March 6th, 1989

March 6th, 1989

At home

I usually dislike Monday, but knowing this is the last week of the course made getting out of bed much more bearable. The taxi showed up early, which meant I was at the station way ahead of my usual time. I scanned the trenchies on the chilly platform, looking for Lee, but he wasn’t in his usual spot. I thought he might be running late, but he never did show up, which meant I didn’t get a seat on the train. I hope he’s alright and not ill or anything. And I’m not just saying that because I had to stand all the way to London!

There was plenty of chat in class about our first trips and lots of stories comparing the places we went. Sounded like everyone in our group had a great first flying experience with “The World’s Favourite Airline,” and we’re all in agreement that this Friday, the day of our Wings ceremony, can’t get here fast enough.

I got home just after seven pm and dad was in the hallway, on the phone. I gave him a little wave and dropped my bag on the phone chair.

“Wait a wee minute Pamsy, she just walked in the door.”

Dad passed the receiver to me, “Here you are, hen.”

“Bon soir mademoiselle, comment ca va?” I asked, slipping my free arm out of my jacket sleeve.

“Tres bien, merci. Do you want me to ring you back?” Pamsy asked.

“No, this is fine,” I said, changing hands, slipping my other arm free. “What are you up to?”

Dad took my jacket and I mouthed “thanks.” He hung it on one of the hooks under the stairs.

“I think the question is what have you been up to?” she asked in what I call her saucy voice.

Dad mouthed, “tea?” I nodded my head yes and moved my bag onto the floor.

“Not much. Sorry I didn’t ring you back when I got home yesterday, but I knew you were taking your mum out.”

“So, how was your afternoon in London with Jon?”

“Very nice actually,” I said, slumping onto the phone chair.

“Is your dad still floating about? Or can you talk?”

“He’s in the kitchen,” I said, kicking off my shoes, “but I don’t know where my mum is.”

Sounding very matter-of-fact, Pamsy said, “Your mum’s at her church meeting.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, tucking my feet under me.

“Your dad told me. We’ve been on the phone for ages. He sounded well chuffed when he told me Jon brought you home yesterday.”

“My mum and dad would love to see you again, you should come up soon.”

“I will, but stop changing the bloody subject. What happened yesterday? How did you end up in London?” she asked, sounding impatient.

“Hold on for a second,” I said, as dad passed a mug of milky tea to me. “Thanks dad,” I said, balancing the mug on the arm of the chair.

“Sorry about that.”

“Can you talk?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, as dad went into the living room and closed the door. “I can now. When did you say you’re coming up?”

“I didn’t. I asked about you and Jon and London.”

“Let’s see, I wasn’t in the mood for car stuff, so we went to Covent Garden and had a wander around but not for too long because I wanted to get home and spend time with my mum for Mother’s Day. Did your mum enjoy her Mother’s day dinner?”

“She loved it and was very surprised. Anyway, did you snog him?”

“No of course I didn’t.”

“You should have. Even my mum said he’s a hunk.”

“That’s funny, my mum has said the same. On more than one occasion. You should’ve seen her face yesterday when Jon came in with a big bunch of flowers for her. I swear she was giddy.”

Pamsy chuckled. “He really is a lovely guy and I thought you were very much yourself around him.”

“You only met him for ten minutes.”

“That’s all I needed. I think you should go out with him again. Why don’t you?”

I took a sip of tea. “I think you know why. It starts with a capital B.”

“Did Jon try and kiss you yesterday?”

“Absolutely not,” I exclaimed, almost spilling the tea. “Why would he? We’re just friends.”

“It’s so obvious he still fancies you.”

“Do you think so?” I asked.

“I know so. Even my mum said that.”

“Oh no. I can’t be friend’s with him if that’s the case.”

“Yes you can. You need a car.”

“I’m not friend’s with him just because I need a car.” I said, sounding abrupt.

“I know that, but he’ll help you, if you let him. And stop worrying about capital letter B.”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s