Barf.
So, what next?
Tube to the airport. (We’re doing that again right now.)
Arrive and, of course! Hamish insisted on an egg sandwich for breakfast! Why that in itself didn’t ring a thousand alarm bells, I’ll never know. He checked his bag in. I was quite tearful. He insisted that we’d see each other again soon. And then it was time for him to go through and I was definitely sobbing as we shared our last embrace, and he was saying ‘there, there’. I stood waving him off, tears rolling down my cheeks, and I carried on waving long after he’d rounded the corner and walked out of my life for good. I remember feeling sick with it, this horrible lurchingsensation that told me I’d just waved goodbye to the best thing in my life.
And then what?
I turned and walked out of the airport. As far as I can remember, I didn’t spot any delinquent luggage buggies speeding past in a threatening manner. I’d got through my entire tissue stash so I went to the pharmacy to pick up some more, feeling extremely sorry for myself. I tripped over the maxi dress I was (and am now) wearing in my hurry to get to the Tube, and then I travelled into central London and got the long-ass train back home to Cornwall.
It was all very uneventful. So maybe, just maybe, there’s nothing to kill me off at the end of this day either? Maybe I’ve come back to the start, been given a fresh chance at life? I weigh up how that makes me feel. It’s quite exciting really but also feels like a lot of effort. I’ve already done the next ten years once! Is it a blessing or a curse to have to live each day again? I mean, I’m all for second chances, but ten whole years? There have definitely been days I’d happily not repeat, like the time I got stuck in a lift for three hours and had to use my empty water bottle as a toilet. Or the time Penny and I were going through our bohemian stage and spent a whole summer dressing like the love child of Kate Moss and Sienna Miller. And don’t even get me started on the ill-advised meal in Barcelona which left me vomiting Fanta Orange down a marble staircase at the hotel I was staying at.
Plus, it could be that I do relive the next decade and when I get to Monday One, I’m sent straight back here again. A ten-year time loop?
That thought is too frightening for words.
All told, I’m not in the greatest of moods by the time we get off the Tube at Heathrow. I’m usually very perky, so this in itself is a challenge, and Hamish is making my mood a whole lot worse. So far we’re living through an exact carbon copy of the day I wavedhim off. Everything about Hamish is a direct echo of that first time, albeit more dim and distant because it happened so long ago. And reseeing him like this is intense. A fresh reminder, as if I needed one, that I have somehow managed to build the perfect boyfriend in my memories using some extremely faulty source material.
Because Hamish is so incredibly annoying! I keep having to stop and catch my breath when he airs yet another deeply selfish thought, trying to remind myself that he’s only twenty, that I was probably just as bad, but I’m not sure I’m falling for my own lines.
‘Mum and Dad aren’t keen on this trip.’ Hamish is saying. ‘They think it’s time I focused on getting a “proper job”. I’m like, dudes, what’s the problem? I’m young, let me live, you know?’
‘They just want what’s best for you,’ I offer.
Hamish laughs. ‘Not sure about that. They want to be able to tell their friends that their youngest son has got some boring banking job, just like Alistair. Drives me mad. Like, not everybody has to have major ambition to sit in an office for sixty hours a week,Mum.’
‘Plenty of jobs offer flexible working, and room to travel around,’ I suggest.
‘Yeah, but do they offer adventure? That’s what I want. Beach. Waves. Fun, Nee!’
‘I totally get that, but you do also need to find a career at some point, right? You can’t just keep travelling around surfing all the time. You need a sense of purpose, Hamish.’
Hamish stops to give me an angry look. ‘Mate, not you as well.’
‘I’m not criticizing,’ I say. ‘Just offering up an alternative view. I mean, how do you plan on funding the Australia trip?’
Hamish looks vaguely sheepish.
‘Well?’ I prod.
‘Mum and Dad are helping out,’ he says dismissively. ‘And I’ll probably get a bar job when I’m out there. Mum and Dad keepasking if I’ll take over one of their rentals but it sounds like a load of hassle.’
‘Sorry, what? Your parents have offered to give you a property?!’
‘Yeah,’ he sighs, as if this is a huge inconvenience. ‘I’m not keen. It’s just their way of trying to control me.’
‘OH MY GOD, HAMISH! Can you hear yourself right now? You are so fortunate to be in that position and all you’re doing is whining about it! Jesus, you really are a total man child, do you know that?’
Hamish pulls to a stop as we walk into Heathrow.
‘Dude, if I’d wanted a character assassination I’d have invited my mother along.’
‘Stop calling me dude! Also, I think you need to hear it,’ I huff, the floaty dress I’m wearing getting stuck under a flip-flop. I really did go in for the beach babe look in my early twenties. I tug my dress free and give Hamish a cross look. ‘Seriously, not many people have the opportunities that have been opened up to you. You really need to check your privilege, Hamish.’
I’d conveniently forgotten this about him. How his parents offered him the world on a plate and he still wasn’t happy about it. I must have glossed over it in my memories for the sake of the good stuff, the happy memories, like …
I snap my eyes shut and try hard to return to my happy place. My beautiful memories. The golden days of our past together, which I am currently reliving IRL and don’t seem nearly as golden in the moment.
