by C. B. Martin
Of course, the first thing I would have to do is actually find Travis. I hadn’t actually thought properly about how I would do that yet.
I decided he could be in one of three possible places. I would grab a taxi to the training ground first, and then swing past the local coffee haunt. Failing that, it’s then going to have to be Dougie’s house. If Travis wasn't there, I would just have to wait it out till he was.
Once on the plane, I struggled past the cramped flight deck and down the aisle while desperately trying to prevent my fur coat from accidentally flying open to reveal all. That really would be a humiliation too far. Eventually, I spotted an empty seat near the back and squeezed my way into it. As soon as I had fastened my seatbelt, I immediately closed my watery eyes to avoid talking to anyone. For good measure, I sent my best, cold ‘do-not-even-try-to-talk-to-me’ signals to the young girl sitting next to me.
I needed a stiff drink. My nerves were absolutely shot to bits. I really hadn't thought of what I would even say to Travis when (or if) I eventually found him. Maybe I wouldn’t say anything at all. Maybe I would simply drop my fur coat to the floor in front of him and that would say it all for me?
I visualised the scene of his stern face breaking into a smile as my coat floated to the floor. He’d step forward and take me in his arms and it would be just like it was in that fairytale hotel where he had confessed his love to me.
The vibrations of takeoff shuddered me back into the real world. I opened my eyes because I knew I could never sleep. I just didn't know what to do with myself. As soon as the seatbelt sign flicked off, I pressed the call button for a hostess to come to my aid. I didn’t really know what I wanted, but I needed something to bring me up and out of this stupor. I was in a complete mess and unable to stop myself analysing this and dissecting that. I just couldn’t get my head around what had happened.
I needed a drink and I needed one now.
As my mind raced, I became aware of the young girl sitting next to me retching. How gross. I really didn’t need this. I fumbled around in the seat pocket for a sick bag for her (or, more accurately, for me). Please don’t get any vomit on my fur coat, I thought, eyes rolling. I turned my whole body away from her, my mouth now filling up with warm, foul-tasting saliva at the sounds of her gagging.
These kids obviously can’t hold their drink, I thought, condescendingly.
‘One too many?’ I enquired, perhaps a little heartlessly. Post-drink recriminations are always better for the morning after. I wasn’t exactly sure if what I had said was a question or a statement, but never mind. As far as I was concerned, I really was going above and beyond. She shook her head as I handed her another sick bag while I was simultaneously pushing the help button frantically above me. I really did need a hostess to come and help. Right now.
‘I’m so, so sorry,’ she spluttered between retches and then pointed at her tummy as she continued to gag. Now I looked at her properly, I was overcome with a wave of empathy. She was clearly pregnant.
‘Oh, you poor thing,’ I said, my voice now full of maternal sympathy. I immediately felt awful about my snap judgment of her.
‘Five months gone, still being sick,’ she confessed with a tiny embarrassed smile.
She looked way too young to be having a baby. Her face was small and pale with neat little features. Despite my sympathy to her plight, I couldn’t help thinking her boring brown hair blended in seamlessly with her boring brown polo-neck. Pushing the thought away, the mother in me took over and I pulled tissues out of my bag to pass to her. She really doesn't want to let herself go like that, I thought to myself, turning away from her to avoid the wafting stench.
That’s dangerous territory, letting yourself go like that. And it’s certainly not an excuse to wear those colours. You wouldn't catch me throwing up in public with morning sickness like that. I mean, she could have at least waited until she was off the airplane and worn something a little more fetching.
I discreetly slipped my hand inside my fur coat and smugly patted my tummy, proud that my unborn baby knew how to behave. Good genes you see, they make all the difference.
Lost in my dreams, I didn’t even notice the girl had left her seat. She’d obviously gone off to finish her puking in the loos. Good… ahh yes… my double vodka and coke had arrived. I had a momentary internal tussle as to whether I should be drinking spirits in my condition, but decided one couldn’t do much harm. My baby was probably only the size of a jellybean anyway and I was sure it wouldn’t count. Besides, these were exceptional circumstances. I made my mind up and swigged it back. I instantly felt a lot better. That was a good thing, because we were just about to land in Dublin.
I don’t know what they put in that stuff, but within a few minutes I was experiencing a fully blown, out-of-body experience as I left the aircraft. Adrenaline was rushing around my body. I honestly felt like I was on drugs. I had the sensation that I was watching myself from above, like it was happening to someone else. But the intense longing to confront and seduce Travis was more powerful than anything I’d ever felt. The internal conflict waved backwards and forwards constantly. The feeling would cycle from my head all the way down to my stomach, endlessly pumping through my veins. I couldn’t resist the feeling of hope that I could somehow win him back.
Then the doubts came flooding out. Was I really going to walk into his life and demand an explanation, with no warning? A little voice in my head knocked at my heart. What if he rejects you? What if he laughs in your face? No, no, I can’t let myself think like that, I said, trying to bury the little voice. I was entitled to get some answers and I wasn’t leaving without any. Travis owed me that much.
I paced numbly towards the exit, swept along by the crowd of people leaving the plane. My body shook and trembled with every step. Most of my confidence and bravado had disappeared. My legs were on autopilot, yet I felt like I was free falling out of control. Once through passport control I had to try and pull myself together quickly, so I diverted my path to the toilets. As I walked through the large swing door, a familiar retching sound crept its way back to my ears.
‘Pregnant girl from the plane, is that you?’ I called over the cubicle where the noise was coming from. No answer. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yep… fine…’ the splattering she was making in the toilet bowl suggested otherwise.
Why did I have to develop a conscience now?
‘Umm…’ I rested my head on the outside of the cubicle door, unsure of what to do next. ‘Is anyone coming to get you?’
[Louder splatters and splashes.]
‘Eww… I’m fine! Don’t worry about me, I’m being picked up…’ she gulped.
‘Okay - well, good luck. Bye!’ I said with relief as I detached myself from the situation. I was really glad I wasn’t in her shoes. I’m sure Travis would never tolerate such weakness. I am so glad my pregnancy is trouble-free.
I took one long, lingering look at myself before I swung the door open to leave the ladies. My footsteps echoed eerily in the now-empty terminal building as I proceeded towards the Arrivals for Dublin, my eyes immediately spotted a gorgeous hunk of man.
‘Travis?’ my scalp pricked as I did a double take.
There he was. Right in front of me, casually leaning against a pillar, waiting. I saw him glance up in surprise, his body now rigid as he spotted me.
The surprise and colour drained from Travis’ face and was replaced with an expression full of wide-eyed horror.
I stopped in my tracks: happy, shocked and confused.
All my plans and elaborate scenarios disappeared from my mind. The only sound I was aware of was the loud thump of my heart which seemed to be trying to break through my chest.
Then, two things happened very quickly. I heard footsteps close behind me and saw Travis’ expression change. It softened, but still looked full of panic. He was looking at the source of the footsteps behind me.
I turned my head just as the person behind drew up beside me. It was
the young, sick, pregnant girl. She wasn’t looking at me though. She was staring straight ahead at Travis with a huge, sloppy smile.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered to me gently as she walked past. Then, as she picked up speed walking straight towards Travis, she called out to him. ‘This kind lady has been like a mum, looking after me and your baby on the flight.’
Each word was like a knife stabbing me in the heart. I was frozen to the spot, my head spinning, unable to take it all in. Looking at Travis I could see his pleading eyes burning into mine, begging me not to say anything as she enveloped herself into him.
And I didn't. I couldn’t. I was utterly paralysed. I wanted to scream at the top of my voice, ‘but I’m wearing my fur coat and no knickers…!’ surely he couldn't pick that dowdy, pregnant, sick girl over me?
Pregnant sick girl turns to give me one last cheery wave, grinning all over her little pretty face as she buries herself under the protective cloak of Travis’ arm. Tearing his eyes away from me, he bent down and kissed her tenderly on top of her head. Then, for one more kick while I was down, he leaned over and rubbed her tummy and whispered something into her ear. I caught sight of her giggling. Without a second glance back at me, the pair of them turned and walked away. As I watched them go off hand in hand, I felt compelled to scream out and say something, but no words would leave my open mouth.
Then, as they reached the sliding doors of the terminal, I saw Travis briefly turn his head to look over his shoulder. Our eyes met, for what I knew would be the last time ever. The expression within them was so unlike anything I had ever seen before. Travis, my own love God - the man who had made me feel like no one had ever done before - looked at me with complete, chilly disdain. With that, he turned back and he and his pregnant girlfriend disappeared into the crowd outside the airport.
I don’t know how long I stood there, unable to move or speak. I felt sick and numb as I became vaguely aware that tears were falling down my cheeks. Then I heard my mobile begin to ring. I hadn't even realised that I had it on during the flight.
Fumbling around in my bag, I finally managed to locate it and answered it without looking at who was calling.
‘Miss Tara Ryan?’ said the caller. The voice didn’t sound familiar.
‘… Ye, uh… yes?’ I answered, feeling nailed to the spot.
‘It’s the practice nurse here, calling from the doctors surgery,’ went on the brisk, professional sounding voice. ‘We have your blood test results through and there is a note here that you wanted to be called as soon as the results came in. This is just to let you know there is nothing serious to worry about. It looks like you are simply entering into the menopause.’
At that moment, I felt my legs crumple beneath me and my whole body crashed to the floor.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
[Text from mum]
I think that Botox has made u go a bit funny. Get the doc to check it hasn’t leaked into your head. Love u xx
…
[Text to mum]
No mum, it can’t leak into your head!! I’m just tired and can’t sleep X
…
[Text from mum]
Ur such a beautiful looking girl, u really don’t need all that stuff. Please leave ur self alone Xxx
I pulled up to the surgery in a daze, not quite remembering the drive. My breathing was short, shallow and I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. I placed one hand on top of the other to try and control the anxiety. Just getting out of the car felt like an impossible task.
After enduring two weeks of this hell, I was so tired of my thoughts, so tired of the pain, so tired of not being able to sleep. All I wanted was for my head to shut up, but it just kept on chattering - I was utterly exhausted from it. My mind had become my enemy.
Each waking moment was an overwhelming emotional battle that I could no longer endure. He wasn’t mine to love. He never was mine in the first place, but that didn’t stop the waves of grief or the stomach-churning misery that continued to peak as I thought about Travis and her together.
I wrenched my weary mind back and began to gather myself to face the fact that… I actually couldn’t face the facts. Mustering up all my strength, I counted to three, held my breath and made a run for the doctor’s surgery. I prayed no one would see me. It wasn’t just that I was still wearing my pajamas, covered with a hastily donned overcoat. I just wanted to hide myself away from the world. I just wanted to go back to the familiar sanctity of my bed, away from everyone.
Luckily, it didn’t take long for me to be seen by the doctor. But, the minute the doctor made eye contact and asked me how I was, that was it. My chin started to tremble and my face contorted as I fought the tears back. I gulped hard in an effort to pull myself together. I wanted to scream and shout about what I was feeling, but I knew it was pointless. I knew I could never be fixed. I just hung my head and sniffed hard.
‘I think I may be a little down,’ I finally blurted out, along with a torrent of tears. ‘I can’t cope.’
The doctor handed me a box of tissues.
‘I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. Please can you give me something to make this pain go away?’
‘What pain are you feeling, Tara?’ he asked gently, looking at me over his glasses. I sat in silence and shrugged my shoulders. ‘Are you having suicidal thoughts?’
‘What?!’ I asked abruptly. ‘Of course I’m not. I would never commit such a sin!’
I couldn’t bring myself to admit that in fact, I had been praying every night to the Big-Man upstairs, wanting him to take me away in my sleep. After all, he decides when your time’s up. But as of yet, my prayers had gone un-answered.
‘What do you think is making you feel this way, Tara?’
‘Where do I start?’ I began, my head spinning with what I should say. ‘Anything that could go wrong in my life has. Everything is just such a mess. Work has really slowed down and I just feel under so much pressure all the time.’
‘Okay,’ he nodded encouragingly, ‘do you get much exercise? It can really raise your serotonin levels.’
The silly fecker, I thought. I’m sure I had some of that injected into my face recently.
‘Well I used to, but now I can’t seem to muster up the energy,’ I said, my voice faltering. This wasn’t going as I expected. I would just have to be very specific.
‘Doctor, please can you give me something so I can calm myself down? Maybe some sleeping tablets? And some triple strength Prozac? Can I have the strongest ones you have please? I just want to stop feeling like this.’
‘I don’t think that would be the right solution for you,’ he said in a patronising tone.
‘Pardon?’ I said sharply, the tears stopping instantly.
‘Well, Tara, all the pills will do is simply mask the problem… what we need is to resolve whatever it is that is making you feel this way, not cover it up.’
‘So what are you saying?’ I asked uncomfortably, twitching in my chair. I knew that no amount of time, money or comforting conversation could undo the past. Or change the fact that Travis - the man who had practically asked me to marry him - was having a baby with his young girlfriend. ‘Surely you’re not saying I can’t have any happy pills? Can I just have double strength Prozac then?’
Maybe I was being a little greedy asking for triple strength.
‘Well, it sounds like you have a lot of emotional issues to work through. I think it would do some good if you talked to a professional. I’m suggesting we get you to see our counsellor.’
‘I don’t need to see a counsellor!’ I barked sharply, unable to hide my annoyance. ‘I want to be numb so I can’t feel anything. Is that really too much to ask for?’
‘You need to feel something, Tara. I’ll get that referral for you.’
‘But that could take weeks and I can’t spend another hour feeling like this,’ I said, starting to really panic now. ‘Will they give me some numbing tablets?’
‘They can be highly addictive, they only add
to the problem.’ He said, sounding very matter of fact.
I couldn’t take in what he was saying. My nerve endings were screaming: please God; not another day, hour or minute like this.
‘Look, I know that you’re a really busy man and you probably have a queue of real lunatics who need to see a counsellor… and it’s really kind of you to offer… but if you can just give me a prescription I can get out of your way,’ I pleaded, ‘and I won’t tell another soul - I promise.’
‘I’m just booking the referral now,’ he said, tapping on his computer.
A boiling temper began raging inside me.
‘I am not happy. I am not happy at all. I am not leaving till you give me something. It’s not fair! All my friends are on numbing tablets (well, all the fecked up ones anyway). In fact, all the celebrities are on them… you know, life is hard enough.’
By now, I was up on my feet and pacing the floor. ‘It’s one big battle out there. I’m tired of fighting - so don’t you battle with me too. You’re supposed to be helping me. You’re supposed to be on my side. Just give me the God damn pills!’
With that, the Doctor’s face showed that he had given in, as he silently printed me off a prescription. Immensely satisfied with my performance, I calmed down.
‘I will give you a four-week supply, by which time your referral to the counsellor will be through,’ he said handing over the precious prescription. ‘But please remember, Tara, this is only for the short term.’
