The Chance of a Lifetime

by kendra Smith

  It was the phone. She glanced at her watch, couldn’t quite focus – one in the morning? When you are on the other side of the world from your family and the phone goes after midnight it’s to do with them. Always. And they won’t be phoning about their begonia seedlings. She bolted out of bed and ran downstairs two steps at a time.

  ‘Katie?’

  ‘Tom, it’s one in the morning for Chrissake, I don’t want to talk about this any—’

  ‘Katie, listen. It’s Dad.’

  ‘Gramps? What’s happened to him?’ Her heart was in her mouth.

  ‘Fell. Lay there on the cold floor… for an hour, ambulance came—’

  Tom explained to Katie as she stood there in her pink fleece dressing gown about how Gramps had lain on a cold floor for an hour, that he had then inched his way to the cabinet where the phone was, pulled the phone cord so it fell on his face and bruised it. That he had then managed to make the call and wait for the ambulance.

  She couldn’t bear to think about it. We really are on the wrong side of the world…

  ‘He’s unconscious, Katie; his body has gone into shock.’ She could hear Tom quietly sobbing down the phone.

  ‘We can be back in twenty-four hours, you know,’ she replied gently. What she didn’t say was that that was precisely enough time for someone to go from being unconscious and into a coma.

  ‘I’ll book the tickets. I’ll text you the details. There are two flights a day from Sydney. I’ll fly down.’ He was curt, hung up after that.

  As she wandered around the chilly lounge, she pulled her dressing gown tightly around her for comfort. She mechanically tidied up the debris of kids’ toys scattered across the floor, the shape sorter, a plastic sheep and cow, some blobs of Play-Doh, the counters from a snakes and ladders game. It was far easier to do this than to think.

  41

  Tom was walking towards them, towards the taxi as they pulled into the Departures Terminal. He was pushing a trolley. He’s like that, thought Katie. Organised. Gramps may be lying in a coma, but Tom knew that he would need a trolley as he met his estranged wife and three children for an emergency flight back to the UK because she would have brought far too much luggage. The kids hurled themselves out of the cab, rushed towards him. Rory was straining at her arm, pulling like a dog on a leash. ‘Daddy, Daddy!’ She watched as they threw themselves at him. There’s the knife again, twisting.

  Tom looked ashen, grey. No lifeblood.

  I can’t seem to move. I want to hold him. I should go over, but I can’t. Instead, Katie stood coolly next to the suitcases and looked him up and down. Ann might be carrying your baby, babies. She shook her head at no one in particular.

  ‘Good to see you, Katie; how are you… um, darling?’ he said peering at her, lowering his head to kiss her. She felt herself stiffen. We must look like any other happy family about to go on holiday, thought Katie. Must look like we are a unit. She smiled ruefully.

  Inside the terminal, the boys horsed around. They had been waiting at the check-in desk for over half an hour.

  ‘Daddy?’

  ‘Yes, Andy?’

  ‘Are you cross at Mummy?’

  ‘Shhush,’ hissed Katie before Tom had a chance to answer.

  ‘Daddy?’

  ‘Yes, James?’

  ‘Why have you been so long at work? Mummy says she misses you…’

  ‘That’s enough, James!’ said Katie sharply, turning away from Tom so he couldn’t see the blood rushing to her cheeks.

  Recovering herself, she turned to him. ‘Are you OK?’ She looked up at him. It was the first time she had really looked. His normally bright eyes were puffy, his face a greeny-grey colour. He stared at her and shrugged his shoulders.

  When they finally reached the check-in desk, Katie looked over their passports. She noticed Rory’s passport amongst the others. Dark blue. It had the Australian crest on the front – an emu, a kangaroo and the coat of arms with ‘Australia’ in big gold letters underneath. It was not the familiar burgundy British passport like the others in her hand, with the Lion Rampant and unicorn crest with Dieu et Mon Droit on it. She flicked to the back page. Name: Rory Benjamin Parkes. Nationality: Australian. She inhaled sharply and shoved them all towards the check-in assistant.

  *

  ‘I feel sick,’ said James as Katie strapped him and Andy in their seats. Tom was trying to fit the car seat into the plane’s chair. They had been put at the back of the plane – the place reserved for lepers, those with terribly bad B.O. – and families with small children. Tom was muttering under his breath, fiddling with some straps.

  ‘Will you watch where you are going?’ he snapped at a backpacker who shoved into him. Katie had never seen him like this. Normally his Stiff Upper Lip was in place no matter what; even if he had been caught naked on the Northern Line, he’d politely say ‘hello’ she reckoned, and try to look normal, hold on to his Daily Telegraph, nude.

  ‘Did you measure this, Katie?’ he whispered to her, jerking his head towards the car seat.

  ‘Should be fine,’ she said, but she wasn’t sure if it was going to be fine, seeing as she had had to convert inches into centimetres and had used Noddy’s First Calculator last night, which kept cutting out.

  Pulling out her iPhone, Katie reread her last email from Lucy.

  To: Katieparkes@optusnet.com.au

  From: Lucyholmes@hotmail.com

  Hi K

  Hope Tom’s dad’s OK… gosh what a nasty accident. How awful! How did he do it? Anything we can do, etc?

  So excited you’re coming over! Can’t wait to show you the house. Still freezing, but we are getting there. Builders all over the kitchen still but due to finish tomorrow. There is dust everywhere… but I absolutely love it. We are considering getting a dog. Rosie would love a dog. And plans for treehouse look amazing. Rosie has started to point to it. Have a good flight. See you soon!

  L, A, R and bump! xxoxoxo

  So the dream is finally coming true for Luce, thought Katie, pulling her seatbelt over her lap, whilst mine is crumbling before my eyes… Lucy’s Laura Ashley life is unfolding: toddler, check, baby on the way, check. House in the country, check. Floral curtains, check. Husband bound for the 7.10 to Paddington every morning, check. That’s what I want… And what do I have? Unfaithful husband, check. Unruly kids, check. Country foreign to me. She frowned. Is it?

  James and Andy were exhausted – it was 3 a.m. They had fallen asleep with their earphones in, watching the BBC’s round-up of Olympic hopefuls for next year in London. James had thrown up as they took off and Katie had managed to catch most of it in her cardigan, which she then hastily shoved in a bag under her seat.

  She looked across at Rory. He seemed to be dozing off. She remembered what her doctor had said and leant back in her chair: A mild antihistamine, Katie, but it’ll do the trick. He’d taken pity on Katie as Rory had hurled himself repeatedly at the surgery door. Katie suddenly sat bolt upright as she remembered what else the doctor had said: Make sure you try it beforehand, because it can make some kids hyperactive.

  *

  Two exceedingly long hours later, Rory was having a great little ol’ party all to himself. They had been in the air for four hours now, and so far he had run up and down the aisle stealing everyone’s headphones. Suddenly he wriggled out of her lap again, straight towards business class, an absolute no-no for the riff-raff in economy. She hurled herself through the dividing curtain like someone intent on hijacking the plane.

  Gosh, how different in here. Peering through the dim lights, she saw how calm it was, roomier, with the ambience of a five-star hotel lobby, and smelling of lavender. Everyone looked very relaxed. A sashaying steward appeared with newly applied hair gel. He took one look at Katie and the escaping child and produced a tray of wine. She took a glass from him as he smiled in sympathy. He then nodded to the curtain and ushered them back out. Gripping Rory’s wrist, she headed for the toilets and quickly slammed the door shut, locking it with a
snap.

  She bent down and picked Rory up, plonked him on the sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Where are my eyebrows? Rory gurgled and kicked his legs on the basin. I look like a hooker who has abducted a toddler at a drinks party. She sighed, leaning her forehead onto Rory’s shoulder. Back in her seat, Katie couldn’t stop scratching her head. She took out her travel mirror once more, turned on the overhead light and peered at her parting. Did I just see something wriggle? The man in the seat next to her leant away. Suddenly an air hostess walked past and stopped. She smelt fragrant, of the sweet scent of White Linen.

  ‘Everything all right?’

  Katie snapped shut the mirror and smiled up at her.

  Oh yes, I just have nits, overdosed my baby on a hallucinogenic drug, my best friend might be carrying my husband’s child or children, I keep getting wafts of eau de Vomit Cardigan; everything’s just dandy. ‘Fine.’ Katie smiled, and ordered a double vodka.

  She leant back in her seat, feeling Rory relax in her arms; she didn’t dare move too much, as he seemed to be quietening down. The mood was sombre. The rest of the cabin seemed to be asleep and it was pretty dark. She heard a baby cry and the mother ‘shhhh’ it back to sleep. An old man shuffled past, unsteady on his feet; he reminded Katie of Gramps, made her focus on why they were doing this.

  She watched the mute cartoons on the screen in front of her, which were keeping Rory amused. She looked down at his gorgeous head, saw his thumb in his mouth, wet and shiny with saliva. She kissed his head, let her mind drift. How will Gramps be when we see him? Will he have aged tremendously? She wondered how Tom would feel, seeing his dad so frail, in hospital. And what were they going to tell everyone? Perhaps it would be best to say nothing, keep the ‘show on the road’ at least while they were in the UK. She had to be supportive for a bit, at least. She closed her eyes with the weight of all the thoughts spinning around her brain: the unborn baby, the affair, the loneliness she felt…

  *

  As they walked through Bangkok Airport, Tom flicked on his phone, stared at it and frowned.

  ‘Dad’s condition is getting worse,’ he muttered to her. ‘I can’t believe we are in this hellhole. Only flight I could get.’

  Katie stared at him, put a hand on his shoulder; it was the least she could do. He was carrying both Rory and the car seat through Bangkok Airport and looked like a refugee from a burning house who had grabbed his most prized possessions: his child and a car seat. His hair was everywhere, shirt untucked and he was barefoot. Where were his shoes? As they wandered through the airport, they were told their connecting bus to the hotel would be ready soon – ‘technical problems’.

  Katie stared at her husband and children as they sat on the cold blue plastic airport seats at 10 p.m. She looked around for the film crew. The reality TV show must be here somewhere. The voice-over in her head was saying: How much can one family take?

  *

  Tom marched to the hotel’s reception desk to find out what was going on as Katie and the boys sat blinking heavily on top of their luggage; each time she closed her eyes, she almost fell asleep. To stay awake, she got up, pushed Rory’s buggy towards the fish pond and told James and Andy to come and have a look.

  The pond was full of enormous goldfish swimming around – Andy reached out his hand and threw a plastic toy soldier into the pond. James leant in to grab it, but instead his hand came back with gold coins. ‘Look, Mum! There’s money in the pond!’

  ‘Put that back, you silly sausage, it’s a wishing well.’ Katie smiled, ruffling his hair.

  ‘Wishing well? What’s that?’

  ‘You throw money in, close your eyes – make a wish.’

  ‘Mum?’ asked James. ‘What would you wish for?’

  ‘Well, darling, firstly that Gramps gets better; secondly, a bed so we can all go to sleep.’ Silently, she also wished that Ann wasn’t carrying Tom’s babies. A thought struck her. What if one baby looks like Tom? Or one is a girl and looks like Tom’s mum Margaret? She shut her eyes again; carrying around all this emotional baggage was making her weary.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Hmm?’ she said, opening her eyes.

  ‘I’m going to wish that Gramps gets better, too.’ She held him close. ‘And, Mum, do I get another wish?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said reaching inside her bag for a pound coin. She handed it to him.

  ‘That Daddy can come live with us again.’

  She stared at the big fat carp as her heart ached, as the knife twisted another ninety degrees. She looked at James who was staring at her, searching for answers. I don’t have any, she thought, holding out her hand and pulling him towards her. He sat on her lap and rested his head on her chest, just like he had when he was a baby.

  She stared at the wishing well: were fish faithful? Did they spend their lives swimming in a circular pond in a Bangkok three-star hotel?

  *

  Up in the hotel room, Katie settled the boys. They were beyond exhausted and had collapsed on the double bed. She peered into their adjoining room. The bedside light was casting a mellow glow over all three of them who were sprawled like starfish on top of each other, asleep. Tiptoeing in, she placed Rory into the cot. Then she put a couple of blankets over them and gave them a kiss before she turned off the light. The air con hummed reassuringly.

  As she went back into the other room, she noticed Tom had separated the ‘double’ bed into two twin ones. He came out of the bathroom and leant on the door. He was wearing his stripy pyjamas. Katie stared at him, and a jolt of longing went right through her, despite everything. Her better-looking-than-Prince-Harry husband sent a shiver down her spine.

  ‘I moved the beds, presumed you wouldn’t want to sleep with me, um, I mean, next to me.’ He stared at her, pushed his fingers to his hairline. Moved the fringe away. I’ve seen him do it a million times, she thought. I’d forgotten how endearing it is. Tom at eight years old. Tom, the boy-man, the bloke in the stripy pyjamas who wants a cuddle.

  ‘No, no I don’t,’ she found herself saying, but wasn’t quite sure she meant it.

  ‘Katie, I need you back,’ he said quietly shutting the door behind him.

  ‘I’m here. Here for you with your dad, and, well, everything,’ she said shrugging her shoulders.

  ‘No, no you’re not…’

  ‘Look, I haven’t actually left you, have I? Many would have…’

  ‘Well. Maybe you should. You kind of have gone, really, haven’t you, in your head?’ He stared at her. ‘In your soul?’

  ‘And what would you do, Tom, if you found out I was carrying someone else’s child? CHILDREN?’ she replied, then walked over to the bed and sat down.

  He winced. ‘Look, Katie, we don’t know even know they’re mine…’

  ‘Oh and that will make all the difference…’ she said, turning to look at him in the yellowy light of the hotel’s lamps. She stared at the dreadful purple and green geometric pattern all over the counterpane and noticed that the curtains had the same pattern on their trim.

  ‘I’m so sorry Katie.’

  She stared at him. ‘I know you are, but sorry doesn’t make up for what you’ve done at the moment, Tom.’ Doesn’t heal the gaping wound in my heart.

  ‘Just for this trip, for Gramps’s sake,’ she said more softly, ‘let’s just keep this between us; it would be too much for him.’

  Tom slowly nodded. ‘Will you ever really come back to me, darling?’ Tom said, coming over, sitting beside her. She didn’t look at him, instead, folded her arms across her chest and stared at the carpet, fixed her gaze on the little fibres of the fabric, felt her insides flutter and her heart thump. She looked at her thigh next to his, his long, gangly leg and her little one encased in dirty linen trousers. Why did she always notice the small things when there were such enormous vaults of emotion bursting to get out from the inside?

  ‘I don’t know. After what you’ve done, I don’t know if I can,’ she replied quietly, getting off the be
d and closing the bathroom door behind her.

  42

  Katie looked at Tom in the queue for Arrivals and tilted her head sideways to get another view; he was wearing the hotel’s towelling slippers. Heathrow was dirty and crowded although it was only 7 a.m. local time. The billboards on the walls seemed familiar and odd at the same time: Orange mobile phone, Visit the Tower of London, map of the Underground – the London Olympics 2012 posters were everywhere.

  The fabric of your old life is there, whenever you go away, she thought. Parts of your old life don’t alter at all, just keep going in a parallel universe – it’s you who has done all the changing, she mused, it’s you who’s climbed to a different mountain top to see the view below, your old view. A sensation washed over her, but she couldn’t place it: familiarity? Gratitude that she no longer had to travel to work smelling other people’s armpits on the Underground? Glad to be home?

  They stood for ages waiting for their bags, mesmerised by the carousel looping round and round. Watching the same pieces of lost luggage travel the circuit again and again, as the carousel tongue disappeared into the frayed plastic mouth at the end.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Yes, darling?’ James was tapping her on the elbow.

  ‘Daddies have a willy and mummies have a front bottom, right?’

  What has he been watching on the plane?

  She marched James to the loo. Had London always been this filthy – or was it just Heathrow? As Katie leant against the loo door, she caught sight of an unrecognisable woman in the mirror. Far from returning home a bronzed Aussie babe, she looked more like a woman released into ‘care in the community’ with wild hair and unknown stains on her trousers.