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I reverse out of the driveway and begin my journey just as 4.45am flashes on the dashboard clock. I drive slowly away and glide through sleeping villages until I meet the orange glow of the M50 lights leading me towards the airport.
The journey is so smooth and the parking so easy. I am too early, far too early, for my flight. It is even too early to check in. I pick a comfortable seat and remind myself silently to remain alert lest I fall asleep and miss my flight.
A few feet away from me there is a man lying on his back on the floor like a beached whale, his rotund belly shuddering with each massive snore. A man in the morning suit carrying a briefcase comes, looks, frowns and swiftly moves on.
An Asian family – husband, wife and baby in buggy – come and stare and then walk away. Next a passing cleaner pauses, then deserts brush, mop and wheelie bucket and makes a beeline for the door marked “Security”. Soon an airport policeman arrives “with constabulary duty to be done”, bends over the sleeping man and politely tries to wake the whale calling softly, “Sir, sir. Please, sir, you must get up – you can’t stay there on the floor.”
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The snorer is immobile. He spouts another massive snore. This is too much for one policeman to handle. Backup is called.
A second policeman asserts his authority very quickly. The whale surfaces and is advised authoritatively to get up from the floor and sit on a seat.
The whale responds in high indignation: “You woke me to tell me to sit on a seat? I can’t sit on a seat. I have a bad back and I was having the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. Are you going to arrest me if I don’t sit on a seat?”
Lots of mumbling and a few expletives and finally the whale glides away to calmer waters.
The monitor shows it’s my check-in time. The family in front of me at the desk is being painstakingly and routinely put through the luggage check-in. Mother is in charge,with a wad of papers and passports grasped in her left hand and a pen in her right.
Father is holding a squirming boy of about two years in his arms. His task is becoming more and more difficult. There is a daughter too, and she is perhaps seven or eight years old. Her pretty freckled face is framed by a glory of golden curls. Father gives up trying to contain the youngster and puts him down on the floor. The little fellow senses freedom and begins to run but he has a rein that mother grabs, dropping her pen in the process and making annoyed clucking sounds.
She hands the loop of the reins to the little girl. Her young brother begins to run again and she tugs the reins in an effort to check him. Suddenly there’s a sickening thud as he falls backwards helplessly and his head hits the floor.
Everyone in the queue goes “Ooooooh”. Mother’s face turns to a dull red. Father lifts the shocked baby. There is a dreadful silence.
Suddenly the baby begins to cry. It is an enraged roaring and screaming that hurts my ears.
The little girl backs away slowly with a look of horror on her face.
Father calmly tells her, “He’s fine. He’s had worse falls. There is nothing wrong with him if he can roar like that.” By now the baby is reduced to hiccups and everyone in the queue breathes a sigh of relief.
The little girl stands awkwardly outside the family circle, hands behind her back, as mother vents a tirade of anger on her. I feel her awful distress and I want to step in and hug her as long hot tears roll silently down her cheeks and drip onto her pretty pink dress but I have to hold myself back as there are laws now in place that do not permit me to do so.
The mother turns back to the check-in desk and the business is completed instantly. The family trails off towards the departure gates.
I bite my lip and shake my head and tears fill my eyes. I was once that little girl in a similar situation several years ago. I would let that memory seep into my mind but someone is calling me.
“Madam? Madam! Your ticket, please. Thank you. Your passport? Thank you, madam. Please proceed to the departure gates.”