I’d wondered if it might be better for her to try to get some work experience first. Lori wasn’t having it. ‘If I go now, I can travel with Jake and Amy. I don’t want to go on my own later.’
As we wait at Check-in, the departures hall teems with travellers, queues snaking around the pillars, the clamour of conversation, of crying children and Tannoy announcements. Thailand, her first stop. Then Vietnam and Hong Kong.
Her phone trills. She reads it. ‘Amy.’ She grins. ‘They’ll meet me at the airport.’
Her bag is two kilos over.
‘Shit,’ she says, looking at me in panic.
‘I thought you’d weighed it,’ I say.
‘I did. Those scales don’t work.’
‘How much?’ Tom asks the check-in clerk.
‘That’ll be eighty-eight pounds.’
‘God,’ says Lori.
Tom has the cash. Crisis averted.
‘Thanks,’ Lori says.
‘Make sure it’s lighter coming back,’ I say.
‘I will.’
‘Yeah, no Christmas presents,’ Tom says.
‘We could get a cuppa?’ I nod towards the café, eager to delay our parting.
Lori screws up her nose. ‘I’ll go through,’ she says.
The pressure rises in my chest. Don’t go, I want to say. Stay, come home with me, don’t leave. Why can’t I just be pleased for her, excited?
Tom opens his arms and she walks into them. He bends and kisses the top of her head. ‘It’ll be great, Lollydoll. You’ll kill it, yeah?’
I look away, swallowing hard, eyes skimming the crowds.
‘Bye, Dad.’
He lets her go and she turns to me. I hug her tight. When I try to speak my voice turns husky: ‘Have a wonderful time.’ I want to say more. I love you. Be careful. Keep your money out of sight. Stay safe. But my throat is locked, my head full of tears. So I just hug her tighter, sniffing hard, breathing in the smell of her – orange-blossom shampoo and mint chewing gum and something like salt.
‘Bye-bye.’ She does that funny wave, like her hand and arm are rigid, no wrist joint. And all I can do is nod vigorously and smile, lips closed, teeth clamped together.
We watch her walk away, her tote bag over one shoulder, a quick stride as if she’ll break into a run at any moment.
She pauses where the ramp leads down to Departures and waves again. I wave back. Tom gives her a thumbs-up and a peace sign.
Then she is gone.
‘Oh, God.’ I let my breath out.
‘She’ll be fine,’ he says.
‘It’s not her I’m worried about,’ I try to joke but it comes out all squeaky. I find a tissue, dab at my eyes.
‘Jo?’
I shake my head. ‘It’s OK.’
Back on the top of the car park, the sky is changing: a red blush tints shreds of cloud to the west. The end of the day is coming. The hotels around the airport are visible, as is the railway station and, further away, the skyline of the city.
