Fit For Purpose, Julian Parrott [most recommended books txt] 📗

how long he’d been in the country. “Quick business trip was it, sir?” she enquired.

“Quick trip for fun,” Tom responded genuinely. “Visiting an old friend.”

“Well, I hope we can have the pleasure of another visit in the near future,” Sarah said and handed Tom his passport and his new ticket. “Enjoy your trip, sir and thanks for flying with us.”

“Cheers. Thank you,” Tom said. “I will.”

Tom collected his documents and smiled with a nod to Sarah. He was a bit confused as to what had just happened. He left the counter with a little more of a lighter step than he had approached it with. He slowed momentarily almost turning back to the ticket agent to ask her, ask her what, he pondered, for her phone number? Idiot, he told himself, he wouldn’t know what to say, wouldn’t know how.

Sarah, watched Tom’s first few steps in the direction of security, noticed his limp, sighed a little with the desire of a missed opportunity, then turned to the line in front of her, smiled again and said with a hint of wistfulness, “Next.”

***

Montreal Trudeau Airport Departure Gates

The airport gate was crowded, and the passengers’ frustration was palpable. Outside a cold wind whipped and hail pelted the floor-to-ceiling windows. Inside, the terminal’s air was warm and dry and doing nothing to calm the weary passengers who continued to crowd the overwhelmed gate agents for information on their delayed flights. All the gate’s chairs were occupied, people and bags appeared to spill out into the aisles like clothes from overstuffed drawers. Slightly back from the melee, the actress stood leaning on one of the many pillars that held up the wing shaped ceiling, observing.

Although she was slightly hungover from the previous night’s wrap party and dying to sit down, she people-watched almost out of professional curiosity. She observed the nervous flyer read and reread a page in a novel, the businesswoman in the expensive suit constantly checking her phone, the elderly couple, clearly still in love after goodness knows how many years, sit patiently deep in conversation. What were they talking about? She watched the harried mother with a toddler in a pushchair and a baby on her hip trying to soothe both children while animatedly talking to a gate agent. The actress saw the toddler throw a stuffed toy from her pushchair; the mother missed it deep in conversation with the agent. The actress noticed a guy, early forties, fit, kind face, air pods, leave his seat and retrieve what looked like a blue bunny. The man squatted down next to the toddler looking as if he was making funny voices as he made the bunny dance for the child who was now laughing. The harried mum, blonde, pretty but understandably tired looking, gazed down. Concern changed to a gentle smile as the man straightened, with a little difficulty, from his squat, the mum nodded a thanks and the man smiled. Nice teeth. The actress noticed that the man’s seat had been taken by a teen with greasy hair, giant wireless headphones, and an air of surliness. The man noticed too and gave an ‘Ah well’ motion and wandered off to find some floor space. He had a noticeable limp.

All these personal, small human interactions and dramas continued to be training for her. It was real-life acting school. She never tired of these moments; locking away a small facial expression, a pause in a conversation, a shift of body weight, a smile, the change of gaze, a touch. She saved them for her own usage to bring depth to a character she may play. She was good at it. She was a jobbing actor, always working and always grateful for work. She was heading home to London from the shoot in Montreal.

Her role had been a good one. It was one of those secondary characters that had, since her late thirties, become her métier. Still, she reflected, it had been a role that she brought a rewarding depth to. The actress noticed a seat become vacant and she stepped quickly towards it. The kind faced toddler whisperer also made a play for the empty seat but pulled away when he saw her move to sit. The actress nodded her thanks and moved her gaze down into her cabin bag as she rummaged around for one of the two novels she carried, the Iain Banks or the cheap thriller. She grabbed the thriller with a rather lurid cover. She missed the toddler whisperer’s return nod.

***

Tom Price didn’t mind being gazumped for the seat. He moved to the pillar the elegant woman with the nicely fitted sweater and tight jeans had just vacated. There was a vague scent of something floral, herby, ephemeral. He inhaled the aroma deeply without drawing attention to himself. Tom liked the fragrance. Was it hers, the woman who grabbed the seat? The scent reminded him of something, there was a hint of spice and he immediately felt the dry heat of desert, but then there was a softer, floral nose. This scent evoked the cottage garden that had been attached to a country pub close to his childhood home.

Home. His flight was taking him home but Tom was in no rush. Jack would be happy with Rachel, so the delay didn’t bother him. He sniffed again, the scent was evocative of times and places now distant and he remembered L.P. Hartley’s statement that the past is a foreign country. In his case, he felt it to be literally true. At least his trip home would be different, at least it would be more comfortable than he had expected, and it would certainly be more comfortable than his past.

Chapter Two

Montreal Trudeau Airport

Home was but a fleeting construct for Tom. After twenty years on active duty, very active duty, home had become a rucksack and kitbag and whatever base he had been sent to.