We'd only just pulled in off the road when, to my relief, I saw a familiar face. It was raining quite hard but, with his wild mop of curly hair and distinctive gait, I'd have recognised him anywhere. If I was going to get lost at Heathrow, I'd really prefer not be by myself; I'd never been here before and, though I would never let on to Martin, I was a bit nervous about finding my way around. Airports were a bit of a mystery to me, and this one, especially, was formidable and rather large.
"Oooh! Can you let me out here, please?" I'd cried out. "There's Stephen."
"Who?" Martin had asked me, turning to frown at me, and I'd rolled my eyes at him in disbelief.
"Martin, you sat next next to him on Friday...Libby's cousin? Stephen?"
"Oh, right." He'd muttered, apparently unimpressed, and we'd swung wildly left, coming to a rather emphatic stand-still.
Behind us, someone sounded their horn and I noticed a flash of annoyance on Martin's face. Taking that as my cue to vacate the car and make a dash for the terminal doors, I leaned over and kissed him hurriedly on the cheek.
"I'll give you a ring tonight!" I said, grimacing at the thought of leaping into the miserable weather. "Love you!"
The rain was so heavy as I alighted, I didn't wait to hear his reply, slamming the door and running for the safety of the footpath. I smiled to myself, as I waited by the mad turnstile doors at the entrance, imagining Martin's impatient desperation to get the stereo back onto Radio 3, and reduce the volume by at least half. He didn't wave of course, or toot the horn in a friendly see-you-later sort of way; he merely roared off into the traffic, pushing his way into the tiniest of gaps and disappearing into the misty grey distance, completely unceremoniously really. Odd how he can appear so unemotional, so undemonstrative almost all of the time, as if everything is completely under control. If I feel something, especially if it's positive, it's almost irrepressible, I can't imagine the strength it takes to suppress intense feelings if you are feeling them as strongly as I do. It's almost easier to believe that he doesn't feel them at all.
As Stephen approached, I raised both arms and called out to him, and he squealed my name when he saw me. As he pulled me into a hug, I was really aware of the scent of him; cigarette smoke, and damp clothing, and the remnants of aftershave, and I wondered if he'd been home since I saw him last. How quickly I'd got used to Martin, more comfortable in proximity to a man who smelt of nothing at all; perhaps the faintest whiff of soap and, occasionally, as I lay with my head on his bare chest, a hint of deodorant, that's all. It was unlike Stephen to be this dishevelled and, when he kissed my cheek, I felt abrasion, the rasp of his of stubble against my cheek and, as I pulled away I laughed at him.
"Big weekend?" I asked, grinning at him.
"Big weekend." He agreed, rather ruefully. "Still coming down."
"From Friday night?" I said incredulously. "Bloody hell, Stephen! Not you, too!"
"I blame Matt. We ended up in a warehouse somewhere. One of his mates was deejaying. Woke up this morning on the floor of a bedsit when a complete stranger bought me a cup of tea..."
I shook my head at him, not saying anything but actually feeling an incredible sense of relief, thank god I had chosen to go home with Martin and not tag along with Libby. For a start, there's nothing more tedious than being the straight one when the rest of your group are wasted. And I'm still surprised at Libby really, even though she thinks she's bulletproof and she has this belief that, if Matt suggests something, it must be a brilliant idea. I still feel sick thinking about that boy we took to hospital that night but perhaps I'm just more susceptible to the idea that things can go wrong, because they always have. Libby could laugh it off as someone else's bad luck, because, for her, life has always been charmed and it will probably continue to be that way forever, no matter where she lives or who she's with or what she gets up to. And that there'll always be someone, like Martin, there to pick up the pieces, regardless of the impact it has on his own personal life.
"Was that doctor-boy, just then, giving you a lift?" Stephen says jovially, as we negotiate the entry way and he pushes against the heavy black frame.
His question, and the tone of voice, shake me from my disappointed little reverie and I struggle not to smile at that moniker being applied to the imperious Martin Ellingham, so mature and intellectual and serious.
"Yeah..." I reply vaguely, as if Martin's need for privacy was contagious, before adding as an afterthought that he had to work, almost as if I needed to make excuses for him.
"I tell you what, babe, he's most definitely a keeper." He says, taking my arm in his and steering me along, our heads together conspiratorially.
I turn to look at him, trying to read his expression.
"You think so?" I ask, smiling at him and, just for a moment I felt a little burst of warmth in my chest.
"Worse than that, I'm actually a bit jealous, if you must know."
I bark with laughter and shake my head at him again. I don't know him particularly well but, from what Libby has told me, Martin isn't exactly Stephen's usual type.
"God help us all, yes..." He says. "Not just clever but built like a brick shithouse. And that voice, Louisa...it just about made my clothes fall off. I could have swooned just listening to his experiences of repairing clock case veneers..."
I smiled and clung on to his arm, not only amused by how different he was when there were no other people around, but also just feeling inexplicably thrilled really, to hear someone else extolling Martin's many virtues. For a moment, it just made me feel the tiniest bit giddy, and breathless, listening to him waxing lyrical and until he said something inexplicable which really annoyed me. Actually, no, worse than that, what he said had really got up my nose.
"I bet he's worth a bob or two." He'd said casually, gazing around happily as we strolled along. "You play your cards right young lady, and you'll be set for life."
"What do you mean?" I'd asked, slightly tersely, and he'd stared at me and laughed.
"I mean, you needn't worry about going out to work, Louisa, a teacher's salary would be small change for someone like the divine Martin. We have a few women like that that come into the shop. Their husband's are diplomats or cardiologists, or merchant bankers, and they come in and look around, flashing their gold cards, gives them something to do between visits to the nail salon I suppose. Talk about on the pig's back..."
"Actually, Stephen, umm...one, it's early days for me and Martin" I tell him, my tone and my expression clearly now peevish. "And, two, I've worked pretty flippin' hard to get myself to college, and to make the most of the opportunities I've got at the moment...so, you know, whoever I end up with, I will have my own career...and I will not be a kept woman, got it?"
Annoyingly, he'd laughed which had just left me cross, silent and more frustrated. It was a horrible thought really, that something so important to me was just viewed as a sort of transaction by everyone else. It just made me even more determined to prove that, if I'm with Martin, it has nothing to do with financial considerations and everything to do with love and trust and respect. Emotional security I suppose, rather than financial, physical need rather than fiscal. Of course, my thoughts trailed on and it all made me wonder if this is what it had been like for him all along, women seeing him merely as the goose that laid the golden egg. Other than making me feel a bit sad for him, it also made me even more determined to forge my own path in life, to get my degree and have a successful career so that he would understand my reasons for being with him were completely genuine and totally non-materialistic.
We'd eventually found the others and I'd forgotten my annoyance. Libby and I had embraced in the loveliest, tightest hug, and I'd emerged from it with tears in my eyes. Her mum and dad were there too, and it was good see them, but quite a few of her old friends too, who I either didn't know that well, or who I unfortunately didn't particularly like. Matt was there of course, impossibly cool, flashing his enormous, white-toothed smile, flirting and basking in the adulation of Libby's public-school friends for a while before disappearing off to the smoking zone with several of them in tow. I heard Stephen exhale through his teeth and make a few slightly disapproving noises that gave me the impression that not everyone in Libby's circle was as enamoured of her brash, swaggering boyfriend.
Watching Libby and Matt together just made me think really, because it seemed as if they both viewed each other as a prize but I wasn't convinced that it was in a good way; it was as if they'd sought a partner they believed befitted them, each as smart and beautiful and desirable as the other. I can only presume it works for them, like a symbiosis where they both gained something important to display. And, just for a minute, it disturbed me because I felt like something was missing but I couldn't put my finger on it. There was no chance that I might pull her aside, not with the loud and domineering Chelsea set having monopolised her since they arrived, and now was certainly not the time for me to turn the tables on her and dish out some advice of my own. Perhaps, if you weren't a needy sort, or you weren't wounded or insecure, that's what relationships were about for you. You didn't ache for someone who would fill that yawning gap, instead you wanted someone to simply enhance your image, to reinforce the idea that you were one of life's fortunate ones; effortless, shiny and untouchable.
I sighed. Any minute now, Matt would return, glance at her wordlessly, and the two of them would make their way to the Posh Lounge where the wealthy, seasoned travellers congregated. Of course I would miss her horribly but it was somehow very comforting to think how having Martin had mitigated yet another dreadful loss in my life, because it really did feel like the end of an era and I did have a sense of abandonment, no matter how firmly I denied it. I hate the emptiness of goodbyes, that feeling of loss that stays with you like a head cold. It was all too depressingly familiar and, all of a sudden, I knew it was time to go; to leave before I myself was left, bereft, an island of sadness in a sea of self-assured, unaffected gaiety. It was obvious I wouldn't get a look in once they stood up to depart and so I forced my way through the throng to say my goodbyes. She'd hugged me again and made me promise to write, and I'd nodded and smiled, and squeezed her as hard as I could, trying desperately not to cry.
In the end, I'd pulled away before I made a fool of myself, sucking in a big shuddering breath and forcing my mouth into a ridiculous grin before turning and walking away, feeling my face slip into a disheartened neutrality; momentarily so helplessly sad.
"Louisa!" She'd called out, before I'd gone very far, and I'd spun around to face her, surprised.
She'd stepped away from the assembly and was standing in the clear, holding her thumbs up theatrically and laughing. It was just like being back in the kitchen at Graham Terrace, skylarking about, Libby taking the piss as usual and, at the sight of her irrepressible wickedness I start laughing too.
"Yeah?" I'd cried out, inclining my head at her and raising my eyebrows, the way I'd always done to encourage her, to show I was always her appreciative audience.
Her eyes had narrowed and then, before she'd dissolved into hysterical laughter, she'd managed to shout back at me, as if we were the only two people in the whole of the terminal.
"Perfectly in proportion!?" She'd squawked, turning her wrists rapidly so that her thumbs went from pointing up to pointing down and, then, pointing back up again.
All my insecurities, my feeble lack of judgement, and all my blundering attempts at relationships; all my mis-steps, and all the hurt and disappointment, it was as if all the hours we'd spent together, she with a bottle of wine and me with an aching and confused soul, had all boiled down to this minute. It was like the final reassurance she needed that I would be okay without her and, most importantly, it was then that I knew, absolutely, that I would be.
I tossed my head and, giving her my most enigmatic smile, I turned my back and casually walked away but, as I did, I found myself sliding my arm up my back and, before I even knew what I was doing, I made the gesture that I knew she was waiting for. The informal end to her emotional guardianship, the perfectly timed weaning, her protégée released fearlessly into the big wide world. Smiling to myself at the endless ridiculous analogies, I wandered through the crowds alone, finding my way to the tube station, unfazed, and clambered aboard an almost empty carriage to make the tedious journey back to Graham Terrace and what seemed like the next phase of my life. I had the new college year upon me, a couple of new subjects to get my teeth into and, the most brilliant bit of all, I had Martin. So, despite losing my best friend, I really did have a lot to look forward to and a lot to be grateful for. Donning my headphones, I closed my eyes and dozed all the way to Hammersmith.