Half the World Away

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Lorelei is leaving. Tom, my ex, and I drive her to the airport. A bright, blustery September afternoon. The sky a high dome of blue, chalk-marked with jet trails, the trees along the roadside heavy with leaves.

A cold, jittery feeling in my stomach, my jaw tense.

‘You’ve got your passport?’ I turn round from the front seat, an excuse as much as anything to see her, to see more of her.

‘Yes.’

‘Money?’ Tom says.

‘Da-ad.’

‘Well, it has been known, babe,’ he says.

‘Once,’ she huffs, ‘once I forgot things.’

‘Everything,’ he says. ‘Not so hot on the house keys either, as I recall.’

Lorelei laughs, a sudden peal of delight, then mock-outrage. ‘Like, you’re so organized,’ she says to him.

‘I’m here.’

‘Late,’ Lorelei says.

‘Ten minutes,’ he says. ‘You’ve got plenty of time – your flight’s not till eight.’

‘Eight forty-five,’ she says.

‘Jo – you said eight.’ He glances at me.

‘I lied,’ I say, ‘to account for your pitiful time-keeping.’

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