My Darling Sarah

To say Peter was nervous would be an understatement. As he sat in the car alone, white-knuckling the steering wheel while Johnny Cash’s country tunes sang through the stereo, he was cautious not to let his eagerness take control of the wheel. He was a good driver. There were times that he went over the speed limit, but he’d never been caught doing so, and it was always at reasonable speeds that were safe enough on relatively empty roads.

‘And it burns, burns, burns…’

Peter’s destination was Stansted airport. His boarding pass was readily printed and he didn’t have much luggage with him, nothing that wouldn’t fit in his rucksack to take with him onto the plane; just a few necessities that he needed to have on him in the case of an emergency, a change of clothes to make himself more presentable when the time came, and a stuffed monkey.

It was a capuchin. Those seemed to be in every ‘Top 10 Cutest Animals’ list, according to the internet polls. Surely it would be loved. It even had Velcro on the hands and feet so the little bugger could hang onto things - Peter actually considered attaching it to the headrest of the car seat, at least for the ride. 

‘Don’t take your guns to town, son-’

Cash’s voice was cut off mid-verse when Peter parked the car and turned the engine off. The parking tariff was going to be a little hefty, but likely less than getting here with a taxi.

Following the signs to the ‘Departures’ zone, he got through all the mundane routine of the airport. Scan the pass, belt and jewellery off, liquids in a bag, everything into the tray, and he stepped through the scanner. Peter moved on autopilot as he gathered up his things and went on his way to board his flight. 

The worst is over, he thought to himself as he buckled up in his seat, his rucksack, gently coaxed under the seat in front of him with his rugged boot. 

The thoughts that flooded into his mind as the plane took off were not of a consoling nature. Anxiety burned in his chest and he began to wonder which had the greater likelihood to combust into flames - himself or the plane engine. In truth, he wasn’t worried about the flight, he was fine with flights. He was equally terrified as he was excited about meeting Sarah…

What if she doesn’t like me? What if she’s afraid of me? Who wouldn’t freak out if a middle-aged man with dirty hair, muddy boots, and a jacket that looks like it was pulled through a time portal from the 80s walked toward them?

Taking a deep breath, he looked to his right, to find a woman staring at him with a sympathetic expression. Pete thought he probably looked pathetic, still clutching the fastened seat belt in his hands.

“Nervous flier, hon?” the stranger asked, presumably carrying years of experience on planes on every flight she boarded. She must be the flight-guru. She wasn’t much older than him, though Pete couldn’t tell by how many years. She carried a smile that reminded him of his mother that was disarming and sort of comforting.

“No, I’m not,” he began to reply, but immediately regretted his choice. He regretted a lot of things these days, and frequently came to the repeated epiphany that if he’d just learnt to throw honesty out the window and give whatever answers he suspected people wanted to hear, life would be simpler. He could have simply smiled and nodded… but that wasn’t Pete’s way. 

“I’m flying to Malta to meet someone for the first time. Her name is Sarah, and I’m afraid that she might not be as excited to meet me as I am to meet her, you see.” Peter could tell from the way the woman looked at him that she was already trying to gauge his age and speculate on how old Sarah might be. Compelled to clarify to avoid any further funny looks, he raised a hand with a finger pointing toward the ceiling of the plane, gesturing for her to wait. “I have a photo of her with me, hold on… she’s beautiful.”

It didn’t take long to rummage through his bag and fetch the photo - it was exactly where he put it, safely protected behind a transparent plastic film in his wallet, which he had a tendency of carrying in his inner jacket pocket, close to his heart. Upon laying eyes on her, he could see it in the woman’s eyes how taken she was by Sarah’s gorgeous smile, the gap in her teeth and plump cheeks, the cute little dimples, and the large brown eyes that suppressed as much trauma as they did excitement to explore the world and her future.

The rest of the time spent during that flight was far more pleasant than he’d expected it to be. A good three hours or so were spent talking about the gorgeous Sarah that he was flying out to meet and hopefully take back home with him to Bedford. The passenger sitting next to him had a lot of wisdom to share that Pete gratefully thanked her for as she offered him her own personal experiences, tips and tricks on how to survive the first meeting. Coincidentally, she found herself in a similar situation fifteen years prior. What were the odds?

It wasn’t until he sat in a taxi leaving the Malta International Airport that he realised he never got the woman’s name or number. It was a shame, a woman like that was a fountain of knowledge and advice for somebody as lacking in experience as he was.

The ride was not long at all, yet it provided more than enough time for Peter to wallow in his thoughts. His concerns were creeping back into his mind, now that he no longer had the woman’s company to quieten them, so he decided to try and strike up conversation with the driver, though the music blasting through the speakers made that challenging. Not quite his favourite track, it was something contemporary that could be heard at most convenience stores as a trending song of the 2020s. The small talk started off strong - as a British citizen, Pete was quite the expert at talking about the weather, pointless holidays, and other mundane subjects. Then the inevitable question was put forward to him:

“So why you are here? Work?” 

The accent was thick and it was clear that English was not the driver’s native tongue, though Pete appreciated the effort. It didn’t really matter to Pete, he had accepted long ago that the world was an ever-growing multicultural playground. Everyone and anyone was invited to play.

“No, not work…” their eyes met in the rear-view mirror for a few seconds and an awkwardness washed over Peter, causing him to shift in the back seat and look away before he continued, compelled to fill the silence. “I’m meeting someone.”

Immediately, the driver’s facial expression changed into a knowing grin and his head bobbed to show that he understood.

I don’t think he understood anything… Pete thought to himself, but sighed and looked out the window in silence, letting the conversation die there. It wasn’t going anywhere anyway, and he had no interest in bringing it back to life. He was on his way to a hotel in a central area where he’d be staying for only one night - hence the rucksack on the seat beside him being his only luggage for the journey - and will be meeting Sarah that afternoon. It was only about noon now, having caught an early flight to make sure he’d be here on time for the meeting, scheduled for 2pm. 

He’d take Sarah anywhere she wanted to go, buy her anything she wanted, and make sure they got off on the right foot. A good start will be the foundation of their relationship, and first impressions were very important. He would have to take her to the hotel for the night, which he wasn’t particularly happy about, but perhaps it was better that way. She could get used to his company while still in familiar land, her own country, before they both fly back to England the following morning. 

Pete paid the fare and was dropped off just outside his hotel. It wasn’t too fancy, but just charming enough not to scare Sarah away. He knew she wouldn’t be expecting anything as grand as a countryside villa, but he did wish for her to be comfortable. This place had everything that they’d need for that - a restaurant on the ground floor and their room had a television and wi-fi for entertainment a couple of floors up.

The hotel was all that it promised to be - no more and no less.

Far from impressive; some might even consider it ‘shabby’, but Pete was sure that was only by the snobs’ standards back at home. He had asked for a second opinion from his colleagues, until he got tired of being called stingy for going for the cheaper hotel. The journey itself wasn’t expensive - neither was this simple accommodation, as his lovely workmates happily pointed out to him - but he knew that the real journey, the one with Sarah, that he will be embarking on for the rest of his life was going to eat away at his savings. With this in mind, he’d rather spend his money on her than on a room that he’d only be in for a few moments and just one night.

Pete couldn’t think of anything better to spend it on.

Bathroom was clean, towels were freshly washed and neatly folded, bed was made and looked more or less comfortable. Wi-fi connected without issues and the television functioned. Everything was looking good.

After freshening up, there was no time left for exploring anywhere in the area or even testing out the hotel restaurant, undoubtedly overpriced. Having thought ahead and downloaded a local phone app for hiring taxis - Pete was particularly proud of his resourcefulness during this trip - he got a ride to his destination, the reason that he was here. The place he would finally meet Sarah in person.

The Adoption Agency.

The butterflies in his stomach felt more like starved rats, clawing and chewing at his insides, eager to get out. Pete had once watched a documentary about a torture method that involved frenzied rats eating through the victim’s stomach…

When the taxi came to a halt outside the building a quarter of an hour early, Pete looked up at the large print of the building’s name. The signage was not in English, although that didn’t stop Pete from trying to pronounce it, mentally. 

Ah-gen-zee… whatever it was, common sense told him it translated into ‘Agency’. He had tried to familiarise himself with a couple of Maltese words, that was the language spoken here, to aid with communication, but the different symbols in the alphabet were extremely confusing to a meager monolingual such as himself.

He took a deep breath and held it… flattened his tie and smoothed some creases out of his shirt, before pushing the door open and stepping into the air-conditioned waiting area. Putting his best foot forward, he approached the desk and offered his best impression of a ‘dad-smile’ all the while over-worrying about having overdone it with the tie. Perhaps he should have worn something more casual to show how hipster he could be… was that something they looked for in candidates?

“Hi, good afternoon. I have an appointment with Ms Cremona?” The Briton grimaced at the sound of the foreign name rolling off his tongue in what he presumed to be purely broken fashion. The confusion on the receptionist’s face confirmed that presumption, and Pete smiled sheepishly before deciding to carry on before he’d crumble into a fumbling mess. “We’ve been communicating via email correspondence for the better half of the past year.” 

The receptionist stared at Pete, and Pete stared back. For a moment, he began to wonder if he was in the wrong place. 

They do speak English here, don’t they?

“I’ll need your name, sir.” The request hit him like an anvil dropping through the ceiling, ‘DUMBASS’ sprayed along its side.

“Right, of course! Pete- uh, Peter Jameson.”

The receptionist’s typing was slow, each click taking him one step closer to his appointment. The hammering of the keys echoed in his head and his chest as Pete leaned on the desk. He didn’t move; he was frozen like a statue, his heart racing and his shoulders tense. He wondered if he’d gone as white as he felt.

“Okay, Mr Jameson, please have a seat and Ms Cremona will be with you in a minute.” 

So that’s how her name is pronounced…

With a nod, Pete absent-mindedly tapped the desk perhaps to reassure himself that his body hadn’t quite turned to stone yet, and moved to sit on an empty chair. There were some other people sitting in the room, some looking excited while others were just as anxious as he was, he could tell. They all sat there united in some way by their purpose for being there. The wait was excruciating, torture even… his mind went back to the rats and he felt like he was going to be sick-

“Mr Jameson?”

Pete looked up at the sound of his name being called to see a woman with blonde curls weighed down with hair gel, granting the woman a playful but respectable appearance. She wasn’t very tall, and had a stocky frame with wide hips, but she carried herself well with confidence and had a warm approachable air about her. He supposed that was a necessary trait in this business. Pete rose to his feet as his gaze now shifted past the suited woman and through the open doorway to the small cubicle of an office behind her to see the most beautiful young girl with large brown eyes that reflected an entire future in them. He smiled, and she smiled back, kneeling on an office chair and shyly peeping over the back of it. The dimples that were visible in the photo were now right before his very eyes, in the flesh… he loved her so much already.

“Come inside and meet Sarah.”

With teary eyes, his mouth cracked into a wide smile, he entered the office to move forward with the adoption process. In his bag, the support monkey waited, ready to exchange hands from his to little Sarah’s.