October 21st, 1989
Flight from LGW – MBJ
First time in Jamaica but I couldn’t care less.
Total shock this morning when David rang, from Manchester! Apparently, he spoke to mum last week, while I was away. He left the name of the hotel where he’d be staying with mum, in the hopes that perhaps I’d be able to meet him. Mum assured him she would pass along the message but sadly she started slipping into her present condition, so that didn’t happen.
While I was talking to David (worst chat ever, felt totally stilted, all my doing)
Ben showed up. I gestured for him to go wait in the kitchen. Through the glass wall, I watched him moving around, with ease; making tea, scoffing biscuits.
“I have to go,” I told David.
“Of course,” he said, sounding despondent. “I’ll be back in LA when you come home from Montego Bay. Give me a call?”
“Yeah, sure,” I sighed.
“Who was that?” Ben asked, when I went into the kitchen.
“None of your business.”
“Fair enough. Listen, I rented a car for a few days. I can drop you off at the airport if you want.”
In a snippy tone, I said, “I have my own car.”
“I’m well aware of that,” he snapped back, before promptly changing his tone. “I thought maybe it would be a good opportunity for us to talk.”
Being in the car together did allow us to talk at length and from what Ben said, I don’t think he really knows what (who?) he wants. He claims he does but I totally disagree.
Our goodbye felt strained and awkward and he didn’t offer to pick me up upon my return. I certainly wasn’t about to ask him to either but the second I walked into TriStar House, I felt sad and hid in the loo for a while ‘til the tears subsided.
I was surprised to see Frankie in the briefing room.
“You look awful,” were her first words.
“I’m not in the mood for anything today,” I groaned. “Least of all, hundreds of passengers.”
I shook my head. “It’s a long story.”
One I’m really tired of.