Your Mark on Me

Chapter 32: On the other side

I have no distinct memory of the seven-hour flight to London. Everything was surreal, like one of those dreams that feel unsettlingly real: I was half-expecting to wake up any second.

In the morning, Mum had driven me to the coach station. I said goodbye in a much more controlled manner than I'd thought possible, despite the boiling anxiety in my chest. I got off the coach at the earliest stop, called a cab and an hour later I was at the airport, checking in my medium sized blue trolley which hardly contained all the necessary items for such a big trip. I was shaking with nervousness, half at the enormity of what I was doing, half at the possibility that they might not let me go through. Both were equally terrifying.

I managed to get through security and passport control without any problems. The airline I was flying with allowed sixteen-year-olds to travel on their own, and I did not need a visa to travel to the UK unless I stayed there for over six months. I did panic a little when I thought I couldn't find the gate — after all, it was my first time on my own on a plane — but it all went well. Soon, I was nervously waiting to take off.

I had no money, not even for a return ticket. I had my bank account with all the prize money from competitions, but I didn't really have access to it unless I asked Mom. From the moment I got on that plane, I had completely abandoned myself to Mark. And while my cheeks reddened and my pulse quickened at the thought that, on the other side, he would be waiting for me, I couldn't shake the fear away.

By the point I got off the plane, the enthusiasm had grown stronger than the worries. Yes, I'd come a long away from home and yes, I was about to step into a strange new world — but that was Mark's world! — and I was soon to discover it, with him. I would find out all about his life, his family, his friends, where he lived, where he grew up, in short, everything about who he was. It was worth it.

At passport control on the UK side, there was another short moment of panic, when they wanted to ask me a few questions. I forced myself to smile and tried to answer as calmly as possible, hoping there would be no need to show the fabricated parent's letter of consent that I carried in my purse. After a long, suspenseful pause, they let me go through.

I made it. I was in England.

When my bag finally made its appearance on the carousel, I grabbed it hastily, then entered a toilet to quickly refresh my makeup. The figure in the mirror looked back at me pale and scared. Why was I so nervous? Mark was there, somewhere in front of the Arrivals door, only a few yards away now. That thought should have been enough to calm me down.

For a second my heart tightened at the thought that maybe he wasn't even there. That he had abandoned me, again. I started with steady steps to the exit, determined to put an end to the uncertainty.

There were lots of people waiting at the arrivals gate. Taxi drivers holding signs with the names of the customers they were waiting for, travel agents, parents, siblings, friends hugging their loved ones on their return. I gazed uneasily through the crowd, tense like a balloon about to pop until I spotted him.

He was standing behind a small group of people, away from the crowd, shooting concerned glances to the exit. He was well-dressed as always, in a fitted pinstriped shirt, a grey vest and skinny slacks, a different watch on his wrist that he kept checking way too often. His cheeks were freshly shaven, his hair styled with even more care than usual, in his arms a big bouquet of roses.

I felt my cheeks flush. The man was absolutely gorgeous, and he was waiting for me.

It took only a second for Mark to notice me. His eyes widened and he waved. I rushed towards him.