pushing a trolley piled high with suitcases came through the barrier, causing the entire Jamaican clan to leap up and squeal for joy, running out to greet them as if invading a soccer pitch, jumping and clapping and embracing them. Vernon could hear them talking excitedly, and the word ‘London’ came up several times. So they must have come off the same flight as Kate and Jack. They’d be out any minute.
Another thirty-five minutes later, he was still waiting. All the people who had been standing with him were long gone, and a whole new set had taken up their places at the barrier. He tried to call Kate, left a message for her. A stream of passengers in saris and turbans were now coming through, not remotely looking as if they were recently arrived from London.
Vernon tutted. He was busting for a piss, but he didn’t want to leave in case he missed them. Besides, he really needed to get back to his office – he had seventeen student papers on symbolism in classic American literature to grade before the end of term next week. Keeping an eye on the sliding doors, he walked across to the Information kiosk, and waited in line there for five minutes while the man behind the counter explained to an elderly Irish couple the procedure for tracking missing luggage.
‘ It wasn’t there!’ the woman, who had patchy grey hair and an anxious face, kept saying. ‘All the bags were off, the belt was empty, and ours wasn’t there! Has someone taken it by mistake, do you think? We had presents in there, for our grandson! What’ll we do now, if you can’t find it?’
Her husband turned to her and put a placatory hand on her tweedy sleeve. ‘Stop fretting, would you, Deirdre! Sure, it’s not helping things, now is it? This gentleman will phone through to London for us, and check it got on the plane in the first place, isn’t that right, sir?’
Vernon interrupted. He had a very bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. ‘Excuse me. Did you just say you came from London, and all the bags are through?’‘Not ours,’ replied the woman. ‘Ours is lost, you see, and it’s full of – ‘
‘ Were you on flight BA0213?’
‘ We were, but – ‘
‘ And there’s nobody back through there still waiting for their luggage?’
‘ I wouldn’t know about that, now,’ said the man, slightly impatiently. ‘But I can tell you that the conveyor belt yoke was empty, so I suppose not.’
He turned back to the man behind the counter, who was dialling numbers on a telephone.
Vernon stepped away from the kiosk, his mind racing. The flight had landed. The bags were through. Kate’s phone was off. He was almost certain that he’d have seen them if they’d come through those sliding doors. Had they missed the flight? Then why hadn’t she called to tell him? Surely she wasn’t so dumb or thoughtless that she’d omit to do that?
He stood very still amid a sea of people weaving their way around him, motionless as they bumped into him with suitcases and trolleys, looking down at bodies of all different shapes, sizes and colours, trying to spot the top of a blond head, a head he’d know anywhere.
A horrible recognition swept over him; a distant memory breaking through the surface with sudden, perfect clarity. Something about Kate going over to England for Lil’s ninetieth birthday had been nagging at him all week, but it wasn’t until now that he realized what it was: The last time Kate had planned to go to England for one of Lil’s birthdays had been five years ago, for Lil’s 84th. Jack had just been a baby, coming up to his own first birthday. Kate was going to take him with her, ‘so they could celebrate both birthdays together.’ But at the last minute Jack had come down with a fever, and she hadn’t wanted to go without him. Vernon had been secretly delighted – he’d been pissed that Kate would deny him the opportunity to be there for his own son’s first birthday.
Jack’s birthday was September
Another thirty-five minutes later, he was still waiting. All the people who had been standing with him were long gone, and a whole new set had taken up their places at the barrier. He tried to call Kate, left a message for her. A stream of passengers in saris and turbans were now coming through, not remotely looking as if they were recently arrived from London.
Vernon tutted. He was busting for a piss, but he didn’t want to leave in case he missed them. Besides, he really needed to get back to his office – he had seventeen student papers on symbolism in classic American literature to grade before the end of term next week. Keeping an eye on the sliding doors, he walked across to the Information kiosk, and waited in line there for five minutes while the man behind the counter explained to an elderly Irish couple the procedure for tracking missing luggage.
‘ It wasn’t there!’ the woman, who had patchy grey hair and an anxious face, kept saying. ‘All the bags were off, the belt was empty, and ours wasn’t there! Has someone taken it by mistake, do you think? We had presents in there, for our grandson! What’ll we do now, if you can’t find it?’
Her husband turned to her and put a placatory hand on her tweedy sleeve. ‘Stop fretting, would you, Deirdre! Sure, it’s not helping things, now is it? This gentleman will phone through to London for us, and check it got on the plane in the first place, isn’t that right, sir?’
Vernon interrupted. He had a very bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. ‘Excuse me. Did you just say you came from London, and all the bags are through?’‘Not ours,’ replied the woman. ‘Ours is lost, you see, and it’s full of – ‘
‘ Were you on flight BA0213?’
‘ We were, but – ‘
‘ And there’s nobody back through there still waiting for their luggage?’
‘ I wouldn’t know about that, now,’ said the man, slightly impatiently. ‘But I can tell you that the conveyor belt yoke was empty, so I suppose not.’
He turned back to the man behind the counter, who was dialling numbers on a telephone.
Vernon stepped away from the kiosk, his mind racing. The flight had landed. The bags were through. Kate’s phone was off. He was almost certain that he’d have seen them if they’d come through those sliding doors. Had they missed the flight? Then why hadn’t she called to tell him? Surely she wasn’t so dumb or thoughtless that she’d omit to do that?
He stood very still amid a sea of people weaving their way around him, motionless as they bumped into him with suitcases and trolleys, looking down at bodies of all different shapes, sizes and colours, trying to spot the top of a blond head, a head he’d know anywhere.
A horrible recognition swept over him; a distant memory breaking through the surface with sudden, perfect clarity. Something about Kate going over to England for Lil’s ninetieth birthday had been nagging at him all week, but it wasn’t until now that he realized what it was: The last time Kate had planned to go to England for one of Lil’s birthdays had been five years ago, for Lil’s 84th. Jack had just been a baby, coming up to his own first birthday. Kate was going to take him with her, ‘so they could celebrate both birthdays together.’ But at the last minute Jack had come down with a fever, and she hadn’t wanted to go without him. Vernon had been secretly delighted – he’d been pissed that Kate would deny him the opportunity to be there for his own son’s first birthday.
Jack’s birthday was September
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