Page 46 of The Truth About You and Me
The indicator tocks, the car turns, the road becoming more unsteady. I reach out my glove to the dashboard, to steady myself. Outside, I can hear the crunch of gravel and something like a lawnmower in the distance, but louder. The car turns, the motion sensors beeping until Jack kills the engine. My fingers move to remove the sleep mask.
‘No, not yet,’ he says. His voice is gentle but there is also a hint of excitement to it. ‘I’ll come round and help you out. Sit tight.’
His door closes with a soft thunk before I hear his steps rounding the car and my own door is opened. I’m hit by the smell of grass and hedgerows and something else, something like tarmac after rain.
‘Do you feel comfortable taking my hand?’ he asks. Ah, now I understand the gloves. I hesitate for a split second, not because I don’t want to, but because I do. I stretch my fingers towards him, his warm hand holding on to mine. I know that with the thickness of the gloves, his thoughts will be mostly hidden from me, but it still feels so intimate, electric even. My heartbeat ratchets up as his grip tightens a touch. He steers me out of the car.
I try to humshake it off, but still hear whispers of his thoughts.
Don’t rush.
Mind the pothole.
Careful.
‘Can I take this off now?’
‘Just a bit further,’ he says. His tone suggests he’s smiling as I try to balance and navigate the uneven ground. I concentrate on the strength of his hands, smelling the Jackness of him. I start reciting the periodic table, but still, I hear him.
This might be a mistake.
She’s nervous.
He stops us, my feet now on flat ground.
‘OK.’ He releases me. ‘Turn to your right.’
I follow his instructions.
‘Ready?’ he asks, his voice laced with excitement, with an undercurrent of nerves.
‘As I’ll ever be, I guess.’
‘You can take off the mask now.’ I pull the velvet from my eyes, blinking in the sunshine. Jack is smiling, his deep brown eyes taking in my face as our surroundings come into view, my mouth opening wide. Ahead of me is a small building; to the right, there is a large grey hangar and nestled in the large expanse of grass, is a small runway. I blink away the sun, covering my eyes as they land on a small blue aeroplane, a propeller at the front, and two flames painted on either side. Set further back are three other planes of similar size. I turn to Jack, his head leaning to the left as he watches my expression. He ducks slightly, eyebrow raised. ‘Surprise?’
‘I… I don’t understand…’ Out of the building a man is walking towards us. He’s mid-to-late forties, salt-and-pepper George Clooney hair, and he’s holding a clipboard.
Jack tucks his hands in his back pockets. ‘You said you wanted to be an astronaut, and well, I couldn’t quite stretch to that, so I thought this might come like a close second?’
My chest constricts, with excitement, but also with a terrifying wonder that he would do this. That he listened to me talking about my ridiculous musings as a child and is handing me a gift that is so much more than any grand gesture I’ve seen in the films I love so much. Heat pricks the backs of my eyes, and Jack looks at me in a way that is both self-conscious and proud.
‘You’re taking me on a plane?’ I swallow down the excitement and nerves.
‘Yep and don’t worry, I’ve explained about the germ thing and?—’
My eyes are drawn to the pilot then back to Jack; the urge to throw my arms around his neck is so strong that I move forward. The air between us is taut with what-ifs. His eyes search mine, before dipping to my mouth. He steps closer, the air lifting his hair; I see my own longing reflected back at me.
His head leans fractionally closer. The need to kiss him is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
‘Jack! Good to see you, my man!’ The moment is broken and I step back. Jack’s eyes scan my face before he turns to him. They shake hands as I try to decipher what just happened. What was Ithinking?
‘I take it this is your Maggie?’
‘It is.’ Jack clears his throat, rephrasing. ‘Err, Maggie… Maggie Wright.’
‘I’m Greg. Good to meet you.’ He gives me a nod, no hand-shaking for me. I wonder how the booking conversation went between them. ‘Looking forward to the flight?’
‘I… yes, I am.’ I look to the plane, to Greg and then to Jack. His eyes are lit up, and he’s smiling again, the awkward moment lost in the air that smells of tarmac and petrol.
