Wish You Were Here by Mike Gayle Read Free Book Online

of the A23, thereby guaranteeing myself a sizeable number of points on my licence, if not a complete driving ban.
    â€˜You worry too much,’ said Andy as we climbed out of the car and began unloading our luggage on to the tarmac. ‘I promise you that speed-camera did not go off.’
    â€˜Of course it did,’ I replied. ‘I saw it flash.’
    â€˜You’re wrong,’ said Andy. ‘Tom, tell him he’s wrong, will you?’
    â€˜You’re joking,’ said Tom. ‘It was a guaranteed licence-loser.’
    Still arguing I locked up the car and then we made our way to the shuttle-bus stop. The warmer weather that had opened August had gradually faded away as the month progressed and as I looked up at the sky I could see that the sun was fighting a losing battle with the scattered cloud above. Regardless of the restrained sunshine all three of us donned our sunglasses without comment.
    Just as I was beginning to believe that we might actually miss the flight, the shuttle-bus arrived. Even as we climbed on board, lodged our luggage in the space provided and took our seats my heart was racing. The thought of having to stay in England even one more day was bringing me out in cold sweats.
    As we finally approached the front of the airport it was clear that pretty much everyone in the world was going on holiday. There were taxi drivers, family members, friends and lovers all parked in the bus’s designated dropping-off zone. Right in front of us was a long white stretch limo that just screamed students with too much disposable income. Lo and behold a bunch of glamorous-looking types emerged from inside, spilling out on to the pavement. One of them pulled out a camera while the others congregated in front of the limo to have their photo taken. They all looked fresh-faced and energised, as though they were about to begin a new chapter of their lives. And despite myself I couldn’t help but make the connection between them and my twenty-five-year-old self, recalling my own youth and eternal optimism. On the outside we didn’t look all that much different; on the inside we couldn’t have been more dissimilar. ‘That’s what a decade does to you,’ I thought as I watched them laughing and joking. ‘It changes water into oil.’

    Strays
    Standing in the entrance to the departure lounge with Andy and Tom ahead of me and the electronic doors hovering expectantly on either side I became gripped by the conviction that I had forgotten something important. I wracked my brain trying to work out what the missing item might be, but it was difficult to concentrate against the barrage of announcements over the Tannoy – delayed flights, opening check-in desks, heightened security – it was all putting me off. I double-checked my passport and tickets but they were safely tucked away in the back pocket of my jeans and I even opened up my suitcase and checked that I had my ‘Death To the Pixies’ T-shirt. When I closed the case I recalled what or rather who was missing – Sarah. It had always been Sarah’s job to double-check that we had everything that we needed. That was why being here at the airport felt so odd. Without the safety-net of her presence, how could I be sure that I hadn’t left anything important behind?
    By the time I made my way over to the check-in desk there were only five minutes left until it closed but the queue was still some twenty to thirty people deep. Tom overheard something from the people in front of us about airport staff apologising over the late opening of the check-in desk that afternoon. We could finally relax. We’d been handed a reprieve.
    The queue in front of us was made up of every sort of person. Old folk with luggage trolleys packed right up to the rafters; families over three generations who all seemed to be talking at once; well-groomed young couples clearly taking their first joint holidays abroad;