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Chapter 4
February 1st
Iposted the keys to my flat through the letter box of the communal hallway, as I’d been instructed to do. I paused for a moment after hearing the empty clink of the keys falling to the bottom of the box. It wasn’t that I was sentimental about the flat – I wasn’t, it had only ever been a temporary place to stay – it was more what it represented. Another glaring sign pointing out the obvious interim nature of my life. Sighing, I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulder and turned to open the front door, squinting in the bright sunlight as I walked to the resident’s parking zone where my little Ford Fiesta was parked. Barely used here in London, and now it was heading back up to Cumbria to be my parent’s second car again.
It was around mid afternoon when I finally pulled into my parent’s gravel driveway. It started to drizzle as I parked. The sudden lack of vibration from the engine making my bones feel rubbery as I stepped out of the car and stretched. The long drive had always been a bit tedious, but today it had been filled with road works and never-ending queues. It all fit with the weird mood I’d been in since I had finished working at Frequency on Friday. This weird, in-between, useless kind of feeling. Like a plane idling on the runway.
I blew out a breath, and shook out my arms and legs, stretching my neck as I approached the front door. Before I could reach for the handle, the door flew open.
“Pinch, punch, first of the month!” My dad crowed as he reached out whippet-quick to deliver said-indignities, but I blocked him and ducked.
“Not so fast, old man!” I laughed.
His face fell as he made a disappointed noise.
“I’m too quick for you.” I grinned, pushing past him to step inside and out of the rain.
“I raised you too well,” he conceded with a shrug, closing the front door.
“Is that you, love?” Mum’s voice called from the kitchen at the end of the hallway.
“No,” I called out.
“That’s a pity. I just pulled some scones out of the oven, but if my daughter isn’t home yet, I guess they’ll get cold.” Her voice got louder as I approached the kitchen, having started moving the second I heard the word, ‘scones’.
“Oh, hello, love,” she said over her shoulder as I pressed a quick peck to her cheek, leaning over her to grab a scone from the baking tray.
“Oi! Fingers!” She swatted at me with a spatula, but I danced out of reach, tossing the hot treat from hand-to-hand.
I’d come up North to dump the stuff I couldn’t take with me, or I hadn’t wanted to get rid off, but the amount of stuff I’d brought was so pathetically small that I ended up just piling the boxes in one corner of my room and calling it a job done.
“Is that it?” Dad asked, his brow creased as he leaned against the door frame.
“Yup.” I crossed my arms and surveyed the pile.
“Well, I guess it won’t take you long to pack, eh?”
“I’ll do it tomorrow,” I said dismissively. “I just want one last night of being normal and carefree before I have to plan ahead for months of travel.” Even saying the words out loud sent a jolt of panic through me, as if I’d already forgotten something, but couldn’t remember what.
Dad whistled. “Rather you than me, kid,” he said, shaking his head. And I knew he meant it. He’d lived in Cumbria all his life, and the only times he’d left was on his annual leave when Mum dragged him abroad for holidays.
“I can do this,” I said, dragging a hand down my face as I started making mental to-do lists.
“You can,” he agreed, “but for now, come and have some dinner.”
It didn’t take much to persuade me to turn my back on my responsibilities, and for a while, as I sat around the table with my folks, I allowed myself to sink back into the familiar comfort.
This happened every time I came home. I’d get all nostalgic for the ease of a life at with my folks, and then inevitably the novelty would wear off and I’d start to feel an existential kind of claustrophobia, as if my life had expanded too much to fit into the cosy corners of this two-bedroom cottage in the country. But for now, I could pretend, because while it was easy to forget that the months were passing when I only lived a few hours away, I was about to pass that same amount of time away by being in a different country every other week. No easy train, or car ride home. I resolutely forced the thought away, resolving to take it out and examine it at another time.
The next day, I had set aside a couple of hours to prepare for my travel. I had it all planned out. I’d start by going through the suitcase of clothes and shoes I’d brought up from London, carefully choosing a selection of outfits to come on tour with me. A curated capsule wardrobe – as Becka had suggested, having sent me a whole page of suggestions. Next, I would move onto the paperwork – printing out itineraries and travel documents. It had been a solid plan. The problem was that I finished in under half the amount of time I had allocated, which allowed for double the amount of time for existential dread, and travel-related anxiety.
The fact of the matter was that I simply did not own enough outfits, capsule, or otherwise. I would essentially be travelling with a bunch of t-shirts, jeans, a couple work-appropriate outfits, two jackets, one coat, one cute dress and one pair of shoes per occasion. I was hoping there would be accessible laundry for each stop. Even accounting for toiletries, my suitcase was beginning to look like a clown car compared to the few items I was bringing.
I was just sitting in the middle of my bedroom floor, contemplating trying to shove it all into a duffle bag instead of the big suitcase, when Mum passed by my door. She screeched to a halt, assessed the situation with a critical eye, before snorting and walking away. I raised my eyebrows, but shrugged it off, until not two minutes later, she returned, wheeling in a suitcase I hadn’t seen for years. The wheels hissed as they glided over the carpeted floor. The distinctive designer logo stamped all over the hardshell casing was about as subtle as a brick. My mouth went dry as I recognised the suitcase that Jihoon had leant me all those years ago.
“You might as well, love,” Mum pointed out in a kind voice. “It’s far sturdier than that old thing. It’s smaller, so your stuff won’t go flying around, and look-” she kicked lightly at the bottom of the case where four little wheels moved effortlessly. “It’s got 4-wheel drive.”
I huffed out a laugh. “That is a compelling argument,” I conceded.
