The Ex Factor (18 page)

It might be one of the busiest airports in the world, not to mention the gateway to the Promised Land for many travellers, but LAX is easily the worst I’ve ever seen. The check-in area of the Tom Bradley International Terminal is all high-spec and shiny, with an array of slick fast-food outlets and exclusive stores, but pass through Customs and it’s as grim and grey as a prison.

It’s almost two o’clock in the morning and a fuel leak has delayed my flight by three hours. The last update from the airline was over an hour ago and people are growing fractious. Prone bodies litter the grimy floor. There’s not enough seating in the gate lounge for the five hundred passengers who should be somewhere over the Pacific Ocean by now, let alone the plane-load of people whose flight was scheduled to depart from this gate after mine, so people are trying to get comfortable however they can.

The solitary food kiosk in this part of the terminal closed hours ago and the vending machines have been stripped bare. So that makes roughly a thousand exhausted, irate and really hungry people crammed into what is essentially a shabby shed.

It complements my mood to a tee.

The latest issue of
InTouch
has hit newsstands, with an expanded version of Molly Reid’s ill-gotten exclusive as the cover story. It looks as if every second person in the terminal is reading it. Well, pretending to read it while surreptitiously staring at me.

Mitchell doesn’t love me!
screams the headline.
Aussie Kitty’s anguish.
As if the online story wasn’t intrusive enough, the print edition includes quotes from ‘sources’ confirming my misery, and includes not only a list of the various expensive gifts Mitchell gave me, but details of my mother’s death. God knows where Molly got her information, but it’s all true – and reading it was like being publicly eviscerated.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, it’s Brenda again,’ comes a gratingly perky voice over the public-address system. My jaw clenches. No one has any business sounding so cheerful at this hour and in these circumstances, least of all the vapid airline spokeswoman. ‘Once again, I’d like to apologise for the continued delay to your service to Sydney tonight. The good news is the captain has just informed me the technical issues have been rectified and we expect to have you boarding within the next ten to fifteen minutes.’

A cheer goes up from the crowd and there’s a stampede to queue at the boarding doors. Some people actually applaud. I want to break their fingers.

I pull out my phone and click on the messages icon for what feels like the millionth time this evening.

Nothing.

I haven’t seen or spoken to Mitchell since I told him I wanted to leave LA two nights ago. Not since he picked up the puppy, turned and walked out of the kitchen.

And apparently out of my life.

I stuffed some clothes into a suitcase, checked into a cheap motel and spent the following day planning my return to Sydney. Everything else is still at Mitchell’s mansion, including the belongings I brought with me from Sydney nearly five weeks ago.

Not even five weeks.
That’s how long my Hollywood dream with Mitchell lasted. With the six weeks we spent together in Sydney, our relationship lasted less than three months in total. It seems laughable that I uprooted my entire life for such a tiny fragment of time. I left my house, my dogs, and my job for him. And what did he give up? Not a single thing. Not even five minutes of his time to make a phone call.

But I don’t even know what I’d say to him if he called now. Goodbye? I’m sorry? Send my stuff back? There’s so much left unsaid between us, I wouldn’t know where to start.

The boarding queue has started moving at last, so I tag onto the end of it. When at last I reach the insufferably perky Brenda, I hand her my boarding pass and stride down the air bridge onto the plane without looking back.

The air on board the A380 is hot, thick and stale; it’s as if the infamous LA smog crept in and filled all the available space while the plane sat idle on the tarmac. As I take my seat and shove my carry-on bag under the seat in front, my mobile phone rings.

Mitchell.
I curse the thought as soon as it forms in my brain. Where Mitchell Pyke is concerned, I’m done hoping.

‘Hello?’ I say quietly. Even though we’re still on the ground, there’s something about using a phone on a plane that just feels
wrong
to a by-the-book traveller like me.

‘Kitty,’ comes Frankie’s voice, thick with tears. She sounds reedy and far away, as if she’s on another planet instead of on the other side of the ocean.

My heart leaps into my throat. ‘Frankie? What’s wrong?’

‘It’s Bananarama,’ my sister says, choking back a sob. ‘She’s sick, Kitty. She’s really, really sick.’

A nauseating chill envelops my body like a cloak, though the plane’s air conditioning still hasn’t kicked in. ‘What do you mean? What’s wrong with her, Frank?’

‘She was really quiet all day yesterday. She didn’t eat her dinner and wasn’t interested in playing with the other dogs. I didn’t think much of it – you know how she can be. But then she woke me up in the night, drinking constantly. She emptied her water bowl in one go, so I refilled it and she drank that, too.’

‘Was it hot today? Maybe she’s just a bit dehydrated,’ I say hopefully, but dread has settled in the pit of my stomach.

‘That’s what I thought. So I refilled her bowl again, and then again. Kitty, she drank seven bowlfuls of water. I finally stopped refilling it because I thought she was going to drink herself to death.’

There’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see a heavily made-up stewardess leaning over me. ‘Ma’am, you’re going to need to switch off your phone now. We’re preparing for departure,’ she says in a no-nonsense tone.

I nod and cover the mouthpiece. ‘Just a second. This is really important.’ The stewardess frowns, but moves on.

‘Frankie, you need to call —’

‘I called him. He opened the clinic for us in the middle of the night and ran all kinds of tests . . .’ She trails off.

‘What did he say? Frankie?
What did Adam say?
’ The other passengers in my row turn to stare at me, whether alarmed by the desperation in my voice or its volume I’m not sure.

‘He said she has acute renal failure. Her kidneys are shutting down. Her body can’t get rid of toxins and waste products.’ She dissolves into tears.

‘Ma’am.’ The stewardess is back and looking pointedly at my phone. ‘The final cabin door is closed and we’re about to begin our taxi. You have to switch that off.
Now.
’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper. ‘It’s a family emergency. I just need a moment.’

She sighs noisily. ‘Ma’am, if you don’t . . .’

But I’m not listening. I can barely hear her, anyway, over the painful thudding in my chest. Tears well in my eyes.

‘Kitty, Adam says Rama can’t survive this,’ Frankie continues. ‘She’s too old and her little body is too frail. The kindest thing is to —’

‘Ma’am?
Ma’am!
’

‘NO!’

The stewardess recoils. She shoots me a filthy look and marches down the aisle towards the cockpit.

‘No, Frankie. You can’t put Rama to sleep. You just can’t!’

The horrified stares of my row-mates soften as they grasp the situation. The middle-aged woman next to me pats my hand.

‘You know Adam would never recommend this unless it was best for Rama. She’s in terrible pain and she won’t recover,’ Frankie says gently. ‘She’s in my care, Kitty, and I’m making the decision.’

‘Wait,’ I plead. I remove the phone from my ear for a moment to check the time. ‘It’s, what, one in the afternoon there?’

‘One-thirty,’ says Frankie. ‘Why?’

The haughty stewardess is stomping back down the aisle towards me, this time with the cabin manager in tow.

‘Miss, you are delaying this flight,’ he says. ‘If you don’t end your call this second, I will have you removed from the aircraft.’

I shoot a desperate look at the woman next to me. She nods knowingly and turns to explain my situation to the pair.

‘I’m literally on a plane right now,’ I tell Frankie. ‘I land in Sydney at six o’clock tomorrow morning. Please,
please
, don’t do anything until I get back. Can’t Adam just make her comfortable until then so we can discuss it?’

The confab between my neighbour and the crew is getting heated. ‘For heaven’s sake, have some compassion,’ the woman is saying. ‘Haven’t you ever lost a pet?’

The cabin manager purses his lips. The stewardess rolls her false-lashed eyes.
Cow.

I sense Frankie’s surprise at the other end of the line. ‘You’re coming home? Since when?’

Sure, because now’s the time to get into
that.

‘Just promise me, Frankie. Will you do that?’ I know what I’m asking is horrifically selfish. I know Frankie wouldn’t be making this decision unless it was truly necessary. But I also know that if any vet can soothe Rama in her final hours, it’s Adam. And I can’t cope with another loss right now, not with a never-ending night in a pressurised steel tube ahead of me.

My sister hesitates. ‘Okay,’ she says at last.

‘Please call ground security,’ the cabin manager says to the stewardess.

‘Thank you, Frankie,’ I say in a rush of breath. ‘I’ll call you when I land.’ I end the call and switch off my phone. ‘Thanks
so
much for your understanding,’ I say, turning to the crew members. ‘Let’s get this tin can in the air.’

I don’t sleep a wink on the flight. I spend much of it weeping and telling my kindly neighbour, who turns out to be a Texan widow called Laverne, all about my mother and Bananarama and how much the little dog means to me. She listens patiently and when I’m done pouring my heart out she nods sagely and says, ‘Loss is nothing else but change, and change is nature’s delight.’

‘Is that from the Bible?’

‘No, honey,’ Laverne replies. ‘Marcus Aurelius said that. You know him?’

I frown. ‘Wasn’t he in
Gladiator
?’

She chuckles. ‘He was a Roman emperor, and his life was full of tragedy. He buried a number of children, but he never feared loss because he knew it was a part of life. He also said, “One man prays: ‘How I may not lose my little child’, but you must pray: ‘How I may not be afraid to lose him.’”’

‘Well, I bet he never lost his dead mother’s dog.’

‘Oh, honey,’ Laverne says. ‘It’s not about the dog. It’s never about the dog.’

She dozes off after that, but I still can’t sleep. I sit there in my cramped seat, staring dumbly at some terrible movie on the screen in front of me and replaying Laverne’s words over and over in my head.

It’s not about the dog. It’s never about the dog.

I know she’s right. My heart breaks at the thought of what awaits me in Sydney, but I know deep down that letting Rama go is the right thing to do. So why am I so grief-stricken, so desperate to get home and save that little mutt? I don’t remember feeling this adrift even when my mother died.

By the time the plane touches down in Sydney, I think I’ve figured it out. If Bananarama dies, it means one more being that I love with all my heart has left me. First my mother, then Mitchell; Rama’s passing will complete an unbearable trifecta. And they all left without a farewell, without even a real explanation. Mum didn’t tell me and Frankie that she was sick for almost two years, and by the time it became obvious it was far too late. She was gone in what felt like a heartbeat, leaving only the expectation that I’d soldier on somehow, that I’d pick up the pieces because that’s what I always do. And if Mitchell’s lack of contact is any indication, he’s vanished from my life just as quickly.

But not Rama. At least I’ll have the chance to say goodbye to my beautiful, dainty little girl.

The queue at the airport taxi rank is mercifully short, but with the flight delay and battling through the morning rush hour it’s still nearly ten o’clock by the time I cross Spit Bridge and head back towards Narrabeen. I text Frankie and tell her to meet me at Adam’s clinic. She replies that she’s already there.

My sister is nervously pacing the waiting room when I arrive. She looks up at me, her face streaked with tears. And shakes her head.

‘I’m so sorry, Kitty,’ she whispers. ‘She just couldn’t hold on.’

The floor tilts sharply beneath me. I hear a strange sound, like a howling. A deep, primal noise that’s rent with anguish. I reach out for the corner of the reception desk to steady myself, but it’s not there. As I crash to the floor, I realise the sound is coming from me.

When I come to a few minutes later – or is it hours? – I’m stretched out on a rickety camp bed in Adam’s office. My stomach twists bitterly. What’s the point of him sleeping at the clinic if he can’t save the animals in his care?

There’s no sign of Adam, but Frankie is perched at the end of the thin mattress, wringing her hands.

‘Did I dream it?’

‘No, sweetie,’ my sister says. ‘I’m sorry.’

It feels as if there’s a ten-tonne weight pressing down on my chest as I heave myself into a sitting position. My head is spinning and I can’t tell if it’s grief, jet lag, or a torturous combination of the two.

‘Tell me what happened.’

Frankie takes a deep breath, as though she’s rehearsed what she’s about to say. ‘Adam did everything he could. He gave her painkillers and tried to make her comfortable, and for a little while it worked. She was pretty out of it, but she was hanging in there. But then around three o’clock this morning, she just crashed. She was in so much pain, Kitty. It was obvious. The way she cried —’ Frankie breaks off as her own tears spill over. ‘I’d never heard a sound like it, until you keeled over in the waiting room just now.’

‘So why didn’t Adam up her pain meds? Try a different drug? Why didn’t he
do something
?’
It was only a few hours
, I want to scream.
That was all I asked
.

She shakes her head. ‘There was nothing he could do. We couldn’t let her suffer like that, Kit. We just couldn’t. The only option —’

‘Wait.’ I hold up my hand and Frankie stops speaking. ‘You said she couldn’t hold on.’