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Authors: Michael Arditti
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Richard, Gillian shoots her a glance that speaks of years of suppressed hurt and fury. I long to learn the story of a woman who I am now intent on including in the film. Moreover, I can no longer keep silent. I feel an aching need for Gillian to acknowledge me, if only as the unwitting cause of the confusion.
‘It’s my fault,’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry. I distracted your mother-in-law with talk of the documentary.’
‘Yes, well, she’s easily distracted. Maybe one day you people will learn that the whole world doesn’t revolve around a camera. Not everyone’s burning ambition is to appear on TV!’
‘I’d put him straight on the plane if I were you, love,’ one of the guards says. ‘And take better care next time. The place is full of kiddies!’
‘Oh God!’ Gillian says, and, with her arm tucked through Richard’s , turns to the counter to pay for the shirt. The guards leave; the onlookers disperse; a customer scans the shelves; and life returns to normal. To my chagrin, Patricia starts to apologise for Gillian.
‘I wouldn’t want you to think she’s an uncaring wife.’
‘I don’t.’
‘But it can be hard for her. Though I say so myself, he’s a handful. It would be easier if she had children.’ She sighs. ‘She’d know from experience how to deal with him. That’s where I could help. But she’s proud. You’ve seen for yourself. And you know what they say about pride.’
‘Well, we all fall sometimes,’ I say quickly. Then, checking that we are not overheard, I make my pitch. ‘I think that Richard and Gillian – and you, of course – would make a very interesting strand of the documentary. I hope you’ll agree to be interviewed.’
‘Really? How flattering! Who am I to refuse? If it helps put the message of Lourdes across … It is for the BBC?’
‘A new series of Witness .’
‘I can’t speak for Gillian. She has a mind of her own.’
‘I’m relying on you to persuade her. To work, it will need the entire family.’
‘I promise to try my very best.’
Keen to escape while Gillian is still at the counter, I say a hurried goodbye to Patricia and return to the bar. No sooner have I sat down than the flight is called. We gather our bags and make our way to the gate.
‘You took your time,’ Sophie said. ‘Anything special?’
‘I got caught up in an ugly scene when one of our lot – a middle-aged guy with brain damage – broke in on a woman in a changing cubicle.’
‘Why didn’t you text us, chief? We’d have come over.’
‘Have a heart, Jamie! You’ve got to allow people some privacy.’
‘You are joking?’
To my surprise, I find that I am not.
The long delay in boarding gives us a further taste of the ‘ wheelchair factor’ that looks set to dominate the trip. I edge down the aisle, hoping for a smile from Gillian, but she is preoccupied with Richard’s seatbelt and I have to be content with Patricia’s skittish wave. I sit next to Jamie, who struggles to accommodate himself to the narrow seat, his one compensation being the ‘well-stacked’ stewardess whom he summons with embarrassing frequency.
‘Enough, Jamie! It’s humiliating,’ I say, after he has pressed the bell for the fourth time, simply to ask whether it is hot in Lourdes.
‘She’s cracking, chief. She smiled then.’
‘She curled her lip. What are you playing at? She’s way out of your league.’
‘Then she can lean back and relax. Leave me to make the running.’
‘So far it’s all been her: up and down the aisle! You’re incorrigible. Do you try it on with every woman you meet?’
‘Pretty much. It’s the law of averages. Sooner or later, one of them’s bound to break. You should go for it, chief. Good-looking bloke like yourself. Lighten up a little.’
‘Thanks. I’ll bear it in mind.’
I turn back to my novel, but Jamie’s fidgeting makes it hard to concentrate. Retribution is at hand in the form of the captain’s announcement when, in answer to
‘It’s my fault,’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry. I distracted your mother-in-law with talk of the documentary.’
‘Yes, well, she’s easily distracted. Maybe one day you people will learn that the whole world doesn’t revolve around a camera. Not everyone’s burning ambition is to appear on TV!’
‘I’d put him straight on the plane if I were you, love,’ one of the guards says. ‘And take better care next time. The place is full of kiddies!’
‘Oh God!’ Gillian says, and, with her arm tucked through Richard’s , turns to the counter to pay for the shirt. The guards leave; the onlookers disperse; a customer scans the shelves; and life returns to normal. To my chagrin, Patricia starts to apologise for Gillian.
‘I wouldn’t want you to think she’s an uncaring wife.’
‘I don’t.’
‘But it can be hard for her. Though I say so myself, he’s a handful. It would be easier if she had children.’ She sighs. ‘She’d know from experience how to deal with him. That’s where I could help. But she’s proud. You’ve seen for yourself. And you know what they say about pride.’
‘Well, we all fall sometimes,’ I say quickly. Then, checking that we are not overheard, I make my pitch. ‘I think that Richard and Gillian – and you, of course – would make a very interesting strand of the documentary. I hope you’ll agree to be interviewed.’
‘Really? How flattering! Who am I to refuse? If it helps put the message of Lourdes across … It is for the BBC?’
‘A new series of Witness .’
‘I can’t speak for Gillian. She has a mind of her own.’
‘I’m relying on you to persuade her. To work, it will need the entire family.’
‘I promise to try my very best.’
Keen to escape while Gillian is still at the counter, I say a hurried goodbye to Patricia and return to the bar. No sooner have I sat down than the flight is called. We gather our bags and make our way to the gate.
‘You took your time,’ Sophie said. ‘Anything special?’
‘I got caught up in an ugly scene when one of our lot – a middle-aged guy with brain damage – broke in on a woman in a changing cubicle.’
‘Why didn’t you text us, chief? We’d have come over.’
‘Have a heart, Jamie! You’ve got to allow people some privacy.’
‘You are joking?’
To my surprise, I find that I am not.
The long delay in boarding gives us a further taste of the ‘ wheelchair factor’ that looks set to dominate the trip. I edge down the aisle, hoping for a smile from Gillian, but she is preoccupied with Richard’s seatbelt and I have to be content with Patricia’s skittish wave. I sit next to Jamie, who struggles to accommodate himself to the narrow seat, his one compensation being the ‘well-stacked’ stewardess whom he summons with embarrassing frequency.
‘Enough, Jamie! It’s humiliating,’ I say, after he has pressed the bell for the fourth time, simply to ask whether it is hot in Lourdes.
‘She’s cracking, chief. She smiled then.’
‘She curled her lip. What are you playing at? She’s way out of your league.’
‘Then she can lean back and relax. Leave me to make the running.’
‘So far it’s all been her: up and down the aisle! You’re incorrigible. Do you try it on with every woman you meet?’
‘Pretty much. It’s the law of averages. Sooner or later, one of them’s bound to break. You should go for it, chief. Good-looking bloke like yourself. Lighten up a little.’
‘Thanks. I’ll bear it in mind.’
I turn back to my novel, but Jamie’s fidgeting makes it hard to concentrate. Retribution is at hand in the form of the captain’s announcement when, in answer to
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