stateside. But getting on to that Aer Lingus plane was always one of the best parts of coming home.
‘OK, hon, I’m off. Should be back by ten. I’ll ring you when I come off the M1, and you can meet us at Mam’s.’ Olivia gave her husband a kiss,
grabbed her car keys and hurried out of the house, shivering in the damp cold of the early morning. It was raining, and the windows of her small Fiesta were fogged up. She cursed as she wiped the
front one, too impatient to wait for the heater to clear them. She was running late, but at least there wouldn’t be the usual rush hour on a Saturday morning. She had texted ‘ Welcome
Home ’ to Alison’s mobile so she’d know that her sister had landed when she got the delivery-report message. The flight was on time: she’d checked the teletext and she
wanted to be there when Alison came through.
When Alison had phoned from JFK to say that she was boarding, Olivia had let on that she wouldn’t be at the airport, saying that something had come up and Michael wouldn’t be free to
mind the kids so Alison would have to get a taxi. ‘No worries,’ Alison had said cheerily. ‘Can’t wait to see everyone.’
Now that the day of the party had arrived, Olivia had stopped worrying. Today was all about their mother, she’d decided. Alison would provide an extra pair of hands after she’d had a
few hours’ sleep.
The children, of course, knew nothing of her visit or of the surprise party. It had been hard enough keeping the secret herself, she thought as she left the village and headed for the motorway.
The traffic was light, and she got to the airport in good time. She had to park in the Outer Siberia that was Block C, and she heard her phone beep and knew that it was the message report that told
her her sister had landed and was possibly even disembarked. Olivia drove around like a madwoman looking for a parking spot and had to drive up to level three before she found one. By the time she
got to Arrivals, she was panting after racing along the dank, dimly lit car parks, nearly going on her ear on a patch of oil at one stage.
‘Oh God, I need to get fit,’ she muttered, as she scanned the board to see that the flight had landed on time. She studied the people emerging through Customs, wondering if they were
from the New York flight. The big giveaway would be the groups of women who had gone on their Christmas-shopping expedition. Some of the passengers emerging had tans, she noted, so no, perhaps
not.
She was gasping for a cup of coffee, but she was afraid to leave in case Alison came out when she was gone. More passengers came through, and then there was a lull and then one or two
stragglers. Maybe she would risk running over to the coffee bar, she dithered. The doors opened again, and women pushing trolleys piled high with cases surged through. It had to be the New York
flight, she guessed, as one woman, yawning her head off, struggled to keep control of her laden trolley. Olivia scanned the hordes that kept on surging forward. And then she saw a familiar auburn
head, and her sister, looking a million dollars in an expensive-looking black wool coat and a lilac scarf knotted casually at her neck, appeared, not bothering to look at the group of greeters
huddled at the rail, but focusing on the exit where the taxi rank was.
Olivia, delighted to see her, forgot all her irritations and resentments towards her younger sister and called her name. Her sister didn’t hear her. ‘Alison, Alison,’ she
called loudly again, and Alison looked in Olivia’s direction and then came the heartwarming moment of delighted recognition as she left her trolley in the middle of the concourse and raced
into her sister’s welcoming arms.
‘Oh, you brat, I thought there wasn’t going to be anyone here,’ she remonstrated, as they hugged the daylights out of each other.
‘Ah, just wanted to give you a surprise. You look great for someone who’s just flown through the
‘OK, hon, I’m off. Should be back by ten. I’ll ring you when I come off the M1, and you can meet us at Mam’s.’ Olivia gave her husband a kiss,
grabbed her car keys and hurried out of the house, shivering in the damp cold of the early morning. It was raining, and the windows of her small Fiesta were fogged up. She cursed as she wiped the
front one, too impatient to wait for the heater to clear them. She was running late, but at least there wouldn’t be the usual rush hour on a Saturday morning. She had texted ‘ Welcome
Home ’ to Alison’s mobile so she’d know that her sister had landed when she got the delivery-report message. The flight was on time: she’d checked the teletext and she
wanted to be there when Alison came through.
When Alison had phoned from JFK to say that she was boarding, Olivia had let on that she wouldn’t be at the airport, saying that something had come up and Michael wouldn’t be free to
mind the kids so Alison would have to get a taxi. ‘No worries,’ Alison had said cheerily. ‘Can’t wait to see everyone.’
Now that the day of the party had arrived, Olivia had stopped worrying. Today was all about their mother, she’d decided. Alison would provide an extra pair of hands after she’d had a
few hours’ sleep.
The children, of course, knew nothing of her visit or of the surprise party. It had been hard enough keeping the secret herself, she thought as she left the village and headed for the motorway.
The traffic was light, and she got to the airport in good time. She had to park in the Outer Siberia that was Block C, and she heard her phone beep and knew that it was the message report that told
her her sister had landed and was possibly even disembarked. Olivia drove around like a madwoman looking for a parking spot and had to drive up to level three before she found one. By the time she
got to Arrivals, she was panting after racing along the dank, dimly lit car parks, nearly going on her ear on a patch of oil at one stage.
‘Oh God, I need to get fit,’ she muttered, as she scanned the board to see that the flight had landed on time. She studied the people emerging through Customs, wondering if they were
from the New York flight. The big giveaway would be the groups of women who had gone on their Christmas-shopping expedition. Some of the passengers emerging had tans, she noted, so no, perhaps
not.
She was gasping for a cup of coffee, but she was afraid to leave in case Alison came out when she was gone. More passengers came through, and then there was a lull and then one or two
stragglers. Maybe she would risk running over to the coffee bar, she dithered. The doors opened again, and women pushing trolleys piled high with cases surged through. It had to be the New York
flight, she guessed, as one woman, yawning her head off, struggled to keep control of her laden trolley. Olivia scanned the hordes that kept on surging forward. And then she saw a familiar auburn
head, and her sister, looking a million dollars in an expensive-looking black wool coat and a lilac scarf knotted casually at her neck, appeared, not bothering to look at the group of greeters
huddled at the rail, but focusing on the exit where the taxi rank was.
Olivia, delighted to see her, forgot all her irritations and resentments towards her younger sister and called her name. Her sister didn’t hear her. ‘Alison, Alison,’ she
called loudly again, and Alison looked in Olivia’s direction and then came the heartwarming moment of delighted recognition as she left her trolley in the middle of the concourse and raced
into her sister’s welcoming arms.
‘Oh, you brat, I thought there wasn’t going to be anyone here,’ she remonstrated, as they hugged the daylights out of each other.
‘Ah, just wanted to give you a surprise. You look great for someone who’s just flown through the
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