Page 41 of The Loneliest Number
Can be if you want it to be *eyebrow waggling GIF*
Pixie:
I’ll keep Sunday clear, and we can play it by ear.
Me:
Busy week?
Pixie:
So so, but nice to have something to look forward to at the weekend.
Me:
Let me know if you’re at a loose end this week, and we can do “something”.
Pixie:
I’ll keep that in mind. Gotta go. Catch ya later, big guy.
On Friday evening, I stand at the arrivals hall in London City Airport watching the people flood through from baggage collection. Saff’s flight landed on time ten minutes ago, but I don’t know how long it will take for her to come through. Surely for two nights, she just brought hand luggage.
But fifteen minutes later, I’m still waiting. I shoot her a text:
Me:
You did make the flight, didn’t you? I’m waiting but I don’t see you.
Saff:
Just waiting for my bags. It’s so slooooow. I’ll see you soon, I hope.
And a few minutes later, I spot her auburn curls flowing freely as she follows an elderly couple through the sliding doors. She’s talking to them animatedly and dragging a massive suitcase behind her.What the fuck?
She gives them both a big grin and says goodbye before she spots me waiting with the sign I promised I’d bring so she’d look famous or rich. I hold up the sheet of paper scrawled with ‘Ms Saffron Stewart’ and wave it in her direction.
“Pah, I don’t think much of that. I was expecting it to be typed out and laminated at the very least,” she says, pulling me down for a hug and planting a big, sloppy kiss on my cheek. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
I give her a squeeze, surprised when she stays in situ, making no effort to step away from the hug. “Okay, Saff?” I whisper into her crazy hair in the vicinity of her ears. I pull back slightly, still keeping my arms around her, to see tears welling in her eyes. “Come on, let’s get you out of here,” I tell her, taking control of her suitcase while keeping one arm wrapped around her and leading us towards the door.
“You wanna experience the DLR and the tube on a Friday afternoon, or shall we just take a cab?” I ask her.
“How long will each take?” Her tears have dried up, which I’m relieved to see, but I’m still going to check with her later and find out what’s up. It’s not like her at all.
“They’re probably both as long as each other,” I say with a wince.
“Fuck it, let’s try the underground then. At least it’ll be cheaper.”
I lead her to the station, and we stop at the machines to buy her a ticket before heading to the platform. I’m pleasantly surprised that people aren’t quite packed in like sardines while they wait, so perhaps we’ll miss the worst of rush hour.
“Let’s head to the hotel and ditch your bag, then we can go and get dinner. Sound good?” I check, and she nods. “You’ve not been to London before?”
“Only once, as a kid with my mum and an aunt. But I’m excited to see it now. You gonna give me a tour?”
“Not of the whole city, but we can work out what you’re most keen to see and go there. How does that sound?”
We have a couple of changes to make to get to the tube station nearest my hotel and then traipse down the road to the main entrance.
