Now You See Me

Seventeen: Red Crayon

"Hey, there's a coffee bar over there." Tori points and tugs on my arm. "I want."

"We'll be boarding in a minute," I say, glancing anxiously at the departure board and then at the entrance to the men's loos, where Chris is taking forever. I have half a mind to go in and drag him out, before Tori wins me over and I end up buying her drink for her. For someone who never stops talking, Tori is surprisingly incapable of making her own transactions.

"Damien." She whines. "Please?"

"If I don't get it for you, will you bug me the whole trip?"

"I most certainly will."

I roll my eyes and hold a hand out for the money. She puts it in my hand, grinning in triumph. "Wait here for Chris with the bags."

I walk to join the back of the queue at the coffee place Tori pointed out and stare dully into the cake cabinet as a couple in front decide that the only time they can choose what they want is when they're at the till. I try not to shoot evils at them, and instead turn my gaze to the cordoned-off seating area. Like the rest of the terminal it's sparsely populated, just a few elderly people, a few couples and some young families. I settle on watching two kids play chase between the tables, giggling and throwing crayons at each other.

"Rosie, don't," calls the mother, just as the youngest girl prepares to tip a chair over on top of her sibling. "Come and do some colouring instead, sweetie, look. Daddy's got you some paper."

The precarious item of furniture swings back to the floor and the girl runs back to their table with her sister close behind her.

"How can I help you, sir?"

I turn and realise that it's my turn at the till. "Take out latte, please. Large."

I pay, and move to the end to wait for the order, hands in my pockets. My hand brushes the box of cigarettes I'd confiscated from Chris that morning and feel a twist of guilt at the argument we'd had. It seems so unnecessary now. I make a note to apologise to him when I get back; I can see him stood next to Tori now, talking to her about something. I'm glad; at first I'd been worried that the holiday was going to be awkward because Chris and Tori barely know each other, but they seem to have warmed up.

"Large latte." Tori's drink appears in the gap.

"Cheers," I reply, sliding a cardboard holder on it and stepping away, only to narrowly miss kicking the legs out from under the troublesome little girl from earlier.

"Oh, hello," I mumble, steadying the coffee as it shifts in my grip. She smiles shyly at me and holds out a piece of paper with some scribbles on it. "Is it for me?" I ask, and she nods, continuing to thrust it at me. I see her mother get up and come over to us in my peripheral vision.

"I'm sorry," she says, "She was insistent that you had to have it. I don't know why."

"Pretty," the girl says, pouting and crumpling the paper over my knee. I kneel down and take the picture, seeing that at closer inspection, it's a child's depiction of two people holding hands. One figure is blonde and one has dark hair, just like me and Chris.

"Oh," I say, as the woman tilts her head to look at it. "Is this me?" I point at the figure with dark hair. The girl nods, then pokes at the blonde figure and points in Chris's direction. I force a smile for her, though I feel thoroughly freaked out. "It's lovely. Thank you very much. Can I keep it?"

"I drew it for you, silly," she says, and then turns and skips back to her sister and father. I stand up slowly, looking at the picture, then at the girl, and then back again.