The Last Love Note(94)
‘We’re all watching the live stream of the aurora here,’ Grace gushes. ‘It looks phenomenal.’
‘It blew my mind. But please listen. I need you to babysit.’
‘What? When?’
‘In about thirty hours. In Launceston.’
‘Is this a joke?’
‘Hugh will be there. Hopefully.’
There’s a brand of squeal on the end of the phone that I haven’t heard since the nineties. ‘About fucking time!’
‘Have some decorum, Grace, please!’ I suggest, imitating Mum.
‘Yes, Mary,’ she says, laughing. ‘But speaking of a lack of decorum, I have news about Justin.’
‘My neighbour?’ I ask, playing dumb. ‘Don’t tell me he’s sold that bike?’
‘My boyfriend! And no, Kate. I’m sure he’ll still take you for rides on it.’
I’m dizzyingly excited for her. And I’ve been away far too long. ‘You and Justin? Well, who could have seen that coming . . .’
She laughs. ‘Stop! I thought he was interested in you first, and he said I must be obtuse if I couldn’t see what was going on between you and Hugh from that first night with the grenade. Reckons it was you two who needed the bomb under you. Or the bike. Can confirm he is very much DTF, BTW. OMG.’
I snort. And squeal. Our teenage boy-crazy selves would highly approve.
‘Grace, I’m a mess! Or I will be after this flight. Not from the air travel for once. I’ve never been more nervous in all my life. What if it’s too late? Oh! I have to turn my phone off. Love you. Ring Sophie from the office about the details, okay? Code word: Project Harry Styles. Not a word to Hugh!’
I sit back and pretend in front of Charlie that I’m not sitting here stifling a multi-pronged anxiety attack. As soon as we’re in the air and able to, I plug us both into the entertainment system and try to distract myself with rom-coms.
It always works out in the end. Isn’t that what I hated at Disneyland? The perfection of it all? Yet here I am coordinating something far more logistically difficult than meeting on top of the Empire State Building, right in the middle of the indefinite period of space and time Hugh has been diligently giving me. Too much space. Now that I’m on my way home, that space feels like an impossible chasm. What if he did as I suggested and didn’t wait? I have the worst case of cold feet I’ve ever experienced. Can I really put myself out there like this?
I switch the entertainment off. Charlie’s fallen asleep and I have a glass of wine. If I focus, I’ll have the first section of my book finished by the time we land. It’s not great, but the bones of it are there. Something to work with, anyway, and plenty of ideas. It has been cathartic getting it out of my brain and onto the page over the last few months. I’ve been sending it to Grace, chapter by chapter, and she’s been encouraging. But then, she always is. I wanted to write about grief but it’s landing on the page as so much more than that. Maybe because, even in loss, there’s so much more to life.
42
Eight thousand words and ten thousand miles later, we’re flying over Australian soil. The thought makes me cry. Or maybe it’s the sleep deprivation that does it. Could be the escalating nerves. In any case, I’m a wreck as we come into land at Melbourne Airport in Tullamarine.
During the ninety minutes between flights, Charlie and I wander the halls of the airport – a walking zombie dragging a whining, jet-lagged minion. We’re wrung out, hot, cranky and totally over it. I just want to get to the hotel, freshen up, hand Charlie and a whole lot of duty-free make-up over to Grace and throw myself into the frightening abyss.
I get a call from Sophie and it makes me instantly nervous. I hope everything’s gone to plan.
‘Okay, I know I was just supposed to arrange the flight and the hotel, but Kate – you know that scene in Pretty Woman where Richard Gere is looking for her and she’s in the bar in that black dress, waiting . . .’
Do I want to hear this?
‘I organised a dress,’ Sophie explains, having gone rogue. ‘And a bogus meeting with Hugh at 7pm in the bar of the hotel. Oh, and I’ve checked the forecast. It’s overcast tonight, so no point going to Cradle Mountain for the lights until tomorrow anyway. Grace is lined up to babysit Charlie. I think I’ve risk-managed the heck out of this, Kate. You’d be proud of me!’
When the shuttle bus rolls into the centre of the city and up the circular drive at the Grand Chancellor Hotel, Charlie and I and a pack of tourists tumble out of it. I fall straight into Grace’s arms, both of us sobbing uncontrollably despite our parade of exciting news. Well, potentially exciting, in my case.
‘I adore you!’ I say, crying. ‘Look at you!’
‘Don’t ever leave me again! I love you!’
The international tourists burst into applause and start filming us, as if we’re reuniting lovers. It only makes us hug even more.
We drag our bags through the doors and across the marble tiles in the lobby, and Charlie gravitates to a decorative fountain, splashing around despite my begging him not to, while I try to recall my personal details out of my jet-lagged brain.
‘Charlie! Why don’t you come with me and check out our room for a sleepover!’ Grace says, enticing him away from the water.