Page 80 of Wish You Were Here
The front door opens and standing there is Saskia’s mum, Susan, and her boyfriend, Brian. It’s weird because it feels like I already know them, but we have never actually met. Saskia has spoken so much about them, told me so many stories that it feels impossible that they aren’t already a fundamental part of my life. I want to say hello, give them a hug, as though we’re just long-lost friends who haven’t seen each other for a while. In reality, I’m not even sure they know who I am. However, before I even speak, it becomes clear that they know exactly who I am.
‘Ben, is it?’ says Brian. ‘I’m Brian, come on in, mate.’
‘I’m Susan, Saskia’s mum.’
‘Hi, hello. Sorry, I wasn’t sure if you’d know me, and I’ve been on a plane for the past twenty-four hours. I’m not even sure what day it is, to be honest.’
‘Let’s get you in and get you a drink, eh,’ says Susan.
‘You’ll probably want a cup of tea, right?’ says Brian. ‘I know the English love their tea!’
‘Umm, yes, that would be lovely, actually.’
‘I love the way you speak, so formal,’ says Susan as we walk inside the house.
‘Let me take that bag from you, Ben,’ says Brian, taking my bag before I even reply. ‘I’ll just pop that over there. Right, let’s go through into the kitchen, shall we.’
‘The kitchen!’ says Susan, and I don’t know them well, but it feels like they’re acting quite strangely and also, as though they knew I was coming. They weren’t shocked at all that I appeared at their door, but how could they have known? Saskia doesn’t even know I’m here.
We walk through the house and into a large, open-plan kitchen diner, and it feels so warm and homely, a bit like my own parents’ kitchen, which is the hub of the home. I am about to ask them where Saskia is, but before I can, Brian turns to me and says.
‘So, here’s the thing, mate—’
‘Saskia’s in London!’ squeals Susan suddenly.
‘Sorry, what?’
‘She flew to London to tell you she loves you!’ says Susan, and I am flabbergasted. Saskia is in London. That just doesn’t seem possible. How can she be there, and I be here at the same time? I need to turn my phone on and check my messages ASAP. I sit down – before I fall down – Brian puts the kettle on, and Susan explains exactly what has happened. Apparently, Saskia and Brad broke up, the gig for Fudge Cake wasn’t really a gig for Fudge Cake at all because that bastard Joe Thompson justwanted to root Saskia, Lou Sanders carked it and left Saskia twenty thousand dollars, and with that money, Saskia decided to fly across the world to meet me.
‘Right now, Ben, it’s about seven o’clock in the evening in London,’ says Brian. ‘Maybe you can FaceTime Saskia and see what’s what, eh, mate?’
‘I think that would be good.’
‘Why don’t you do it in her bedroom?’ says Susan, who gets up and shows me to Saskia’s room, and then Brian brings in my tea and they leave me alone to FaceTime with Saskia. What a strange turn of events.
As soon as I turn my phone on, I am hit with a barrage of messages and voicemails. I quickly flick through the messages and they’re mostly from Simon. This is a brief selection:
Mate! Saskia is here! In London! WTAF!
As soon as you arrive, message me. What the fuck is going on with you two?!
She’s super nice, mate. And hot! Even better in the flesh. Don’t tell Abs I said that.
Not sure when you’re landing but text me ASAP. Everyone knows. Poppy, Hugh, Abs and Will all came over and we went to the pub. Everyone loves her. Maybe more than you!
Weird thing, she keeps calling her backpack Barbara. Red flag?
I am sitting on Saskia’s bed, in her bedroom in Sydney, and this is perhaps the strangest day of my life. I expected to be meeting Saskia and proclaiming my love for her, instead she is in London and we’re about to FaceTime again – only this timewe have swapped locations! Her bedroom is so familiar to me, and yet the one thing I never got from FaceTime was the smell. It has a lovely floral scent, which is, I imagine, from her perfume or maybe a candle or something. It’s quite a small room and decorated in a very feminine way with pops of colour, flowers, and the bed is cosy with extra pillows and a lovely light blanket over the top of the sheets. She also has an old record player in the corner with a stack of records, and there are two guitars in cases against one wall. She also has a small dresser, which is full of make-up, small jars of creams, lotions and a framed photo of Saskia and her father. In the photo, Saskia looks about thirteen or fourteen, and she’s sitting with her dad on a beach, and they’re both smiling and looking so happy. It’s funny, meeting Susan, I saw bits of her in Saskia, they have a similar nose and the same hair colour, but seeing her father, she’s a spitting image of him. They’re so alike and I can see from this photograph just how close they were.
I take my phone, press FaceTime and then go to Saskia. This is it.
‘Hello, Sas?’ I say when the screen changes, and suddenly she is there, sitting on my bed. This is so utterly surreal.
‘G’day, Beno,’ she says with a smile, looking more beautiful than ever. ‘Thought I’d pop over and say hi.’
‘Me too. Maybe we should have coordinated better.’
‘Yeah, maybe. It’s so cold here. I don’t think I’ve ever been this cold my entire life.’
