She stood with her hands on his shoulders as he sat down in front of his computer, and they both stared silently at the words on the screen:
Arriving 15.30 tomorrow, Saturday, Gatwick Airport, North Terminal, British Airways Flt 225 from Rome. Please meet us. Your children, Luke and Phoebe.
130
Naomi clutched John. Her eyes danced with happiness, but also with a thousand questions. ‘Is this real, darling? It’s not a hoax?’
‘It’s a real email,’ he replied. ‘But I can’t tell who sent it.’
‘Can’t you find out where it’s from? Its source or something?’
‘It’s a Hotmail account. You can set one up in a couple of minutes from any internet cafe in the world. It won’t be traceable.’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows if it is real – but it would be a pretty sick practical joke.’
‘Do you think they’re coming home? Permanently?’ she asked.
‘I’ve no idea.’ He stared at the email again, reading the short message carefully. ‘They’ll be coming up to their twelfth birthdays. Who knows what their mindsets will be. Maybe they’ve outgrown the island, or perhaps they want to go to university here. Perhaps they’re just curious to see us. Or maybe they’ve been sent to teach us some lessons about how we should be shaping the world.’
‘I’ll have to make the spare beds up – they’ll have way outgrown their original little beds. What about food? What shall we get them?’
‘We could ask them when we see them. Maybe they’d like a treat, something different to the wholesome food they’d be getting on the island. McDonald’s or something?’
She kissed him on the cheek and put her arms around him and clung to him tightly. ‘God, oh God! I sooooo hope they are coming back to live with us. That we can be a family again. Wouldn’t that be incredible?’
John squeezed her arm. ‘Don’t get your hopes up too high, we have no idea what they will be like nor what their agenda is. It’s a pretty cold email. No love or kisses.’
‘We never have had love of that kind, from them.’
‘Exactly.’
‘But I think they do love us, in their own weird way.’
John said nothing.
‘Please don’t let this be a hoax, John. I couldn’t bear it. I’m so excited. I just can’t believe it, I really can’t!
‘Let’s see.’
She stroked his forehead. ‘Aren’t you just a teeny bit excited?’
‘Of course I am! I guess I’m in shock. And at the same time, you know, I-’
He hesitated.
‘You what?’ she asked.
‘I’m nervous. I don’t know what to expect. Maybe they need money – isn’t that why kids go and see their parents most of the time? They’re getting to an age now where they probably want to start buying stuff. You know, music, clothes.’
‘They’re not teenagers yet,’ Naomi replied.
‘Dettore said they would have accelerated growth and maturity. They may still only be eleven, but my guess is they’re going to look like advanced teenagers.’
Naomi stared at the bald wording of the email. ‘That reads like – like we just haven’t seen them for a few days. As if they’ve been away on holiday – it’s so strange to send that and no more after eight years.’
John smiled wistfully. ‘The sad thing is, I don’t find it strange at all. That’s how they always were. Clearly nothing’s changed in the manners department.’
‘Are we even going to recognize them?’
‘Of course. And, if for any reason we don’t, Luke and Phoebe are sure as hell going to recognize us.’
131
Naomi gripped John’s hand tightly as they crossed the walkway from the short-term car park and entered the Arrivals hall. They were thirty minutes early – as a Swede, John was always strictly punctual, and they were taking no chances today.
They were both as nervous as hell. John felt a lump in his throat and his mouth was dry. Naomi scanned the hall as they entered, just in case, by any chance, the twins had already arrived, perhaps on an earlier flight. Although of course she knew that was unlikely. She looked at the people seated in the Costa cafe, in the WH Smith bookstore, then all around her. Then she checked her watch: 3.02 p.m. The flight was due on time at 3.30, and they had been monitoring its progress on the Saab’s computer screen. It would be a further half hour, at least, she knew from experience, before they came through – and longer if they had checked baggage.
Both of them wondered whether the children would be travelling alone or accompanied by an adult – perhaps Dettore himself?
They stopped a few yards away from the people waiting in front of the barrier that delineated the walkway out from the Arrivals doorway. Naomi was feeling almost sick with nerves and anticipation. So many questions were going through her mind. All around them stood men in suits holding placards up with names on them. Limousine and taxi drivers waiting to do
pickups. She glanced at a few of the names, just in case. In case what? In case there was one for Dettore? STANNARD. MR FAISAL. FRANK NEWTON. MRS APPLETON. OSTERMANN PLC
She was shaking. Excited but scared at the same time. And impatient. Willing each slow minute to tick away. John kept looking at his watch, and whenever he did so, she looked again at hers. But mostly she kept her eyes on that exit doorway. Anxiously watching the people coming through. An efficient-looking businessman pulling a small black holdall strode past. Then an elderly Indian couple pushing a precariously loaded baggage trolley. Then a woman with twin girls, followed closely followed by a man who was talking to her, also pushing a trolley.
Still twenty minutes to go before they could realistically expect the children to come through.
The twenty minutes passed, followed by another ten. There was a constant stream of people coming out now, as if several flights had all come in around the same time. Another ten minutes.
‘I hope to God they’re coming, John.’
He nodded. Then they saw two tall figures emerge and their hopes rose. A youth in his late teens and a girl the same age. The boy was handsome, with mussed-up blond hair, the girl was slender and attractive. They were pushing a trolley stacked with expensive luggage. Both Naomi and John took a step forward. The boy put his arm around the girl and kissed her on the lips. Then the next moment the boy waved at someone in the line of waiting people and the two of them hurried over eagerly. Not their twins.
An airport worker pushed a wheelchair containing a young woman in an anorak, with her leg in a plaster cast, accompanied by another woman pushing a trolley with suitcases and skis on it. They were followed by a small Middle-Eastern group, the women in burkas. Then, following behind them, two elderly people were being pushed in wheelchairs by airport workers. John and Naomi barely noticed them; they were intently concentrating on who would be coming next through the doorway.
The airport workers halted the wheelchairs. Each contained a small, elderly person. Both had a tiny holdall on their lap. John glanced at them. Two old men, he thought at first glance. Except then he noticed one was wearing an orange T-shirt, blue shorts and sneakers, and the other was wearing a white blouse, denim skirt and sparkly trainers. Male and female, he realized, with a sudden, sharp tug of nerves in his throat.
Their heads were disproportionately large to their tiny bodies, their craniums swollen like misshapen walnuts, the bones clearly delineated beneath the tight, uneven skin. Their eyes were all that John and Naomi
