Looking for Andrew McCarthy (12 page)

‘Of course I will, Dad.’

He hugged her briefly then moved away, both of them mildly embarrassed by the display of emotion.

‘… and anyway they served us the best breakfast I’ve ever had in my life. Did you know they put maple syrup on bacon?’

‘Bleagh.’ Ellie pottered about, her aim now to try and work out a way her father wouldn’t accidentally turn off the freezer and starve to death for the weeks she’d be away.

‘Okay. Here’s your list of instructions.’ She handed him a note in large type. He looked at it for a long time.

‘I’m not sure about the egg quota,’ he said finally.

‘It’s still a lot of eggs,’ said Ellie. ‘I just like to be here when you eat them, just in case.’

He shrugged. ‘And you better make sure to bring me back some duty-free.’

‘Sure – what do you want? An enormous bar of Toblerone, or a little bear with goggles on?’

He gave her a hug.

‘Look after yourself, Hedgehog. Lots of bad people in America.’

‘I know. Well, the president for starters. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. I’ll just pop by a supermarket and buy an assault rifle.’

‘Hedge. I’m not joking. Look, I know you’re thirty …’

‘Da-
ad
.’

‘Sweetheart, you know you’re all I’ve got. And you’re still my little girl.’

‘I know.’ Ellie pulled herself away.

‘Don’t worry. If I learn to live like an American, by the time I get back I’ll be your quite remarkably big girl.’

Colin looked tiny with his bags around him.

‘I’ve never lived away from home before.’

Big Bastard was hovering nervously in the background.

‘You’ll be fine,’ said Ellie encouragingly. ‘Just remember; in other people’s houses, you pee
in
the pan.’

Arthur hoisted the last of Colin’s stuff up the steps.

‘Here you are, chicken,’ he said. ‘Your
Sweet Valley High
books.’

‘Now remember,’ said Ellie. ‘If you’re cooking, Big Bastard only eats food beginning with B.’

From the hall, Big Bastard grunted.

‘Baked beans, biryani, beer and Big Macs. Okay?’

Colin nodded solemnly.

‘But don’t let him have any chocolate buttons. His fingers are too stubby to get in the packet, and he gets all frustrated.’

‘Tell him I eat Bird’s Eye stuff too,’ said Big Bastard anxiously.

‘Oh yes. Fish fingers are fine. But brown sauce, not ketchup.’

‘Okay,’ said Colin, looking down.

‘And bed by ten,’ said Ellie.

‘Hedge!’ complained Arthur.

‘Oh, you know I can’t help it,’ said Ellie. The taxi started honking outside.

Arthur slung an arm around her.

‘Where are we meeting again?’

‘Um … San Diego?’

‘
Where
are we meeting again?’

‘Um … San Taclaus?’

‘You’re very funny.’

He fished out her diary and opened it up. On every page it said, ‘San Francisco minus-eight days, seven days,’ etc.

‘I’ll see you there. In TEN DAYS.’

Ellie nodded feverishly.

‘Honk honk,’ said the taxi.

‘Hooray! I’m off!’ she said.

‘Thanks for the room and everything,’ said Colin shyly.

‘Not at all. I’m just glad you remembered your Action Man pyjamas.’

‘Thank fuck for a bit of peace and quiet,’ said Big Bastard. ‘Now I can watch porn in peace, without
certain people talking deliberately loudly over it all the time.’

‘It was only that one time,’ said Ellie. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t me who invited your parents over in the first place.’

The cab honked again.

‘Please go,’ said Arthur. ‘Partings make me teary, and if you miss this cab, you’ll never fit that rucksack on Big Bastard’s scooter.’

‘And you won’t get the chance to try, neither,’ said Big Bastard. ‘Come on Colin, let’s watch the football. You’ll like it. It’s like ballet, right, only it’s for blokes.’

‘I am going to miss you all so much,’ sighed Ellie, hoisting her ratty old pink and grey Bunac rucksack onto her back. She looked back at the shabby room, the worn curtains and the view of the bins with a fat arsed tabby sitting on the top.

‘When I get back,’ she vowed to herself, seeing the P60 sitting lonesomely on the sideboard, ‘everything is going to be better than this.’

‘And I’ll show you how to make a Bovril. The spoon just stands up in the jar, then you never have to wash it.’

‘
Everything
is going to be better than this.’

Julia sat alone in her small, immaculate flat, waiting
for Ellie and the taxi and staring at her ring finger. Loxy wasn’t returning her calls. Part of her knew that all she had to do to stop this, to make everything better, was to call him up and say … what, exactly? Let’s get married because one in two marriages fail, and that’s across the general population including arranged marriages and strict Catholics, and in fact amongst late marrying metropolitan middle class spoilt independent thirty-year-olds it’s probably two out of three and if you add in that mixed race marriages also have a high failure rate, they probably had a five out of four chance of getting divorced and when her parents had got divorced she’d fallen in love with a pony and tried to run away from home to live in a field?

Or that the thought of never seeing him again felt like the onset of a convulsive illness?

For the billionth time she cursed him for putting her in such an all or nothing state of affairs and throwing her calm, well organized life so entirely out of whack.

She looked at the phone, which declined to ring. She stared at her neatly arranged suitcase and wondered whether to add a packet of three.

‘Any chance of getting upgraded?’

The stewardess stared straight through them, as if nothing had been said. Julia punched Ellie on the arm.

‘Did you pack these bags yourself?’

‘Excuse me,’ said Ellie, again. ‘But we’re on our way to America to … uhm … get married …’

‘Umm … or
not
,’ muttered Julia,

‘… and we wondered if there was any possibility of an upgr …’

‘No,’ said the stewardess. ‘I didn’t answer you earlier because I thought it would be less embarrassing for you that way.’

Ellie took stock of the situation.

‘Okay then,’ she said. ‘New lives here we come! Cattlestyle!’

‘It’s gate 354. The final call just rang so I’d get along now, little dogies.’

‘No, it’s okay, we want to hang around and see if they call our names out.’

Julia pulled desperately at Ellie’s rucksack. ‘Come
onnn …
’

‘They won’t, necessarily,’ said the stewardess, smiling sweetly. ‘It’s up to me, you see.’

‘Bye!’ yelled Ellie as the two girls took off at full speed for departures.

‘We won’t be able to go to duty free now,’ grumbled Julia as they ran from one end of the concourse to the other, desperately searching for the fifteen-foot sign that announced ‘International Departures’.

‘So what? So you can carry around a big sticky clanking bottle of Baileys for three thousand miles? Anyway, we’re going to the land of the cheap EVERYTHING. God, I think I’m going to start smoking. And using petrol.’

‘I just can’t believe we’re so late.’ They thudded down the heavy metal corridors, running like the Bionic Man along the moving walkways and trying not to knock down more old ladies than strictly necessary.

‘I just can’t believe Big Bastard wouldn’t give us a lift.’

Julia hit her with her prepacked bag of magazines.

‘Have you never heard of the repetitive banality of evil?’

They could see a huge queue at passport control, and the TV screens were flashing ‘final call’. Ellie fumbled for her ticket. Julia flapped frantically.

‘Come on! Come on!’

‘Okay, okay. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. Andrew will be waiting.’

‘They won’t hold the plane for us, you know,’ said Julia. ‘They’ll chuck the bags out on the tarmac.’

‘For God’s sake will you stop panicking? Okay, here it is. RUN!’

‘Shit! Shit, hang on!’ screamed Julia, stopping suddenly.

‘Hold on! Stop!’ Julia shouted again. She dropped her hand luggage and spun around.

‘I cannot believe this,’ said Ellie, unfurling herself. ‘Are we late or not? Do they change the time zone as soon as we get in the airport?’

‘Shut up. And look!’

Hanging over the departures barrier, waving desperately, was Loxy.

‘Would the last remaining passengers
for
flight BA1273 to Los Angeles please go to Departures immediately. This flight is closing. The last remaining passengers
for
this flight please go to Gate 354 immediately. Thank you.’

‘Oh my God, he did it!’ said Ellie, her panic
momentarily lifted by the sheer movie emotion of the moment. ‘He did a Ferris!’

‘Lox!’ squealed Julia, racing over and hugging him over the barrier. Some elderly people looked on, smiling and nodding encouragingly.

‘I didn’t say goodbye properly,’ said Loxy, breathing in her hair. ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘I’m sorry too!’ said Julia. They clutched one another.

‘Would passengers Eversholt and Denford
please
go to Gate 354 immediately where this plane is ready
to
depart.’

Ellie looked round for everyone applauding. Nobody was.

‘Just …’ He pulled her tighter. ‘I love you. You love me. Come on. Let’s just go get married. Let’s get a plane somewhere else. There’s a chapel here. Let’s just get married RIGHT NOW on the CONCOURSE.’

As he yelled this, people were gradually starting to clear a space around them. A couple of Americans whooped and cheered.

‘I’m not going to let her go!’ shouted Loxy, galvanized by the scene. ‘We’re getting MARRIED.’

People started to clap and sigh.

‘Ah,’ said Julia.

‘Passengers Eversholt and Denford – your luggage will be removed from this flight if you don’t present yourselves
at
Gate 354 immediately …’

Julia shot a desperate look at Ellie, who flagged down one of the small carts.

‘Well?’ said Ellie. ‘Are you coming or not?’

‘Loxy,’ said Julia. ‘I already told you. I just … I just
don’t know
.’

His face turned to stone. The cart came over and Ellie jumped on it. Loxy lowered his arms very, very slowly.

The crowd started to boo.

‘What!’ yelled Julia crossly. ‘This is the noughties, for fuck’s sake. A woman has the right to … oh, fuck it.’

‘Miss, you’re going to have to go NOW,’ said the man on the cart.

‘Passengers Eversholt and Denford …’ said the speaker.

‘JULIA!’ said Ellie and Loxy, in simultaneous anguish. Julia looked desperately from one to the other. Then, suddenly she jumped onto the cart.

‘Okay, okay. GO!’

The cart started to move off at top speed – i.e. about five miles an hour – leaving Loxy standing desolate in its wake, holding the ring box and being patted on the back by bystanders.

About a hundred feet on, however, Ellie had the misfortune to take a glance back, and spied a familiar figure barrelling its way through the crowd behind them.

‘Jesus,’ she said.

‘Hedgehog!’ the voice cried.

‘Aw, Jesus,’ said Ellie again.

And then, drowning out the tannoy and the hubbub of the entire airport, from a figure standing outlined against the departure lounge, came a very bad, very out-of-tune version of something that might have been, but wasn’t quite ‘Baker Street’ played by a skinny man with a mullet.

Filing onto a plane late, Ellie reflected, couldn’t be entirely unlike filing into a dock when everyone knows you’ve done it. In fact, judging from some of the looks they were getting, people would be happier if she’d chopped up her father with an axe and eaten the bits, rather than be making BA flight 1273 miss its time slot from terminal four and have to join the very long queue for naughty jumbo jets.

‘Can I have a gin and tonic?’

‘No,’ said the tight faced stewardess. ‘Not until we leave the ground. If that ever happens.’

‘No,’ Ellie repeated sarkily to herself when the stewardess has gone, ‘Not until you get promoted from your job as Wobbly Waitress – if that ever happens.’

Ellie studied the film menu. ‘Oh look,’ she said, pointing it out to Julia. ‘They’ve got
Runaway Bride
.’

‘Ha ha ha. You’re very funny.’ Julia took the menu off her. ‘Oh God! Look at them all! They’ve got
Love Story, The English Patient, Titanic
and
Terms of Endearment
. Don’t they have any films called
The Two People Who Had Doubts About Getting Married But Then Everything Worked Out Just Fine
?’

‘It’s in the Science Fiction and Fantasy section,’ said Ellie.