Seven Days of Us(8)

“Sure,” said Dana. “He has to soon, though. Or he’ll have me to answer to.”

Jesse knew Dana was only keeping his secret out of loyalty and would have preferred everything out in the open. But it felt safer this way, in case the search ended badly like last time. Jesse hadn’t expected his mom to be so upset when he had tried to contact his birth mother—after years of deliberation—only to find that she had recently died. Nor had he expected to be so upset himself. This time he would wait until after he’d met Andrew to tell Mom and Dad. That was better than getting everyone involved before he knew the outcome. At least his birth father was definitely alive.

But by midnight West Coast time, there was still nothing from Andrew. Surely he would reply tomorrow, thought Jesse, sitting at the kitchen counter in his briefs with the air-conditioner on full. He flicked from his e-mail back to the Virgin Atlantic website. He should wait, he knew. To book now, before he had a reply, would be premature. But flights for the holiday season were only getting more expensive. He hovered over the Purchase Tickets tab, for a second, then clicked.





? 2 ?


   December 23, 2016


   Quarantine: Day One





Emma


ARRIVALS, TERMINAL 3, HEATHROW, 8:10 A.M.

? ? ?

Emma had arrived at Heathrow madly early, having left Norfolk before dawn. Every time she went to the loo (which was often, thanks to a large, muddy cappuccino from Costa) she felt terribly anxious that Olivia would emerge to find nobody to greet her. She used to have the same horror of being late to collect the girls from school. It was also very awkward to maneuver the welcome home sign she had made, in and out of the tiny Heathrow loos. She had painted it on a rug-sized sheet of green cardstock from the art shop on Holloway Road. It read “Welcome Home, Darling Wiv, You Heroine.” Holding it now, she feared it looked silly. Olivia didn’t like a fuss. And was it still OK to call her “Wiv,” her childhood nickname, coined by an infant Phoebe? But Emma needed to mark Olivia’s safe return somehow. And busying herself with the sign had taken her mind off the lump for an hour. A tall young man wearing a baseball cap sat down near Emma, and she moved the sign onto the floor, so the corner wasn’t poking his thigh. He looked down at it, and then at her. “Cute sign,” he said, in an American accent. If he hadn’t spoken, she’d have assumed he was Mediterranean, with his olive skin and dark eyes. He had the kind of chiseled, regular features that might make an actor or male model. “Dishy,” she would have said, when she was young.

“Are you Wiv’s mom?” he asked.

“Yes, she’s been in Liberia, helping with the Haag epidemic. She’s a doctor.”

“Whoa. That’s incredible. You must be so proud.”

“Of course! It’s wonderful what they’re doing out there.” Emma did like the way Americans were so enthusiastic. She’d always felt she’d have fitted in rather well in the States.

“For how long?”

“Just since October. But it’s felt like centuries!” She giggled, and his face opened into a film-star grin.

“Incredible,” he repeated. “I’m, like, in awe of those guys. What they do is so cool. Will she be OK afterward?” he said, after a pause. “Do they offer them, like, therapy?”

“Gosh, I don’t think so. No, I think they just get on with it,” said Emma, suddenly wondering if she should have organized some sort of counseling for Olivia. She’d seemed all right after her other volunteer trips, hadn’t she? Though she’d never been anywhere so dreadful-sounding before.

“And what about you?” she asked, looking at the bag at his feet. “D’you have English relations?”

“Kind of.” He paused for a moment, and she hoped she hadn’t made some faux pas. Perhaps he was escaping a nightmare family Christmas in America.

“I’m visiting friends in London today, but I’m actually trying to meet with my birth father. He’s British, but I’m adopted, so . . . My birth mother had me adopted. She and my birth father weren’t, like, officially together or anything.”

“Golly, how brave,” said Emma, trying not to look taken aback. “And presumably your father knows you’re coming? Your birth father,” she corrected herself.

“Uh, I e-mailed him, but he didn’t reply, and I already booked my flight. I’m not sure he even knows I exist. So. I’m kind of in a dilemma.”

“Goodness. Yes, I see. That’s tricky.” She couldn’t help thinking it was rash to fly all the way here, at Christmas, before getting a reply. “Are you sure you had the right e-mail address?” Emma had a deep mistrust of technology. How could anyone rebuff this sweet man? His eyes were just gorgeous—Marmite colored, and fringed with a child’s luscious lashes. Andrew had had terrific eyelashes when he was young, too. But Andrew’s were fair, she thought, as the American man talked, so you had to be right next to him to notice. They ended up chatting for quite a while, because the rather hopeless-sounding friend who was picking him up was late. Emma hadn’t pressed him on the birth father stuff, since it all seemed a little dicey, and he’d obviously geared himself up to meet this man and was terribly nervous. So they talked instead about L.A., where he lived, and his job, which was something to do with making health documentaries, and that had led to talking about health in general. He was so easy to talk to, in fact, asking her all sorts of questions about herself—not her daughters or Andrew, as most people did—that she found herself telling him about her diagnosis. It was funny, the way one opened up with strangers. Perhaps she felt able to confide because he’d told her his own dilemma, she thought, as he talked about a documentary he’d helped to make on cancer. Or perhaps it was the safety of knowing she would never see him again. It was only when his friend arrived and he gave her a quick, squeezy hug good-bye (Americans were bonkers, but so sweet), that she realized they hadn’t even introduced themselves. “Good luck!” she shouted, as he walked away. He turned and smiled, and she’d wanted to rush after him and tell him if it didn’t pan out with his birth father, he must come and spend Christmas with them—but then she remembered that they would be in quarantine.