The building was fairly empty; with only one flight due in this afternoon. A few people were milling about with suitcases, or queueing at the flight desk, and there was a rumble of quiet conversation, but she could see the arrivals door clearly, and there was space in the café in which she could sit and read her book.
A member of staff had opened the large glass doors at the back of the seating area, and customers spilled out onto a terrace which overlooked the runway on one side, and the car park on the other. It wasn’t exactly the dream location, but it was a chance to sit and feel the warm sun on her face – even if the air was fragranced with fumes.
She ordered a tea at the counter – having not had one for a few days – and remembered for once to request ‘thé au lait’ (tea with milk). She chose a tarte aux fraises from the mouth-watering selection of pastries and promised herself she’d walk it off later.
The server nodded then, moments later, produced a tray with the glistening tarte and a cup filled with warm, steamed milk.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lily said. ‘I ordered thé au lait.’
‘Oui,’ he said, ‘you can choose the tea, ’ere.’ He opened up an embossed box which housed teas in every conceivable form – green, herbal, rooibos and, thankfully, English breakfast – for her to select from. She reached in and took an English breakfast, before pointing again to the tray. ‘But the milk… you’ve put the milk in the cup already,’ she said, patiently.
‘Oui, pour le thé au lait,’ he said, seemingly confused.
‘But we don’t…’ she began. A cough in the queue behind her alerted her to the fact there were about five other people waiting to be served. ‘Never mind,’ she said, handing him a ten euro note and heading over to the terrace. There, she set down her tray on a small, vacant table and unwrapped the tea bag, then placed it in the milky cup, hoping beyond hope that something resembling tea might emerge if left long enough.
She busied herself while she waited by listening in to snippets of conversation around her. Usually, she craved quiet, but now she lived in practical silence, it was nice to hear the murmur of others talking. Some conversations sped past in French and she was only able to grab on to the odd word. Others were in English. One woman was telling her son how he should behave when he got to his grandmother’s. A couple discussed the price of air travel. One man, on the phone, seemed to be talking about computer software, and might as well have been speaking another language entirely.
She scrolled pointlessly through her phone, and re-sent the message she’d sent to Ben last night, hoping to prompt a response. It looked a bit heartless in the cold light of day. But what else could she say? If he didn’t love her enough to come, she wasn’t going to try to force him.
Then, trying her best to put thoughts of ‘home’ or the place she’d used to call home, out of her mind, she drew her book from her bag and began to read, feeling the sun playing lightly on her face, and breaking small forkfuls from her tarte as she read. Eventually, she gave up on the tea and went to get herself a coffee instead, making sure to order a ‘grande crème’ rather than simply assuming she’d be offered milk if she didn’t request it.
The time passed quickly and she was taken by surprise when a plane screeched onto the nearby runway, practically skidding to a halt. Did they always look so haphazard when they landed? Or was it only the budget airlines that went for a white-knuckle finish?
Tucking the book away, she got to her feet and walked to the arrivals door to greet her friend.
13
‘OK, so promise you’ll use your imagination,’ Lily said again as they turned down the road that led to her new house. ‘It’s not perfect, and I didn’t expect it to be.’
‘You really have no faith in me at all,’ Emily said. ‘Besides which, after that drive, I’m too travel sick to complain about anything!’
When Emily had walked through the double doors from passport control two hours earlier, Lily had had to fight the urge to leap into her arms. Her friend had been her usual dishevelled yet beautiful self: sporting tracksuit bottoms, a hoodie, dark glasses and a messy bun. But in that moment, she’d seemed so familiar, reminded her so much of home, it had thrown the experience of the last few days into sharp relief. Lily had been lonelier than she’d realised.
‘You get used to the roads, honestly,’ Lily said hurriedly. ‘They are a bit twisty, but you learn to sort of go with it.’