I couldn't sleep. I was hot and cold. I kicked off the duvet then pulled it back over me. I turned from right side to left side and spun the pillow for the cold side and kept this up all night long. But I must have drifted off eventually, because I remember waking to the wonderful mysteriousness of first light through my eyelids and the sound of the house martins outside my window. At last! I was glad when it was time to get up.
A little later my tickets and itinerary fell through the letter box wrapped round my phobia as expected. As soon as I read my name and assembled all the details of the expedition in my imagination, something took over and my stomach turned to jelly. I was about to freefall naked into the abyss of utter darkness with hands tied behind my back and my ankles chained together.
Over the next few days I did every thing I could to keep my mind off the journey but Auntie kept phoning with little suggestions that were not helping my nerves.
'Godfrey, please allow plenty of time to get to and through the airport. Things do go wrong,' she said, 'so plan ahead.'
'What things? What are you saying? Why me? Don't I have to make out a will or something?'
How I hated telephones. Normally at this stage in my traumas, there'd be a motherly squeeze and she'd say something to boost my confidence but she wasn't there. In fact, the more I thought of the trek the more I wanted to pee.
I was quite sad when the time came to leave for the airport. I'd secured the cottage and left food and water for Ebby but there was no sign of him anywhere and I would have loved to say goodbye even though I knew he was in good hands with Demelza. I think that cat was my best friend. As for the journey to the airport, well I don't remember much of that and I couldn't describe the driver if it was a matter of life or death. I kept myself occupied as best I could by trying to name the trees that we past and by crunching boiled sweets. The inside of my mouth was pickled by the time we got to Newquay and the driver had to keep turning up the volume on his radio because of the noise I was making.
There were about six of us flying to Bristol and once on board I sat as far apart from the others as I could just in case they started chatting about the weather, or politics, or even worse, sport. But the flight was over in no time and it wasn't long before I was experiencing the space and light of Bristol airport for the first time. Every receptacle and cubicle in the men's toilet at the airport was busy. I presumed everyone was as nervous as me. Wandering slowly through the concourse trying to kill time before takeoff I tried to give the impression of being a seasoned traveller with my hold-all draped casually over my shoulder whilst clutching a boarding pass to the land of mystery and imagination in my trouser pocket. It was hot and busy and I groaned aloud when I heard that my 2230 flight was delayed by almost an hour. I'd been there for five hours already and now there would be another hour of mental torture.
After an excellent snack I wandered through WH Smith and thrilled to the dizzy heights of buying my first phrase book but from then on it was a downward spiral of fear and boredom. I was reduced to staring at all the unlikely tabloid nonsense, vapid autobiographies and visiting every nook and searching every cranny of the concourse in trying to while away the time. Another hour? What to do? There was nothing for it but to find a quiet corner and shut down, not necessarily to go to sleep but to relax. I closed my eyes and tried to look forward to this unexpected visit to the city of cities but just as Prometheus opened up with some hot tips on the nightspots of Sophia, I was brought to my senses by a sensuous vibration from deep within my trouser pocket. It was my mobile.
'Godfrey? I've got a couple more suggestions for your flight.' Auntie wasn't making things any easier. The butterflies turned to bats. 'They say not to forget to make use of the luggage trolleys and ask for help from the airport staff, if you are having difficulty. It's better to share a load than to end up with strained muscles.'
'Auntie, are you reading from a list?'
'Er, yes,' she sounded guilty. 'I found it in my passport and thought it might help.'
'Actually, I think I'm getting a migraine.'
'You're being neurotic, Godfrey. Grow up.'
That hurt.
'It says it's best to avoid alcohol and coffee because they make you dehydrate and you don't want that do you? Just drink water.'
'Thanks Auntie, but I hardly drink at all anyway.'
She was beginning to get to me. An indecipherable mumble filled the air.
'That's my flight. Must go. I'll phone you from...er...’ I pressed the red 'C'. I couldn't bring myself to say the word 'Athens'. It sounded so far away. Ebby was right; I was scared of flying even though I had never flown before.
'Shee-it. Typical goddam shee-it.' There was a lady standing next to me trying to use a wall computer. Her hair was shaped like a helmet and dyed jet black. In fact, I think it was real nylon. 'Excuse my French but these freakin' machines drive me mad.'
'Don't look at me,' I said. 'Technology leaves me at the toothbrush.'
'I only want to check my freakin' emails. I tell ya, these airport computers are crap.'
'Whatever did we do without them?' I wasn't quite sure what to say.
'That's it. You're right. How come I'm suddenly available when I'm supposed to be on holiday? Bastards.' She threw her head back and laughed, loud and dirty. 'Hi. I'm Rebecca. I'm OK really.' When Rebecca laughed her face became strangely girlish.
'My name's Godfrey. I'm f...f...flying to G...Greece.' It was obvious I wasn't a pilot.
'My flight's on time and I can't wait to check in. I'm going home on vacation. Sounds crazy, right? New York for a vacation?'
'Sounds like a long flight.'
'About eight hours. Love flying. Don't understand it but love it.'
'I'm scared stiff.'
'Hey, what's to be scared of? If you crash, you die. What can you do? Anyways, have fun.' And with that, reassuring Rebecca was gone.
Was Rebecca my guardian angel? Who knows? One thing was sure - I felt different. More confident. I wandered into the corner of the bar area and ordered an orange juice from the barman. Next to me stood another American lady wearing a large pair of glasses with unusually thick funky lenses all supported by an unfortunate growth on the side of her nose. She was sucking hot whisky through a straw. The cloves made her mascara run. She caught my eye and smiled.
'Hi. You going to Athens?'
'En route to the islands,' I forced a smile, hoping that she didn't want a travelling companion.
'Oh, really? On business?'
'I work in a library.'
'My son has just started in our advertising agency on Lower East Side Manhattan. He's a klurk.'
'A klurk? I don't mean to be rude but I've never heard of a klurk.'
'You know, a klurk. Like a klurk in an office.'
'Oh, I see. Sorry. It's just that over we pronounce it, clark. Sorry, I misunderstood.'
'Whadda you mean, klark? A klark tells you the time. You're saying my son just sits on a wall all day and says “tick-tock”? You're sayin' that's his job?'
'No. No. Sorry. I said he is a klark. Over here we say, klark, that's all.'
"Wassa madda? Doncha speak English? Shee-it dude.' She leaned over to within centimetres of the barman's face. 'Can I ged me a glass of wadda?' The barman winced and nodded, his eyes stinging from the haze of hair lacquer and hot whisky. She nudged me, 'And see my husband over there - with my son? I'm sure he's been having an affair with his secretary for years. That's how I contracted this problem with my nose. Anxiety.'
'What problem?'
The lady sucked noisily. I think she may have been a little tipsy. I tried to remain expressionless and looked straight between her eyes. She grabbed my arm, 'I like you. You know? You're a good listener. Tell me, what did you major at in college?'
'Well, in Britain, we have a different system than in the States. Our Private and Public schooling systems are almost inexplicable.'
She gave a knowing smile and shook her head, 'Oh come on, I mean you're a psychiatrist, right?'
I was flabbergasted, 'Well actually, as I've already told you, I'm a librarian. That's all.'
'Yeah, right.' She tapped the growth on the side of her nose. I couldn't help staring at it. She whispered, 'No, no. Cool. I get it. Research, right? Once the word's out that you're a psychiatrist, as far as you're concerned, the party's over. Well don't worry, your secret's safe with me.' She winked, got up and melted into the throng. Within minutes, I felt a gentle squeeze on my elbow, a tiny sparrow of a lady with bright grey eyes was smiling at me like a deranged fairy, 'Hi. I'm Margaret. I hear you've been talking to Rachael, may I have a word?'
'Snnffm.'
'...and don't worry, your secret's safe with me. It's just that my son's got a problem and he'd love to have a quick chat. Please say you will. He's getting kinda desperate.'
She signalled to a young man about thirty-ish who made his way towards us. I adjusted my attitude to appear more professional. He appeared to be troubled about something. He ordered two Margaritas and gave one to me. I said nothing. The man squirmed and eventually spoke, 'OK. I want you to understand that I'm only here to keep my mother quiet and by the way, she's told me your little secret.'
' Really – I’m a librarian.'
'Yeah, right. Sure. Whatever. Anyway, it's not me with the problem, it's her.'
'I really am.'
'My folks are staunch Catholics and now they're demanding their expected grandchild to be christened and brought up a Catholic. It's this horning in that's caused the rift in the family.'
Slowly, I nodded knowingly, considering. I pushed my glasses a little further up my nose without taking my eyes from his, 'Look, I'm sure your mother means no harm. As a Catholic she's naturally concerned for the spiritual welfare of the whole family but just doesn't know when to horn out,' I was warming to the phrase. 'I think the simplest way to repair the rift would be to tell her you would be delighted if she would arrange a formal family christening ceremony. That way she's a happy grandmother who loves being appreciated and the future takes care of itself.'
I said all this whilst stroking my chin and keeping my face straight. I ignored the Margarita. He stared at me in silence then gradually narrowed his eyes, 'My God you're right.'
'Please don't call me God in public.'
'Sorry. But you are right. It's so simple. She need never know - even if the kid decides to be the Antichrist or even...er...a librarian.'
As the man left he shoved something into my shirt pocket. 'Will a fifty will cover it? As I said, your secret's safe with me.'
Before I could protest the man had gone. I looked at my watch. Another year to wait.
'Pardon me.' A man had been waiting for his turn to talk to me and by now he was sneering.
I was still stroking my chin, 'Yes Sir. How may I help you?'
'What's wrong with your men's bathroom? The toilets are crap. They stink of urine and shit.'
My bathroom? He must have thought I was with the airport. 'You smell what you smell. Need I go on?'
'That's enough, buddy. C'mon mom. We're outta here.'
Grinning to myself, I shook my head in disbelief, 'It works! It really works!'
I was beginning to enjoy life in the airport village.