Page 96 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
‘Wow, nice to meet you, ladies. And where’s Daddy?’
Cleo tries to catch my eye.
‘I’m afraid he passed away. I’m actually not their mother either. I mean, I am or this would be weird. Um, I adopted them. So yeah…’
The woman stops for a moment, her eyes tearing up. ‘How old are you?’
‘Oh, I’m twenty-eight.’
She’s silent. I can’t process if I’ve said the wrong thing. There is a vernacular here that I need to learn about. Have I made the girls feel rejected or alerted them to their own trauma? I am your mother. I am a mother. You wait until you hear that I’m a widow. That will be the real conversation-killer. I try and cover the silence with attempting to sort the girls. This is the wrong thing to do. They look terrified. Maya literally clings to me like a koala. I can’t even bend down to get my bag. Where did I put the passports? The wipes? Both children gaze up at me like they want me to tell them exactly what will happen next. I really don’t know, girls.
‘Well, that might be the best story I’ve ever heard,’ the passenger says, studying my face. ‘What a pair of lucky girls you are to have a mother like this.’
Cleo smiles as Maya nestles her head into the shallows of my chest. I don’t know what to say back. She hardly knows me.
‘I’m Lauren,’ she says, handing me a packet of wipes I’ve left on the arm of her seat.
‘I’m Grace.’
‘Well, first rule of travelling with kids is the sweets. Who wants a sweet?’
* * *
‘Mama, 37D. Are we sitting together?’ Cleo says to me, her little rucksack on her back, head arched to read the numbers on the overhead lockers. Sandwiched between the both of us is Maya, who I try and move that bit quicker so we don’t cause a queue.
‘Of course, sweetie. Just a few more rows and we are… there,’ I say in a plodding sing-song accent.
I haven’t been on a plane since that day when I brought these two home. Since I met Lauren. She’s a Singaporean expat, who now lives in London with three adult children and six grandchildren, so that plane trip was possibly the most valuable one to kickstart my adventures in parenting. When Cleo’s ears started hurting on the flight, she taught her how to make them pop and was more than happy to hold Maya while I wolfed down food and legged it to the loos for a wee.
And you know what? We talked. When the cabin got dark and everyone was plugged into screens and attempting to sleep, Lauren gave me all sorts of wisdoms. She told me children can never have too much of your time and, when in doubt, bananas really are the best thing you can give a kid. And when we got off the plane, she tracked me down on social media and she still sends me Christmas cards. God, I wish she was here. Having not been on a plane since that day, I start to worry if that points to a lack of adventure. I can argue we were getting used to being a family, I was adjusting to motherhood and real life without Tom. But Cleo was right. It’s time to get back out into the bigger world again and that, unfortunately, starts on economy class with an interesting plated meal involving a piece of cheese in plastic that will be impossible to open.
‘HERE!’ Cleo suddenly yelps and she scuttles into the middle seats. I’ve gambled in the hope that the flight won’t be too crowded and we can bag an extra seat for us to spread out but we’ll see what the flight gods give us. The girls’ excitement is tangible as they fiddle with tray tables, Cleo taking off her shoes and literally emptying the contents of her bag to put in the seat pocket, like she’s moving in.
‘THEY’RE PLAYING MUSIC!’ Maya says. Her bag isn’t even off yet. But the earphones are in so she can ascertain if the in-flight entertainment will be to her liking. The speed and aptitude with which she fiddles with the buttons on the touchscreen is mildly alarming.
‘LOOK! THERE’S A MAP THAT TELLS YOU WHERE WE ARE! WHY AREN’T WE MOVING?’
I put my bag down and take the earphones off her.
‘That’s because we’re still on the ground, hun.’
She giggles, nestling into the seat and trying to find her seatbelt. I look around, praying that extra seat stays available to us. This wasn’t like travel the last time. Last time it was a trip into the even bigger unknown, armed with new crisp passports and paperwork, and some of my baby gear was fresh out of the packaging. Now, organised Grace is on the plane, all the girls’ spare clothes in separate plastic bags in my rucksack and the passports have their own folder. I even sorted out the sweets as I know Maya won’t eat the green ones. Don’t tell Meg I do that.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to today’s SQ322 flight from London Heathrow to Singapore. We are still boarding all passengers at the moment but a reminder to put all your luggage and belongings in the overhead lockers and ask our in-flight crew if you need any help or assistance today.’
Tom would love this. We’re flying out to Singapore for a week and then we’re headed to see orangutans in Borneo, culminating in two more weeks in Vietnam to see Linh. Is this my adventure of choice? Of course not. I may have given the girls a bit too much freedom with the decision-making but this is our plan. We are going to cuddle monkeys. And not bring one home. And also see our wonderful Linh. I won’t lie. There are elements of this trip which petrify me. Safety concerns and mosquito-based illness are high on that list but there’s also something about getting out into the world again, the excitement on these girls’ faces, which lifts me. Let’s do this. With a shitload of insect repellent, though, of course.
‘Hey, I think I’m also in this row.’
I look up to find a man with a ponytail towering over me. Crap. That’s my extra seat plan scuppered then. I smile as he glances over at the girls. I can’t quite work out if he’s impressed or not. I’m lucky. He doesn’t seem like the business sort – he’s casual with big earphones around his neck and dirty trainers, but also lines of tattoos up and down his arms. He reminds me of someone but I can’t quite make out who.
‘Yeah, sorry… I must be in your seat, I’ll budge up.’
I shift my things over, realising it’ll be just me and him now for the next twelve hours, acting as some barrier between me and the girls. Please be kind. Please be a Lauren. I think what I’ll have to do if I need to wee now. I can’t leave the girls within reach of a total stranger. I just won’t drink for the next twelve hours. But then I’ll get blood clots. That happens, doesn’t it? We’ll have to go to the loo at the same time. I’ll wake them up. Or ask the air stewardess to help. Shit. Why am I panicky? I look over as the man puts his bag into the locker and a slice of flesh sticking out from where his T-shirt rides up shows me the tattoos are a whole-body thing.
‘Did you want to put anything up here? While I’m up?’ he asks.
I shake my head. ‘No, thanks for offering, though.’
