August 11th, 1989

August 11th, 1989

Girls flat, Hampton Hill
Ten minutes before standby ended I got called out and with the news of my impending trip, Kimberly started sulking.

“I hate standby.”

“I know,” I said. “It’s not much fun sitting by the phone is it?”

She shook her head no. “You’re lucky you got called out, at least now you know where you’re going.”

“I wasn’t expecting this much notice.”

Pouting, she said, “I hope they ring me soon. I’m so bored.”

“Maybe you’ll get called out for a Harare and can surprise Meryl in the hotel.”

“I don’t think I’ll get called out. And I don’t want to go to Harare.”

In as hopeful a tone as I could muster, I said, “You only have four hours left on standby, then you’ll be free again.”

“This is all just a waste of time. I hate sitting around the house.”

“There’s no way around it, Kimberly. It’s not like you can take the phone outside with you.”

Various forms of that conversation continued and after a couple of hours my patience had been exhausted.

“I think I might go home.”

“When?” she asked.

“Now. I don’t have to check in early tomorrow.”

Kimberly’s face fell and I reminded myself of my promise to be a good friend. “Or I could stay and keep you company?”

“I’d rather not be alone,” she said, sounding sad.

“Ok, that settles it. I’ll stay.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

“Let’s have a look through the British Airways timetable and see how many flights go to LA.”


“So I can fantasize about going to see David.”

“That’s a bad idea.”

The little voice in my head urged me to: Be Nice. I paused before I spoke. “The other day you suggested I buy a ticket and go and see him.”

“I don’t know why I said that. I don’t think you should see David again.”

“Why not?”

“Because he lives too far away and I think you should go out with Jon again. I really like Jon.”


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