Half the World Away - [2]

‘It’s just-’ I get no further. Tears come hot on my cheeks, making my ribs heave.

Tom puts his arms around me. I stiffen momentarily, the contact unfamiliar. Then I let go. The release helps, easing the heaviness in my chest, leaving me feeling raw and exposed.

‘Sorry.’ I blow my nose.

‘Home?’

We drive back into the city, against the flow of commuters leaving after their day’s work, the sunset a blaze of copper, the sky to the east darkening purple.

Tom drops me at mine, and once he’s gone, I sit on the front step for a moment, readying myself to go in to Nick and the boys.

Almost dark, and the insects are still busy among the carnations, cosmos and honeysuckle. The perfume from the flowers is sweet above the city smells of stone, exhaust fumes and food cooking. The evening star is rising. Higher above, I see a moving light, white then a flash of red. A plane. Not Lori’s, not yet. She’ll be through security control now, waiting in the departure lounge. Maybe doing some shopping.

A cat yowls in the back gardens and I hear Benji answer with a bark from inside. Further away there is the sound of glass breaking, then a slam. Someone putting their bottles in the recycling.

All I want to do is indulge my sadness, get drunk and pine for Lorelei, weep and eat more than I need to, sleep late.

Fat chance.

So I go back in to my husband and help get Finn and Isaac settled in bed and answer all their questions about their big sister’s big adventure for the umpteenth time.

And lie awake all night like an idiot.

CHAPTER TWO

Lori texts just as I’m starting work. All good. Just got thru Customs. Knacked. Love you L xxx I’m relieved. I can’t imagine Thailand, only images culled from pictures in the weekend magazines or movies like The Beach. All vegetation, palm-fringed sands, endless hills and deep diving pools. What it might be like, the atmosphere, the day-to-day life, the cities, socializing – I’ll be relying on Lori to broaden my horizons.

This morning I listened to the first jets taking off every few minutes from the airport, growls climbing to a roar, then fading. I’m still bereft. Lori going seems to fuel the grief I’ve been coping with since my mother died in June. The two things are muddled up.

The alarm went at seven, and Nick got the boys up while I made their packed lunches. The news about chemical weapons being used in Syria made my mood seem like an indulgence. Then came breakfast. No matter how well prepared I try to be, there is always a sense of impending chaos at breakfast time. Finn or Isaac will be missing some crucial item of clothing, their book bag or PE kit. There is a disaster with the food, one of them finishing the milk before the other has any, a cup of juice ruining a precious drawing (usually Finn’s juice and Isaac’s drawing). There is a squabble about toys. Or a sudden inability to reach the toilet in time. Things can get messy so I dress after breakfast, then chivvy the boys into footwear and coats, then herd them out of the door. Benji tries to come with us – he always tries it on even though he knows that Nick will take him for a turn around the park before going into work. And the boys and I will walk him again after school.

Finn is seven, Isaac two years younger and they both have places at the primary school where I work. It’s a C of E school attached to a parish church, which wouldn’t have been my choice (we’re not religious) if I hadn’t worked there. But sending them to another local school would’ve made all the taking and collecting so much more complicated. And, to be fair, I like the school: the head-teacher, Grace, puts her life and soul into it. She’s a good manager and most of the staff respect her. I’ve been secretary there since Lori was eight when I gave up child-minding. She was already at a secular school and I didn’t like to move her so we managed the hour before and after the school day when I was still at work with a patchwork of arrangements. I relied on other parents, the after-school club, child-minders, my mum and, when I ran out of all other options, Tom. These days, the pressures on parents seem even greater and our school, like many others, has a breakfast club as well as the after-school club where Finn and Isaac go.

Having Lori so young – I was twenty – put paid to any travel plans back then. While friends of mine were discovering Goa and Machu Picchu, I was by turns bewildered, exhausted and exhilarated in the world of nappies, baby sick and sleep deprivation.

I discovered I was pregnant partway through my second year but I was determined to complete my degree on time. It seemed important to prove to the world that I could do it all. And I did. Just. It was horrendous.

Now the phone is ringing with notices of absence, the mail is arriving and I’ve a tray full of work to get going on and a backlog of emails to deal with. It helps being busy: the demands of routine drive a juggernaut through any inclination to dwell on Lori leaving.

In the staffroom at break people ask me if Lori got off all right – everyone has been sharing in the build-up to her trip. We’re a close team and I know the problems other people are dealing with. Henry’s father has dementia – he’s become restless and agitated and hostile; Zoë had a miscarriage last term; Pam is going through a really acrimonious divorce; and Sunita has just been diagnosed with diabetes. It puts things in perspective.