‘It’s a date,’ she said. ‘But Tahoor, I’m also always here if you need to chat. I’ve always got time.’
‘I know. You lasses aren’t as busy as us men, with our heads constantly rolling with important thoughts and responsibilities…’
Her mouth dropped open but he winked, smiling through the tears, and he turned to go, clutching the red card.
‘Everything all right?’ asked Rory as he came into the hallway.
Elena closed the door. ‘I hope so.’
‘That thing you were telling me… about your tenth birthday night… Fancy carrying on over another cup of coffee before we book our weekend away?’
Elena rolled her lips together. She wasn’t as brave as Tahoor. ‘No,’ she said and forced a grin. ‘It was nothing, really, and we’ve no time to waste if we’re flying to Paris in six days!’
22
RORY
Friday 6th December
This week has been the first time in 19 years that I’ve failed to write in you, journal, apart from when I was younger and got blind drunk on a night out. There was that time, when I was 16, when I threw you across the room because I’d messed up my English mock exam. Sorry about that. Plus when I was 10 and caught glandular fever. I’ve never known exhaustion like it, not even when I did that desert half-marathon in Jordan.
I haven’t put pen to your paper since last Saturday, when I worked out Elena must be ill – and then realised the way she’s been lately could be down to something even worse, if that’s possible. What was worse than a terminal illness? Elena was going to tell me something. Her tenth birthday… Out in woods… Her mother’s accident… Whilst she was talking, her voice sounded afraid and uncertain; nothing like the Elena I work with.
Midweek I prodded her again, but she shut me down.She’s gone so quiet and is clearly stressed, as if her problem, whatever it is, has reached some crisis point.
I’ve not been able to face writing this down because seeing the words, in front of me, would make me feel even more useless about my friend going through something so terrible that she’s become reckless over her personal safety; about me being unable to do anything to help, being unable to stop Elena making dangerous choices.
I’ll attempt to briefly recap the week.
Sunday 1st December – 3 plays too many of ‘White Christmas’ by Bing Crosby. 8 Brussels sprouts, I regretted those later. 6 card games with Tahoor. He’s the fastest Go Fisher in the West. 3 coffees with Elena whilst we looked for hotel rooms and flights to Paris. We leave at 9am on Saturday the 7th and fly back on Sunday the 8th at 7pm. Tahoor is over the moon we succeeded in booking the boutique hotel that he and Isha stayed in all those years ago, a sentimental touch I wouldn’t have thought of. It was Elena’s idea, and she’d been thrilled to find out it was still there, still run by the founding family. She’d texted Tahoor with the news and he’d texted back 4 clapping hands – plus 2 hearts followed by 2 winking faces. Elena instantly regretted her decision, Tahoor clearly assuming that her booking the same hotel meant that romance was on the cards.
Monday 2nd December – A 50-minute meeting with Derek. He wants us to put together an initial plan of how we foresee the packaging for the broken biscuits. Product development hopes to have a prototype ready early next year, when the paperwork is signed off and a product name has been confirmed. 30 minutes in the gym with Gary. 2 pickles accompanied by 2 frowns from Elena. 1 hour in the evening whereElena insisted we attempt to speak nothing but French. Given the only French I’ve got comes from a travel handbook I briefly looked at a few years ago, when I did the bungee jump in the ski resort, all I had was ‘The bill, please,’ and ‘Have you got medication for diarrhoea?’
Tuesday 3rd December – 30 minutes Elena spends on the phone in the evening, convincing her parents we are not going to Paris for a surprise proposal, mainly because we are strictly mates and haven’t even kissed, let alone… Her dad ended the call at that point. Elena and Rory dating? How the office would chuckle at that idea. Gary joked about it once and concluded we were as well matched as Princess Anne, with her smart but no-nonsense style, and Timothée Chalamet in his backless blouse.
Wednesday 4th December – 2 hours in Tahoor’s company as he came over to watch City play Newcastle. 90 minutes of being… well, fairly invested in the game, I have to admit. What a goal!
Thursday 5th December – 100 per cent less chat from Elena than usual. A very quiet day. 1 bottle of wine consumed by her in front of the telly that night. I wasn’t in the mood. Elena’s not usually a lone drinker.
Friday 6th December today – Elena did what she never does when we all finish early at 4p.m. and go to the pub – she was fully intent on getting stone drunk on chasers and cocktails. She made another cryptic comment about perhaps not being around for Christmas. When we got back, she just about managed to pack her bag for tomorrow. I treated us to takeout, hoping it would soak up the alcohol, but she left half of her pizza and most of the garlic dough balls. I sang ‘Ocean Eyes’ as usual, a minute ago. 0 joining in by Elena. Could have sworn 1 sob came through the wall.
I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT’S GOING ON AND HAVE HARDLY SLEPT ALL WEEK.
CAN I FIGURE IT OUT BEFORE SHE TAKES A RISK TOO FAR?
23
ELENA
Dawn’s lilac hues hadn’t yet lit up the morning sky as Elena stood in the kitchen, head thumping. They needed to leave in thirty minutes. For the first time in her life, she was benefiting from living near Manchester Airport. Wearing pink cords, white trainers, and a grey hoodie, Rory appeared. She handed him a mug of coffee and yawned.
‘I didn’t change to mocktails early enough last night, proved by the last thing I did, before leaving – spinning round in circles, with Gary, to “Cotton Eye Joe”.’
Rory gave a flicker of a smile in response. Dark circles hung under his eyes too. ‘I’ve researched some numbers for you,’ he said, ‘to make you more confident of our journey. Each day there are around a hundred thousand flights worldwide. In 2023 there were only two loss-of-life incidents. Compared to driving a car…’
Rory went on. Elena appreciated it, but hardly listened. Everyone knew flying was one of the safest forms of travel. However, despite this, in the last few days, she couldn’t fight off the anxiety. Bungee jumping, going on a date, eating raw fish, those things had given her a modicum of control, but flying in anaeroplane? In that situation she’d have zero means of averting a disaster, rare as such an occurrence might be. Therefore, Elena did what she’d done so many times over the years, and put on a front. She joked with the taxi driver, ate a full English breakfast at the airport, playfully battled with Rory for the window seat.
Elena did up her safety belt and took a deep breath, eyes closed as the aeroplane’s engine started. Slowly at first, they moved down the runway, then full throttle, everything shaking. Her blood rushed and thumped in her ears; the knots in her stomach were tighter than any monthly cramps; perspiration dripped under her arms, and nausea came. Oh God, what if she threw up? Forcing her eyes open, she peered out of the window, onto nothing, wishing she could join in with a baby in the row behind that was screaming. There were no fluffy white marshmallow clouds, nor Pearly Gates sparkling above, just emptiness; a desert made up of light and water vapour that wouldn’t protect her from cascading to earth should something happen. She wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t have a meltdown; she had Rory to consider and the other passengers. Elenawouldenjoy this trip to Paris.
