The Things We Carry With Us

"Final call for flight 732 to Toronto."

The voice called out over the tannoy to an empty departure lounge at Glasgow Airport. The crackling interrupted the pleasant but familiar sound of Toploader's Dancing in the Moonlight.

I had opportunities. To escape Scotland and all the shit of the last few months. Why was I sat in my seat like I never intended on boarding that plane?

The joy that emanated from the throng of passengers that had already dispersed from the padded seating matched the chorus of the song.

I just didn't feel it.

...

I was fielding a sales call with a potential customer when the phones went dead. Apparently a city-wide power cut had us all scrambling to do what we could. As it was close to the end of the first half of my shift, I asked to take the rest of the day off. I wasn't the best sakesman. My boss, Annmarie, had a soft spot for me. We'd gone to the same school. 

I decided to treat myself to a neck massage at a local spa. Apparently it was "trainee day", so my usual man, Frank (Francis McAllister was his name, but all the locals called him Frank), wasn't available. He really played off the stereotypes of having a hundred tattoos and being called a hard name like Frank from the east end of Glasgow, when really he was delicate and kindly when he needed to be.

I was a bit annoyed not to have his old expert hands on my neck, but he introduced me to a mature student named Isobel.

I say introduced, as my eyes were closed with my head forward, sitting against one of those padded things they have so that my neck could be worked.

Her voice was quiet but had a gentle singsong rhythm to it. She was not Glaswegian.

"A northerner?" I asked, before any pleasantries were exchanged.

"Um, aye... frae Forfar!" she replied, still gently but a little perturbed.

"Be nice to the lass, Daniel. Don't mind him, hen, he's all bite no trousers," Frank laughed.

"Forfar is a beautiful part of the country. Not been in years," I continued. In truth, I didn't really care other than for selfish reasons, as she was about to meticulously work my strained neck muscles.

Her hands were cold and reluctant as she meandered across my heavy shoulders.

I grunted.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Try and relax. I'm just going to run my hands gently over your shoulders and up your neck."

I could hear how nervous she was. Frank was a great guy and calm, but he could be quite exacting with people.

"It's okay, lass. Daniel's a big boy, he can handle a delicate amount of manhandling. Just remember what we practised before."

Her nerves eased and, though I'd only jested with him, she gave Frank a run for his money.

"She'll be putting you out of a job soon enough!" I laughed as her delicate hands, growing in confidence, worked magic over my muscles, feeling my breathing relax.

"That's perfect," I blurted out, a little muddled in a daze.

"I'm just glad I've not made you worse, Mr Simmons."

Underneath the laughter I sensed humility that she wasn't just joking.

"Not at all, and please, my bastard of a bank manager and my lawyer call me Mr Simmons. Please just call me Daniel."

She gave a proper snort. Normally I'd have hated that. But she eased months of aches and pains over the course of twenty minutes, so her snorts sounded earned.

"Well... Mr... erm... Daniel. I'm glad!"

I heard Frank quietly clap.

"Good job, lass. I told you you're better than you think."

"Thanks, Frank."

...

Mum had always encouraged me to seek out love. To be ready for connection. But she was no longer here and had no say. So. Fuck it.

...

My flight was booked and Toronto was beckoning me like a forgotten lover who makes a chance encounter with you in the foyer of your favourite hotel or the alfresco dining area outside a Greggs.

The job was mine for the taking. Ann-Marie had put in a good word with corporate. I think she probably expected at least a roll in the hay or a naked struggle cuddle. The snow-dusted city felt like fresh air.

...

Work had been hellish for the last two weeks, when I finally had a chance to go and visit Frank.

The lazy arsehole was actually going to massage me this time.

My back and chest.

"Not getting one of your minions to do it for you this time?" I laughed as I closed my eyes and heard him warm oil between his hands before applying pressure to the fronts of my shoulders.

I gasped.

"Oh, Isobel. You're just on time to watch. Don't be shy if you want to walk around while I work on Daniel's shoulders and chest."

I could already feel her nervous presence before he announced it. I gulped and then groaned as Frank taught my unruly shoulders a lesson or two.

"Ah, Isobel. Been near Forfar since we last... spoke?"

I had no idea why I stumbled over my words, but maybe it was Frank's rock-like forearm and wrist making papier-mâché of my chest.

"Uhm. No, it'll be three years tomorrow since I was home."

The sadness in her otherwise bright voice told me not to push it. I pushed anyway. 

"Oh, I didn't realise. What made you turn your back on Forfar?"

Silence filled the room. Well, apart from Frank's grunts and my groans.

"You've embarrassed the lass now, Daniel, bellend!"

Frank was clearly joking, but Isobel was quick to correct him.

"No, it's quite alright... I just don't have an easy answer. Family issues. Let's leave it there for now."

I fought the urge to look across at her. She wasn't looking in my direction.

"Family issues I understand."

...

We'd grown a little closer since my mum died, as they had been friends. I think Annmarie genuinely cared about me. I just got the feeling she'd want more, so kept her at arm's reach while making her feel useful.

I did wonder if that made me a bad person.

"No, lad," Frank said. "I'd say you're handling a tricky emotional situation as well as anyone could. Annmarie is kind and you appreciate that, but you don't want her to get the wrong idea. I understand, pal. Frank gets you!"

I just finished my beer and made my way into the night. I did adore Annmarie, but as a friend, like Frank. I felt bad I would never be what she wanted. I knew Frank was right, but I still made sure to beat myself up about it.

...

The departure lounge was full when I got there. Families, couples, elderly gentlemen, and the occasional mirror image of me. Those looking to leave behind more than they took to their new destination. I had been surprised when Annmarie had told me Manchester was a no-go, but Toronto needed someone with my level of experience to head a new team. It excited me - more than Glasgow life had for a long time.

...

The next time I went to the spa was after a deal fell through that left a lot of my team fuming at me.

Neither Isobel nor Frank were available for a massage. Silly me for not booking ahead. I did manage to chat with Isobel during her coffee break. Frank popped in to say hello before leaving us to get to know each other.

We spoke about music a little. She said she was stuck on 90s pop and had a strong affinity to the song Dancing in the Moonlight as her family watched Jamie Oliver's The Naked Chef when she was younger.

...

At the pub later that week I was talking to Annmarie about work as some people had been giving me dirty looks. There were hushed rumours that I was only going to Toronto because of nepotism.

Annmarie told me they were just jealous because I was actually good at my job. I felt she was putting out fires, but she had never lied to me before. So I believed her.

We were having a drink and she put her hand on mine. "You know if you ever want to talk about your mum... you can with me or Frank."

Her hand felt nice. I often feel like an ogre that only lets his massage therapist touch him. I guess that's a clever facade.

Silence was deafening.

"Or you can just sit there like a big daftie. I just want you to know I love you."

I knew what she felt she wanted me to say. We'd known each other for thirty-odd years.

"I mean it, Daniel."

"I know. I'm sorry. Oh, hi, Forfar lass."

Isn't it great when distractions save you from discomfort? Like the fire alarm going off just as the doctor gloves up and is ready to inspect your prostate.

"I hope I'm not interrupting. Daniel, it's nice to see you with your clothes on for once."

Damn.

I know that look on Annmarie's face. She knows my look. She's delighted at the awkwardness and ready to make it worse.

"She another of your 'massage' girls, Daniel?"

I just shook my head as Annmarie held out her hand.

"I'm Annmarie, Daniel's pimp."

Isobel laughed and seemed to calm rather than want to run off.

"I'm..." 

"She's—"

"I know, she's the girl Frank keeps hyping up as the one and only one who can carry his baton."

"What are you drinking, Isobel?"

"I'm waiting for a friend... But, gin and tonic preferably."

"Well, you can keep us company until your friend arrives."

Annmarie said what I avoided saying. She knows me too well, that girl.

As I walked to the bar and waited to be served, I could see them becoming better acquainted. Lots of laughter and pointing at me. Fucking Annmarie drinking my Guinness and sharing it.

"What will it be, Daniel?"

"A gin and tonic, the cheapest nastiest vodka for Annmarie the Guinness thief, and another Guinness for me, I guess."

He laughed, looked over, and rolled his eyes.

"Rather you than me, Daniel."

"Thanks, Liam!"

Before I took the drinks back, I noticed the laughter had stopped and the girls were hugging. Isobel looked sad.

I hadn't noticed her brown curls before, or her slim frame. I held back because I didn't want to interrupt. Then, as I turned to sip my Guinness, I got a message.

"Hey, bring my half of Guinness and vodka over. Don't you know it's not cool to leave two girls without their shite in flimsy armour to protect them?"

I rolled my eyes and carefully shifted across to our table.

"Here's your heinous vodka, and for you, good lady Isobel." I smirked as I placed the drinks on the table.

I ignored the "you're an arsehole" face that Annmarie frowned in my direction.

"Thanks, Daniel. I was just talking to Annmarie about my dad and she said you'd had a loss too. I'm so sorry."

I sighed and gave Annmarie the look.

"You take forever to say anything."

"Thank you, Isobel. I'm sorry to hear about your dad."

As I sat down, for the first time I noticed Isobel was not just nervous. It felt ridiculous how familiar she already seemed. 

"It's okay. I guess... it's Alzheimer's. Final stages. That's why I have been avoiding Forfar."

"Shit."

Was all I could say.

"Yeah..."

She sipped her gin and tonic.

I started to reach for her hand, then stopped.

Annmarie laughed a little.

"I need the little pimp's room."

"Very funny, smartarse," I smirked as I turned back to Isobel.

"I know we've never had the opportunity to talk. But Frank speaks highly of you."

"I was going to say something similar to you."

"Frank's been a good friend and mentor to me since I moved down here."

I'd be lying if I said I knew why. Isobel was more than a pretty hesitant voice or hands.

"Were you close with your mum?"

I thought about reaching my hand for hers but stole some of Annmarie's vodka.

"Shh. She owes me. My mum and I were best friends, really. I felt lost without her. Cliché, I know, but it's the truth. You and your dad..."

"When I was wee... not so much when I was older. He didn't understand me, or didn't want to. He loved— I mean loves— me. But I had some issues that were new to him. I put him out of his comfort zone."

"I'm sorry. I know that doesn't make it better. But I'm sorry."

"It's okay... it's just shit. Shitty shitty shit shit. And it fucks me off. Life."

Annmarie sat down.

"Has he done his largely inappropriate impression of Benjamin Netanyahu?"

"No, but now I want him to!"

We all laughed.

"When is your friend due?" I asked. My heart sank a tiny bit as I didn't want her to go.

"Okay. I lied. It was Frankie Knuckles' idea."

"I call him that."

"He thinks I need to widen my social circle. Which felt like a frank way of saying 'I need my space, lass.'"

"So rude."

Annmarie and I spoke in unison.

"So, Netanyahu..."

...

The journey to the airport once I had decided was easier... always is when you're doing it solo. Annmarie had made her feelings known. She thought it was a bad decision but wasn't her place to comment.

She asked if I had told Isobel. I ignored her. It was too painful to even think about.

Once I was on that flight though, there was no easy way back.

That suited me.

...

After work on just an average Wednesday I had called Isobel up and fumbled my way through inviting her to visit The Burrell Collection. I sold her on it by suggesting we could see an old French painting that showed women drinking beer.

We met outside The Burrell Collection and spent a long time strolling and chatting. It had always been one of my favourite places. My mum and I used to go there and there are many pictures of me through the years standing next to a small authentic cast of Rodin's The Thinker.

When we came to Édouard Manet's Women Drinking Beer, Isobel laughed and snorted a little.

One of them looked a lot like Annmarie. We both burst out laughing. 

I texted a selfie of us with the image and a caption that read, "Fancy seeing you on our date with Manet."

It was only during that moment that I noticed our hands had found each other's and we didn't flinch.

She kissed my cheek at the end of the night and I insisted she took a taxi.

I waited with her and we held hands.

Her eyes glimmered under the streetlights.

As she got into the taxi, I watched until she disappeared from my view. Her perfume-berries, something fruity-lingered in the air and on my jacket.

...

The next time I saw Isobel things definitely progressed, but more so by the two steps back we made after one step forward.

We were having lunch in a café that had an alcohol licence that we both loved. As it was a Mexican theme that week, we shared a nachos platter. It was really good.

Spicy.

She snorted when I shouted for milk because I tried the ghost pepper sauce.

She had a gin and tonic and I had a large single malt.

She asked about work. I asked about work.

It felt comfortable.

"Have you given any more thought to Toronto? Annmarie was telling me about it yesterday."

"You spoke about me?"

"Of course we did, you plonker. Well?"

"I haven't really thought about it. I think I'll go. Probably. Work is getting harder with the whispered bitchings."

She chased the ice in her gin with her straw without really looking at me.

It stayed pleasant until dessert.

I made fun of the way she pronounced choux bun as "chox" and not "shoe."

I had a good laugh.

"I'm glad you know when to laugh."

I frowned.

"That's about the only emotional response you understand."

She paid for her drink and food and left.

...

"I'm sorry, Isobel. I'm an arsehole."

The text stayed unread for a day.

I think she saw it and just didn't open it.

"You better not have screwed this up, Daniel."

Annmarie was sterner than usual.

"I don't think you have, but you need to make it up to her. She's a nice and caring lassie but she's also got a hard edge."

...

I showed up at the spa. I wasn't booked in but I asked the receptionist if I could speak to Isobel.

"I'll see if she wants to talk to you, Daniel."

A knowing annoyed expression formed across her face.

I sat down and got lost looking at Toronto apartments.

"Hm." Isobel snorted.

"Oh, hi, Isobel. You never replied. I saw you read it. Can we talk?"

I stood up as she looked a little disappointed.

"Daniel. I like you and that might turn to love. I feel it might. But I can't just be there for when you can cope with me."

I tried to speak but she placed her finger to my lips.

"Let me finish, please. Annmarie told me it's been rough for you and I am not dismissing that. Not at all. But why is it always her telling me and not you?"

"I... I don't know."

"I didn't think you'd answer that. God's sake, Daniel. Your best friends know what's going on in your head better than you."

She stormed back to her clients and left me in the reception.

...

The funeral was not entirely miserable. There was laughter. Memories.

But as she made her final journey I felt like a part of me was burnt to a crisp too.

...

As the time of the departure approached, any hesitation slowly drifted. I saw no way out of this. Before the doors closed.

I headed to Seat 45C.

...

After a long flight, Toronto looked as it did in the pictures, videos, TV shows and movies I had watched.

It was cold.

But not just because of the breeze from across the waterfront.

Something felt wrong.

Like I'd forgotten something important.

After an orientation meeting to meet my new boss and those working under me, I sat in my temporary home of a local apartment. There were several messages.

Frank: "Good luck in Toronto, lad."

Annmarie: "Arsehole. I miss you."

Isobel: "I love you."

I stared at the phone.

Closed my eyes.

Fuck.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's note: This is for Veva Jacques's Summer Romance unofficial challenge.

https://vocal.media/writers/unofficial-challenge-summer-romance