Part 9 (1/2)

He spent so long in the steamy cubicle that the attendant had to bang on the door to move him along, but he didn't care. He felt peaceful, warmed through to the very core of his being. He turned off the water and at first the silence confused him. It was ages before he realized that the soundtrack that had accompanied his recent life the constant buzzing white noise of anxiety was gone.

He felt like singing, crying, shouting with relief.

He stared hard at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, noticing that the face that stared back at him looked different. The haunted expression was gone. He looked less like a nervous child, more like a person.

The attendant pounded on the door, more loudly this time.

Justin dried his neck and ruffled his damp hair with a tear-off paper towel. He felt cleaner than he'd felt in his entire life. A pound's worth of soap and hot water was all it took to cleanse the grime from his soul, remove the sludge from his brain and reveal the face behind the mask.

He held his hand out in front of him. No trace of a tremor. He was strong. Invincible.

Bring on your worst, he said to fate.

Indeed.

23.

For three days Justin lived in a state of suspended animation that pa.s.sed for a sort of domestic bliss.

Each night he tucked himself into his moulded plastic row of blue seats and slept deeply, his dog by his side. After the first night he dreamt a new dream. In this dream he was naked, submerged in air so thick and warm it buoyed him up, let him float like a Zeppelin through the fuggy atmosphere of the airport. From his vantage point near the ceiling he could observe the comings and goings of humanity like some lesser G.o.d, occasionally lowering his imaginary flaps to swoop down among the people, amused, playful, and all-powerful.

Each morning he awoke loose-limbed, clear-headed and optimistic.

He suddenly realized that what he felt was happy, and the feeling was so dramatically new, so different, he had to tell Agnes.

'Where are you?' she squawked down the phone. 'I've been so worried.'

'Luton Airport.'

'Luton Airport?'

'Yes.'

'Are you coming or going?'

'Just... staying.'

'How strange.' She was quiet for a moment. 'Is it nice?'

'Yes. Perfect.'

'Perfect? How, perfect?'

'Just perfect. I can't explain.'

'Try.'

He paused. 'It's peaceful here. Nothing's familiar. No one knows who I am.'

At the other end of the phone, she said nothing.

'It's not even a place, it's like a place on the way to another place. Like limbo.'

'I never thought of it that way.'

'Neither did I. But... there you are.'

'There you are,' she said, and he could hear the expression on her face.

Neither of them said anything. Then he heard the pips of his money running out.

'Agnes '

'I'll be there in half an hour.'

The phone went dead.

24.

He knew within seconds that she had arrived. Beside him, Boy flicked his ears back and forth and arranged himself along her line of approach. Even across the huge expanse of airport terminal, Justin recognized the strange pockets of quiet followed by a kind of murmuring buzz. He wondered what she was wearing.

From his elevated position on the observation deck, he looked down on nearly the whole s.p.a.ce, observed with affection and awe the disturbed waves of crowd movement that described her path across the floor.

He could see her now, in her green snakeskin boots, heavy magenta tights, tiny green velour shorts and a stretchy, nearly transparent s.h.i.+rt with sleeves that extended past the ends of her fingertips almost to the floor. Under one arm she carried the huge s.h.a.ggy pelt of an enormous acrylic beast. A pointy white woollen hat with bright bobbing pompoms covered the crown of her pink head; her camera bag completed the outfit.

Now he could hear her too, even from up here, the clomp clomp clomp of the thick-soled boots.