Slowly she glanced up from the sales-bin and met eyes with the giant from the café, his NYC baseball cap sitting primly atop his head. Like before he was staring fervently, his expression carrying an anxious twist.
‘Your mother never teach you it’s not polite to stare?’ Abbey said calmly.
Like in the café the giant turned away awkwardly, pretended to be perusing the magazines – Pregnant Mothers, Monthly?
It was strange, despite the man’s size she didn’t feel threatened by him. The way he turned away abashed, he resembled a twelve year old who’d been caught scanning the underwear section in one of his mum’s catalogues.
‘Were you following me?’ she asked moving closer.
Instead of answering, the giant picked up Housewife & Home and began flicking through the pages, eyes glancing up every few pages.
Another step. ‘What’s your name?’
Replacing the magazine, the man turned his huge body towards her. He continued to look down, his eyes locked onto the nasty green tiles beneath their feet. ‘I learned the alphabet,’ he muttered. His accent carried the faint trace of Australia.
Hand to her mouth, Abbey took a step back, embarrassed. ‘You…you did?’ she mouthed. ‘Well that’s no easy thing, is it?’
The giant shook his head. ‘No, but I can do it first time,’ he said proudly. ‘Want me to show you?’
‘You don’t need to do that. What’s your na –’
‘A…B…C…D…G…F…’
She placed a hand on the big man’s arm. ‘What’s your name?’
He thought about that for a moment. ‘Eric De Boor,’ he said confidently. ‘You can call me Eric.’
‘And who are you travelling with, Eric De Boor?’
‘You’re very pretty.’
‘Eric, I think you might be lost. Who’re you trav –’
‘I saw what the man had under his jacket!’ Eric cut in.
She looked around hoping to spot someone looking for their son, brother, father, but the airport was too busy.
Eric shuffled from foot to foot. ‘He was trying to hide it but I saw.’
‘Who are you travelling with, Eric?’ she persisted.
‘I’m with my mother, Elaine De Boor. But I don’t know where she is. She went to find something-hot-to-drink.’
Abbey couldn’t help but smile as Eric repeated his mother’s words. ‘So she’s at the café?’
‘I don’t know. She went to find something-hot-to-drink.’
She sighed, frustrated.
‘Are you mad at me?’ he said glumly. ‘Sometimes people get mad at me.’
‘Of course not,’ she assured him. ‘I’m just trying to help you get back to your mother.’
‘My mother’s name is Elaine De Boor. She went to buy something-hot-to-drink.’
Rubbing her eyes, she said, ‘I’ll tell you what, Eric, go ahead and tell me the alphabet.’
*
It wasn’t easy but Abbey finally managed to extract a gate number from Eric, and thankfully it was the same as hers. Like she and Milo, he and his mother were travelling to Auckland through the night.
At the gate she found Elaine De Boor nursing a cardboard takeaway cup, head buried in a Bible. Since Eric was forty-ish, she guessed Elaine to be somewhere in her late sixties, early seventies, but she carried no air of frailty. Abbey guessed a lifetime of raising a challenged son had carved her out of wood, and as she approached with Eric, Elaine De Boor climbed to her feet with the ease of a teenager.
‘Where was he this time?’ Elaine asked. And then to Eric, ‘I swear to god, they’ll be prizing you off the runway one of these days!’
‘Found him in the bookstore at the top end of the terminal,’ Abbey said. ‘Is he alright wandering off on his own like that?’
‘Look at the size of him, darl! You’d have to be an idiot to antagonise him.’
Growing immediately impatient Eric was off again, heading back towards the café.
‘He remembers short term things fairly well. So long as he knows the gate number and what time to be back, I let him go explore. Means I can read in peace.’
Abbey smiled. ‘Well, I’m glad I took the time to bring him back then.’
‘God bless you, darl,’ Elaine replied and went back to the Bible.
Mixing back into the throng of travellers, Abbey made her way back to the café wondering if Milo had waited, but the booth was empty.
As she turned to leave, that’s when she met him.
Bumping into the person behind her, she watched as the coffee flew from his hand in slow motion and crashed down onto the table to their left, lid popping off the cardboard cup and erupting over the nuclear family and their lack of conversation.
How.
Embarrassing.
Through a blizzard of apologies and the angry ramblings of the father, she finally took a proper look at her collision partner.
‘Hi,’ he smirked and held up a hand in greeting.
For a second she stood transfixed. The man was about her age, with sandy blonde hair, clear blue eyes and a cheeky grin. To call him handsome would have been an insult to his face.
‘I…I…’ she stammered.
‘Coffee was lousy anyway,’ said Blue Eyes, his smoky American accent delivering the words to her on a bed of silk. ‘I was about to hurl it at that old guy over there, but I guess the family deserved it more.’
He waited for a reply. When none came, he said, ‘I’m James,’ and held out his hand.
‘Erm, Abbey,’ she stuttered and shook the man’s hand. There was more to say, she was certain.
‘Well, Abbey, it was lovely to
