Tuesday 8 September 2015

The Long Wait Home


Finally a story about nothing :-)
For audio click here.
I'd been away too long, it was time to go home. I'd got what I'd come for, the mission had been a success but London had cocked up the arrangements, so instead of sipping tea on a BA flight to Heathrow, I was lying on a hard hotel bed and still had five days left in this god forsaken town. No, that was unfair, it was a wonderful town, one that was close to my heart; it had been good to me over the years but right now I felt I was living on borrowed time. Five days is nothing in the great scheme of things but it felt like a lifetime to me. It had been raining when I first got here, not heavy, but light drizzle that blurred the headlights and generally softened the focus. I'd wondered if it was the same rain that fell on me when I'd kissed Polly goodbye, had it followed me here like a faithful dog? Making sure I didn't feel too far away from home. But the rain had deserted me now, replaced by its evil cousin - snow. Large white clumps of flakes drifted gracefully on the wind. Life went on as normal despite the bitter flurries. From my hotel window I could watch the locals flit to and fro as the snow settled and I unsettled. Things looked less soft in the cold white of day, more alien. Both in miles and minutes home seemed further away than ever. The trip had been a success, contact made, arrangements established, channels opened. Meeting the new body was always the worst trip. You knew you were recruiting because of what happened to the last one. You knew you were in effect signing this one's death warrant too. And death was the easy part, what came before didn't bear thinking about. Whether they didn't out of a sense of duty, glory or greed it didn't matter to us or them, the end was always the same. Then of course there was the chance it was a trap, the fear that the last one had betrayed us, not been able to deal with the pain and given the whole game away. Or maybe we had a mole too, someone willing to set me up for 40 pieces of silver. Was Stanislav a fraud? Did he even exist? Would police be waiting for me? Was the net closing in on me? Would I ever see Polly again? But I needn’t have worried, Stanislav seemed genuine enough, and the trip had passed without incident, so far. 
 But once I'd got what I came for, all I wanted to do was get out. I was restless, long empty days stretched out ahead of me; days that were fraught with danger. I longed to call Polly but it was out of the question; London would let her know I wouldn't be home till Sunday. The room was hot, stuffy and smelt of boiled cabbage, no doubt tonight's special in the restaurant downstairs, again. A tinny siren wailed outside the glass, fuelling my paranoia, were they coming for me. The noise faded, the snow fell, the clock ticked but no one came. I tried to read more of my book, I would finish a page and then realise I’d not actually read a word, my mind drifted in and out. I thought of Polly’s warm body curled up in her armchair watching TV. I longed for some toad in the hole or roast beef, I craved for a proper cup of tea, I'd been away too long, it was time to go home.

3 comments:

  1. that's very captivating nothing:-)

    that nothing looks like yearning

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  2. "But the rain had deserted me now, replaced by its evil cousin - snow...I thought of Polly’s warm body curled up in her armchair watching TV. I longed for some toad in the hole or roast beef, I craved for a proper cup of tea, I'd been away too long, it was time to go home."

    ReplyDelete
  3. I have just been shown this funny video and remembered you once wrote a story about nothing:-)
    https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=8S0FDjFBj8o

    ReplyDelete