December 23rd, 1990
At home, England
The phone interrupted my floaty dream of the beach and blond floppy hair, but, thinking it might be mum and dad ringing from the airport to say bye, I sprang out of bed and dashed downstairs to answer it.
“Hey you with the sexy voice.”
“That’s the one,” he chuckled.
“As if I could forget.”
“I miss your morning voice,” he breathed.
“I miss yours too,” I blurted. Shit!
“That could be rectified you know.”
“I’m sure it could,” I said, my tone much flirtier than intended.
Stop it! Get a grip!
“I’m free today.”
“Good for you,” I chirped.
“Very funny. Should we keep beating around the bush or do you want to pick me up at the train station?”
“What time?” I asked, grip gone!
“I’m thinking as soon as possible but realistically it’ll be about three hours from now.”
Ample time for you to come to your senses, Miss McGarr!
“Ok, ring me back when you know what train you’re taking.”
“I will. And hey, Karen?”
“I can’t wait to see you.”