Between a Rock and a Hard Place

  Between a Rock and a Hard Place

  By Clare London

  A London Lads Story

  Garry’s at the end of his tether. He’s waiting at Glasgow Airport to meet his friend Will, on their way to a holiday in a Scottish Highlands hotel. Now there’s a ten-hour delay to incoming flights, the seat in the lounge is more like an instrument of torture, and he’s beyond tired of airport food.

  He’s also dreading having to apologise for the pass he recently made at Will, his colleague at a London bank, under the influence of too many beers and a long-held crush. Now Will’s been offered a new job offer on a continent thousands of miles away, Garry realises it may be the end of their close friendship—let alone anything more.

  To add to Garry’s stress, he’s treated to the company of Emily and Max, two young people who think he needs educating in the ways of the world. Struggling with their well-meaning help and the startling mess from spilled ketchup and noxious-smelling sweets, he’s encouraged to re-examine how he feels about Will and to decide what kind of journey he’d really like them to take together.

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  GARRY SUSPECTED he knew what tipped psychotics over the edge.

  It wasn’t childhood trauma or thwarted world domination. Far from it! It was the agony of a plastic bucket chair digging into the back of your legs in the middle of a chaotic Arrivals lounge. Add to that the robotic monotone of the Glasgow Airport PA system offering “apologies for the inconvenience caused to those customers awaiting incoming flights from the USA,” and it was like salt rubbed into a wound.

  He slumped back in the seat, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He could feel the scowl on his face etching into the muscles. There was noise everywhere—booming announcements over the speakers and the incomprehensible swell of people’s excited chatter. Kids shrieked, and suitcases rattled over the threadbare carpet. Rolling neon signs flashed up reminders to boarding gates, constant alerts to keep your bags beside you at all times, and then—almost as an afterthought—the price of the latest, must-have mobile phone package.

  Airport lounges had to be one of the least comfortable places on earth. He hunched down farther, trying to nap. Like it’d be possible in this maelstrom. Bad mood, or what? He’d been up since the crack of dawn, maybe even before. He couldn’t exactly remember the time, as over the years he’d found that lack of sleep caused him, one, serious memory problems, two, to leave the house in an unmatched pair of socks, and, three, the unmitigated loss of his sense of humour.

  He was jolted back to attention as a man hauling a heavy suitcase let it run over Garry’s feet. With a cry of pain, Garry wrenched his long legs back under his seat, but not before the wheels had left neat little tramlines over his boots. His toes felt bruised, and his mood teetered further toward homicidal. Luckily the perpetrator had taken a sharp left and vanished into the direction of the car hire franchises, else his suitcase—and probably his limbs—might have been scattered to the four winds.

  Garry winced. So much for keeping your luggage with you at all times.

  So… what was currently on his agenda? A too-early start; a wickedly uncomfortable waiting area; a psychotic bunch of fellow passengers. The bad omens were already stacking up. He’d arrived at Glasgow Airport rather travel-worn from his own flight from London Heathrow, preparing to meet up with his friend Will somewhere in amongst this mess of humanity.

  Then he’d been greeted with the worst of news—a delay.

  Ten hours? He felt like shouting it aloud, as in fact a few of the less self-disciplined airport visitors already had. What do they mean, incoming flights to Glasgow delayed ten fucking hours? He’d stumbled onto his own flight at some godforsaken hour of the morning to get to Scotland on time, only to find the connecting transatlantic airlines couldn’t meet the same punctuality. Ten hours! It was only late morning. Ten hours would take him on into the evening and a large part of the night. Ten hours of sitting on this seat, with nothing but overpriced airport snacks and the metallic xylophone tones of the airport announcer for company.

  Okay, so yes, obviously, he was in a less than good mood.

  But he had nowhere else to wait for Will. He couldn’t travel on to the Scottish hotel their mutual friend Allen had booked, because he didn’t know which one it was. Allen didn’t seem to be answering his mobile at the moment. Garry had tried seven times already, ever since the first announcements were made about the delay. And Garry knew that was the only number available, not just because Allen could be such a bloody control freak, but because Leonard—Allen’s husband—never even turned his phone on when he was travelling anywhere. Nor would Will be accessible, circling somewhere in the sky between the States and here. And if Garry left the airport to go anywhere else, he ran the risk of missing Will’s flight altogether. No, he knew he was effectively trapped between the proverbial rock and the hard place. In fact, he could feel the hard place biting into his arse right now, as he tried to get comfortable in his seat for the hundredth time.

  Besides, what could he do but wait? He was here because his friend Will had specifically asked him to be.

  His best friend, Will.

  They were both flying in to Glasgow, ready to meet the rest of the gang. It was a long-held tradition, an annual holiday together in June, whatever their commitments for the rest of the year. Friends since university, there were around eight of them on any year’s trip, depending on who could get away from work. Allen was the self-appointed “manager” of it all, and this year he’d suggested they visit the Scottish Highlands, his own home turf. Garry had happily booked the time off, like he always did. He rarely had other plans that might conflict.

  Allen always waxed lyrical about Scotland. Most of his multitudinous family had left the home country over the years, moving all over the world, making what sounded like starry marriages with entrepreneurs and lawyers. Even a Hollywood movie star in one case. But Allen had stayed, happy to find everything he needed right there—including the man he met and moved in with, several years ago. He and Leonard often made the trip north to the Highlands on their own. The hotel they stayed in had a fabulous view over Loch Lomond, and the highest star-ratings for food and comfort. And, this year, Allen and Leonard wanted to share it with their friends as well.

  Everyone thought it was a great choice, including Will and Garry. Will in particular had always wanted to see more of Scotland. They both lived in London and spent a lot of their social time together, so they usually travelled the same route to the reunion holiday. This year, they’d arranged to fly to Glasgow, hire a car, then drive the rest of the way.

  At least, that had been the original plan.

  But the plans had changed, hadn’t they?

  “NEW YORK?” Garry had stared at Will, like the words were in an alien dialect. It was a regular Friday night get-together, this week in Garry’s local pub, the Grove, and Garry’s hand was curled around his pint glass, ready to take another sip.

  It stayed there.

  “Um. Yes. I’ll be at the New York head office for the week running up to the holiday.” Will looked uncharacteristically nervy. “You’re the first to know. I’ve been called up for that promotion interview, remember?”

  “Which you definitely deserve,” Garry said. His voice sounded oddly thin. “I told you to go for it, didn’t I? But….”

  “I know, I know. New York. It’s a pain, having to travel out there to meet the managers personally, but this is the first and probably most critical
stage. Tough competition, you know? There are guys going for it from all our offices. Some have even started arranging their move to the USA.” He frowned slightly. “Actually, I don’t think I registered the job itself would be based there, nine months of the year.”

  “Me neither,” Garry said softly.

  Silence fell between them, more than compensated by the hubbub in the pub around them.

  “Anyway,” Will said eventually, with half a laugh. “Who knows how it’ll go? Like I said, it’s very tough competition. I’m not assuming I’ll get the job yet. They may take exception to me on day one!”

  His gaze met Garry’s, but Garry couldn’t decipher the expression. “Well. I mean, that’s great.” His voice sounded odd: he was probably still in shock. Will deserved that job, of course. How could they consider promoting anyone else?

  But New York! About three and a half thousand miles away. Another continent. Another, very different office, full of bright, aggressive, lively, good-looking American guys. Another world.

  Which could soon be Will’s.

  “And I’ll still be coming on the boys’ holiday this year,” Will was saying, rather too loudly. “I wouldn’t miss it. The meetings finish on Friday, and I should just make it out on a flight that night, back to the UK. I can sleep on the plane and meet you at the airport in the morning. We can still drive on from there together. It’s just a small change to the usual itinerary. You’ll wait for me at Glasgow?”

  Garry gathered enough wits to give his usual scornful snort. “If I don’t get a better offer, man.”

  Will laughed, but something flashed briefly in his eyes. His voice softened with what sounded strangely like a plea. “Garry, I’ve been trying to find the right time….”

  Someone dropped a glass behind the bar, the loud crash accompanied by a muted scream and an imaginative curse. A group of customers by the bar burst into raucous laughter.

  When Garry looked back at Will, he was smiling too. Whatever Will had been screwing up the courage to say, the moment had passed.

  IN THE airport, Garry grimaced again, and not because of the recurrent cramp in his right buttock. Of course, there was no problem about travelling part of the journey separately this year. He and Will were independent guys, after all, weren’t they? Didn’t have to sit in each other’s pocket all the time. They had a whole two weeks at the hotel to catch up on news and spend time in each other’s company. Well, with the whole group, of course. Plenty to talk about, especially this year.

  Everyone waiting to hear about the success of Will’s application….

  Funny how the days had dragged, this last week, with Will away. Garry usually rang Will most evenings for a chat, but this week, the line had been particularly poor. He always struggled to remember which way the different time zones matched, and he didn’t want to distract Will when he needed to be top of his game. Will didn’t say so exactly, but it sounded like he was struggling with some of the sessions, and wasn’t looking forward to Friday’s. It was a formal interview in front of the US board of directors, where the panel assessed your psychological and social profile, examining your family history back to your great-great-grandfather—probably including the state of your current dirty laundry basket and your Twitter rating—to ensure you could be trusted with more responsibility in running their company.

  No, Garry didn’t want to get in the way of that: of Will’s big opportunity.

  So here he was, at Glasgow Airport. Waiting, as agreed.

  Should he have insisted on making his own way, despite the delay? Neither of them could have foreseen it; it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Travelling separately wasn’t a problem. Honestly. It wasn’t as if either of them needed their hand held. Garry swallowed a sigh. Particularly not Will, the high-flyer. The New York interview was a case in point; Garry knew he’d never have been offered that contract. They’d worked in the same financial services firm for a couple of years now, but Garry knew he didn’t have Will’s brains. Not that he was jealous, not at all. It was more a matter of knowing that Will had a far brighter future. That he was always likely to move on.

  Why exactly did he need to wait?

  Garry shifted again, offering the cramp to his left buttock this time. If he could just reach Allen on the phone and find out the name of the hotel, he’d leave a message for Will’s incoming flight and hire a car on his own. Then he could drive to the hotel and get in some much-needed rest. Will could follow on later, couldn’t he? It was the sensible thing. But….

  You’ll wait for me? Will had asked.

  And so that was the reason Garry was waiting.

  His stomach rumbled. He’d had nothing to eat or drink since he got to the airport except for lukewarm coffee and a shrivelled muffin. The blueberries inside the cake had borne more than a passing resemblance to rabbit’s droppings.

  He’d not finished eating it, obviously.

  He would call Allen again in a minute, that was best. The slim shape of the mobile phone wedged in his jeans pocket reminded him of the constant “not available” message from all his previous attempts. He thought he might wait a while longer. Only so much disappointment could be taken by the hour.

  In the meantime, I need some proper lunch. Nausea cramped his gut. No, better not risk that just yet. The queues were already gathering at the food counters. It seemed that several flights were delayed, and both passengers and families meeting them were settling in for the duration.

  The middle-aged man next to him had been in situ since before Garry had even arrived. He’d tried to engage Garry in conversation at an early stage; in return, Garry had been polite but discouraging. Then the guy had gone quiet for a long time, and Garry had almost forgotten he had a neighbour. Now, suddenly, there was a loud, nasal snore, and the man’s head slipped sideways to land on Garry’s shoulder. Garry grimaced at the close-cropped, grizzled hair brushing his neck.

  Obviously I fucked up somewhere in a previous life, and this is what they call karma. He tried to nudge the man back up, but the guy was soundly asleep by now.

  The loudspeaker twanged, announcing a delay to yet another flight with a simulated sympathy that made Garry want to vomit—if he’d had enough food in his stomach to make it worthwhile. He shrugged under the weight of his new friend, and sighed deeply. There was a long, miserable time ahead of him, and he knew who, however indirectly, and unfairly of Garry, was to blame.

  Bloody Will.

  Bloody, bloody Will.

  And the all-too-familiar twist of nerves whenever Garry thought about Will moving on.

  GARRY MUST have dozed off. He woke with numbness in his left arm that made it feel the size of a Halloween pumpkin, and pain in his scalp that meant his hair had got caught awkwardly on the wrong side of his parting. His head had drooped over the back of the chair, and his legs were folded underneath it in a manner that would defy a professional acrobat. Trying to move his limbs just made him groan aloud. It took him a depressingly long time to get himself upright again and, wincing, he made a mental note to renew his gym membership when he got back home after the trip.

  He tried to smooth his hair back down in place. He’d snagged the shoulder-length ends into a short ponytail for travelling, but the tie had twisted at the back of his neck. When he tugged the hair back, his fingers caught up in the tangles. It also seemed to have collected an interesting selection of dust particles and the remains of a catering-sized butter wrapper. Maybe a couple of those blueberry droppings. He squinted at the lounge clock and saw that a couple of the ten hours had passed.

  The good thing was that the Sleeping Not-Beauty had left the seat beside him.

  The not-so-good thing was that he had another neighbour, and this one was a lot smaller. Probably only about seven. A plump-cheeked girl stared at him, her eyes sky-blue, her hair pale blonde. She was delicately pretty and would have looked like some kind of picture book princess, except that she had a huge, suspiciously red stain on the front of her Hello Kitty T-shirt. Her legs were ti
ghtly pressed together to contain a pile of sweets in her lap and there was sugar frosting stuck all over her skirt. Some of the sweets had obviously already been consumed—the frosting was on the end of her nose, and around her mouth too—and she chewed thoughtfully as she stared at him.

  Garry wrinkled his nose. The sweets had a particularly violent and disturbing smell, like a medicine he’d once been forced to take as a kid. A fair proportion of the sugar fallout seemed to have made its way onto his jeans too. He examined his mood and doubted it was one to tolerate children just at the moment. Sensation was creeping back into his arm and it was bloody painful. He wanted to swear—he had a good vocabulary, he’d been complimented on it more than once—but, of course, that was now out of the question. He knew that much about children.

  “Hi,” the girl said. “You’re awake now.”

  He glared at her, groggy from his nap and with his limbs still aching. His stuffy brain wanted him to say “buzz off, squirt,” but his mouth opened, and he said, “Hi.” He didn’t know what else to say to such a small person. He hadn’t had a lot of practice with them. Allen used to talk about his large family and the new generation of nieces and nephews, but Garry admitted in his deepest, most honest heart, that he usually tuned out all that information.

  HE AND Will had talked about kids, once. That is—other people’s. Or, that was how it started.

  “I’ve never wanted them,” Garry said. It was after a long, four-way Skype conversation with Allen and Leonard, peppered with anecdotes both amazing and infuriating about Allen’s extended family.

  “Me neither.” Will was squashed up close to Garry, both of them perched on bar stools because it was quiz night at the Grove, and all the tables were packed full.

  “That story about dropping all the eggs on the kitchen floor.” Garry rolled his eyes. “I’d have been bloody furious, not laughing.”