Two hours in the departure lounge of the Aer Lingus flight bound for Knock Airport had become the norm for me each weekend. I knew most of the air stewardesses, and a couple of other regular commuting passengers.
My friends and family thought I had gone mad. Like, completely lost the plot, stark raving lunatic mad. Yesterday Clara announced she thought the novelty would have worn off by now, reminding me winter was coming and travelling every week in ice and snow would further complicate the situation.
She had no idea. None of them did, but if I had to walk to Ireland, I would do it. I was so deeply in love with John Kelly, I even frightened myself with the lengths I would go to just to be with him. A life without him was unthinkable.
We’d established certain routines, and it was these small familiarities that comforted me in amongst the chaos of the travelling. If I landed on a Friday night, we often picked up a Chinese before going to his parents’ pub. If I landed on a Saturday, we usually fell straight back into bed at lunchtime. The weekends meant an early start for both of us. John preferred to milk the cows himself on a Saturday to give Hugh and Sam a break, and to keep his eye on ‘the girls’. I had to be in Gatwickridiculously early. My alarm was always set for five o’clock. I had to leave Winchester at six. I usually drove to the airport and parked my car in the short stay car park.
My life without Rob had become far more complicated, yet I didn’t want it any other way. Well, that wasn’t strictly true; if John Kelly said he was moving to England in the morning, it would be the answer to my prayers, but even then, I knew it was never going to happen. The more I thought about it, the more I accepted if we were to have any kind of future together, I would have to move.
Each weekend I spent in Mayo, the thought of living there became less of a shock. The weekends provided the opportunity to test the water, which was probably John’s intention all along, and why he said we would talk about the serious stuff over Christmas.
That particular Friday night was different, special. I was about to meet John’s sister, Hannah, for the first time. She lived in Ballina with her husband and their two sons. I’d missed her the last few times; she was always working. I hoped she’d like me. John was so fond of her. I always wanted a sister, a sister-in-law I could get on with would be a close second. Not that I was planning on getting married again anytime soon.
On the plane, I pulled out my Kindle and settled into the third book in the Twilight series; I was addicted to Bella and Edwards hopeless love story.
A heavy man of about fifty approached, just as I was getting comfortable.
‘Excuse me, I think I’m in there next to you? Twenty-seven A? Is that right?’ His accent was a soft Irish lilt.
‘You’re in the right place.’ I shuffled my legs towards the aisle, so he could sneak in past me.
‘You’re a bit slimmer than me.’ He pushed in past me awkwardly before sitting down.
‘No problem.’ I hoped he wasn’t going to be a talker. I’d had a few of them and I wasn’t in the form for chitchat.
‘Are you travelling for work or pleasure?’ he said, and my heart sank. I reluctantly placed down my kindle for a minute.
‘My boyfriend lives in Mayo. I go over most weekends,’ I explained, as I had done several times over the past two months. I loved the word boyfriend, it made me feel young and full of hope.
‘Oh wow. It must be love.’ He fought to adjust his seatbelt over his large paunch.
I smiled but said nothing, hoping this would draw a natural end to the conversation.
‘So where did you meet him?’ He refused to take the hint, ignoring the passenger safety demonstration, as the airplane wheels began to move along the runway at high speed.
‘In Bristol.’ I didn’t elaborate. I had the Kindle in my hand, ready to return to it should there be enough of a pause in the conversation that it wouldn’t be considered rude.
‘Is that where you’re from?’ I took a deep breath, before replying as politely as possible.
‘No. I’m from the Isle of Wight.’ Whether I liked it or not, I realised I was about to spend the next hour and fifteen minutes engaging in small talk. Luckily, I was excited and subsequently more tolerant. If he’d caught me on a Sunday, on the way home, I was usually in a far more sombre mood, knowing it would be a long week until I saw my love again.
‘Wow, The Isle of Wight,’ he repeated. ‘I’ve never met anyone from The Isle of Wight before.’
If I had a pound for every person that ever uttered those words to me, I would be a millionaire. I used to get it all the time in Scotland.
‘What’s it like?’ Curiosity tainted his tone.
‘It’s small, pretty, but over-populated. Touristy in the summer, and like a retirement village in winter.’ I’d had practice at summarising it quickly over the years. Conversation usually then followed the same route, people tended to ask if it was tax free, like Jersey (it wasn’t and neither was Jersey for that matter). Or they asked about house prices.
‘And what are the house prices like?’ So predictable.
‘Slightly cheaper than the rest of southern England, because it’s not exactly an ideal commute to London, having to get the ferry every day.’ It rolled off the tongue at this stage.
Thankfully, the flight attendant arrived with the beverages. If I couldn’t read my Kindle in peace, I was at least going to have a glass of wine.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ he offered.
‘I’ll have a glass of wine, but I’ll get it myself thank you. I’ll get you one if you like?’
