Terminal

She couldn’t remember why she was angry with him. The week they had just shared had been pleasant enough. Late mornings and afternoons by the pool. Cheap, astringent wine and pasta sauces that tasted like something from the supermarket shelves back home. There had been tourists everywhere, mobs of them crowding the main streets, but the hotel had been small and quiet.

She wouldn’t say that she’d enjoyed herself, but she thought she would look back on this holiday with a sort of pride. Safe in the knowledge that she wasn’t always a stuck-up bitch.

They had woken early and taken breakfast at the hotel. Jack had helped himself to a croissant and a small bowl of fruit. She had piled her plate with parmigiana, a slice of something blandly named potato pie, and a couple of rashers of bacon. She had gone back for pastries and jam, cannoli and miniature donuts.

What? she had asked as Jack eyed up her second plate, but he had only smiled and said, Looks good.

When the car arrived to take them to the airport, she had forgotten, or rather not considered, that they drove on the other side of the road here, and had slid into the back seat behind the driver. Her eyes kept slipping to the rearview mirror, and as if by some strange magnetic pull, the driver’s eyes would slip to meet hers. The car windows were tinted, but she rummaged in her bag for her sunglasses and put them on.

Jack’s hand lay limp, palm up, on the middle seat, but his head was turned to the window. It was infuriating, the way his body both reached for and withered from her. A reconciliation and a taunt both on offer.

He hadn’t offended her at breakfast, and they had left the meal in good spirits. They had already checked out of their room, so she slipped into the restroom in the hotel lobby to relieve herself before their flight. But it was not to be. Her abdomen felt hard and full, but straining over the toilet bowl was not productive.

She was still a little uncomfortable in the car, but this was surely not the reason for her annoyance. She looked over at Jack again and he looked at her. He smiled and lifted his proffered hand to slip his phone out of his pocket. A reconciliation and a taunt.

The car was lightly air conditioned, almost hot but not stiflingly so. Music wafted from the speakers, cover versions of old classics, set to soft dancey beats. She had been grateful when the driver had turned on the radio. On their trip to the hotel, the driver had been chatty, telling them all about the region and the local people. They would refer back to this conversation throughout the week, and she would be grateful for the knowledge, but she would have preferred not to talk. Now the music grated. She wanted to flash Jack a knowing look. She wanted to tap her foot. She wanted to sing along. But she didn’t want to give her boyfriend the satisfaction. And much as she felt repulsed by the driver, with his aviator sunglasses and pointed goatee, she did not wish to offend him.

She considered what she would say to her colleagues when they asked after her holiday. It was lovely, she would begin, because it was important that she not sound bitter or devoid of fun. Very touristy, she would say, because her colleagues were more worldly than she was. I feel so rested, she would add, to indicate her renewed vigor for work. But now I have to figure out what I do for a living! A joke to show her colleagues that she was easy going, not threatening, not a stuck-up bitch at all.

On their second night, they had found an adorable bar with tables lining the sides of an old stone staircase. They sat and ordered cocktails, and Jack took photographs of her in her new dress and pink lipstick, neon signs and candlelight blurring in the background. She had posted one immediately, left her phone face up on the table to watch as it illuminated with every like, flipping it over when the attention became distracting.

The view from her window was dull. She had eagerly anticipated this foreign landscape, the magic of unknown places laid bare in their ordinariness, but faced with the warehouses and petrol stations, flat, bare, and dusty land, she felt bored.

Jack was frowning at his phone screen. She could see the distinctive yellow banner of the sports site he frequented. She craned her neck to look through the window on his side. She could see the volcano sprawling across the land, its peak obscured by thick cloud though the sky was clear on her side.

They had been able to see the volcano from the balcony of their hotel room. They had checked on it each morning to see if the peak was visible, and each day it was shrouded in cloud. But this morning had been clear and they had seen the volcano in all its glory, a little faded in the heat and mist but present and looming, so much bigger than anything else in sight. Wow, she had said, craning over the balcony railing to take photos on her phone. It’s wild isn’t it, she’d said to Jack, that people just live here. But it didn’t feel wild. She didn’t feel much of anything at all.

Jack’s gaze burned into her cheek. She pretended not to notice until he tapped her on the arm. She gave him a sharp look. A look that said, Now what? He was holding out his phone so that she could see the screen. She shrugged. Our flight’s delayed, he said, but it’s only fifteen minutes late.

Great, she thought, giving Jack a nod that said, What do you want me to do about it? But Jack only smiled and said, It’ll be alright.

They exited the main road and slipped onto a ramp crowded with vehicles. The driver jerked the car into gaps in the traffic, and she reached for the door handle to steady herself. She always seemed to find herself flung around in buses and taxis, even when the other passengers were perfectly composed.

The car pulled over, and Jack opened the door and slipped out, rounding the vehicle to help the driver unload the cases. She shimmied across the seat to the open door, not wanting to open her own to the onslaught of slow-moving traffic. She swung a leg out of the door, and the driver appeared instantly, his hand searching for hers to help her from the car. It seemed unnecessary, but she thanked him. It seemed unnecessary, but she wondered that Jack couldn’t conceive of being the one to offer help.

They said good-bye to the driver, and she wheeled her case to the terminal entrance. Jack lagged behind easily. It was so much more difficult to move around with him in tow. At home in the city, she would dodge and weave through the tourists and slow-moving elderly. She would walk down escalators and slip through crowds to squeeze into crammed underground carriages. Jack, on the other hand, would wait his turn, smiling and stepping out of the way. He would only become annoyed when he deemed her rushing impolite, desperate even, although he was careful to never use that word.

The airport was busy. Hundreds of travelers queued to check oversized bags. She was grateful they had paid for additional hand luggage as they wheeled over to security. She untied her boots as they queued, folded her sunglasses, and stowed them in her handbag. Jack looked around lazily. It’s as if he’s never been to an airport before, she thought. He didn’t take off his belt until he had already loaded his case onto the conveyor. He’s wasting everyone’s time, she thought, but she had already forgotten this as they waited, with plenty of time to spare, for their luggage to appear at the other end.

She had hoped to buy souvenirs for her niece and nephew, but the airport was small and crowded and the stores were stocked only with local delicacies, nothing suited to the ill-formed palates of small children. She sighed and told Jack that they ought to head to the gate and wait for their flight there.

She headed directly to the gate’s entrance, only taking a seat when Jack suggested it.

I just want to make sure we get on quickly, she said.

I know, said Jack. But it doesn’t really make a difference.

At the airport back in London, they had risen when called for speedy boarding, but so had dozens of other passengers, who had beaten them to the plane, and filled the overhead lockers with their cases. She and Jack had been forced to stow their cases farther down the plane, thus increasing the amount of time it would take them to disembark. They had paid extra and for what? She had stewed on this for the first hour of the flight, and then again for the descent, as she anticipated their journey from the airport to the hotel. If this were to happen again, they were likely to miss their train home and she would be left with very little time to relax before work the following day.

She sighed loudly, and when Jack didn’t say anything, she turned to him and said, Are you annoyed with me?

Of course not, he said. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her toward him, kissed the top of her head.

She scrunched up her eyes and quietly admonished herself. She had said exactly the sort of thing she had promised herself she would not. If he was not annoyed at her before, he would be now, repelled by her neediness. But he wouldn’t say anything. He might not even notice until she asked him again and again, Are you annoyed? until finally he very much was.

But something was clearly not right between them. They had argued, that much was clear to her. She could feel the texture of the argument, coarse and sharp, abrasive, but not piercing. No, it hadn’t been a life-changing argument, but neither had it been a tiff. It was like a weed that, if not dealt with, would strangle their relationship. But in order to be dealt with, it must first be recalled, and she promised herself that she would not bring it up again until she was certain what it was.

Shouldn’t be long now, Jack said, tilting his phone screen toward her. On the screen: a map, a disproportionately large aircraft icon nosing its way over the island.

I’m going to have a quick look at duty-free, she said, because if she didn’t leave, she would not be able to resist needling him.

The duty-free area they had already passed through had been meagre, and the store beside the gate was little more than a kiosk. She fondled a travel pillow thoughtlessly. She browsed the sweets, the M&Ms and Toblerones, and again considered buying them as gifts for her nephew and niece. But wouldn’t it be obvious that she had not considered them well enough during the trip itself? Wouldn’t it be better to arrive home empty-handed than to hand over such a thoughtless gift?

She wandered to a large spinning rack where key rings dangled from wire hooks. She fondled the charms, something soothing about the weight of them, protective and magical like amulets. She took the time to catalog her potential grievances. Jack might have said something critical about her appearance or a personal affect he deemed “too much.” He might have looked at another woman with greater interest than she thought appropriate or frowned at a snide comment she had made, too cruel for his tastes. Perhaps she had suggested that he had been too slow to pack. Or perhaps he had felt rushed, impatient with her as she struggled to close the zip on her own overstuffed case.

If I can’t remember, she told herself, it mustn’t be that important. I have to learn to let things go. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, forced her lips into a smile. She headed for the water display and took down two bottles, paid for them, and returned to Jack.

Do you think the plane has landed yet? she asked.

I don’t know, he said.

You could look, she said, indicating his phone on his lap.

He picked it up and tapped at the screen.

Hm, he said.

What?

He refreshed the page and, once it had reloaded, he navigated the map with his fingers.

That’s strange, he said.

What? She didn’t want to grow frustrated again, but he was giving her little choice.

Hold on, he said. He refreshed the page again and again. He swept across the screen with his fingers until she put her hand on his phone and said, What is it, Jack?

I can’t see the plane, he said.

What?

It says here it’s not due to land for another ten minutes, but it’s not on the map.

What does that mean? she asked.

Jack shrugged. It must have landed already, I suppose.

It was typical of him, she thought, to blow something up in his mind, only to resolve it before he confided in her. How was she supposed to connect, she thought, when he wouldn’t let her in?

She sat back in her seat and looked at her own phone. She scrolled through her work emails, most of which she would ignore. Her response would not be missed. She scrolled through the photos from their trip, tilting the screen to scrutinize her image.

She looked up as two air stewards, blond and kempt in their navy blue and orange uniforms, sidled past to unlock the door to the gate.

Finally, she said, gathering her bag in her lap.

The stewards locked the door behind them and proceeded to chat behind the glass partition. They each took one side of the banner with the box for measuring suitcases and moved it a little farther down the hall. They wheeled a desk in the other direction.

What are they doing? she said.

I don’t know, said Jack, although wasn’t it obvious that her question had been rhetorical?

She watched as the stewards moved furniture, spoke to each other, and laughed, made gestures to members of staff on the other side of the partition.

The loudspeaker crackled and she turned to see who was making the announcement, but she could not see anybody.

Calling all passengers for flight number EP109, said a voice. We’re afraid to announce that this flight has been delayed. Please stand by for further information.

She groaned and lifted her hands to her face.

Well, how long for? she said loudly.

I don’t know, said Jack.

Don’t they usually say?

I suppose they don’t know.

So we’re stuck here?

Looks like it.

She made a noise like a growl deep in her throat, and Jack reached out to rub her back.

It’s okay, he said.

She nodded and leaned back in her seat so that Jack had to retract his hand before she crushed it. She breathed deeply and waited for the cloud of rage to dissipate. Jack had already turned back to his phone. The sports site again.

She rummaged in her bag for her book and deposited the bag on the floor. It didn’t matter now whether they boarded first or last, they would be getting home late and she would be tired and grumpy for work tomorrow. The whole week would be spoiled. She opened her book and read.

She checked her phone at five-minute intervals, pasting the flight number into dozens of different flight tracking websites, but none of them showed the location of the plane. She forced herself to wait for exactly one hour after the slated departure time before finally approaching the glass doors. She stood for a moment, waiting for one of the stewards to notice her. She looked back at Jack who smiled at her blankly, uninterested in what she was doing. The stewards continued to speak among themselves as if almost two hundred people weren’t waiting for word from them. When it became clear that they were not going to pay her any mind, she knocked on the glass.

She thought that they would both turn to her immediately and had already arranged her face into an expression of polite concern, but neither of the stewards seemed to have heard. She looked around at the other passengers, but none looked at her. She knocked again, with enough force to sting her knuckles, but still nobody noticed. Around her, passengers flipped through paperbacks, dozed, and swiped at their phones. She slapped at the glass door with the palm of her hand. Nothing.

Jack was looking at his phone again when she dropped down into the seat beside him.

They just ignored me, she said.

Hm? Jack said.

The stewards. I knocked on the glass, but they just ignored me.

Oh, he said. Why?

I don’t know. It was like they couldn’t hear, but they must have.

No, I mean, why did you knock?

She peered around Jack to a young woman who was reading quietly behind him, expecting the sort of moral backup women offer in the presence of ignorant men, but the woman didn’t look up from her book.

The plane was due to leave an hour ago, she said.

They said it was delayed, said Jack.

But for how long?

I don’t know, said Jack. I’m sure it won’t be long though.

He reached over and rubbed her back. She stood up to escape his touch.

I’m going for a walk, she said.

The airport was small, but she counted eighteen gates, each with passengers waiting patiently, leaning back in their metal seats, or sitting on their suitcases and soft bags. Some queued for coffee and sandwiches. Others browsed the small handful of stores.

She walked around for as long as she could bear it, eventually picking her way through the passengers to the large windows that overlooked the apron. It was late afternoon and heat danced on the tarmac. Blue cracks glistened through thick white cloud. Everything was extraordinary still. She looked over her shoulder at the bustle of the airport, convinced for a moment that everything had paused, but behind her, everything carried on as usual. She looked again at the tarmac. It was empty. No stair cars or luggage vehicles to be seen. Not an airplane in sight.

It might not be that unusual, she thought. She hadn’t traveled as much as she’d have liked to. Or as much as Jack would have liked them to, she thought. He had taken a gap year and hiked in Southeast Asia, and while she had mocked him for this, she felt the lack in herself and resented it. He brought up travel often and she humored him, letting herself get carried away in plans to visit ancient ruins and marvels of nature, but in the end she always found an excuse for them to stay home.

It might be quite normal, but the lack of airplanes had disquieted her, and when she turned again to pick her way back to Jack and their luggage, she realized something else that disturbed her. It was difficult to put her finger on because of the constant motion and clashing tones of hundreds of voices, but once she saw it, it was obvious. Everybody at the airport was quite at ease. The workers in the stores and cafes made jokes with the customers. Passengers made room to let each other pass, smiled as they crossed paths, and left gracious spaces between themselves. Everybody was unhurried and polite, even as she slipped among the crowd, dodging and weaving, stepping on toes and clipping people with her elbows.

Jack! she said, excited as she dropped into the chair beside him once more. It’s so weird, everybody here is happy.

He looked at her, smiling but puzzled.

It’s the strangest thing, she said. You know how everybody’s always so stressed at the airport? Well, nobody is. Everybody’s, like, letting people pass and saying please and thank you and smiling. It’s so weird!

Jack opened his mouth but stopped himself. He gave an awkward laugh.

Don’t you think it’s weird? she persisted.

Sure, he said, in a tone that implied he did not.

Their flight from London had been early, and they had stayed at a hotel at the airport. The hotel had been busy, and guests had crammed themselves into the elevators like sardines, huffing and puffing at the sheer audacity of the other guests encroaching on their space. She and Jack had squeezed out at their floor, mockingly tugging their collars and wiping their brows. The other guests’ stress had been funny. They’d dropped their bags and visited the hotel bar.

The bar was full to bursting, and guests spilled out into the lobby and coffee shop. While Jack went to fetch drinks, she grabbed the last available table. A woman who had seen her do it sighed loudly and said, Some people. A moment later, a man approached the table and had already drawn out a seat when she said, I’m sorry, somebody’s sitting there. It doesn’t look like it, the man said. He’s at the bar, she said. The man had grown red in the face and told her that it was a free country and that she couldn’t just claim tables like she was the queen. She pointed out his contradiction, and he called her a bitch under his breath. He was joined moments later by a woman she presumed to be his wife. He gestured for the woman to sit down, and she perched on the edge of the single available seat while the man stood beside her and huffed. When Jack returned with the drinks, she told him the whole story, rather loudly, and they both laughed until the angry man and his wife left.

This was how people acted at airports. Other people formed an enemy army, and you needed to fight them to win the right to your holiday. It was natural, it was the way of things.

She picked up her book, rolling her eyes over the words without really taking them in. She queued for the bathroom for something to do, tried again to relieve herself with no success.

Back in her seat at the gate, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and looked around. A young mother read animatedly from a brightly colored book, her small daughter distracted but happy. A couple in their fifties chatted quietly and contentedly, as nobody ever had done in an airport, she thought. Outside the light was fading.

She set her sights on a man around her own age, handsome with round glasses and a mop of floppy hair. She watched him for a while, waiting for Jack to notice, and when he didn’t, she stood up and headed straight for the floppy-haired man.

Excuse me, she said, do you know what’s going on?

Sorry? the man asked.

This flight was supposed to leave hours ago, she said.

Oh, the man smiled. It’s been delayed.

Yes, I know, but for how long do you think?

I don’t know, he said. I’m sure we’ll find out soon.

She looked over her shoulder to see if Jack was watching. He was. He smiled. She turned back to the man.

Don’t you think it’s strange? she asked.

What’s strange?

Well, that the plane’s delayed, and they haven’t told us anything.

They’ve told us that the plane’s delayed, the man said with a smirk.

You know what I mean.

It’s not that strange, he said. I wouldn’t worry about it.

I’m more worried about the way everybody’s acting, she said.

How so?

Haven’t you noticed that we’re crammed into this shitty little seating area, waiting for a delayed flight, with no information, and nobody seems even the slightest bit bothered?

He cocked an eyebrow and looked around.

Well, good for us, he said.

She sighed and stared at the man, who returned her gaze with a benevolent smile. She waited a moment to see if he would say something, display some sign of irritation at her intrusion, and when he didn’t, she turned on her heel and marched back over to Jack.

Something really weird is going on here, she said.

What do you mean? he asked.

What do you mean, what do I mean? We’re at the airport and there aren’t any planes and everybody’s just fine with it.

I’m sure it won’t be for much longer, Jack said.

Why would you be sure of that? she said. Flights get canceled all the time. They’re always showing clips of people sleeping on the airport floor on the news. And when was the last time you saw so many people crammed into a public space without complaining about it?

Well, you’re complaining about it, is what she expected him to say, and she waited for it with her hands clenched into fists. But Jack looked around, seeming to notice the gentle atmosphere all around them.

Huh, he said. Well that makes for a nice change. He reached for her hand to pull her into the seat beside his, but she resisted.

Watch this, she said, and she turned to the nearest piece of luggage that didn’t belong to them and pushed it over. She looked at the suitcase’s owner, resisting the urge to apologize, daring herself to smile defiantly over this small act of vandalism. The owner looked at her and smiled. He leaned forward to correct his luggage, smiled at her again, and returned his attention to his iPad.

See? she said to Jack.

It’s okay, he said. We’ll be out of here soon enough.

She groaned and kicked another piece of luggage. When nobody admonished her, she sighed loudly and stalked over to the glass partition separating the passengers from the staff.

She banged on the glass with the side of her fist.

Hey! she shouted. What the fuck is going on?

She banged again and again on the glass and, finally, the shorter of the two stewards turned to look at her.

What’s happening?! she shouted, but the steward only smiled and turned back to her colleague.

Argh! she growled and stomped back over to Jack.

I’m going to lose it, she said.

Hey, he said. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.

What’s wrong with you? she said. Why are you acting like this?

Like what? he asked with benign interest.

You’re acting like nothing’s happening, but we’re stuck here.

We’re not stuck. We’ll be moving soon.

Are you mad at me?

Of course not! he said, reaching for her hand and pulling her onto his lap. I know this is annoying, but we’ll be home soon.

You don’t seem annoyed.

No, he said.

But you said it was annoying.

I can see that it’s annoying you.

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

She picked up her handbag and walked away, pushing her way through the crowds of conscientious zombies. She headed back toward security but was prevented from leaving by the vast glass doors. She sighed and charged away, searching for an open door to the apron. She pictured herself running out on to the tarmac, finding another door through which she could leave. But there was none. The only doors she could find opened into toilet stalls, passengers queueing patiently for their time in the cubicles. She searched everywhere, stopping people every now and then to ask for help, but everybody only smiled or told her simply that everything was going to be okay.

She knocked down an old lady on the way back to Jack, but nobody shouted after her.

I need to get out of here, she said.

Hey, he said, standing and wrapping his arms around her.

No! she shouted. She wriggled in his arms, but his grip tightened around her.

Ow! she shouted. You’re hurting me!

Shhhh, he said.

She screamed, and he let her go.

She picked up her suitcase, charged to the glass partition, and swung the case as hard as she could into the glass. It wobbled a little but didn’t give. She tried again and again and all around her passengers watched with gentle amusement.

We’re fucking trapped here! she screamed when she had tired of trying to break through the glass. What the fuck is wrong with everybody!

Still the passengers smiled. Even Jack had taken his seat. He was looking at his phone; she could see the yellow band of the sports site from where she stood, screaming.

She charged toward him and grabbed a fistful of hair, pulled as hard as she could.

Are you okay? Jack asked with a look of mild concern as she stumbled backward, something hot and wet in her hand.

Of course I’m not fucking okay! she cried, waving around the fistful of bloodied hair and scalp she had pulled from him. A thin stream of blood trickled over his sympathetically raised eyebrow and down his tear duct, nestling in the ticklish spot beside the nostril. She raised a hand to her face and stared at him.

What’s wrong? Jack asked.

She looked at the sticky exposed spot on his head before gazing down at the bloody clump in her fist.

Hey, come here, Jack coaxed, getting to his feet, one hand outstretched.

She threw the bloody clump to the floor with the thwack of a wet ball of tissue.

I can’t, she said quietly. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!

She turned and took a deep breath, set her sights on the glass partition, and ran.