Short story number 14. 'A friend in need'

A Friend in Need

“For crying out loud, Marta. How long does it take you to put a case together?”

Marta slowly bit her upper lip and continued arranging the neatly folded undergarments. She was used to his railings. They were flying, and when they were flying, Sergio became irritable. There was still plenty of time and, partly not to increase the tension further and partly for her own self preservation, she remained silent.

Sergio paced about the room. His case was packed and ready but not as a result of any effort on his behalf. He had a brilliant mind but, like so many others of his kind, it didn’t extend to the vagaries of selecting and packing clothes for a fine day trip to the States. Here Marta calmly took the controls, as she did in almost every domestic or family matter. She got no thanks for it and had learnt not to expect any. He would calm down once they were on the plane and then she could look forward to few days of relative peace and enjoyment, at least until the return flight.

“Have you remembered my shaving cream? – and my handkerchiefs, and my ear plugs, you haven’t forgotten my ear plugs!” – Marta nodded at the end of each item. Heaven forbid the day that she should forget something. She felt sure there would be an ‘always’ planted firmly somewhere in the accusation.

“Ok”, she said brightly. “I think that’s probably about it”.

Sergio grunted.

“I think a coffee would be nice, what do you think?”

“Coffee, coffee”, he almost spluttered. “What are you doing thinking about coffee? They’ll be plenty of time at the airport.”

“It’ll take five minutes” – and she calmly walked to the kitchen, switched on the kettle and dropped a couple of spoons onto the filter.

The phone rang.

“Who the hell can that be? If it’s your mother, tell her we’re out”’.

“It’s for you” she said, and handed him the phone.

“Yes, what? Oh, Flavio, yes. Yes, all set to go. We’re just leaving this minute, that is, when Marta’s finished her coffee. Women, eh?”

“Well, err, Sergio. I was actually wondering if you’d do me a favour…”

The coffee had almost filtered through. A shy smile crept across Marta’s face. She knew Sergio was getting exasperated but he couldn’t just let rip like he so often did with her. Flavio was a friend but he was also technically his boss. It didn’t do to ruffle the nest unduly. They were still talking. Five minutes peace! She poured herself a cup of the rich dark liquid and sat on one of the stools.

“How nice to get away”, she thought; time for both of them to put aside the stresses of normal working lives and see something of ‘The Big Apple’. She gazed absently at the tea towel dropped over the back of the cooker, ‘Beauty Spots of Devon’. Sergio split open the silence.

“You’ll never believe it, Marta”.

“Believe what?”, she murmured.

“We have to make a blessed diversion. Flavio wants me to take a box of something or other over to the States, That’s going to put at least half an hour onto the journey”.

“Well, we’d better be off then!’ And she slipped of the stool, double checked the back door once more and was at the front door with coat and suitcase before he was.

“Ready?”

It was beginning to rain, the fine penetrable kind. The roads were busy but passable.

“There’s the turning” she said. “It’s just the other side of Oxbridge”.

They found the place readily enough. Sergio pressed the button of number 7, ‘just a tad more insistently then necessary’ – thought Marta to herself.

“Come in, come in you two. So grateful you could do this for me. Now I’ve got everything I need except just one book – Uh, have a look under that pile of magazines would you, Marta? It’s about the size of a small family bible with a tatty green cover. If I could only remember where I put it”

Marta and Sergio found themselves lifting up cushions and leafing through newspapers for the said green article. Sergio was picking things up and putting them down mechanically, He couldn’t have recognized the book if it had fallen in front of his face. Marta turned sideways to him and hissed. “You’d have thought he’d have had the stuff ready having dragged us out here to do him a favour”. Sergio said nothing.

“Oh, here it is, at last! Thank you both for being so patient!”

Flavio then disappeared upstairs, presumably to get a box of something to put the things in.

“You know what it’s like”, they could hear his voice echoing down the stairwell. “As soon as you want something, you can’t find it”. It was becoming torturous; even Marta was getting edgy. There was a welcome pounding of feet on the stairs and Flavio burst into the room with an improvised box of folded cardboard, optimistically tied together with blue wool.

“The address is on the front – and thanks once again”.

They more or less fell out of the door, flung out a couple of hasty goodbyes and were off down the lane.

“You don’t need to kill us, ok, with your anxiety, Sergio”.

“Well, what do you expect? We’ve got a dam good chance of missing this basted plane”.

They drove in silence, much too fast for Marta’s liking.

“What will be, will be”, she thought, and calmly folded her hands in front of her.

The airport was spilling over with people. They pushed themselves forward like salmon against the stream.

“Oh! There it is!” said Marta breathlessly.

There were no other passengers at the check in desk.

The two clerks, trim and intractable in their navy-blue two piece were in quiet conversation.

“I’m sorry, we’re late” puffed Sergio. “We need to check in for the 7.05 to New York”.

“I’m afraid the check-in desk is closed, sir. We can’t put you on that flight”.

“But that’s ridiculous!” Sergio began to shout. ‘There’s plenty of time to squeeze us through. It doesn’t leave for another 30 minutes”.

“Flight regulations, I’m sorry sir. There’s nothing I can do”. Marta squeezed his arm and a silence filled the space like a huge, empty ‘O’.

“Just let me have a word with my colleague… I can put you on the next plane that’s leaving just twenty minutes later. Would that be all right?”

“Yes, yes, thank you, thank you so much” Marta was taking control again. “That would be just fine”.

Within seconds, the accumulated tension was melting away and they began walking with welcome relief to the gate.

“Umm, now it’ll all be plain sailing” whispered Marta. She looked up at him and he gave her one of his comical school-boy grins.

“Come on, old thing, let’s be getting into this plane”’, and he patted her affectionately in the small of her back.

A beautiful flight, not an inch of turbulence. The food was more than passable and even the film was worth watching.

First things first. On arrival at New York they slipped into a taxi and drove straight to the hotel.

“Mr. and Mrs. Saldanha?” the clerk checked his list and looked up with a strange benevolence in his eyes. “You have a number of messages”, he said. “Would you like them now or would you prefer me to send them up?”

“Messages?” said Marta. “What are people doing sending us messages? Could you send them up? We’ll get showered first and then we’ll see what they’re about”.

As they opened the bedroom door the phone was already ringing.

“Who on earth can that be?” snapped Sergio. He picked it up and Marta saw his face turn ashen.

“Whatever is it?” she said.

“It’s your brother” he stammered. “Our plane, the one we should have been on, has crashed over a village in Scotland. That dammed Flavio. That dammed wonderful friend, Flavio”.