Chapter Text
Sarah Williams was finally going on holiday. And not just a camping trip with her family, crammed into her dad’s ancient Honda, her stepmother Irene mis-reading the map while her brother Toby played on his Gameboy Pocket. Not this time she chuckled to herself as she threw her favourite green summer dress into her carry-on suitcase. Across the room, her cassette player reached the end of one side and let a small electric hum into the air. As the sound reached her ears, she rolled across her geometric purple bedding to eject the tape and play side two. Her friend Andie had copied their favourite mix of The Cure songs onto it, in preparation for their holiday together. She had demanded that Sarah memorise all the lyrics so that she was not singing alone in the car to the airport; Sarah remembered this fondly as she started to sing along to the next track.
“Lime green, lime green, lime green and tangerine
Are the sickly-sweet colors of the snakes I'm seeing
Lime green, lime green and tangerine,
Are...”
She trailed off, folding comfortable cotton underwear into little squares. “Damn, I can never remember that line...”
Andie had arranged the holiday, of course. It wasn’t that Sarah was disorganised – it's just that she often got distracted. Andie, however, was known by everyone they both knew as the ‘mom friend’, and there was no way she was going to let Sarah turn thirty without a celebration. Sarah had begged her to not have a party. All those people made her feel claustrophobic, like everyone was looking at her and laughing behind their hands. Andie had relented and offered instead to finally take her to England, something that Sarah had dreamed of since she was a girl – so long as they could go out clubbing.
Unfortunately, she had not been able to avoid the family dinner the night before that Irene had demanded on preparing, insisting, “Well if you do insist on being out of the country for your birthday, then the least you can do is come over for a meal! Your father will miss you otherwise.” It was pleasant enough. Irene had cooked some kind of vegetable lasagne since Sarah was vegetarian, although Toby had scoffed it down and then demanded, “So, what’s the main course?”. He had hit a growth spurt – his floppy blond hair hung over his blue eyes and no matter how much he ate, his limbs remained long and bony. A faded Nirvana t-shirt hung from his shoulders as he had thrown Sarah a wink.
Her father had been amenable enough, kissing her on the cheek when she arrived and complimenting her burgundy sweater. He never had very much to say, but it was clear from the way he beamed at his children that they were his greatest source of happiness.
“Promise you will be careful Sarah; I’ve heard so much about the bombings in London.”
“I will Dad; don’t forget they caught the guy already.”
“Remind me again how long you are there for?”
“Just a week, Dad.”
“Ah yes. Well, try not to get into any trouble!”
“I’m not a teenager Dad!”
A muffled scoff had come from her stepmother. Sarah had shot her a puzzled look and even Toby side-eyed her from under his locks. “Something the matter, Irene?”
Irene, eyes on her meal, had replied, “Oh nothing...it’s just what you said amused me. You certainly still behave like a teenager.”
“Irene-”, her father had cut in, but she had continued.
“It’s just you're turning thirty , Sarah. And you still live alone, you spend all your time outside of work with Andie at that theatre group; most women your age have already married and had at least one child by now! I mean really .”
It was Irene's favourite topic of conversation, so she had expected it. Anything she did, from going to see the new Star Wars movie to queuing up to see rock bands, was one further nail in the coffin that was her womb (morbid, but it made Sarah smirk to imagine it). So, she had not risen to it this time, because the agony in her father’s eyes was enough to help her take the moral high ground. Instead, she had taken a slow sip of her red wine, swallowed and said, “You know, maybe I’ll come back from England with a handsome new husband and a ginormous diamond on my finger? I hear Robbie Williams is quite the catch.” Toby had mock-retched and retorted, “You can’t be serious ! His music sucks.”
“Haha, you would say that Grungy Bill.”
“Whatever!”
Irene had given up once the Williams siblings had descended into bickering and giggles.
It might be true though , Sarah thought, as she threw the latest Terry Pratchett book into the top of her luggage and zipped up the case. That I am lagging behind . She shook her head at the alien thought her stepmother had planted in her mind and moved over to her thrifted floor-length mirror. She had opted to travel in a pair of navy-blue joggers, a plain long-sleeved white top, and her sneakers so she would be comfortable on the plane. Looking in the glass, she pulled her long dark layered hair into a clear plastic claw-clip. She paused, surveying her facial features in the mirror. The face of a woman about to turn thirty. “Urgh,” she contemplated, “Why do we make such a big deal about it for women?”
As she checked her chunky white watch, that strange mix of fear and excitement swelled in the pit of her stomach and rose up to her chest as she was reminded that she would be flying for the first time. It’s not that she had deliberately not travelled; she had just never had that much spare cash, and honestly took a great deal more pleasure visiting fictional words in the pages of a novel. She began to sing along again to galvanise herself.
“You've got to make up your mind and make it soon
Is there room in your life
For one more trip to-CRAP! Where is my passport?”
Lunging for the desk, she began to scrabble through the drawers. Notebooks, pencils, oh that’s where my Walkman went...candy, takeaway menu, where is it??? She turned and fell on all fours to look under her double bed. There were a few tatty cardboard boxes sat in the shadows, long forgotten, and so she pulled one out to rummage through. After sifting through old clothes and diaries, she saw the small blue rectangle reveal itself. “Aha! Come here you little-” As she pulled it out, a flash of red caught her eye. Beneath the passport sat her once-beloved play book, The Labyrinth , it’s red cover worn from repeated reading and the ribbon frayed. Sitting back on her calves, she smiled warmly and ran her hands over the cover. Hello, old friend . She had not seen this book for such a long time. She could recall moving these cardboard boxes between different apartments in her twenties, but not opening them often. It must have fallen to the bottom . The book had once meant so much to her, as she coped with the awkwardness of adolescence and the loneliness of being friendless before she had met Andie at college. She recalled many elaborate dreams she had traversed in the setting of the book; a large, sprawling labyrinth.
Her fingertips slid to the pages and opened them to the marked page.
“Through dangers untold, and hardships unnumbered...”
A large car horn shocked Sarah to reality and to her feet. The familiar sound of Andie’s Camry pipped repeatedly until Sarah flung open the window, yelling, “I’m coming, chillax!” Andie grinned up at her friend from behind pink-rimmed sunglasses. “I haven’t got all day, girl!”
Sarah shut the window and madly checked all her pockets before grabbing her passport, backpack, and suitcase from the bed and flying out of the apartment. On the floor lay her little red book, which had fallen open to the back page. A folded yellow paper crown had slipped onto the carpet, unfurling like a creature waking from a long sleep.