Slamming her front door, Grace stormed up the road, growling as she went.
A woman walking her dog recoiled and, after a glance left and right, crossed the road, yanking her Westie after her.
Reaching a set of lights by the park, Grace set down her case, pulled her mobile from her jeans pocket and checked the time. Four hours before her flight. She liked to be early but knew she didn’t want to spend so much time staring at the departures board, wandering round duty free or reading the book she wanted to save for the beach. So she headed to the park to call a taxi that she should have booked in advance. She used the company often so they would find her a car when she wanted it. An hour. That would do. Sixty minutes to relax, think about the argument she’d just had with her boyfriend, Keith, when he’d told her there was no way she’d go on the trip without him. The holiday that they’d planned for months but he was no longer able to go on because of work, the job she was convinced he loved more than her.
Grace headed down the hill, on the path between the swings and open area of grass where most dog walkers let their animals off their leads. It was quiet, being a workday, but there was a couple chatting at the top of the hill then further down were two women, one with a border collie, the other a small mixed breed.
Reaching one of two lakes, Grace put her bags next to her on a bench and pulled her lunch from the smallest bag. She had planned to save that until she reached the airport but having had an early breakfast, she was already hungry and she knew she’d have something on the plane. After making the call and booking taxi, she sat and watched the swans and variety of ducks and their offspring going round in circles. Grace was tempted to tear off some of the bread from her ham salad sandwiches but knew from experience that it would then lead to pestering so kept them to herself. A pang of jealousy kicked in as she watched the families of birds enjoying the light breeze. Having children had been another source of arguments between her and Keith. “I already have a family, you know that,” he’d kept saying but she’d convinced herself that one day he’d want another one, a new one, with her.
On her way back up the path, she decided to cut across the grass. Her best shoes were in the suitcase so it didn’t matter if the ones she was wearing got damp. As she approached the tree the couple she’d seen near, she spotted a small square object. A parcel. A parcel with a name and address on the top. No, not a name, just ‘Dad’.
Grace smiled, looked around for the couple, but couldn’t see them. The women walking their dogs had also disappeared. Grace put down her suitcase, placed the parcel in her handbag and headed to the layby just as the taxi pulled into it.
Smiled falsely at the driver, Grace said a weak “thanks” and headed to Departures, shaking her head as if to clear away all memory of the inane conversations she just had with ‘Amil’.
After checking in her suitcase, she knew she was too early for her flight to be listed on the board so went to the newsagents, bought a newspaper, bottle of trendy overpriced juice drink, and sat on an available plastic bucket seat. With little more in the paper than had been on the news channel Keith had been watching before going to work, Grace folded the paper and put it on the seat next to her. Remembering the parcel, she retrieved it from her bag and looked at the post box situated outside the newsagents. The slot was too small and Grace knew there was no post office. Who came to an airport to post parcels? Equally, she knew that if she left a parcel anywhere visible that the whole place would be locked down and the flights suspended. The last thing she wanted was to not be lying on a sunbed in a few hours’ time.
So she sat, staring at her feet, as if they would help her decide the best place to put it where it wouldn’t be found until after her flight had left. Cleaners. There would be cleaners around but if Grace put it in their rubbish sacks it would end up in the bin and ‘Dad’ would never receive it. She could give it to someone else but then whom would could she trust to wait without reporting her or the parcel or both.
A brainwave hit her like a surfer on an Australian beach and she leapt up, startling the person a couple of seats away.
Grace headed to where she wanted to be, thinking of how pleased ‘Dad’ would be to be reunited with the little square box.