’t believe that any of this is really happening,’ he said. ‘I feel fine. I feel healthy. Surely if I had something bad I’d feel sick, wouldn’t I? I keep telling myself to expect the worst because at least then I’ll be prepared for it. But I can’t do it. The worst is just too terrifying to think about.’

  We sat and stared at our collection of empty coffee cups.

  ‘How are the kids?’ I asked, eventually.

  ‘They’re fine,’ replied Tom. ‘They’ve been playing their gran up big time this morning, which can only be a good thing. Anne and her mum took them to a butterfly farm yesterday. Apparently Katie now wants to be a butterfly farmer when she grows up and Callum wants to be a caterpillar . . . because they get to spend all day eating.’

  ‘Does he like his food, then, Callum?’

  ‘He can eat for England.’

  ‘I’d love to see them again. I bet they’ve grown loads since I last saw them.’

  ‘They’d love to see you, too. They’re really curious about you. When I told them I was going to Crete with my friend Charlie you took on this strange mystique in their heads. Now they think you live in Crete and for some reason they’ve got hold of the idea you’re very tall.’ Tom stopped abruptly. ‘Will you do something for me?’

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ I replied. ‘Whatever you want.’

  ‘If this does turn out to be bad news, will you promise me you’ll always keep in touch with my kids?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s just that they’re young. They’ll forget.’

  ‘Of course they won’t. You’re their dad. And anyway Anne will remind them about you all the time.’

  ‘I know. And she will do a great job. But I want them to know all about me. I want them to know what their dad was really like. I want them to know that I struggled with life just like they’ll have to. I don’t want them to grow up thinking I was perfect.’ Tom looked at his watch again. ‘It’s time,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Where do you want to do this?’

  ‘Here’s fine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  He nodded, almost glaring at his phone in anger. I found myself holding my breath as he began dialling his doctor’s number. Even though the air was ringing with the constant chatter of dozens of different conversations, I could still make out the high-pitched tones of each number pressed on his keypad. I couldn’t begin to imagine what he might be going through. At least not on any meaningful level. How would I know how it might feel to have everything that I loved balancing precariously on a knife-edge? I didn’t have a wife. I didn’t have kids. There was only me.

  Entering the final digit into his phone Tom breathed deeply and put the phone up to his ear. His face contorted in rage and he threw the phone down on the floor. ‘They’re fucking engaged,’ he said kicking the empty chair next to him with such force that it toppled over. Everyone in the café turned and stared at him.

  ‘It’s all right, mate,’ I said grabbing him by the arm in a bid to calm him down. ‘Look, I’ll make the call and as soon as someone answers, I’ll pass them over to you when they answer.’

  Tom nodded and calmed down. ‘Thanks,’ he replied as he rescued his phone from the floor. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I replied. ‘You wait here and I’ll keep trying until I get through.’

  Making my way out of the café, I headed in the direction of the nearest newsagent’s in search of a morning newspaper as a distraction. On the way
I tried the number twice and each time got the engaged tone. In a bid to try to calm myself down, I told myself that I wouldn’t try again until I’d read the headlines on every single newspaper in the shop. And that’s just what I did. It was the usual mix of politics and celebrity scandal, although one newspaper headline was dedicated to the poor weather the nation had been suffering in recent days. Even after seven days away, none of it was a surprise. Just more of the same.

  I pulled out the phone again and pressed redial. And my heart began to race when, instead of the engaged tone, I finally got a connection. As I ran back to Tom at full pelt a voice at the other end of the line answered my call.

  ‘Brookdene Road Surgery,’ said a female voice brightly.

  ‘Hi,’ I replied, as I finally reached the café. ‘Could you just hang on a second?’

  I barely dared to breathe as Tom took the phone from my hand and told the woman his name, the reason for his call and his date of birth. And I continued to hold my breath as Tom closed his eyes as he waited for the news. In a split second everything changed. He’d been given the test results. And the news was good. To this day I’ve never seen an expression more life affirming than the one on Tom’s face. What the customers in the café must have thought as I threw my arms around Tom I don’t know. And I don’t care either. All that mattered was that he was okay.

  A brand new start

  I felt exhilarated as Tom and I grabbed our suitcases and made our way towards the train station. I was so euphoric that I wanted to stop complete strangers and tell them his good news.

  At the station I bought a single ticket back to Brighton, while Tom bought a ticket into London so that he could get his train back to Coventry.

  ‘Thanks for everything, Charlie,’ said Tom, as we arrived at his platform just as the service into central London came to a halt and the doors opened. ‘I wouldn’t have been able to get through any of this without you.’

  ‘You did it all yourself, Tom,’ I replied. ‘I didn’t do a single thing. I’m just glad you’re okay.’