Chasing the Sun with Henry

by Gary Brockwell

  Contrary to what I had feared, Henry had adapted effortlessly to his new surroundings, sleeping contentedly that first night in front of the wood-burning stove, and had slumbered there each night since in its warmth and glow.

  I had helped Cerys move into the place, coincidentally on the same day Sally had requested to remove her belongings from the house, and I hadn’t really gone back in the past few weeks. I knew I had to return at some point, knew I had to check off the items listed by her solicitors as removed, but I didn’t want to face it now, didn’t want to seek closure under someone else’s direction. I was surprised she had included the Book of Perfect Brilliance on her list, thinking it had been lost years ago – perhaps Sally had kept it in a secret place, a place only she knew.

  With Cerys’ encouragement, the week she moved in, I called in to see Gus to make my peace with him. It was a difficult experience to knock on his front door, and after several attempts and an anxious wait, he had not answered. I left a phone message and a text stating I had popped by and signed off with my desire to meet up, but I have not received a reply. I hope to reconcile with him, but only time will tell if he feels the same.

  Cerys and I had agreed to meet only at the departure gate; a romantic gesture signalling the beginning of an adventure, our adventure – although, as a practicality we had, on booking the flights, secured our seats together – after all, romantic notions would have no place in the experience if one of us was squeezed between a pair of formidable ‘two-seat’ passengers for the forthcoming journeyeleven and the other was discarded in the woeful seats beside the rear toilet cubicle.

  Despite our agreement, I had tried to locate her during my time as part of the laboured, moving beast which is the check-in queue. I did the same through the security area for a while, until I felt my regular 360-degree glances around the room could be viewed as suspicious behaviour and draw unwanted attention from special government personnel hidden behind the mirrored glass wall. And now, here in this maelstrom of noise, lights, information and people coming from all directions, I admitted defeat.

  What if when I got to the gate she wasn’t there? What if she had been delayed? What if she had had a change of heart, and decided that upon reflection, she couldn’t go?

  I would have to board on my own, travel to my first adventure alone. What would have been a memorable, shared experience of movie-watching, progress-plotting and excited conversations, instead would manifest into a miserable journey of barely warm, processed, tasteless food; defective airline earphones performing in monotone through one ear; and sudden, violent tugs of the back of my headrest as the person behind used my seat as leverage to propel their excessive bulk into a standing position, the process repeated regularly to control their descent as they returned from their numerous ‘comfort breaks’. And without question, the seat in front of me, and from my perspective, the only seat on the entire aircraft, would be reclined fully within seconds of the seatbelt light switching off, and my personal space would be instantly halved as the aircraft hurtled still upwards, in blind search through the darkness, for its cruising altitude.

  In essence, every negative aspect of airline travel would be magnified into mild despair by my own company over the long journey.

  The screen lit up with a message. Please wait replaced its previous demand.

  I stood and obeyed. The words began to flash, to pulsate, and as I scanned I realised it was the only one to do so. One final flash, and without warning the words vanished entirely.

  Faruk had picked me up from Mary’s that morning and driven me the two hours to the airport. It was hard to imagine the necessity of the lightweight summer clothes that I stood in when my breath hung visibly in the air as I said goodbye to Mary and a thick layer of ice covered the windscreen of her Land Rover parked in the yard.

  Henry had travelled with Cerys and me last night when she dropped me off at Mary’s farmhouse before heading to an airport hotel. He couldn’t hide his excitement on seeing Mary again, the back half of his body moving from side to side as he wagged his tail at every syllable she uttered in his direction. I had concerns about Henry’s interaction with Ben and Alfie, her Border collies, and momentarily regretted taking Mary up on her offer of taking care of him while we were away. But it was unfounded, as after an initial wariness from all, the three soon settled down together on the kitchen floor. Perhaps they sensed they would be living as a pack for a reasonable time. Or perhaps Henry had changed.

  Mary appeared well, but she had lost some weight – she said she didn’t bother cooking for herself every night; she didn’t get hungry and didn’t like eating alone. I remembered how that felt. But tonight was an exception, as she happily feasted with me on the beef stew she had slow-cooked, starting from late that afternoon. Sitting at the kitchen table, talking with her as I had done on so many occasions, I regretted not spending more time with Mary since Clifford’s passing, but life goes on regardless, or in spite of our good intentions.

  Mary thought Cerys seemed nice; it was the first time they had met and it was a brief, cordial exchange. She didn’t really say any more and she didn’t mention Sally, just vaguely stated that she didn’t understand young people today. I wouldn’t categorise myself as young, but concluded that Mary disapproved of the situation.

  I thanked Faruk a number of times for driving me while en route to the airport – the round trip was, after all, four hours out of his day – but each one of my statements was waved away as unimportant and resulted in a ‘No trouble, any time, Eddie.’ His driving style could be best described as ‘relaxed’ – his fingers barely gripped the steering wheel, his elbow rested on the window and he weaved from lane to lane with little or no notification of his forthcoming actions to the other drivers he passed. His mind seemed preoccupied, and he spoke about Jennifer a lot. How she had changed his life, given him purpose – I thought the same was evident for Jennifer, judging by the weight she had lost and the huge smile she was giving in the photo he proudly displayed on the dashboard, but I let it pass. She seemed so happy, the thing we all deserve.

  As we pulled up in front of the terminal, Faruk told me to try to visit a retired colonel he had heard about who lived in a run-down bungalow. The colonel was known to happily invite travellers in to share afternoon tea and tales of a long-lost world on his shaded veranda, and to snooze in wicker colonial chairs until the evening brought relief from the relentless sun.

  He repeated the colonel’s name again, and the town where his bungalow was located, in deliberate syllables.

  ‘Don’t forget,’ he said to me.

  As I exited the car and retrieved my backpack from the boot I tried to put money into Faruk’s shirt pocket to reimburse him at least for his fuel, but he removed it quickly and slapped it back into my hand.

  ‘You will do the same for me one day, Eddie, maybe to take us on honeymoon!’ he laughed.

  I admitted defeat and stepped back, as he jumped back into the driving seat. He honked the horn twice and was away, pulling out into the flow of traffic without warning.

  Once inside the terminal building I instantly forgot the name of the colonel and the location of his veranda and colonial chairs.

  The screen finally gave me the instruction: Gate 001 appeared. Following direction from the overhead yellow signs, it soon became apparent that Gate 001 was not in close proximity to the hubbub I had been immersed in. As I walked, ranges of gate numbers frequently branched off to the left or right, until only individual gates were left to choose from, counting down sequentially.

  Uninvited, the subject that kept occupying me and which I kept pushing away returned – Cerys’ blue car and that rainy November evening. I knew I could take her to the place where Rebecca was knocked down – I would find it by instinct, the stretch of road was burnt into my memory – but would Cerys remember the place? Would it even be the same place, or would a false memory play with h
er, manipulating her recollection to form a connection that wasn’t there? But what if it was the place and her eyes betrayed her – how would I feel, how would I react?

  I had told Cerys about Rebecca on the beach with Henry the day after I had been to Eebiss. The timing and location seemed somehow right. She had listened quietly as we walked across the sand, my eyes focused firmly on the mountains that faced me. I explained she had been hit by a car and had died of her injuries, and until recently I hadn’t been able to move on. I didn’t mention Ignatius McKenzie, or his revelations.

  Cerys stopped walking, turned to face me and held her arms out. I buried my face in the nape of her neck and felt her arms close around me as the last remaining strands of grief were squeezed gently from my being.

  Back at the car, while we waited for Henry to lap his water, Cerys asked if I had any photographs of my daughter. I told her no, which she was surprised to hear. When pressed further, I confirmed there would be some at the house, stored away, quite like her cake photos or the one from her catering college days. She suggested that when I returned to the house I should retrieve some, frame them and place them in a prominent spot of my choice in her mother’s house on the shore of the endless sand flats, sky and ever-changing light.

  I did not know if I should ever mention to Cerys the blue car noted by the driver who killed my daughter – would it make any difference if it remained unspoken, the possible connection never pursued? Would revealing it change everything? That instant gut feeling I voiced at her confession of guilt remained: where do you stop applying the blame?

  Gate 001 – Mumbai finally greeted me at the far end of the airport. Half the seats were already occupied and I had no idea how my fellow passengers had got here before me. As I looked around to find Cerys, still nervous in case she had had a change of heart, my phone rang in my pocket. I extracted it and didn’t recognise the number.

  ‘Hello, Eddie Dungiven,’ I said.

  ‘Hello?’ replied the female caller.

  ‘Hello, Eddie Dungiven,’ I repeated.

  ‘Is that the Party King?’ the voice asked, confusion in her voice.

  ‘Yes it is; how can I help you?’

  ‘I would like to make a booking for a child’s party.’

  ‘Okay, but I am not around for a while – I am actually at an airport,’ I revealed.

  ‘Oh, this is for early summer,’ she replied. ‘You provide bouncy castles?’ she added.

  ‘Yes, we do.’

  ‘Excellent – my daughter is a very girly girl, would you have anything like that?’ she asked.

  ‘We have a large fairy-princess castle with pink towers and battlements that we could supply.’

  ‘That sounds perfect!’ she replied happily. ‘Can I book it, please?’

  ‘Certainly, just text over the date and time and I will hold it for you.’

  ‘Oh thank you, she will be so pleased!’

  ‘No problem,’ I replied.

  ‘Enjoy your break, where are you flying to?’ she asked.

  But before I could answer, there was a tap on my shoulder. I didn’t think I was speaking too loudly, didn’t think somebody would complain, and I span around ready to confront an unnecessary dispute, but instead found Cerys standing before me, a huge, warm smile on her face.

  We kissed as I cut off the phone call, my interest solely on her.

  ‘Did you bring it?’ she asked excitedly, breaking away.

  I reached into my bag and removed a bottle of grapefruit seed extract and waved it playfully in front of her.

  There was sudden activity at the gate.

  ‘BA flight 139 to Mumbai is now ready for boarding through Gate 001,’ the ground crew informed us.

  The words forced all the waiting passengers to automatically stand and pick up their flight bags and begin to shuffle toward the gate.

  ‘Will the passengers seated in rows thirty-five to forty-five only step forward with their boarding passes for inspection and passports open at the photo page?’ came the response to this mass movement.

  When our turn came, we greeted the gate attendant warmly as she checked our details, our smiles in sharp contrast to the stern images in the passports we offered to confirm our identities.

  Once airborne, with the ground falling rapidly below us, the engines carried the weight of the full fuel tanks and the heavy expectations of those on board.

  But neither of us could settle; Cerys fidgeted with her pillow, placing it behind her head, then her back, then her head again, before discarding it onto the floor. I took the bottles of water from my hand luggage under the seat in front of me and stowed them in the rear pocket. Sitting back for mere moments, I suddenly bent forward again to search and rummage through the same bag for my MP3 player, only to remember I had previously placed it in the same pocket as the water. I didn’t need it; I just wanted to know it was there in case I wanted to use it. I took one of the water bottles out and offered it to Cerys, who shook her head in reply and instead took out the entertainment console from its bracket in front of her, which had suddenly grabbed her attention. At this rate, with this level of nervous energy spent, the coming hours will be a major endurance test , I thought.

  But we did settle; the relief that we had made it, that we were flying to meet the sun as it dragged the darkness behind it, contented us.

  And as I expected, in unison with the seatbelt sign on the flight deck switching off, the seat in front of me reclined fully with a violent thud.

  Cerys clasped her hand to her mouth and buried her head in my shoulder, trying to smother her laughter.

  ‘See,’ I hissed, pointing at the TV screen now inches from my chest. My actions merely made her stifled laughter even harder to control.

  She eventually looked up at me and said, ‘In just under eight hours, Eddie, we will land in a place that will bombard your senses. The noise, the chaos, the sheer amount of people and the total disregard of personal space are unprecedented. The heat, the vibrant colours all around and the direct questions delivered with huge, warm, genuine smiles are not anything you will have experienced before. You can read every guidebook, every travel blog, every brochure, but nothing will prepare you for that initial shock that is India. You can either embrace it and go with it and discover something too precious to ever describe with words, or you can fight against it, loathe it and hone in on its imperfections as your sole memories.’

  And I have to admit that after an age waiting to clear immigration and being safely reunited with my panel-loading backpack, Cerys’ prediction was proven correct, as the doors opened to reveal a scene I would never have been able to imagine.

  Life had changed.

  I was happy.