by Mike Gayle
‘So what’s changed?’
‘I saw her about a month ago.’
‘By accident?’
‘She called me . . . and . . . well, I can’t really explain it but something happened that . . . well, all I can say is it put a seed of doubt in my mind. I’m not sure I didn’t make a huge mistake in letting her go. And, well, when she gets married in the morning that’ll be it. I’ll never know.’
‘What changed your mind?’ asks Marian, looking intrigued.
‘I could tell you but it wouldn’t make much sense.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you have to know the full story. You had to be there.’
‘So why don’t you tell me the full story? We’re not landing for quite a few hours yet. You can’t sleep and I love listening.’
‘Look, this isn’t very me. I don’t do this sort of thing.’
‘It’s just talking. A problem shared is a problem halved and all that. But who knows? In telling me about this woman—’
‘Alison.’
‘In telling me about Alison you might clear things up for yourself.’
I have my reservations even though what she’s saying makes total sense. But, given that I don’t have a better solution and she seems a nice person, I decide to give it a go. ‘Are you sure you won’t get bored?’ I ask.
‘Absolutely not,’ she replies. ‘I love hearing people’s stories.’
I clear my throat. ‘Okay, I’ll tell you all about me and Alison.’
2.15 a.m. (UK time)
8.15 p.m. (US time)
As cups of tea go, the one in my hand has probably been one of the best of my life. While I’m drinking it I’m learning several things about the night porter. His name is Anatoly, he’s fifty-five and has been living in Warwick for the past five years since he moved here from London. He’s originally from Siberia, has two grown-up daughters (one my age who lives in Moscow and a younger one in Ottawa) and an ex-wife still in Siberia. I love listening to him talk about his life: his whole manner is comforting. I can’t help but feel there is something not only wise about this man but trustworthy too.
‘Now do you feel better?’
‘Yes, much better, thank you.’
‘But not tired?’
I laugh. ‘It must be the tea.’
Anatoly laughs with me, then looks serious for a moment. ‘Do you want to tell me why you cry? Is it because of the wedding?’
I nod.
‘Is he not a nice man?’
‘He’s lovely.’
‘You don’t love this man, then?’
‘I love him to bits.’
‘But?’
I smile. He’s right. There is a ‘but’. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Love is always complicated,’ says Anatoly. ‘That’s why it’s love.’
‘The reason I can’t sleep is that I’ve got something on my mind . . . or maybe it would be more accurate to say that I’ve got someone on my mind.’
‘Not the man you marry tomorrow?’
‘A man from my past.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you?’ I ask. ‘Do you really? Because I don’t. I don’t see at all.’
‘This other man – do you love him too?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Does he love you?’
I let out a small laugh. ‘I don’t know that either. He more than likely doesn’t. All I do know is that a month ago I saw him for the first time in nearly four years and something happened and it’s made me . . . well, it’s made me unsure. How can I not be sure if I love someone else when I’m going to get married in a few hours? It isn’t fair on Marcus. It would always feel like he was getting second best.’
‘Why don’t you contact this other man?’
‘Tonight? I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right, would it? The morning of my wedding.’
‘But surely you have something to say to him?’
‘No, he’s been on my mind a lot, that’s all. We were together a long time, you see. We even got married. It was the longest relationship of my life.’
‘And this thing that happened, what was it?’
‘It’s hard to explain without telling you everything.’
Anatoly smiles. ‘Then tell me everything.’
‘Everything?’
‘Well, you can’t sleep. And I am sitting here all night. And you say you want someone to talk to. Why not?’
‘Because . . . well, because you don’t want to hear about me and my ex-husband.’
‘But I tell you I do.’ Anatoly raises his eyebrows.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. I’ll make us another cup of tea and then you tell me everything about this other man. What’s his name?’
‘Jim,’ I reply. ‘His name’s Jim.’
9.15 p.m. (US time)
3.15 a.m. (UK time)
‘Would you like a mid-flight snack?’ interrupts the stewardess.
‘What is there?’ I ask, even though I’d heard her, less than twenty seconds ago, give Marian the options.
‘A cheese roll, a tuna roll or a ham roll.’
‘What kind of cheese is it?’
‘Cheddar.’
‘I’ll have the ham,’ I reply.
The stewardess hands me a tray, then has to go through the whole thing again for the benefit of the man next to me because he was listening to his headphones.
‘How’s your food?’ I ask Marian, who ordered the tuna.
‘Good,’ she replies. ‘I love airline food. How does yours look?’
I take the cellophane off my roll. It looks about as unhappy as me. ‘Unappetising.’
Marian laughs. ‘Right then, well, if the food’s that bad there’s no excuse for not getting back to your story.’
3.17 a.m. (UK time)
9.17 p.m. (US time)
‘Taxi in the name of Perkins,’ says a large bespectacled man in a thick grey jumper, interrupting my conversation with Anatoly.
‘Which room?’ asks Anatoly.
The taxi driver shrugs so Anatoly has to look up the name on the hotel computer.
‘Room twelve,’ he says eventually. ‘I’ll ring them.’ He picks up the phone and dials their number. ‘There’s a taxi here for you,’ he says, when they pick up. There’s a long silence while Anatoly listens to the reply. ‘They say they didn’t order a taxi,’ he tells the driver.
‘I’ll check with base,’ says the taxi driver gruffly.
Anatoly smiles in my direction, as if to apologise for the interruption. A few moments later the taxi driver returns.
‘It wasn’t Perkins,’ he says. ‘It was Hodgkins.’
Anatoly sighs wearily, then goes through the same process all over again. This time it’s the right person. ‘They’ll be down in a moment.
‘I’ll wait in the cab,’ says the driver.
Anatoly turns to me. ‘I’m sorry about that.’
I laugh. ‘There’s nothing to be sorry for. You have a job to do.’
‘But, still, it’s not nice, these interruptions. They break up your story.’
‘Right,’ I say, smiling. ‘Now, where were we?’
10.01 p.m. (US time)
4.01 a.m. (UK time)
‘Excuse me,’ says the bloke sitting next to me, stopping my narrative.
I notice it’s that curious time on flights when people start getting up en masse to use the loo as if they’ve all got synchronised bladders. I unbuckle my seat-belt, Marian undoes hers and we shuffle into the aisle to let him go through.
‘It feels good to stand up,’ says Marian.
‘Hmm,’ I say absentmindedly. I’m looking towards the front of the plane trying to spot Helen.
‘Looking for your girlfriend?’
I nod. ‘I’m suddenly feeling a bit guilty telling you all this stuff. I mean, right now you know stuff about me that Helen has no idea about.’
‘The way you’ve got to look at it is this: whatever happens, us talking
is going to benefit her. If you decide to stay with her at least you know that you’ve thought it all through. If you decide that Alison’s for you, you’ll be doing Helen a big favour because it’s better that you let her down now rather than later.’
I think for a moment. ‘Do you think it’s inevitable I’ll let her down?’
‘Only if you’re in love with someone else.’
Suddenly I feel uncomfortable. ‘I do love, Helen, you know . . . I’d better go and see her.’
I walk up the aisle towards her seat, looking for the top of her head as I get closer. I can’t see it and only realise why when I’m standing parallel to her row: she’s fast asleep. Her head’s resting on her shoulder and a blanket is covering her legs. She looks absolutely peaceful. The woman next to her eyes me suspiciously. I give her an awkward half-smile and head back to my seat.
4.07 a.m. (UK time)
10.07 p.m. (US time)
‘Would you like more tea?’ asks Anatoly, as I pause in my narrative to get my bearings.
‘I’m fine,’ I reply.
‘Do you mind if I have one?’ he asks.
‘No, by all means, carry on,’ I tell him, and he disappears.
Bored, I begin leafing through the in-tray for anything interesting. I’m just about to check the out-tray when I hear someone behind me.
‘Hello,’ says a girl in her early twenties. ‘I wonder if we could have the key to room eighteen.’
‘No problem,’ I reply, and stand up to get it off the board. This is the moment, however, when I realise the girl in front of me is not alone.
‘Alison, is that you?’ It’s my cousin Martin. He’s about the same age as me and works as a solicitor in Barking.
‘Hi,’ I say sheepishly. ‘I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing behind the reception desk of the hotel at this late hour.’ I look at the girl. ‘Hi, I’m Martin’s cousin. I suspect you might be staying here because you’re coming to my wedding tomorrow.’
‘Er . . . hi,’ says the girl. ‘I’m Jessica, Martin’s girlfriend.’
‘Hi, I’m really pleased to meet you.’ I turn to Martin, who is wearing a very puzzled frown. ‘It’s good to see you, Martin. You look great.’
‘Thanks,’ he replies, clearly bemused. ‘And you’re doing what in Reception?’
‘I didn’t have any tea in my room,’ I explain, ‘so the nice night porter, who was sitting here less than a minute ago, made some and we’ve been talking ever since.’
Martin laughs. I step out from the counter and kiss him. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he says. ‘You just took me a bit by surprise, that’s all. We’ve been to dinner with some friends I hadn’t seen for years, which is why we’re so late. Anyway, we’ll be off to bed now. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘I’m back,’ says Anatoly, returning from the office at the rear with two mugs of tea. ‘I made you one anyway . . .’ His voice trails off when he realises we’re not alone.
‘Anatoly, this is my cousin Martin and his girlfriend Jessica.’ I gesture to Anatoly. ‘Martin and Jessica, Anatoly the night porter.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ they chime, and Martin fakes a yawn. ‘Anyway, we’d better get off.’
‘They seem like nice people,’ says Anatoly.
‘They are, but I think I’m going to be the gossip of the day among my dad’s side of the family after this . . . Anyway, where were we?’
10.53 p.m. (US time)
4.53 a.m. (UK time)
I’m just about to tell Marian the next instalment of the saga when I look up and spot Helen heading down the plane towards us.
‘It’s Helen,’ I say, panicking, ‘my girlfriend! She’s coming down the plane.’
‘What are you worrying about?’ asks Marian. ‘It’s not like she’s got supersonic hearing, is it?’
‘Good point,’ I say, trying to calm down, even though I can see her getting closer by the second. ‘What’s going to be our cover story? I’ll tell you what. You were just sitting next to me and you asked me what the time was and I told you and that was that.’ Marian laughs. ‘You can’t laugh,’ I tell her. ‘Helen will know I’ve made you laugh and then—’ It’s too late, she’s here.
‘Hey, babe,’ she says, standing in the aisle. ‘The turbulence woke me up so I thought I’d come and stretch my legs and see you.’
‘I came up earlier to see you but you were fast asleep.’
I can feel Marian looking at me expectantly, waiting for an introduction.
‘This is Marian,’ I say hesitantly.
‘Your boyfriend has been keeping me company,’ she explains. ‘I know his entire life story.’
Helen laughs, then gives me a secret look as if to say, ‘Oh, no, you’ve got the nutter, after all.’ Then she turns to Marian and says, ‘I bet you know more than me—’
Fortunately she’s cut short by the pilot requesting passengers to return to their seats as there’s more turbulence coming up.
‘I’d better go,’ says Helen. She blows me a kiss, then mouths the word ‘Sorry’, and says aloud, ‘I’ll see you a bit later.’
I breathe a deep sigh of relief.
4.55 a.m. (UK time)
10.55 p.m. (US time)
Once again the story of Jim and me grinds to a halt. An attractive young woman in a cream overcoat is at the reception desk. She’s standing next to a much older man wearing a navy blue jacket and grey trousers. They’re both looking curiously at me, probably because I’m sitting on a chair in the small office at the rear of the desk looking decidedly scruffy. I smile back as if to say, ‘Mind your own business,’ even though I’m curious as to where they’ve been until this late hour.
‘Could I have the keys to room eight, please?’ asks the young woman.
‘Of course, madam,’ says Anatoly. He hands them to her. ‘Goodnight.’
The couple take a last look at me and frown, as if there’s something improper going on but they’re not sure what it is.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ says Anatoly, sitting down. ‘Where were we?’
‘Never mind that,’ I say. ‘What was their story? That man was old enough to be my grandad. What was he still doing up? It’s practically morning.’
‘A good night porter knows when not to ask questions,’ says Anatoly, smiling knowingly. ‘Now . . .’
11.13 p.m. (US time)
5.13 a.m. (UK time)
‘Hot towelettes?’ asks the stewardess, interrupting my flow once again. Fortunately I’d all but finished telling Marian the story of me and Alison. All that remained was what happened after we sold the flat and our meeting a month ago.
‘No, thanks,’ I reply, but Marian takes one so, for no reason at all, I change my mind. ‘I’ll have one, actually,’ I say, as the stewardess passes one with plastic tongs to the bloke next to me. She hands me a towelette so scaldingly hot I’m sure I can smell my flesh singeing.
‘Am I fully up to date with your story now?’ asks Marian.
‘Not quite,’ I reply. ‘There’s just one thing left, really. It’s the reason why I’m not sleeping and why I can’t think straight. It’s the reason why I’m telling you my story.’
‘What happened?’
‘Of course I’ll go into more detail if you want me to, but in a nutshell it was this. The cat I bought Alison ten years ago died and she called to let me know. I went to the vet’s with her, to keep her company, and we went for a drink afterwards. And during an afternoon of talking, it felt like we were the only two people in North London, I felt like we reconnected to such an extent that the last four years hadn’t happened. And as we said goodbye, we kissed, and for her I think it was just a momentary slip but for me it was everything. That’s why I’m not sleeping. I’m still in love with my ex-wife.’
5.15 a.m. (UK time)
11.15 p.m. (US time)
Anatoly and I are now in the hotel kitchen. As well as manning Reception during the night, one of the other roles of the night porter is to look after prep
aration of food ordered from the limited room-service menu. While he makes a club sandwich for room nine I make ham rolls for us to eat in Reception. I walk up to the room with him to keep him company as he delivers the sandwich, then together we return to Reception. I can heard the birds singing outside even though it’s still quite dark. And I’m beginning to feel tired. I’m starting to worry about how I’m going to get through the day ahead. I know, however, that even if I do go to bed now I won’t sleep. At least, not until I’ve told Anatoly the reason why I’m having so much trouble sleeping in the first place.
‘So where are we in your story?’ asks Anatoly, as we sit down.
‘I think we’re nearly done, apart from the main event. A meeting with Jim after a four-year break, which ended with a kiss that has turned my whole world upside down.’
11.26 p.m. (US time)
5.26 a.m. (UK time)
‘So what are you going to do?’ asks Marian, now that my narrative has drawn to a conclusion. ‘You’ve admitted you still love her. And if she’s getting married today this is going to be your last chance.’
‘To do what?’ I reply, as the man next to me opens the blind on the cabin window. ‘To tell her not to marry the man she’s been happily living with?’ I pause and look out of the window. ‘Let’s look at what really happened, Marian. Alison and I spent an afternoon together and we got a bit sentimental because our cat died.’
‘But you kissed her.’
‘But that’s it – it was just a kiss. I can’t change my entire life for a kiss. Helen’s supposed to be moving in with me today. I really can’t imagine that when I get off this plane I’m going to split up with Helen and travel all the way to Warwickshire, or wherever it is she’s getting married, to beg her to reconsider just because I’ve had some sort of epiphany. I don’t live in Hollywood, Marian. I live in East Finchley. Things like that don’t happen in East Finchley.’
‘Well, maybe they ought to,’ says Marian, with a smile. ‘Today is Valentine’s Day after all. If things like that can happen in the real world then a day designed for lovers must be the best day for it.’
