Rosie Thomas 3-Book Collection by Rosie Thomas

Author:Rosie Thomas [Rosie Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2015-06-09T16:00:00+00:00

Nine

The plane tilted in its last circuit through the dense cloud and swung towards the landing approach.

Harry Cotton stretched wearily and gave up the pretence of sleep. He turned to the tiny window but could see nothing except the wing beneath him and the grey vapour streaming upwards. Manchester, England, he thought. Shrouded in rain. He counted off the obstacles that stood between him and the luxury of bed, and sleep. There was the airport terminal, fetid air and queues, and the baggage carousel. Then the hire car desk, and the drive through the rain, two hours at most, that would take him home.

As the plane came out of the last layer of cloud and swooped towards the ribbon of runway, Harry smiled. Odd that he still, after all, thought of Llyn Fair as home. Out of the jumble of thoughts disconnected by exhaustion, came a moment of pure exultation. Llyn Fair. The secret hollow high up in the hills, the old house, and the black and silver lake with its curtain of trees. For a moment Harry tasted the anticipation, the drive and the first sight of the mountains ahead, and then the road curving and climbing until the peaks soared above him and he was home again.

With a long shrieking roar the plane’s wheels touched, bounced, and the brakes bit. The aircraft slowed, swung, and they were taxiing. Harry saw the heavy pall of rain and the loophole of happiness closed. He was aching from the long, cramped flight and he still had the remains of a New York hangover. He felt dirty, unshaven and impatient with himself. This was the last time he would ever come home to Llyn Fair. The house and the lake were to be sold. He was here to sign some papers, to make a sketchy show of filial duty in putting the last of Joe’s tangled affairs to rights after his death. But in truth he had come back to say goodbye. And once he had said it, and the house and the lake were gone, then perhaps he could turn away from all of it for good.

Then a vacation, Harry reminded himself. Not in Wales, he didn’t want that, but in some quiet, unreminiscent corner where nobody knew him and where the telephone didn’t ring. There had been too many films, one after another, too many deals, and so many faces that they had blurred together and left him, after so long, with only two that were still sharp. The plane was stationary now, and the mechanical thanks for coming home with British Airways was crackling over his head. Harry pulled his well-worn leather jacket on over his sweatshirt and jeans and followed the tide of passengers to the exit. In the doorway the hostess saw his dark height coming and brightened her smile, but Harry was for once too tired to see it.

The arrivals queues and delays were exactly as he had known they would be. At length, Harry lifted his single small suitcase from the carousel and turned towards the customs avenue.

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