Analeise nods curtly as the two of them continue to type and exchange further details and questions across the space to each other. My head snaps from one to the other, like a game of tennis as the two of them set my next six months into motion. The more they talk, the more the gnawing in my gut grows.
This cannot be real.
This isn’t my life.
I went to Brussels and all I got was...
. . .a crappy ticket
‘You’ve got your passport, right? And your medical card, and the printouts of your ticket just in case your phone dies?’
‘Yep, got it all and then some. I am a full-blown adult, I promise you that I will be okay,’ I say.
Sara lets the snark go, features pinched as small as possible as she resists the urge not to ugly-cry. We’re seconds away from disaster – if she cries then Dad will cry, and if Dad cries then I won’t be able to keep it together, and if all three of us cry then Paige will cry just on principle... We’ll flood St Pancras with saltwater and my train will be stuck in England. I’ve got to nip this in the bud.
‘It’s only six months,’ I say to reassure her.
Her face grows tighter. It appears that reminding her of the timeframe has only made things worse.
‘I’ll text and FaceTime you like I never left!’ I try again.
‘And we can always come out and visit,’ Paige adds, picking up on the drama. ‘I’ve got some leave to use. Let me know when you end up in Italy. Although by then you might have some fancy new partner and you won’t want a visit from your darling sisters.’
‘God forbid!’ Dad bellows before looking my way and also resisting the urge to burst into tears.
‘Guys, it’ll be fine!’ I say. ‘I’ll be back in no time and I will be in constant contact, I promise.’
We spend another ten minutes rushing through tearful goodbyes and painstakingly rehashing my initial train times,then I eventually stress that the train will leave with or without me, and I still have to go through Security. They walk me all the way to the boarding gate, the four of us weaving through the station in an annoying space-consuming blob. Commuters swerve around us tutting and rolling their eyes, but we pay them no mind as we’re all too busy saying goodbye (again).
I wave them one last goodbye from behind the barriers, watching as Sara dramatically dabs her eye with a tissue. Then I make my way through the queue, through Security, through Passport Control, and find myself sat on the Eurostar in no time at all. I look out the window at the passing fields and factories, pressing my forehead against the glass.
This is it.
I’m on my own.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
I look at the sun over the fields and whip my phone out to capture the memory...
We hit a tunnel.
We don’t leave.
I put my phone back in my pocket.
With no more view, no real Wi-Fi and no one to talk to, I pull my laptop out of my bag and get to work. Analeise contracted eighty-four articles – an intro, eighty dates and some general updates along the way. It’s an insane load of work, but what else am I to do? It’s not like I have hideous twelve-hour shifts at the café to keep me busy any more.
I open a blank document.
Around the World in 80 Dates
A chronically single girl’s six months to find ‘the one’
I hated the subtitle when I saw it on the marketing plan. I’m not searching for ‘the one’ and I stressed that to Paige vehemently. But she simply laughed back at me.
‘It needs stakes – something to work towards, otherwise it’s just a bit drab.’
‘And what happens if I don’t find “the one”?’ I asked.
